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Juliet Escobar May 2014
In depths of my unfathomable psyche
Submerged I find myself floating around in the ‘shallow’ societal sea of our world.
Oh but it is not ‘shallow’ you’ll see
It is a deep blue ocean that withholds great mystery;
& those who see it as ‘shallow’
Are only those who stand in clouds of constant oblivion; Ceasing the inhale of beauty, intellect, and individuality.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
Throughout every passing day
I observe, I listen, and I take into account the things that are done and said by every individual person I come across.
Now here I sit, in the complete abduction of the beautiful, yet merciless monster called insomnia, without fail of corse accompanied by her sister solitude;
& I reflect.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
I realize that in order to best express the realization of my reflection…
I must let my walls down; so I will.
And now that I have…
The word to describe the feeling that takes over ‘me’ in this very moment is one that acquires the ability to depict ones exact feelings in a way I do not obtain.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
I feel lonely because I know that the odds of me meeting someone as insane as me are slight; yet I feel appreciative because I couldn’t imagine possessing such an ugly, close minded, and indifferent insight.
I feel a type of sadness that could only emerge from a person that fears never getting to experience the comfort that comes from acceptance; yet i feel overwhelming excitement and longing in the midst of my hopeless romantic type daydream of the possibility that I will find my somebody that does not seek to comprehend or figure me out but will accept ever corner and color I currently am and everything I have yet to become
I feel pitty for the average;
Yes I am not sane
Yes I am not average
And yes the depths of my true thoughts I have not learned to control; but my insanity is and will always be the fuel to my potential.
dan Aug 2015
for you to believe
to a person such as me
is unbelievably touching

fate and support
often seen but rarely felt
i thank thee for everything
ryn Jan 2015
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...
Dedicated to all of you...

If you're reading this...
This is for you...
I have known that the sun can hear thunder
and how its brightness
can be unfathomable,
like my dreams.
Since the beginning of my pulse
I have been honored
with good days
that left me grateful
inside of the sweetness
never stifling.........
within all it means.

When midnight kisses the glass
that morning has already
Like a thirsty spider
crying out........
for the rain.
All of my senses are
swept through
knowing, my words don't fall
on deaf ears......
or stand there,
all wasted.

No, you cannot know how I'm feeling
but that doesn't mean
our world's stopped spinning.
The sun.......
can still hear thunder
in all the ways you love me.
You lift me up
in the midst of a storm.
All my senses are swept through
my words stand in stillness
a storm's ending......
is love's beginning.
Copyright 2012 - Neva Flores - Changefulstorm
Kara Rose Trojan Dec 2014
My Second Letter to Allen Ginsberg
Dear Allen,
Almost five years ago, I wrote you a letter, and in
That letter, I purged my drunkenly woeful cries
That seem so first-world now and naïve –
The things I grimed over with luxuries I didn’t
Realize that rubbed against my plump limbs
Like millions of felines poised at the
Tombs of pharaohs.

Oh, Allen, I’m so tired –
These politics, and poly ticks, so many ticks that
Annoy my tics. Allen! I smear your name so liberally
Against this paper like primer because the easiest way
To coerce someone into listening to you like
A mother
or predator
tugging or nibbling on your ear –
Swatches of velvet scalped from a ****’s coat
Are you and I talking to ourselves again?
Candid insanity : Smoky hesitance.

Dear Allen, I’m so tired –
Yes, I love wearing my ovaries on the outside like
Some Amazonian soapbox gem glistening from beneath
The iron boots of what the newspapers tell me while
I cough at them with the hurdled delicacies of alphabet soup.
Give vegetables a gender and call them onions, Allen.
Sullied scratch-hicks pinioned feet from slapping
Society’s last rung on the ladder.
Ignore the swerve of small-town eyes.
Scapulas, stirrups, pap smears, and cervical mucus – now do you know who we are?

That fingernail clipped too short, Allen. We’ve all got AIDs
And AIDs babies, haven’t you heard? Hemorrhaging from the political
****** and out – they haven’t reached the heart.  
Since when have old white men given a **** about some
13 year old’s birth control? I’m riding on the waves of the
Parachute game and I swear this abortion-issue is just a veil outside Tuskegee University
Being further shove over plaintive eyes, swollen and black.
Pay up and
shut up.

I still remember my first broken *****, Allen.
Can you tell me all about your first time?
The vasodilatation that made veins rub against skin,
Delirious brilliance : unfathomable electricity.
I made love during an LSD experience, Allen,
And I am not sorry. I see cosmic visions and
Manifest universal vibrations as if this entire world is
A dish reverberating with textiles and marbles, and
All are plundering the depths of the finished wine
Bottle roasting in the sink like Thanksgiving Turkey.
The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.
The opening, between you and you, occupied,
zoned for an encounter,
given the histories of you and you—
And always, who is this you?
The start of you, each day,
a presence already—
Hey, you!

Ah, Allen, if you are not safe, then I am not safe.
And where is the safest place when that place
Must be someplace other than in the body?
Am I talking to myself again?
You are not sick, you are injured—
you ache for the rest of life.

Why is it that I have to explain to my students that
sometimes what I'm spouting is prescribed by a pedagogical pharmacy --
but all they want to know is "what do the symbols on the television mean?"
I am completely aghast against the ghosts of future goners --
I am legitimately licensed to speak, write, listen like some mothers --
I am constantly cajoling the complex creations blamed on burned-out educators --
I am following the flagrant, fired-up "*******"s tagging lockers --
Pay up and
shut up.

Yes, and it’s Hopeless. Allen.
Where did we get off leaping and bounding into
The dogpile for chump change jurisdiction, policing
The right and the left for inherent hypocrisies when
Poets are so frightful to turn that introspective judgment
Upon ourselves?
We didn’t see it coming and I heard the flies, Allen.
Mean crocodile tears. Flamingo mascara tracks
Up and down : up and down: bow – bow – bow – bow
Buoyant amongst the misguided ******* floating around
In the swirlpool of lackadaisical introspection.
What good is vague vocab within poetry?
Absolutely none.
Would you leave the porchlight on tonight?
Absolutely, baby.

Dear Allen, would you grow amongst the roots and dirt
At the knuckles of a slackjawed brush of Ever-Pondering Questions
Only to ask them time-and-time-and-time-and-time-again.
Or pinch your forehead with burrowed, furrowed concentration upon those
Feeble branches of progression towards something that recedes further
And further with as much promise as the loving hand
Attempts to guide a lover to the bed?

Allen, I wish to see this world feelingly through the vibrations of billions of bodies, rocking and sobbing, plotting and gnashing like the movement of a million snakes, like the curves collecting and riding the parachute-veil.

Ah, Allen! Say it ain’t so! Sanctified swerve town eyes.
And everything is melting while poets take the weather
Too personally
And all the Holden Caulfields of the world read all the
*******’s written on the walls and all the Invisible Men
Eat Yams and all the Zampanos are blind and blind
And blind and blind and blind and blind
Yet see as much as Gloucester, as much as Homer,
As much as Oedipus.

Oh, Allen, do you see this world feelingly
and wander around the desert?
Colored marbles vibrating on the curtailed parachute paradox.
Lamentation of a small town’s onion. Little do we know, Allen,
That what you cannot see, we cannot see, and we are bubbling
Over in the animal soup of the proud yet weary. I can see,
However, how the peeled back skulls of a million
Workboots and paystubs may never sully the burden
Of an existential angst in miniscule amounts.
Pay up and
shut up.  

My dearest Allen, there is always a question of how
The cigarettes became besmirched with wax to complement
What was once grass, and
What was once a garish night drenching doorknobs.
The night's yawn absorbs you as you lie down at the wrong angle
To the sun ready already to let go of your hand
As you stepped, quivering, on to
The shores of Lethe.
Amitav Radiance May 2014
You are a sailor
Drift way from the harbor
Pull up the anchor
That binds you down
Set sail towards the horizon
Take off the blindfold
And hoist the sail
Let the wind be your guide
Sun and the Moon your compass
Steering through uncharted waters
Sometimes calm weather
Or, inclement weather, rocking your ship
Tackling the deep waters with alacrity
Unfathomable depths, yet the ship sails
Cutting through the waters
The saline water, which is a part of you
Seagulls guide you towards the shore
Anchoring at the preferred destination
Every grain of sand cushions your feet
Welcoming you to the island of bliss
Cut off from the mainland
Yet, helping you connect with yourself
Now it’s time to unwind
And join the party after a successful voyage
Ready to set sail for another expedition
As a sailor, cruise till the end

© Amitav (Radiance)
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
God's love is delight itself
it is beauty itself
it is tender yet fierce
sweet yet wild
steadfast yet unpredictable
enveloping yet freeing
captivating yet boundless
protective yet empowering
certain yet never boring
relentless yet gentle
secure yet mysterious
trustworthy yet exciting
all-consuming yet unfathomable
He is everything
you’ve ever hoped for, dreamed of,
longed after or imagined
and so much more
He is the Lover of your needy,
thirsty soul and He fights
continually for your heart
Carre noir Mar 2014
You are currently travelling at 1040 miles per hour
Glued by an unseeable force to this planet
Whirling through and endless sea of space
Surrounded by dead stars burned out millions of years ago
Planets you'll never reach
That leaves questions you'll never be able too understand
Remember how insignificant everything really is
ryn Sep 2014
Doom train hurtling along
Through the fog in my mind
Towing freight, rectangular and oblong
Dim headlights, you're travelling blind

Five carriages long, excluding engine and caboose
Metal against metal, spitting sparks on steel
Undetermined path, rails will choose
Chugging along on dirt covered wheels

In the cabin, I see the light
Emanating from your furnace
Swallowing up coals in your gaping bite
Tongues of flames licking the surface

Fire breathing, spewing thick black smoke
Almost unseen, against the dark of night
A long plumy arm as if extending to choke
And plug the remaining sources of light

Meandering precariously on tracks that weave
Over uncharted, unfathomable terrain
Your store, so reliably you heave
Worming your way through my brain

What's in that cargo of yours?
What lies within those boxcars?
What drives you to diligently run your course?
What fuels you to travel near and far?

Loads of self pity, self loathing and self reproach
Snaking your way to an unknown destination
Screeching brakes as if a stop you approach
Herald the train of dubious intentions

Light is upon you, dark will dissipate
Your plumes starting to lessen from your stack
The dawn breaking horizon you didn't anticipate
To see another charging towards you on this very same track...
See "Light Train"
See "Collision Course"
jane taylor Jun 2016
born in illusory chains
gnarled metal
encrusted in my broken skin
the copper colored dust
of rusted steel
infectiously envelopes

shaving off antiquated layers
of fundamentalist religion
encrusted for generations
unpeeled until raw
an unsophisticated method
ancient lodged glass shards
colored with deceit

brought before their court
unfathomably skewered
an eerie salem witch trial
in modern times

barbarically they shun me
i wander aimlessly
smelling the rotten decay of deceased community
as splinters pierce my feet
from the crooked wooden plank
i walk alone now

an unfathomable inner ache
kindled a residue within
igniting a wildfire from the darkest shadows
uncontainably erupting
i dance savagely
naked in the orange moonlight
and in every shaded edge
lit my soul ablaze

i am a nomad sheep
‘tho not one of their color
no pasture to contain me
no shepherd i can follow
theological safety nets
no longer there to catch me
i plunge

free falling
stripped wide open
reverses gravitation

i soar amongst
apricot tinged clouds
my skin still wet from rebirth
and rise with the flaming coral sun

you cannot destroy me
i twisted in your decrepit pencil sharpener
and with fresh mettle
cut through the chains that bound

you can have my ego
but you cannot have my soul

dismantling domestication
transcending limitation
wildly untamed
i fly

my husband and i left the mormon church and lost many friends, family, and community
Heavy Hearted Jul 2018
Im a poet and a painter
And a meandering musician

And I've hopes that somehow my
Art'll pay for my tuition.
I know it's not about the facts
Or my intuition
I wont believe all that I'm shown
For I know its superstition.
And you know Im not a doctor
Or even a practition
But heres some medicine myself perscribed
To help with this condition.
The dizzyness and neasuea
And the most dishonest vision..
May this writing reach my soul
In its keen perscision
And help me make every right move
Help make the right decision.

When there's so many unfathomable things we are
I choke on that recognition.
blythe Aug 2016
My pen and paper used to spawn fantasies
Imagery of happiness and sadness,
Random feelings I have never felt,
Emotions I have just thought of,
Made up stories of love and heartaches.

But now that you are here,
I know in my heart that my love is for real;
All words lost in an endless abyss of love -
Coz I know, no word could ever describe
This unfathomable love I have for you.
Fin de partie Jan 2014
From the fourth floor of my nineteen-story house, I peek out of the tinted windows. These are my only windows to whatever is outside, and they're tinted yellow and black. I am the first person on the moon. I am the first person on the edge of the planet. Will I fall off, or am I bold enough to carry on?

That, I think, is what has been bothering me for so long. I do not live in a nineteen-story house and neither am I peeking through yellow-and-black windows. No, these colors do not have any significance either. They are not symbols or metaphors. I have been making everything up as I hammer my fingers onto the keyboard and weave these unfathomable lines of thoughts. I am not the first person on the moon. I am not the first person on the edge of the planet. In fact, there isn't even an edge. I am an insignificant speck of dust. I am not even Horton's Who.

I just counted the number of 'I's in the first two paragraphs- fifteen. Fifteen of the same alphabet repeated throughout. That is, despite whatever you might say, a bad start to an essay (if you'd call this one). "Of course not, repetition is an important literary device!", you might say. Horseshit, I say. These words have no intrinsic meaning. These horribly structured sentences are disgustingly unfathomable. That's the second time I've said 'unfathomable'. Third. My 9-year old sister writes better than I do: "Today, I woke up. Today, I ate breakfast. Today, I horsed around with my dog. I am very happy. I am not hungry, because I ate today. Today, I ate." You can understand what she's saying- she woke up, she ate, she's not hungry, and she's happy. But what of me? I woke up, but just so. I ate and so I'm not hungry, but just so. I am happy, and yet I am not. These words that I write mean nothing to me, and yet they mean everything. Being the extreme nihilist that I am, life has no intrinsic meaning, and yet it is more meaningful than a poem that I once wrote about my tenth-grade crush. I've forgotten her name long since. The most absurd of all is that it hasn't been so long- perhaps a year. What is more absurd than the most absurd is that I am yet to turn sixteen; this I will do in a month's time- yet what is most absurd about the more absurd than the most absurd is the incongruity of the facts with reality. I shall not elaborate on this, for it has become nothing less of a meaningless telephone message constructed at the time of a drunken stupor.
Leah Rae Feb 2012
Baby Didn’t Break Me.  
He Knew How To Put My Pieces Back Together,
Like He Knew My Broken Edges Better Than I Did.
Where I Was Sharp Or The Frayed Pieces, My Seams, He Could Restitch.
So Much Beautiful Sorrow, Our Lives Were Draped In. And Somehow This Smile Can’t Be Stolen.
Our Lives Were Filled With Moments That Held Flames, These Were The Days Of Wonder, So Baby Don’t Cry, Don’t Cry.
It Was All Just Short Of A Miracle, So Much Was Held Between These Palms, I Knew My Forever Wasn’t In Wishing Wells Anymore.
I Didn’t Make Mistakes, I Was Just Made Of Them.
And Somehow Between All The Lines That Blurred, He Could Make Me Believe Differently. You Could Be The Type To Grow Up Wishing In An Afterlife, To Become Someone New, But My Right Now Was What I Needed.
Hearing His Heart Beat Was Like Knowing I Wasn’t Alone Anymore. It Wasn’t Made Of Skin And Bones, But Silk And Gold, And It Could Take You Up So High That You Had To Look Down To See Heaven.
I Wanted To Be Interwoven Into The Fabric Of Who He Was, Stitched Into His Past,
I Knew He Belonged In My Future.
There Were So Many Layers We Put Up, Layers Meant To Impress, Stripped Off When It Was Only Him And Only Me.
They Say Monsters Were Inside Of All Of Us, But I Finally Learned How To Empty Myself Out, Self-Loathing Was No Longer In My Vocabulary, The Distance Could Stretch Out Inside Me, The Distance The Size Of Bravery And Remind Me That Wounds Around Wrists Are Nothing Except Pretty Regret.
Ink Had Always Been My Best Vice And Most Honest Virtue, But I Could Write For Hours And Never Understand How To Describe The Unfathomable.
He Was My Best Story. <3
Who can fathom the thoughts of the moon as it sit's in the sky on a hot afternoon?

Or the lovers quarrel  of the sea on the shore? or a river who's banks have flooded the moor?

Or the voice of stars  as  they fall from the sky; do they laugh or do they cry?

Who can understand the mind of a dog, or the chicken or hen or the old barn hog?

Only the mind of a poet who thinks like a shroom,
Who breaths the fire of flowers without bloom.

Try this offer from natures boon.
Just relax and you'll understand soon.

Then take a walk through the woods and ask the trees,
for they have more secrets then they have leaves.
I just kinda started writing with no thought in mind, I let my muse flow freely for this one.
Umi Apr 2018
Down like an anchor,
Vision is shrinking as your eardrums burst through the grusome pressure, increasing the deeper you go in the deep, blue, merciless sea
A match unwinnable, a fight to the finish, to ones very last breath,
Tackled something so much greater, it has pulled back, after capsizing we made the decision when it came to swim or sink, that we drown,
Swallowed by the ocean,  these great unfathomable depths, taken away our last breath of fresh, salty, stinging, yet very pleasant flavour
Our blanket is a billow, a stormy night which caused this tragedy,
Darkness under darkness, where light upon light once ruled supreme
Until our bodies have been taken apart, by this greedy sea and its desire to take us in, make us a part of it's glorious wide spread self,
Never to see the glassy surface once more, or will we be ship ghosts?
All lies and all sin, all dreams and all majesty, are swept away by swelling waves of the expanse someone may call the pacific ocean,
All ego and all deception, all freedom and all light is lost in its dephts
But we quietly, gently rest with pride in our hearts.

~ Umi
Isabelle Jan 2017
Her eyes are a metaphor,
   a conceit, fantasy

No shakespearean sonnet
   even a lyric, will suffice
   to describe the elegance she carries

Her smile, the greatest curve,
   all simile will be denied

Haikus and couplets
   even the long ones
   will not be enough

Her laughter is a song,
   a perfect harmony and melody

She is neither a hyperbole
   nor full of irony
   instead she is perfect rhyme

She is a walking poetry
   a personification of aesthetics

Almost an abstract
   unfathomable beauty
   out of the ordinary
So glad I'm able to write this one after a looonnngggg time.

***! ***! I can't believe this was selected as a Daily!!! I am beyond happy!! Never did I expect this to happen. Thank you everyone for taking time to read and appreciate this piece of mine ❤

Again, my overflowing gratitude to all of you
Did you give yourself to the river’s edge, and then wish you were here
When the morning hour blossomed into a gleam
Are you now afraid my love will not pull you through
When your hands are reaching out
For your dreams

Last night you walked deep within the shadows of distress
The expression on your face astounded me
But, I saw contentment in your eyes until the very end
Although I could see your heart bleeding
You reached for nobody

You are a beautiful yet unfathomable burning flame to me
I am a moth captured within your light
Following your footsteps on to that river’s edge
Hoping you will not give yourself up
Without a fight
Copyright *Neva Flores @2011
Faith Gabito Dec 2014
It creeps into our minds and compels us to turn and walk away, even if that means letting go of the things we yearn for the most
Somehow, it manages to whisper lies that we deem of more than the pure truth
The things that we have perfected no longer embrace value, for our words cannot escape from our locked lips and our bodies become more frozen than ice
Opportunities become grains of sand that slip through our fingers
We endeavor to perceive what is in the vast and mysterious unknown
Our views are distorted, and we believe that we are only fools for dreaming of something so great and unfathomable, even when we have prepared for this our entire lives
That something is our future, but there is one thing that possesses the power to stifle us
Terry Collett Oct 2012
Look at that Tortoiseshell
Jane said
as you stood
in the churchyard

of Diddling Church
you watched
the butterfly
pass by

and took in
its beautiful
don’t you just love butterflies?

she said
holding her hands
together as if
she were about

to pray
she was wearing
a short sleeved
flowery dress

and her dark hair
had a pink slide in it
which you gazed at
as she turned her head

to follow the progress
of the Tortoiseshell
along the sky
Never saw many butterflies

in the part of London
I came from
you said
mostly white things

with patterned wings
well now you can see
many different kinds
she said

turning to look at you
her eyes settling on you
like the butterfly had
on the flowers

in the churchyard
sure I can
you said
maybe I’ll get a book

on them
you added
she smiled
and came to you

and took your hand
and you sensed
her warmness
in your hand

felt her skin
touching yours
and she led you
over the grass

and you both lay down
a little distance
from the nearest

and she said
my daddy says
the sky above
our heads

is the promise of Heaven
and you gazed at her
as she studied
the blue sky and white clouds

moving above
and you sighed softly  
at her nearness
and an unfathomable love.
Jo Baez Jan 2016
Silhouetted feathers, dipped in Unfathomable pain, rain inside my room.
And the monster under my bed has awoken again. Feeding on my mind and the emotions I emulate
His cold, dead, hands wrapped around my brain
I can hear his voice inside my head his wondering thoughts keep me cold like bed sheets

Sometimes I wonder
If these walls could speak
What would they say after catching wind of everything they've absorbed
When I yelled my rage, distress, and disbelief at them

Sometimes I wonder,
If this ceiling had eyes
could it see
Me in a bipolar state of mind
as I write in this notebook
my moments of sadness, malice, and agony

Sometimes I wonder
If these walls were alive
have I slowly been watching them die
As I stabbed them a million times
With my lingering thoughts

And if these walls could walk
Would they walk away and leave me here
In such a lonely world
laying in my bed drowning in this shame
Buried in bones
As the skeletons inside my closet
dance above my body, & soul
in this rain made of nostalgic feathers
And the monster under my bed has replaced the monster inside my head.
David Barr Nov 2013
This specific autumnal celebration is characterised by throbbing obscenities, where a masquerade of piety resembles the trembling jester as he performs before medieval royalty.
Oh, to witness the salmon run in Northern ecosystems where the caniform classification stands in a dominant stance at the edge of the falls.
So, my independent and competitive contemporary, let us bow with sober reflection at those anthropological schools who swim upstream in this spiritual river in the vain pursuit of unattainable freedom.
Today, on this second Monday of October, the name of the game has been brutally ***** by propagandist salesmen.
So, at this juncture of existential consumerism, we stand within the jaws of our ever-smiling aristocracy. But, if you dare to open your eyes, my friend of unfathomable denial; you will find that the tradition is called Thanksgiving.
jane taylor May 2016
hitherto i naively challenged
my decision to enter an ominous existence
a vicious maze veiled in obscurity
inconceivable to navigate without the accumulation
of bruises, heartache, and psychic mutilation

the torment’s ache so unfathomable
i begged to evaporate beseeching death’s arrival
and with the dexterity of a masterful wizard
i magically spun threads of my shredded soul
into a mangled ball of mental lacerations

then stealthily in the opaque of the night
i rushed the frigid black ocean’s high tide
and deluging myself in the ebony water
i buried the battered ball
now deeply eclipsed in the onyx abyss

it sapped all my strength to hold it under
drowning in the wave’s of sea motion
stinging salt alive on my pours
gasping for air i surrendered my grip
releasing my marred orb of élan vital

capitulating to the sand on the beach
i ceded the fight and watched the sphere roll
unraveling it glistened against the white sand
an opalescent tapestry lit by twilight
mirroring the stars against the coal sky

in the lustrous lunar midnight
reflected back by silver moonlight
littered with specks of fluorescent insight
astonished i drew in my breath as i read
words interlaced in the untangled web

the wounds are there
creating a looking glass
peer in
and you will heal
your own consciousness

Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.like i insinuated prior, the English are a people not competent in philosophy, they're the antithesis of what a people, inclined to philosophy represent... schematic, rigidity, like the German... or the frequent cafe bullshitters of the French, the English can't consecrate themselves on the altar of Sophia, they just can't... they're a people that succumbed to too much practicality, egalitarianism... no one attempts to write in Utopia, while not seeking to find Atlantis.

so the whole Greece, Troy,
Rome shuffle is about over?
i'm feeling slightly peckish
and i don't have the time...
i'm about to light the house
up using... light-bulbs...
don't you think that a name
akin to: Paul, Digit,
sounds great?!

don't get me wrong,
the English are a people bound
to other, gifts...
they can sing,
although... Aud Lang Syne
is a Pict song...
and the river-dance is pure Ire...

great sophists,
but philosophers?
they're too practical,
i'm trying to read
Sartre's being & nothingness
in English...
i simply, can't...
      it doesn't make sense...
if you gave me a copy
of the same book
in ******-speak...
i'd butcher it...
   but in English?

metaphor moment:
like catching the testicles of
a mosquito, wearing boxing

fiddly ******...

sure... each country has its
career ambition...
russian and the romanians
and the bulgarians have
their gymnastics...
the brazilians and the germans
have their footie...

the English have their singing
and their poetry...
but philosophy?
      nope... not even close...
Oasis' wonderwall
will be remembered,
and even sang along to on
the continent...

                   but thomas more's
or thomas hobbe's leviathan...
ever tried to read more than
twenty pages
    of joseph conrad's
         heart of darkness... ?
ever find eating porridge
equivalent to parachuting
   in terms of the level of excitement?

chill... the English have their virtues...
but the English are also
prone to call philosophy
impractical, verbiage, word salad...
because philosophy already
is an impracticality,
an impasse...
          it's supposed to be,
           it's not exactly an Ikea schematic
reading to assemble a *******
             it's Picasso, cubism,
       see if you can see a cube in
the mesh of contortions of other geometric

              the English do not do philosophy...
sorry... they don't...
whatever argument arises citing
the "need" for: "reason" and, "logic"
will not cut it for me...
reason? since God doesn't intervene...
well... the unfathomable depth of
human will... reason: the same freedom
as posited prior to: the unfathomable depth...

logic? 1 + 1 = 2...
      a + n + d | s + o = and so...
the English are barons over other traditions
of expression...
music being 1, poetry being 2...

hey, Polacks are decent at volleyball...
i'm not complaining,
it's not exactly a popular sport...

but no... no chance in hell will i read
a philosophy book in this language...
i can't, the language is already too shrapnel
for me... i need to clarify a focus
on an idea...
        language, the English language,
can't entertain the current "transcendental"
logistics of undermining the individual /
plural use of pronouns,
while also keeping a straight face
in other areas of thinking...

     i could have conceded to the whole
globalist liberalism of ideas...
but... looking at the other flank?
attacking grammar... ****... sorry...
                as if... i will bow down
to un-existing before my wedding with death.

that being said,
i think the English are in a dire need to relearn
their black sense of humor,
their islander sense of isolationist humor,
their: bizarre unpredictability...
  since they lost it...
             to a certain degree...
i'd say: relearn to laugh at what is,
otherwise unforgiven in other cultures...
more crass Americanism...
and... well...
                can you ever learn to
cry when experiencing beauty?
musically, that is, esp. in the musical
                    i always hated this:
"you're laughing, but actually crying...
you're crying, but actually laughing"
        i never came around to fathom this
          straight down...
    i'll laugh at a funeral...
            teasing death...
   but i'll cry over a decent piece of music, to boot.
oui Sep 2014
and my mind drips with doubt as the silence roars louder
I pick at the left over black nail polish as my hands shake
its unfathomable - that you - are now a stranger
but I'll still fall asleep in this Beach House and think of you

and now these thoughts are spilling onto my hardwood floors
their scent the same as that black sweater of yours I'd always steal
Woody Sep 2017
Memories altered
my landscape,
made ruins romantic,
turned the moon into
the only friend
who still keeps secrets
like the Night, we call it
infinitely unfathomable,
as the splash of oars
goes un-echoed at high tide
all along the Atlantic.
manicsurvival Aug 2013
Thousands of miles away
Human beings are being gassed to death
And photographs of mourning families
Are published by the hour
And even though
The world acknowledges Syria's current condition
Very few have seen the pictures
Blood and tears and unfathomable terror
Ignorance at its finest
America at its finest
Why cant we be a nation of proactivity rather than reactivity
Why does it take so much
For people to realize
That genocide is occurring
And that lives are being torn apart
As we sit calmly at our dinner tables
Abundant with pea soup
And roasted chicken
And lack of caring
zebra Jun 2018
while deep deep asleep
a beautiful woman appeared
with silky black hair
shinning like licorice lacquer,
crystal blue eyes,
cherry plush lips
silver iced razor blade earing's
knuckled skull ring through her nose
and an undulating golden snake spiral wrapped around her throat
slinky like a spry kitten, and demure in form
with curving hips
in a slow-motion sway

falling up
i'm light like a puff cloud
in skin that fires the night
as walls faded and  symmetries cascaded into spiraled eddies

she whispered
high handsome hows it hangin
in a voice like cool jazz
come to momma
she called in a jealous growl

yes, mama, i said
trembling with love
as jungle vines
wrap like a circulating boa
inhabiting me

mama what a thrill
i wept
i breathe her in like dusty *******
garden roses and fertile earth

i've come for you my darling she said
you want me, don't you?
biting her lips
with big hopeful eyes

oh yeah i do
i'm in love with you
i've always loved that dark thing that limps within me
i whispered

she smiled rubbing my oiled ****
with long-fingered strokes glaring

well i love you too sweet boy

we kissed so softly, so warm, so slow, and fragrant
deliriously voluptuous
her tongue
like a fluttering wing in flames
her kisses
gleaming razor bites that excite with pain

she looked at me quizzically
there's something funny about you
crazy boy

what, i said
funny to  
Satan in a Red Crimson Dress?

you're not right, i cant find your soul
she exclaimed, panicked
oh that, i said
look closer my love  
i held her hard into me
like solder fuses metal
look  deep between my eyes

she said
her eyes shapeshifted into black electrical tape
as her head exploded into flames

what do you see, i asked?
she studied the inside of my skull
like a Williamsberg
Jewish diamond dealer

thine eye is single
the self-effulgent light
irreducible and perfect
shining greater than a million suns
you're a ****** cyclops
with divine sight

**** me, she squealed
i've always wanted to **** God
i'm your
queen snake belly dancer from hell
and there's nothing you can't do

we ****** like colliding  suns
brooding bleeding dying being born
tears fell like sheets of glass
constellations  gave birth to constellations
reanimated endlessness

we  missed each other
my sweet darkling Nuit
i groaned

oh yes
my beautiful lord
she sobbed

and we drowned in each other's embrace
in  tears that reunite
tears of enormous pain
tears of unfathomable love

i held her, our lips lept wild tongues
our genitals consuming each other like fire melts stone

cratered moons shook the worlds of men to pieces
and all creatures melded
all nouns became verbs
high and low fell vanquished
heads and tails faced each other
darkness and light clutched in copulation
good and evil merged
all spines of fire
and up through the skull
beyond the vails of paradise
convulsing in endless incalculable raging *******
quickening eternal multiplying force
giving birth to endless chromatophore's  of incandescent sky
that expanded both in volume and rectitude

dis-juncture became infinite smoothness
history stopped repeating itself
consciousness and subconsciousness became indistinguishable
three dimensions  became innumerable
cats  ****** dogs
planets ceased crossing each other
escalation heaped on  escalation
physics gave birth to trans physics
and everybody understood everything
without a single thought

we cuddled up sweet as candy
kisses never ceasing
and all of time disappeared
this poem is a metaphor for the ascent of the serpent power
PrttyBrd Mar 2014
Sprung forth from wishful thinking
Overwhelm the mind
ConnectHook Sep 2015
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold…

May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance,
unsought, unheard, undreamt:

'Tell me I'm not in a dream. Or one of my trances.' She uttered the two sentences between gasps and seem-to-be quickening pulses. In midair, the tension between them kept growing intensely, trying desperately to meet its peak every second, before finally disappearing into the sightless distance above it. 'You're not,' the man said, his voice distant even when his face was only a few inches from hers, and cupped his free hands around her chin to calm her pale face. Her cheeks were warm in his palms, as if being burnt by hundreds of heaps of dying, yet ravenous flames. She closed her eyes, recording the touch of his perfect skin that seemed able to charm her endlessly since the first time she had fixed her gaze on his shimmering features. The angelic voice which accompanied it woke her a few seconds later. 'And even if you are,' he traced his soothing fingers along the reddening skin of her cheeks, 'I'll bring you back to life. Which is here.' He emphasised the last two words with a smile, a heartbreaking, infuriating smile - because of its astounding beauty, before tenderly touching his cherrylike lips to hers, making her start to tremble uncontrollably in deep confusion. She was, again, in the middle of these steep rocks without any aid to support her unstable weight, meanwhile the air over their heads began to twirl in circles, the weather around them getting pink and turning red in five seconds' time. She was lost. In someone else's magical world, with a rendition of one of The Beatles' hit singles from the 1900s or 1950s - she could not exactly recall which period of years it came from - playing smoothly in the CD player in the languid atmosphere of the living room behind them.
After a moment of enjoyment the kiss brought them he pulled back, before slamming his left hand into the tiny depth of his shirt pocket and taking a silver locket out of it. He threw a confident smile at her, and in one blink of his eye, the room fell dark. Petrified yet washed out by the sudden darkness among them, the girl let out a heart-rending shriek, which was followed by her heaving her body onto him, making his head hit the floorboards and the long necklace break in half. In seconds, blood-red light began to shuffle out of the center of the torn necklace, mingling with the air outside its shell and sending the woman into gradually-coming unconsciousness. She could now only see shadows, muttering and brimming all over the weather around her, and had not the strength to stand up apart from lying helplessly on the feathered carpet beneath. Before her, she saw how he started to rise and reveal his claws, and fangs, and bright red eyes above her. He laughed mercilessly. Instantly, she covered her sweating face with her hands - which now felt too shaky and she hated it, she loathed it very much - and brought out a despondent, lamented sound of cry. Her evil lover, at the same time, continued to soak up as much energy as possible from the change of circumstance.
'Again, I successfully, harmlessly tricked you,' he whispered this to her right ear. Around them, the horrendous wind potter faster and faster meanwhile their invincibly powered circles got bigger. 'You should thank me for that.'
'Th... Thank you for what?' She abruptly gathered her courage to confront him. If this meant that the end of my life was approaching, I would be ready, she thought silently.
'For letting me bound my ways into your life again, Em,' his angelic voice replied, and before she realised what was coming next, she wailed with all of her might when she laid her eyes on his real monstrous, vampiric face before her.
'I am indeed sorry to say that you - a clever and sanguine girl like you - was granted the chance to relish your life only momentarily,' he cleared his throat. 'You have always known that you could not outrun us at the end..., and so have your family.'
'No,' she mumbled, and drifted her gaze to his face - his now burning face. 'NO!'
'No,' he mockingly repeated her words, 'or YES, my dear?'
'Don't call me using that 'D' word, beast,' she put her best effort to yell at the top of her lungs, ''cos I am not your dear, and prefer death to becoming one of you!'
With those last few words, she scrambled to her feet, and stood up in just two swift movements. In her both hands, which he did not know were protected by the two stashes of garlic and one wooden cross in her dress pockets, were two shiny swords with special blades carved onto their two edges which were designated to **** vampires. Get rid of them. And their malicious world of beasts.
She stepped forward, and new powers began to regenerate inside her - despite the cries she felt start to roll into her heart, upon knowing that her beloved Joe had died. Joe had been deceased now. He was lifeless, and no longer able to help her here. She should never have ditched him. It dawned on her now, when everything was already too late to fix up. But she knew that she should never give up. Javier and his vampire family might have tasted every single drop of her other family members - and the rest of Ludirus town's residents - including her Joe, before she idiotically kicked him out for this pathetic, heartless beast who wore a disguise to displace him. She stretch the first sword - the one in her right hand - out to him. He took a step back, his eyes remained focused on her.
'You won't hurt me,' he pretended to be in pain, and in one and a half seconds, he transformed into the figure of the innocuous, blue-eyed prince once more.
'I won't be deceived by your looks, pig,' spat her, meanwhile her brain rummaged through a thousand ways to stick the two swords into his chest. That was, in fact, the only way to **** him. To drain his evil life out of him.
'You were, once,' he laughed, the sound of his devious laughter echoed in the very room, and later left it in such dread and wariness.
'Not anymore,' she bravely took a step forward and, without any further doubt, without caring about her being imprisoned for the rest of her life before getting her blood dried by the fangs of Javier's two older brothers, she stabbed the swords into his chest with all the energy she had left. And the effects sprayed out by the action were beyond any of her expectations. Thousands of blood droplets poured out of his body and onto the floor beneath her, flooding the entire living room and finally the streets outside the building until no litter, little scraps of food, and wheels of vehicles were seen anywhere in sight. Surprisingly, these endless streams of blood did not cause any floods, and rapidly soaked through every single layer of soil the earth had on its surface. The blood that had been consumed out of the poor people of Ludirus, the rural village in South Ireland, famous for its cruel killing rampage for several thousand years, where a group of aristocratic vampire ruled the lives of humans and their own species. But now, there would be no more of them. No more of their horrible treatments. No more of their sneaking-up-on-humans tricks they secretly did at night - to savour human blood, which was lawfully removed from the protecting-human law renewed every year. It was all a lie. Yeah, a lie. A lie that allowed Javier's family to approach Lucinda's family members to be victims in their lifelong killing spree. But now, there would be no more vampires, thought Lucinda as she kissed her holy cross and sets of garlic affectionately. There would be no more blood sacrificed to fend for those beasts' hunger, even though it meant for her to live alone. Live on her own, as she no longer had anyone around her to turn to. To soak up her tears when she was scared away by the bunch of vampire kids on the way home from school. To calm her with her melodious chords at the piano. Mother. To serve her the best spaghetti in the world as a reward for her outstanding grades at school. Sister Sheila. To rub her back and put her to bed at night - at the age of sixteen! Father. Luce's tears just would not stop while she kept counting her memories, as every single shadows of her deceased beloved came back to her. And finally, the sight of her Joe lying his tired head on her lap, and reading out loud to her his newest poem he composed at the office for her. All were gone. Dissolved into the ravenous sea of blood in the guts of those psychotic, simpering, abusive monsters.
But she was satisfied. She felt, somehow, proud of her heroic, or at least, brave actions. She had taken control of her fear, and that was one of the most important characteristics a woman should have to succeed in this cruel world, her father had once said. Now she could prove to them all that she was a newly reborn person, and was no longer the old Lucinda. Lucinda Hale who had always been the 'tail' of her sister while they were six and four, and the little, spoilt daughter of Jim and Aileen Hale who could not hold a plate properly in every banquet their family was invited to. Luce knew that she was now completely a stranger to her family. She squinted her eyes shut, trying to imagine how nice it would be to show off her new self to her late family if only they were all alive with healthy pink cheeks now. In her own peace and this momentary solitude, she found herself sinking onto the floating warmth of blood, but strangely, she did not fall. She did not plunge into the limitless red colour underneath, and remained flowing above it while her tears started to crawl out of her eyes. She did not know, and did not want to know how long this remained until she eventually felt the rough surface of the bearskin carpet again. She woke up with a dizzy head and quickly threw a hasty look around her living room. The prince, beastly Javier had vanished. Oh, there are his remnants, she thought and unconsciously, chuckled quietly to herself when she came to take hold of several white, lifeless bones laid in front of her. Then suddenly she understood what had just happened. The legend in that book she had borrowed from the library transported the knowledge back into her mind. All the members of Javier's family had been crushed now. They were dead. Her sacred tears, which came to mix with the blood flood, became the cure for all the people who had been ****** by the vicious vampires in town. They were now freed, and reawarded, although still mortal, but yet a very rare, elusive, privileged chance to be alive once again and start their lives all over again. They must not be far from her now, thought her. Without any further wait, she raced out of the room, and wormed her way onto the street.
And here they were. The streets of Ludirus were no longer deserted. Traditional markets with a thousand-metre long series of antiques roamed them, occupying every single tiny space provided to place racks containing jewels, valuables, and gold pots. There were also shelves of books about cookery, traditional healing potions, sports, literature, and anything else someone ever wanted to buy. And then she spotted a book with a bright yellow cover, entitled 'Love Poems: From 1900 to the Present, by Joe Grogan.' Her breath seemed to stop at that time and suddenly, before she even got the opportunity to touch the cover of the copy in front of her, two warm arms wrapped her waists and turned her body around to face the owner. Once again, she was at a terrible loss for words. 'Joe,' she mumbled.
'I am,' the writer nodded solemnly. And just like the evil Prince Javier had done before, he pulled out a beautiful silver box and opened it. Inside, two rings shined beautifully before their eyes, radiating a smile as bright as the one seen on others' faces among them. A smile that celebrated the comeback of their long-lost independence. Before she knew it, Joe knelt before her, and presented the ring upwards onto her.
'What would you like to do first, Madam? Marry me, or buy my book?' He grinned and held both her hands. Before she could answer him, he inserted her left ring finger into the perfectly made ring, and helped her right hand fasten his own ring onto his finger. She lifted him up and wrapped her hands around his neck.
'Do you have time for both, Sir?' She rubbed his smooth cheeks and kiss them before looking deeply into his hazel eyes.
'Absolutely,' he answered firmly, and scooped her whole weight into his arms and spinned her around. Luce could no longer say anything when a sudden wave of happiness washed all over her, and became even at a more unfathomable loss of words when she caught the sight of her beloved father, mother, and her sister, all alive, start approaching to deliver their congratulations. Here we are, she thought with a satisfied feeling. We were, are, and will always be meant to be together.
George Krokos Feb 2013
A brief statement about certain controversial questions and issues relating to some core religious topics such as:
What is God?
Where is God?
Who Is God?
and a new or old philosophy and perspective (depending on the readers views) offering an explanation to these age old questions.

The proof of That which is not restricted to any construct of the human mind and is beyond imagination is Divine. This is sometimes revealed to a select few in the form of a revelation or philosophy from time to time and is what history calls religion and is also uplifting and blissful.
The ordinary human mind and intellect cannot comprehend or fathom that which is beyond it but only staggers at the attempt, bewildering as it is to the ego which is the seat of the mind and limited individual personality. (See Note #1)

Standpoint 1
It is generally stated that neither the existence nor the non-existence of God can be proven. But if there is absolutely nothing or everything is somehow taken away, then whatever is left or there is that remains can only be the place, source or state from which everything is brought into existence and sustained for a while within its own infinite being and by its own infinite or unlimited latent capacity of power, knowledge and blissful freedom of imagination and creation.

Standpoint 2
The state of absolute nothing (colorless, formless, odorless, indivisible, unfathomable), if there ever was such a state, would then be the complete and infinite unmanifest state or prior condition of this Boundless and Eternal Being or God from where all the universe, as we have come to know and see to date, has come and in which it still must exist without any exception regardless of what there appears now to be.

Standpoint 3
All the planets, moons, suns, stars, galaxies, nebulae and whatever else there may be are nothing other than, relatively speaking, like the atoms, molecules, compounds, cells etc that go to make up the body of a living physical entity, and in this specific and particular case, the manifest cosmic being known as or called the universe, and the so called black holes would then be found to be the arterial pathways of the energy or substance known as dark energy and matter which is of a non atomic nature (See Note #2). It should also be noted that the simplest and first atom or atomic substance or element is hydrogen, which is made up of just an electron and a proton, and is the most abundant atomic substance in the universe. In other words from the one formless substance of dark energy and matter come hydrogen, helium, lithium, etc (in the order of the atomic scale), from the simplest and lightest to the most complicated, densest and heaviest.

Standpoint 4
This then is the reason why we should consider the infinitely large of the outer universe with all the cosmic forces and objects known and unknown on the one hand, while its opposite, the infinitely small, being that of the inner universe, in the form of man’s mind and emotions together with the sub and atomic forces on the other, both co-existing at the same time without an apparent beginning or end, that make up the whole visible and invisible creation which is seemingly expanding, until the endless end, in something greater than itself, for how else could this ever be? (See Note #4)

Standpoint 5
The preceeding points help to validate the statements in the scriptures which say “as above so below” and that “we are made in the image and likeness of God” (ie: our soul or spirit within), and an aspect of Einstein’s theory of Relativity that mentions or postulates of ‘the curvature of space’ and certain aspects of Quantum Physics. The preceeding points also bring together both views of the so called ‘Big Bang’ and ‘Steady State’ theories that have gained popularity in modern times and where the former seems to be the more widely accepted view.

Standpoint 6
The five so called elements of Earth, Water, Fire, Air and Ether mentioned in certain philosophical texts and which correlate to the five lower energy centers (or Chakras) of the human body are complemented by two higher ones being those of Light and Sound of the two higher centers. This also explains the scripture where it is written “in the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God” and where “God said let there be light and there was light” (See Note #3) which indicates that from the ‘Word of God’ or primeval sound came light, then ether, air, fire, water and earth in a descending order. The last five mentioned elements deal specifically with life and conditions on our own world and also other worlds where one, some or all of the seven kingdoms of evolution are to be found in various stages of development. (See Note #5)

Standpoint 7
If man is made in the image and likeness of God then whatever can be seen outside can also be seen inside in the sense that there is nothing but God that really exists and that the essence of God is in man's soul and spirit. An analogy of this would be to look at a drop of an infinite ocean (without boundaries or divsions) and to recognize or realise that the drop of the ocean is nothing other than the ocean itself which may apparently seem to be separate or limited due to a bubble of ignorance and limited perception (the effect of duality or God's Cosmic Illusion or Maya). The illusion of duality becomes less apparent and is indeed negligible to the point of non existence as man evolves spiritually and realises his oneness with the essence or real part of his inner being which is non other than a drop in (not separate from) this indivisible infinite ocean of God. When this 'essence' is made the focus of an individual's consciousness and is continually invoked upon by various means it then becomes activated or awakened, so to speak, from a dormant latent state, to one of a highly charged and source seeking intelligent energy that is returning back to its real home or state from the lowest center of consciousness (gross, dense and material) in the human body to the highest centers being those in the higher parts of the body which are of a much finer or subtle consciousness and associated with light and sound (i.e. the primeval sound and light of creation) which come from God or the state of infinite consciousness.  This is also the state of Absolute Nothing mentioned in Standpoint 2 above from where Absolutely Everything has come from or manifested within its own Being and the Infinite Existence (all that exists does so within God) due to the infinite latent capacity of power, knowledge and blissful freedom of imagination and creation (Standpoint 1).  
(#1) See also my other prose titled "God is the Highest Good".
(#2) The universe is the infinite creature or creation of God. It resembles more or less the atomic structure of a living infinite organic entity and is the physical manifestation of an Eternal Un-manifest and Unfathomable Divine  Existence or Boundless Being which is the Only Reality or God.
(#3) See The Old and New Testaments of The Holy Bible.
(#4) We use a telescope to see into the body of the universe being incredibly large and use a microscope to see things or signs of life that are incredibly small.
(#5) The Seven kingdoms Of Evolution are: 1. Gaseous forms including stars, suns, planets etc, stone and metal. 2. Vegetable forms 3. Worm forms including all insects and reptiles 4. Fish forms 5. Bird Forms 6. Animal forms 7. Human forms.
This is my contribution to the world of philosophy and to those who are curious about the nature of religion. Written in 2010. I will welcome any commentary or feedback on this whether it be good or otherwise.
K Balachandran Feb 2014
Her eyes practice to perfect the visual language of desire,
his lips are ever eager to munch the sweetness of her words,
her  limbs, vines in need of a trunk to climb, eyes his chiseled torso
the waves of intense desire, he feels,  lashing against his heart seeking her.
Ellen Joyce Jun 2013
I placed you in a boat of pinks and blues with a smooth white satin sail and let you lie beneath the sky so pregnant with infinite possibility that the night might tear at anytime and unleash a loveliness so heavenly it would turn us to a pillar of sugar and whip us up into candy floss beehives for the angels to play dress up with.  We are the multicoloured whispers, each one a syllable in the cacophonous swishhhhhshhhhhshing melody of the dewdrop chiming, petals kissing rhyming, intertwining of all that is beautiful uniting in the crescendo of the wind.  The soft sensations of angels breathing warmth on skin, shimmering shadowing of the ripples in the satin of a sail brought to life as if to hail the glory of the universe.  Water and wind and the will of the world gathers momentum and movement to wrench down to the depths of our heart and I feel the unfathomable maul to our caul and begin to tear us there in the place that has held us for so long.  There is no flood of blood pooling at my feet on the just forming glistening path being marked with frost and crocuses and the knowing that you are not here but that we are still we.  You are drifting into the inbetweens, where reality is a ***** word and your story, our story still unfolds in the pitter patter merry dance of keys and tongue beating our being into a rocking chair and a lullaby.  I have dreamed you almost to life, and though not alive, we are five.
This is a scrap, snippet, fragment of something that's been sparking for sometime and is in need of a quiet space and time!

— The End —