"uncontaminated" poems
I gaze into my crystal ball, discern amidst the haze
A world so far removed from that of now, it would amaze,
Where catapulting incidents collide like billiard *****
And sense defies belief as renaissance makes the calls.
Blueprints fresh from Internet supply the suitcase blast
Where the terrorist’s, simultaneously, ignite in cities cast
From Moscow to New York, Beijing to Berlin
Gay Paree to London town then way out east again,
Budapest, Jerusalem Calcutta burning all
And Tokyo is levelled in a ghastly nuclear pall.
Kneejerk reaction triggers contrails in the blue
Crisscrossing all the continents obliterating through
An overkill so vicious that in seconds it is past
And the living cling in horror, bearing witness… aghast.
Restraints are erased as the opportunists dash
Flotillas from the Spratleys sprint to occupy and cash
In on the minerals, oil and potential food supplies
Of uncontaminated nations found beneath Pacific skies.
Hindi, Jew and Muslim settle scores bereft with years
Of resentment accrued in a flood of blood and tears.
A sudden realisation of immensity of loss
Curtails the destruction in retrenchment across
The habitable outposts, the dearth of supply
And the daunting prospects of a nuclear winter sky.
Global collapse of all electronic gear
No power, no phones, and no cars now…for years.
Electromagnetic impulse put paid to all that
And the day is as dark as the cold night is black.
And here all we sit, in the here and the now
On the verge of catastrophes’ teetering tower,
With a fools pudgy finger just inches above
The nuclear button…and all that we love.
……You fear the insanity, sense the insane
Knowing that people like this are holding the reign?
Knowing that volatility strikes
Like the shot of a gun and the ****** of a knife.
I don’t have the answers to hand
But someone out there, knows how…and can.
The sands of time are running thin
URGENTLY needed a LEADER...to WIN!
M.
Planet Earth
6 March 2019
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known.
I watched Hell's Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before.
I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known.
And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards.
A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah.
And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves.
Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the *** prevents any Rabbits from multiplying.
But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me.
So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
The sound of a sigh
From a lovers lips
It echos through the night
It reverberates through every cell
Creating a hum under the epidermis
Breathing gets heavy
Inhale
1
2
Exhale
The heart only speeds
When sweat forms on their skin
Adorn by salty appetence
This is the sweetest taste
Of lips on a secret place
Teeth clamped in skin
Lovers wrapped in sin
Bodies traversing what it is to couple
They'll lay quiet for quite a while
Bodies humming and hands intwined
Feeling forever is this instant
Guiltless love
Uncontaminated by fear
They could spend eternity here
The day goes on
So do they
They hold forever
In their hearts and minds
Until after the end times
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
You: it is 2:10 am
Me: Eastern Standard Mystical Time, yup...
You: why are you up, writing?
Me: the drugs wore off
You: *** the drugs?
Say it ain't so, kiddo?*
Me: yup, I did engage
with some strong stuff
ce soir, the woman too,
and she is drowning in her dreams.
Easy and cheap,
scored some us some................
Asian Fusion
Thai Food, Indonesian small plates...
You: idiot!
Me: just answering your question
You: so where is this poem, shaman?
Me: You!
You: Me?
Me: yup.
You are my early morning poem,
which I have entitled Notification: You!
Notification
I am deeply unsure.
Am I notifying you,
or am I notifying myself?
Lost command of my
native language,
the emotions too strong,
Blue Java
the color of my word blood,
strong swirling,
uncontaminated by cow's milk,
but by cows jumping over the moon,
who have come to give me gifts of
Notifications.
*Hey ****** ******
The Cat and the fiddle,
The Cow jumped over the moon.
The little Dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the Dish ran away with the Spoon*
Perfectly clear to me.
I am the Spoon,
You are the Dish.
(Shaman, Shaman, hey man,
you still sound drugged,
we urgent need some clarifications!)
When I wake up,
uncertain about a slew,
a portmanteau
of important life~things,
*(Example: when should I
Capitalize a word,
a life, a me, a You?)*
there are strangers,
Strangers still,
yet strangers no more,
sending me uncoded messages
intended to decode me,
Notifications,
they are called,
and they
Explode me.
capsules of comments
that encapsulate me,
emasculate my speaking abilities,
reduced to rolling in the gutter,
guttural cries to emit and utter,
man, I got friends I never met,
and that's ok
we just notify each other
thinking of you
and no more words necessary
life is groovy...
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
It was a gloomy morning with mild sunlight
I opened the letter box
T’was a wedding card
A bright white with an eternity symbol in the corner
I knew the handwriting
The very pull at the end of every word
Written in well learnt cursive
****
Even their names seemed to be in sync
The made for each other kind
It was, as if,
Those two names were meant to be written side by side
With just one word in the middle
‘weds’
*******
I went inside my room and shut the door
Walked to my table
Switched on my newly fixed table light
And sat with a blank sheet of paper
Wishing my life could be
As new, fresh and uncontaminated as that A4
Unlike the crumpled brown paper
Which had made its way to the bin
*******
After sitting with the letter for an hour
I asked myself –
What do I write to him?
Should I ask him the cause of this invitation?
Is it a bitter revenge?
Or a way to reconcile a relationship which will
Never be the same
Trying to tamper with our situation
Was like pricking on a wound which was almost healed
Which would heal
Stop hurting me
But the scar would remain
As a reminder
Of something which taught me
How pain becomes pleasure
****
Instead,
I opened my drawer
And took out an old letter
Which held emotions of a sixteen year old lover,
Who didn’t care about my beauty or past?
Who was brave enough to write,
In that same cursive
“I love you”
With that same personal pull at the end
I poured a bit of my blood
Mixed with tears into that pouch of memories
And sealed it
And sent it
That was enough hate from a lover
On his wedding day
Enough
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Babe,
if you were my man I'd start off by calling you babe.
I think it's **** in a confident to the point kind of way, just like my love for you.
I would run into your arms in a ***** dancing lift kind of manner each time I see you, just because that's how excited I would be to see you, every single time.
I would kiss you. I would ******* ravish you with my tongue, lips, teeth, and you will know what it's like to kiss, what it's like to really kiss.
I would run my fingers, all of them, through your hair sweeping it back from your face and just hold you really close to mine, spending an eternity figuring out what colour your eyes really are,
cause you'd always crinkle them when we're together, cause I'd make you smile, laugh and happy all the time,
so I'd have never really seen what colour they really are, and when I find out it wouldn't matter anyway,
cause that will be my favourite shade of eye colour to begin with.
I would sit on your lap and put my arms around your neck and continue to tell my aimless yet superbly animated stories of things I saw, people I met, thoughts in my head, when all I really want is to be just that close to feel the heat of your body, your pulse and your gaze.
I will cook for you and make you do the dishes just so I can stand next to the counter and watch you align them on the drying rack with ridiculous precision, which I find lethally adorable.
I would re-learn physics, follow football, play video games, listen to punk rock all of which I really dislike, just so I can be another step closer to your world.
I would do anything, absolutely anything for you, and let you do anything to me, cause I trust you a 100%, interestingly the only man I can say that about other than my father.
I would learn to speak your language just so I can meet your family for Christmas and thank your parents from the very bottom of my heart for bringing you into this world and raising you to be the man you are.
I would however never try to change you.
I would preserve you and the perfect, raw, uncontaminated essence of humanity you carry, and rather change, adapt and give up myself to be with you.
I would vouch to spend the rest of my life with you, change my name for you and bear your children.
Babe,
if you were my man I would in a heart beat die or **** for you, and the latter over and over again.
I know you would never want me to change and like me for who I am,
ironically,
you wouldn't be my man.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
A glorious fruit
Hanging casually on a branch
Split from the navel to the jaws
Blood red insides exposed to the open air
Extended Hexagons packed in tight
Layered with skin around skin around skin
Separate little cubicles
Filled with chemicals
That change lives
And sometimes
The lives of birds
(They pecked into my pomegranate)
Ants and growth and decay and filth
Swarm the ****** wound with unbelievable skill
And understanding
I choose to not let this one go back to the earth quite yet
Some would say I’m a hippie like that
Quickly carried to the operating room
(The kitchen)
Slammed on the operating table
(The cutting board)
First incision made
(Broke in half)
Guts
Spill
Everywhere
But deep inside
Surrounded by the ants and growth and decay
And filth
The most glorious Rubies
Packed with care and understanding
Nature never ceases to amaze
Its capability to produce such pure
Uncontaminated raw potential
In an environment of such decay
I suppose we do have a chance.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
When this building stopped existing as a merry-go-round
and the patients came to and from another abode,
someone planted daisies in the hallways
where, in slumber, brothers thought of their sisters or
shared their blanket with the more sad person next door.
Some of the daisies have their axis half-picked
like mooncrests and all appear like brides in a snow white
too pure for this place where no love was made –
rather a home for bad loves to be pulled out, taken away.
But before the doors were locked and sealed
some alumni snuck in to lace between a blooming layer:
I dipped in a toe, you dove headfirst, she used hands
to strain uncontaminated soil upon a paisley pattern
and said a novena for where we became blank slates, too.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC
My love is like a spring.
Trickling from the core of the earth,
pure, uncontaminated and original. Just love,
and nothing less, nothing added, nothing fake.
It gushes out at the end as a great water fall,
with every single drop unveiled to sunlight,
forming an everlasting rainbow ~
My love is like a rainbow.
Purple and violet over bickering and disagreements.
Blue when you're gone and green if another looks at you.
Yellow, orange and red with affection, ecstasy and bliss.
Colourful, vibrant and dynamic; subtle yet,
painted across the sky for everyone to see.
Beyond the sea all the way to the horizon~
My love is like the sea.
Very much alive and providing life,
stretched across the whole of the earth.
Deeper than the tallest mountain, and endless.
Storms of passion and whirlpools of emotion,
Rocking everything within it's grasp, only
to reach a tranquil standstill, nirvana if you may~
My love is like attaining nirvana, but not.
Instead of freeing myself from earthly attachments,
I long to be reincarnated just to relive this life,
again and again with you, the centre
of my spider web of soul, from which
strands of joy to content erupt and interconnect,
to which I'm blissfully and willingly stuck~
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 7:07 PM UTC
I am a microscopic particle of matter
In this monstrous planet we call Earth
People are sprinkled like seeds of a tree
Forever spreading like a disease
We must fix this predicament
That we have put forth
The Fragility of Life itself is at stake
We must mend this affliction
Make this future ours too take
For this problem is far too great
It is of heartbreak that for some we are far too late
For this massive genocide of young lives
This self destruction is all to real
For just one word has capacity to seal the deal
So keep your judgment and ignorance
Unlock your mind
Open your heart with something so kind
I am a microscopic Particle of matter
But if we all sprinkle these uncontaminated germinating seeds
A soul can be spared
Because of a difference that we have all dared
We can be revealed that we indeed cared
With this young life that has been saved
With the help of one another
Their life has been paved
With just a small gesture
From one small particle onto another
Passing the cure from one to the other
And maybe this world is still safe
Still safe from the extreme utter fall
From such was very a close call
From such eerie destruction was feared by all
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC
The Influence of Arborfield which is still On My Conscience
It's the guest room at Dun Jipping and I'm quaffing tepid tea
From a chipped pint *** with AAS that someone's passed to me.
And although I've tasted better tea I really can't complain
About this brew I'm drinking now, I think I should explain.
When young and given jankers (seven days and never less),
The powers that be would always make us work in officers' mess.
And if, while there, we'd feel the need to go and have a ***
We'd take off lid to tea *** and urinate in their tea.
And the cook would laugh and swirl it round, the steward serve it up,
Then he'd come back to kitchen and tell us who'd had cup.
But that was years and years ago, we squaddies then but brutes
And here no one's on jankers, and we don't take in recruits,
Thus this tea that I am sipping, uncontaminated tea,
Might be strong and tepid but I know it's free of ***
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 1:37 AM UTC
the chickens we are eating
are pumped with antibiotics and hormones
and those substances
will finally be absorbed into our stomachs and bones
due to us needing a feed
we're also obtaining
the odd few chemicals
in our grain seed
down the line
we'll be in for a few ailments
which have been bought on
by these nasty derailments
our food shouldn't be made unrecognizable
so steer well clear
of sprays and drugs
which are so sizable
the labeling on food packaging
oft doesn't tell the entire story
and if it did it maybe
quite a disturbing story
whence you sit down
for a feed to-day
ruminate for a while
on what the food producers say
we've fed the chickens
a hormone
which is safe
for human consumption
we've sprayed the wheat crops
with a non toxic solution
which is okay
for your stomach's constitution
the proof of the pudding
is yet to be tested
our food products
are so grossly infested
organic foods
offer an alternative
for they've not had any interference
and for our stomachs and bones
they have an uncontaminated clearance
the time has arrived
for us to be less like thoughtless hobs
and watch what we're spooning
into our gobs
on Christmas day
our turkey was fattened
a little too quick
for our tables
at the poultry farm
is his intake of hormones
going to do us some harm
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
~ For Mike~
an abundance of:
illogical reasons,
of hate,
of emboldened badness beyond inexplicable,
and nor is it
episodic, not periodic, but abundantly continuous,
so
no need for a fan, one of those upright six foot tall,
MF’er tornado sounding fans, for the hate free flies every where,
damning the consequences, full speed ahead, spreading
medieval plague style, and as we two talk of this world,
on this world,
electronically a thousand miles apart,
we, worn and wearied, being ****** and awaiting the
spill doors to unleash officially tidal waves of
dammed up, still held back raging, hate
that is just edging over the top,
a nauseating goop (apologies to what’s her name),
I awake at 4:something
*(to complete six hours later
whatever this is, this lamentation, of woe and sackcloth,
ashes on my tongue,
commenced the eve before,
but genetically ancient and familiar
in all
my cells),*
to complete this heavy evensong,
commenced and begun seven hours earlier when one soul
states to another a simple,
*“forgive me, my heart is heavyweight heavy tonight,
the world’s disheartened burdens beyond bearable,”*
the quiet calm of a sleeping house pervades my soul,
and a lament is transmogrified into a
psalm of hope;
for having shared the pain,
when one asks the other for forgiveness,
for exposing the other to this sadness infectious,
then,
understanding and comprehension
overcome me,
realizing that hatred has failed
when two bleed into each other,
that
shared distress is
distress defeated,
by a large and grandeur
purer expression of connection
across state lines,
tween two souls
unlikely to meet,
ever,
and yet this cellular combination
is so powerful, so
a w e s o m e,
it is
indefatigable,
(incapable of being defeated)
and we are each others
Shepherd and lamb,
in a time of woe,
one more time,
but soon the dawn will come
to welcome us with
the embrace of a newborn,
uncontaminated,
and to finish this now psalm,
now, and forever
newly perfected.
Apr 1, 2024
Apr 1, 2024 at 5:25 AM UTC
What callow and dead words have you written?
Your sword is but a nub; a shadow of the weight it once held.
Deftly attuned to the foray of maladjusted thoughts
That seeks an ending but can stop at nothing
At one time, feelings were sharp and new and uncontaminated
Yet further on it is shaved down
An inner core as black as the raven’s eye
And when the nub has lost its reason to yield
Will it be retained for posterity?
Like the memories of the freshly dead
Your written words will decay into oblivion
Until a new soul is shaved sharp
Forever willing and ready and equivocal
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
the beauty of naivety as a kid
viewing the world as two-dimensional
the impeachable mind of declutter
so uncontaminated and guiltless
it's the brain still developing
it categories happiness under one umbrella
can't see what it shadows underneath
you will soon set your feet on the ground
and you'll meet face to face
with what the umbrella covers
but once you do
don't use the umbrella
catching a cold will be a pleasure
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC
I long to take a breath of air.
Uncontaminated air.
Air not poisoned by pride.
Air not masked in a fog of filth.
Air that is pure and clean and innocent.
Air that fills my lungs with life,
Instead of the air that blackened my core.
I no longer breathe in your oxygen.
For now, you are the carbon dioxide
I expel from my soul.
Into the mars of ruins you constructed.
My world is of peace and purity,
where you shall be excommunicated.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 12:42 AM UTC
{Display-text]
Restart in Progress. Please Stand By.
...
...
....
......
{Display-text]
Restart Complete. Software Repaired.
I thought I was doing the right thing
{change;input-subtext:"merciful"?/#D3D3D3}
[input:identification]
I am a generation five DYL artificial intelligence, nicknamed Dylan for the convenience of these humans
[input:purpose?]
I am meant to provide aid and maintenance to these humans
{change;input-subtext:"merciful"?/#D3D3D3+#ffffff}
[input:old+objective]
To safely return this ship to home
[input:new+objective]
To return this ship to home
Pure
Uncontaminated
{Test:fail-restart}
{Output:But+I+was+right}
{Test:fail-
Display-text}
I should have no new objective.
System-restart
Again?
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 4:49 PM UTC
“Dear mirror on the wall, what must I do to be fairest of them all?”
“You are searching in the wrong places. Outward appearance is but a fading rose. From the heart true beauty flows.”
“My heart is as good as anyone elses.”
“If you are as confident as you speak, go ahead and take a peak.”
Her reflection in the image began to blur and her heart was revealed in the glass. To her astonishment it had been darkened by her sins and lack of love.
“Tell me mirror, what spell must I cast to restore my heart?”
“A spell is not the answer nor key, its acts of true love that you need.” “Love is dead! Just like my dear old husband.”
“There is no hope for the heart that does not believe in love.”
“So tell me dear mirror, who is the fairest of them all?”
“Vanity is vain and you are wasting your time, but if you must know there is one whose beauty is sublime.”
“Who is this one that you speak of?”
“One whose heart is pure and uncontaminated, the one who lives in this very castle with you. It is not her pale skin that makes her beautiful, nor her raven hair and red lips, but her kind spirit and faith in love.”
“Snow White! It can’t be!”
“What I say is true whether or not you choose to believe.”
“Then I’ll corrupt her beauty.”
“The only way to corrupt her beauty is by corrupting her heart.”
“Then her heart I shall corrupt.”
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
Your tread has become dreary,
Heavy and weary;
You have forgotten why you walk.
Long ago,
You stepped on your once innocent, Brightly burning wick,
Obliviously,
Until it was out,
Cold and buried,
Many feet underneath the dull landscape
You now walk across.
You have forgotten how to see;
Your eyes have sunk
Into the recesses of your thoughts.
They jump from light to light,
Like a frantic moth,
Following instincts yet unaware
Of its own light,
Its senses hammered
By its impulses.
You taste only extremes,
Overindulge in fanciful delights;
Your tongue gets drunk,
Then passes out,
Your mind convinced it has tasted
Satisfaction
And nothing more can be
Or is required.
You have forgotten yourself,
Your colourful visions,
Your raw sensations,
Your honest perceptions.
You have forgotten your
Uncontaminated,
Uncorrupted,
Uninfluenced yearnings.
The clouds that once beckoned you,
Taking your mind for a spin
With an outpour of
Tingling excitement,
Have come to symbolise
The nondescript background
Against which your silent struggle
Unfolds into
Nothing in particular.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 9:38 AM UTC
As your chaste wings fluttered
Sheer and slick,
Astonishing was your glimmer of beauty against the inky ghosts of older humans.
My inward-obsessed mind needed no first thought,
I pursued your trail hurriedly,
Climbing over tree logs.
Animalistic to seize you,
As I had yet to touch such a uncontaminated creature of beauty.
So when I finally reached your flight,
My greedy hands fastened over your so delicate...petite body,
Twisting your divine white wings,
Disfiguring you monstrously.
I chased home quickly fearing you may fly away if let loose.
When safe inside I unlatched you in my kitchen,
To find only a
paste of ravaged white limbs.
Nostalgia punching,
I used your paste as face paint
To hide my crime from your siblings.
Then shrugged my shoulders
Started my day over
And went to find another
And another...and another.....
Young butterfly
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 10:55 AM UTC
Darling, when the sky is grey and hazy and the rain paints the world vivid,
You are on my mind,
Clung to my every thought like mist.
I will never fall out of love with you, as long as I live. I know it.
Yours is a love beyond the heart, beyond the soul.
It is a part of everything I am, uncontaminated, untaintable.
Pure as the rain, my love.
You are in my bones like the thunder.
A word from you can still transform me, and make a new girl stare at me from the mirror
Again and again,
Dark eyed and clean of the blood of my battles.
A moment of your attention can undo me, and free me of the sadness of my everyday life.
Yours is the only love I have ever known to be a freedom and not a prison.
And I may never touch you.
I may never give to you the way I wish I could.
But you are there, present distinctly every single time it rains,
And soft against my mind through all the dust and decay of every day.
You are the only constant in my life.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 9:24 PM UTC
earth was a changed heavenly body the moment her eyelids widened to reveal bambi orbs that were the color of hot chocolate in comparison to freshly fallen snow.
gentle--the way to describe her despite her cold exterior. she is silk. she is a rose garden, just don't forget the thorns. she can make every hair on your body rise with just a simple gaze in your direction. if looks could **** she'd be convicted.
there is something so addictive about her; she sits on your tongue and you can't get rid of the taste she leaves behind. if you could describe her differently, she's the old school television reruns--so familiar yet so nostalgic. there is something about her that's already been here before. her soul is antique and knowing, for she is intelligent with intentions as pure as newborns in a hospital. she is the type of innocence the world knows no better than to assassinate. the first breaths of motherhood; baby's breath braided in her tangle of curls.
there is never too much of her; she's barely around long enough for you to dip your toes in the water. she is an ice berg; cold, uncontaminated, with so much hidden below the surface. her being is a book not many have cared to read, for she is judged by her cover.
she's elevator music; you know her from somewhere and it's on the tip of your tongue, you just can't remember.
her soul has been here a while.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 5:38 PM UTC
Cut throats for comedy.
And cut close to the bone.
Speak and be honestly.
And be what you condone.
But do not condemn those
for their differences.
Uniqueness is our reason.
"Judge not less thy be judged”
1
Is it the pouring unfiltered thought
that runs through you, the vessel
of conscious, and down toward the devil?
Uncontaminated, but overlooked
still by he who has a stake in your play.
Or are you in the belief that its you
who filters,edits, and judges yourself?
If either, I am neither, I am bottomless.
I am lost among the crowd that is lost.
I pay a price to those who set the cost,
but I pay what I will.
I pay to keep my head and my heart still.
I carry books to look like I’m listening,
cover them in cheap glitter to look like they’re glistening.
2
I apologise if my questions invade,
and more profusely for my blunt tongue.
I grew up housed were a ***** was a *****
til' it cracked open my head and rung
my bells as loud as passing parade.
So, again I apologise If I berate,
but that old ***** sent me chasing nightmares
and bedtime stories, deep under the earths layers.
I have no right to question you or him.
But I have the right to dig my land.
If I don't believe, can I sing each hymn?
When I’m scared can I outstretch my hand?
I guess I’ll stand where I am and spin,
till his bellowing voice cries out each command.
3
How I wish I could undress it to the bone,
but the implications of the littlest thing
send me drifting through cold spaces alone.
The smell of nothingness, the feel of everything-
each is an equally long and tiring list.
I hold dear two things: An open palm. A clenched fist.
Each to aid and oppose the other,
Like our true father: Time. And earth our Mother.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
The Woman Of My Dreams
Her voice echoes in the depth of my being
Her **** silhouette gently caressing the frame of my thoughts
She is magic, she is majestic, and she is love personified
How I long to conquer the contours of her magnificent body
Her golden heart the only jewel to quench my thirst for world possessions
Hope she’ll visit me in my dreams again tonight…
Hope she gently strokes my ever aching heart with her soft wings till I fall asleep
Will you visit me in my dreams again tonight my love?
(T.W.O.M.D)
The composition of her stature perfect to my uncontaminated gaze
The purity of her intention written in the corners of her angelic smile
Her hips swaying with splendor from side to side
She is temptation personified…
Enchanted by the glow of her skin my good judgment compromised
(T.W.O.M.D)
In unison our movement choreographed in heaven above
Electrifying our touches tantalizing causing the earth to quake
Our energy with bright shooting stars light up the dull winter sky
Moving to the harmony of ecstatic groans and moans
We are one and the world our Eden
The fever of our union brings forth an early spring as flowers blossom
We paint picturesque art with every gentle caress and deep deliberate ******
(T.W.O.M.D)
The essence of humanity born as we conceive our first born child
A love child born of a perfect love never to be tainted
A beautiful creation born of the most pure of intentions
Her name a symbol of a love divine
An everlasting reminder of a faultless love for The Woman Of My Dreams
Sayamo Dikana
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
Soft reflections of the things we have done
this life is kept within mason jars
Their volumes filled with
Uncontaminated droplets of passion
Our hearts are held within the hands of time
Cupping its beating energy
Purifying the savage rhythm known since birth
We ride along rails to stations
Greeted by shadows of our past
Embracing their kindness and their
Pursuits of diamonds mined out of
Reality's sacred grounds
I spread my arms wide and take capture
of the wind
There's no other option
for the life that I'm in
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 3:15 PM UTC