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Natalie Jan 2018
I adore you
With your forward brow,
Eyes of nightshade and black treacle.
Your image floats and unfurls in the ****** spaces
Between marks posed in gazette.
You stare back at me knowingly,
Cunningly,
As though watching the course of my life unfold.
You have stretched your hand through time
To let it fall in a cold gust across these pages,
Betwixt the folds of my cerebrum,
Your spectral lips prompting faintly
In the nook behind my ear.
-O goddess, O muse!-
O fellow soul…
You have found me.
Ira Sep 2018
Writing a story on a topic,
Hazing away at the microsoapics,
I write stories that aren’t meant to be fun,
Just the basic humdrum.

Reality is my Inspiration,
No matter the mood I’m in.

Dragons and Wizards are to be left on the bookshelves,
As I run to work,
And meet my colleagues for a day of writing reality.

We walk the world in actuality,
And see people with all different vitality.
People of all different ideas of reality.

They speak,
I listen,
I ask,
And they answer,
And we both learn about reality together.

I then write what I heard,
Tell what I saw,
And let the ideas fly like birds.

I've seen all people of life,
I've heard many of there trifes.

I laughed at their victories,
I cry at their lost,
And I hear all their vivid histories.

I write all types of reality,
From the memories of all different types of vitalities.

And as I write about how reality unfurls,
I write about the greatest dreams of this world
I'm in Journalism so I wrote a poem, about it.
jane taylor Apr 2016
The chill in the frigid night air
casts tremors of lingering shadows
upon an ancient windowsill
where a liquescent candle’s glow dims.

Peering into shattered mirrors’
silver hued jagged edges
that no longer reflect counterfeit images
a nascent paradigm unfurls in the wind.

Terrifying diminutive steps are taken
in directions au courant
enabled by years of refinement
in torrid near incessant fires.

An excrescence of wisdom
has broken the weathered mold
allowing a senescent wisdom
to shimmer a phosphorescent glow.

The venerable map leading
to this transcendent destination
is not read but perceived
through intuition’s faint whisperings.

©2015 janetaylor
address to soundcloud version
https://soundcloud.com/user-229781433/whispers-1
Umi Mar 2018
Pursue the delicate moonlight shining beyond the scene, illuminating the grass of the coming spring in an ghastly silver yet majestic green
Clouds with their sterling lining, the cummuters of the heaven, preventing the sun, or the moon sometimes from shining down to us,
Seemingly caught in an endless journey they travel with the wind,
Yet under these drifting clouds in the sweetest of lights, the world remains to be in slumber, a story which never truly unfurls after all,
Can you gaze into a face fraught with sin, possessed by the one you share this dazzling night with on a day alike the tale of a dream ?
Wrapped up under a celestial sphere, here where dreams and illusions collide within the sweet embrace of your strong caring arms,
Finding rest I can leave my body to the flow of time as it passes,
Grandually sweet seasons may take away ones breath with grandiose,
Until the wish projected within your eyes finds its way to become reality, I will stand beside you with serenity and grace, till I may fade,
I may not be able to hand over these feelings, but the grasp of tomorrow bears some power to it, certainly transient time passes,
Let the depths of your heart guide you to a bright, fantastic future,
Until then, shimmering brilliantly, shimmering behind the horizon,
The Sun rises

~ Umi
Arianna Jun 12
I.

Humidity coats my limbs with desert rain
as June unfurls in jasmine mists
the stench of summer
about the fragrant bed
where I have tasted draughts of Eternal Slumber,
and drunk my fill of half-dead visions.


II.

Indigo night settles vulture-like
over the silver plains,
swallowing the horizon beneath its wings.

Delirious in the face of Death,
I trace life lines through the stars;
but no path presents itself from the torch-obscured darkness.

Thus, choking on the fuming heat,
I succumb once more to leaden sleep.


III.

Recollections seep from deep-sea marrow,
flooding eyes wide open behind their lids
with blurred impressions, vague distortions.

Bound up in turquoise silk of the Nile,
the slightness of a blink
sails Time and Space
from silken bower to moonwashed grave.

Leopard without spots,
I shed my myrrh-oiled skin upon the banks:
gossamer crumpling into lotus waves,
summoning surrender
slick and serpentine.

A persuasive lover, the River clings
effortlessly along my sinking frame,
dropping gently through the currents
to plumb the peace of still waters
and quiet, spellbound dreams.
A(nother) devastatingly hot day.

Daemonia Nymphe - "Dios Astrapaiou":
https://youtu.be/6zEXzwH8nIc
Umi Mar 2018
By my dear angel Sandalphon as he has been lead in my hand, leaving a clear trail of a cursive writing on a transient sheet of paper,
A crimson sight, so black that one would be caught in trance, reflected by unnatural light of a lamp flickering in the dark of the night, as his feather releases a sweet scent of fresh yet unused ink,
Together with Zadkiel's blooming and happy memories I then am capable to write such down, in an attempt to create poetry, focused,
The sound of scratchy, itchy, rasping echos through this room I inhabit, but already left spititually, engaged in the world of fantasy,
Word by word, the paper is penetrated by this pen, pleasantly, thoughtfully, gently sliding over it to not damage it by accident,
There is no need for haste, heartache nor rush, not is there the need to be concerned about this angels work, duty and his mission to accompany me throughout each and every writing which unfurls,
Alike a story from my mind, from my emotions, deepest wishes, cast on the physical realm with his help,
And once his strengh weakens, fades, loses might and goes out alike an dying ember he will be dunked in fresh ongoing determination, so that he can repeat his duties with exuberance, joy
Casting a smile on my face once literature has been created,
As then I lay my dark knight, my servant for the night to rest,
Until another poem has to be written and his duty awakens him,
After all, in this dreamlike tale it is well to remember;
You don't have to die in a dream

~ Umi
Zeleyha Mata Feb 7
Running along the precipice of joy
Clouds of seagull feathers
Stuck between my toes
Her salty blush
Flushed across my lips
Living breathing divinity
Right at my fingertips
Heart of gold crashing on the reef
Seaweed leaves swaying in her eyes
Waves lapping at her curls
Watching as her wild unfurls
Lighthouse in my storm
Stay with me
Oh untamed beauty
Stay with me
Deep sea of pearls
Arianna Oct 2018
Boatman, would you take me
With you on the water?

I’ve questions to ask you
Of the heavens reflected
In the shimmering waves,
And the rippling inferno beneath them;

Of dark eyes, and butterflies,
And inexplicable grief of the soul;

Of Fate, of Time,
Of being whole.

Boatman, you have lived full long;
The years have made you wise.
From the stillness of the water
You’ve watched the world on land float by,
You’ve seen the dervish of the sky,

And marked it well, these ways of things
Of man-on-earth-in-the-Universe.

But the longer I live,
The shorter the days:

Winter heralds early, and
This year ain’t saw no spring:

There ain’t no rest for no body,
Ain’t no grave
But the river's mire
For the last violets of summer.

          And sure enough those violets,
          Which but yesterday I've admired,
          Dissolve into streams
          Of purple tears upon the waves.

My eyes, they darken at the sight;
A brooding fog unfurls before them:

          So small, no match against

          Bare stalks
          Frailer still,
          Skeletons of the spring that wasn’t,
          Reminding

          Of their bursting, wildflower majesty
          Stripped.

My mind overflows with Autumnness:

          Act II of a cosmic tragedy,
          Ancient,
          Interrupted:
         ­ Cherished by the anima that remembers,
          Inaccessible to the memory-in-making
          Of a still-short life
          Confined to here-and-now.

          In Time,
          Will we see unfold
          The resolution?

Boatman, can you tell me true?
K Balachandran Nov 2018
Purple mango leaves,
The tree unfurls on one morn;
Tender smile at the porch!
Iska Feb 2018
'Why is it so painful to grow?'

A seed.
Just a seed buried under the ground.
Under the pressure of the soil,
It fights to grow.

The seed cracks,
such a sturdy little seed,
opens with a painful snap.

A sprout coils out.
Out of the cracked little seed.
A sprout now crushed under,
Under the pressure of the unforgiving ground.

Yet still... It grows.

A little sprout,
Now reaches up.
Up and away from the little seed,
and up to the light of the sun.

Pushing and groaning it bursts out.
Out from the unforgiving ground.
Yet now new dangers are to be found.

Will it be trampled
Or eaten alive?
The possibilities are endless,
The ways it could die.

And still.. it grows.

The sprout toils endlessly,
always stretching and growing
Reaching for the crimson sun.

The rain falls down
beating upon the sprout.
Pelting it's skin and whipping it about.
It skin hardens painfully,
and sprout becomes stem.

And still It grows.
The stem keeps reaching,
Stretching to the sky.

The stem then splits
It rips in two a bud appears
A little bud,
With so much to do.

Then the bud breaks
A crack appears
a petal unfurls from within.

Then it's a bloom.
Such a sweet little thing.
Until the crack stretches
So the bloom can grow
In to the beautiful rose
We've all come to know.

And still.. it grows.

Thorns burst free
Breaking out of the stem
And petals billow and grow in the breeze.

Then you see me,
And my beauty delights you,
So you wish to see me every day.
And your scissors encircle me
To give you your way.

They cut me in half.
They slice me in two.
being a rose,
There was naught I could do.

You carry me with you,
Your hands coated in my blood,
I'm dying slowly,
All for your love.

And now... I can't grow.

So as I bleed and wither in pain,
You place me in a vase
Or press me in a book,
All to save the bloom for another day.

And as I gasp for air,
Among your dry pages,
You leech me of all life,
Perfectly preserved
just so I could last the ages.

Or else I am drowning
In glass and water
My beauty wasted
hour by hour
Day by day
All to satisfy your whimsical ways.

And now all I wish to know,
'Why is it so painful to grow?'
beauty is born
torn and tired
tirelessly turning 
into itself
she unfurls 
her long and shapely legs 
like a chain of
tibetan prayer-flags
waving to the Sun
immediately she begins 
to stage the play
that penetrates the heart 
with strong arms
and a silken mane 
the color of sea-spray 
her neck is the foam filled ocean 
and her ******* 
are coral reefs that protect
the polyps that cluster 
in her unfathomable depths 

modern day education
is beyond biased 
and most definitely broken
impermanent knots 
are haphazardly tied
to bind the minds
of dancing children
short-term memory
instigates a fleeting vision
some call it autism 
others prefer anarchy
a fear of growth 
or is it really indecision
that when you can no longer respond 
to life's most pertinent questions
with anything other 
than no thank you
eventually every syllable uttered 
becomes the stuttered sound 
of overly clichéd ambivalence
that frequently masks 
itself as wisdom


despite our higher self's 
best wishes
such limitless awareness
our very own bodhichitta
slowly becomes 
an interminable trickster
also known as Ego 
which incessantly repeats

phrases like 
i’ve earned these blessings
i've learned these lessons
aeons ago
therefore it is best to
meditate and inspect one's thoughts
on a daily basis
before all these shadows 
have a chance to grow and become
funeral wreaths
still the ego says
oh what fun it is to look at
the shimmering shawls strewn 
haphazardly like wedding veils
upon our watery souls
as if you and I were a couple of
Jackson ******* paintings


to heat the flame
inside the
limitless
space of your soul
you cannot
deny your heart
the swamps, vines, rocks and peaks
it seeks for eternity
the ancient trees drink light
and breathe out the heaviness
of splintered sight 
into the ephemeral night
divine breath
is calling you home
sounding trumpet flowers
daily...

gathering falling branches
and transforming sticks of palo santo
into star-studded candles
which permanently leave 
their ashen and iridescent marks 
like tattooed scars
upon the painted face of the sky

while angels fly
with flaming bundles of hair
weaving silent smoke signals
rising up from warm coals
the spiraling eyes of the spirits 
are alight with the embers of love
which impress their radiant etchings 
upon the daguerreotype of darkness' 
burning eyeballs


faceless in the heat
grief is asleep and dreaming
of justice
a curse on those 
who evade their emptiness
in culturally appropriated places
harboring...

regret like a fugitive 
such frustration that i wept
for the lack of fruitfulness 
******* the chords of love
slowly and gently she strums
her weeping guitar 
as if arrows and yarn
were woven into her arms
like baby blankets and bundles of cotton
naked and forlorn 
her hair worn short
still she swore that she could not rest
until all had sweat their prayers
through hollow caverns and windy staircases
her vision forever strengthened
by a ceaseless determination

balancing multiple lovers
is never an ideal situation
hearts broken and freedom falling
toppling down from heaven’s peak 
into these dusty old basements
just as we suspected
everything is resurrected
to time’s smiling amazement
both old ones and new ones
are reflections of truth
juniper sours
and blooming flowers 
of golden waterlilies 
poppies and sprigs of amaranth
jaundiced and porous
loquacious are the stages 
that we must pass through 
on our way to becoming 
dew drops and frozen apples


remediating all this concrete nonsense 
would be to our immediate economic advantage
these tragic promissory notes 
where landed lords of wealth 
have repeatedly replicated themselves 
upon trillions of meaningless pieces of paper
their stoically printed faces 
should not be readily trusted
nor traded or exchanged
for life's necessities
they are not only useless but truly 
dangerous
as they often claim
that they are only passing through
yet as each new day dawns
they are forever inclined 
to once again dine with you anew


bold in flesh and sinuous
only a moment before
the Sun shall bloom and whisper
with sleepy eyes
into yarrow flavored water
the secret of not knowing
the ancient face
of grandmother Moon speaks
through alabaster teeth
so intent on biting through sheets of
dawn’s iridescent sky
that the sounds of her words
are instantly drowned out 
by her tears
yet if you listen 
really closely like an owl
to the chorus of the night
you can clearly 
hear the forest echo

i love you
―Go Forth
Flourish in The Light
Of The
Estival Sol,
Elysium of the Soul,
Once you have vanquished
The Stygian,
Your Soul
Awaits You―


~I bid you
Immortal Heartsease
And
Armistice of Ataraxia:
The Reverberation of our Souls
In the Key of Elysium~.





I. Archean Prelude

The echoes
of your
Memories of
The Light & Airwaves
Pine to
Bloom in Reminiscence
Over the
Days of Yore.


II. The Echoes of Existentiality

We are all atomic particles;
Molecular Particles,
Of an aromatic
Omniscient,
Omnipotent,
Omnipresent Mist:
The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love

―Echo forth comrades―

~Evanesce,
Into the Empyrean,
Etherealized Lightscape
Until the
Visage of Creation
Enskies us
To the exalted
El Dorado~



II. Tempus Fugit

The Promise
Of the
Morrow
Is nigh:

The Yesteryears
Wax
Distant Ages,
Wax
Archean Aeons;

(Eventuality of Existence)

Our Bygone Days
Of Lovelit, Loveless Life,
Antiquate and
Our Soulwaves
Wax
The Spirit of
The Ancient of Days.


III. Nova Cosmogony

Betwixt the Realms
Of the
Beneficent Matriarch Mirror,
Beyond
Terraqueous Gaia
Unfurls the Vista,
Your Fulgurant Dreamscape:

Only the Sapient of Sages
Doth denude:

The Incorporeal Incarnation
Of
Virtue, it’s vesture,
Na’phesh

The Decrepitude of Withering
Dovens the Divine
In the
Vestibule of Vanity,
Sanctimony & Superciliousness
Thence deliquesce;
Bearing womb of Light.

IV. Celestial Morphology

Unveiling the Substance
Of Space and Time;
Spirit and Soul;
Euphony, Harmony;
Atrophy, Intrepidity
All are Entity

Once
Pristine yet vacuous,
Flourishing into
Mystical and shimmering
Nothingness, gropes
For Meta-Astral ―form;

Ventus Divinitas,
The Cosmogonist’s Agenda
Resonates
Through the
Inchoative Universe.

V. The Temporal Hither:

Her Genesis
Waxeth
Vestal Vicissitudes:

She is
The Twilit Quiver
Uprising in
Darts of the Dawn,

Until
Arrows of Antemeridian
Light Cascade
Our epidermis
With the incendiary
Sovereignty of Sol.

Dusk:
Chars the Canvas
Of Ethereal Skies,
Garnetiferous,
Moonlit, Martyred Mind’s Sky;
The Eve’s Imperator
And
Inquisitive Spirit Eyes.

By Luminaries
We’re ensorcelled
Corpulent with thought.

~Wondering upon,
Vacuous a fathomed
Cosmogenesis. ~



VI. Tempus et Spatium:


~There are
Edicts unseen
The Esoteric of the Macrocosm

Only the
Transcendent of Tellurians
May tell of
The Life-Rending,
Sunder forth:

Semantics in Constellations;
Gaian Whispers of Sylvan Tale
The Arboreal Wisdom,
Musicality in Zephyrs ruffling Trees of Vale
Hearken unto further
The Winged-Symphonic Bees
(The Bombinating Orchestra)
Soul Untethered = [ Meta-Consciousness ^ Spiritus de Liberty]

Einstein’s General Relativity= [Spatium ^ Matter ↔ Energy ^ Motion]

~

(Time & Space
The height,
The width,
The depth,
And
The breadth)
The Empyrean One
Enshrined in Pantheon
Our Virginal, Vestal Souls
Efflorescent Eternity
In our hearts?
(Ecclesiastes 3:11)

Time is fickle
A
Hydrean Leviathan:

Whilst ye
Voyage her
Seven Seas,
Moor naught
In her
Elapsed chronology;
Her caprice
And ire
Shalt not
Be quelled.

Be roused
From
Somnus,
Unto her
Perpetuity of
Aqueous Abyssal, Dream Deep Sea;
Tenuous,
Diaphanous,
Rare,
Tender,
Instinctive,

∞ Her Moments ∞
∞ Extinguished ∞
∞ At Birth. ∞

∞ Eternally, ∞
∞ Reincarnated; ∞
∞Anew.∞

∞The Cosmic Spectrum∞
∞Is Infinite∞

∞Excelsior, Godspeed∞

∞ Elo’him ∞





VII. Ultima Thule:

We
Empyrean souls,
Doth abide
In
Pearlescent raiment.

The Cosmogenesis is our Dreamscape:
.
We are all a cosmos,
Expanding, contracting;
Ebbing, flowing;
Hitherto and thitherto;
Red-Shift and Blue-Shift.

Until the Mellifluous Morn,
Whence the
Zephyr of Life
Reverberates the Musicality
Of The
Arboreal Sages.

Terraqueous Gaia
Whispers
The Hope of the Ages.
Spirits betwixt
Greater Eden and She’ol.

Count the stars,
Enumerate every
Constellation in The Cosmos
Of your Soulscape scintillating
Upon thine Mind’s Sky.

Whence Luna and Sol
By the Wisdom
Of your starlight.
Are benighted, beseech
The Ancient of Days

For within The Supernal Wavelength
Of the Hallowed Dove.
We glean refuge
Our Aegis,
Providence.

Awaiting the
Golden, incendiary pinions
Of the
Revenant Phoenix to resurrect us.
Allow the Holy Spirit
to be your Polaris,
― to Elysium.

~By Agape’s Armistice:
Ascend,
The Peaks of Heartsease.
Commune with the Cosmos,
Wax
Salvera y Jiustizia
Brethren,
I plead.~”


~This Sacred Lotus seed
Was sown
Into the
Into the Soil of your Souls
, ―By the Astral.

You are a melody,
Sung by
A coloratura,
Burst into a
Tapestry of Fioritura:

Of Hope,
Faith,
And
Love



(May you
Reap
The Virtues of the Lord)

Betwixt

Na’phesh,
(The [Your] Living Soul)

&

Kos’Mos’
(The World)

The Apotheosis of the Astral Flame
Awaits
You
Starry-Eyed
Phantasmagoreans~
Celestial Morphology © is the multi-epistled poem which I sired during the Estival vicissitude. Twas an ineffable cadenza that exhales of the incorporeal essence of mine entity. I had been toiling in sweat, blood, and tears over a written project at the time; consequently, this is the thematic poem begotten.
     It transmutes the zeitgeist of my summer into the Golden Raiment of Polymathy. The oppressed coals of my woe erupted from the igneous core of my heart as these adamantine words. This starry soundscape is the astral crux of my work during 2018.
      I think that there was a vast expanse of my understanding of the world that had been repressed. It had almost been veiled from the heightened sight of my Over-Soul. This was in my sheltered, infantile longing to elude heartache. To keep the flesh- sundering maladies of the world outside my apartment walls: love, passion, iniquity, penitence, forgiveness, piety, cultural fission, intolerance, injustice, indignation, divinity, melody, mysticism, schism, mania, trepidation, faith, wisdom, darkness, and temporally transcendent pain.
          This was my transcribed anarchy against a Fascist Regime. A country exalting body that calls its denizens creationists whilst they slaughter every creation under the sun. The sociological edicts that dictate how art should be produced, the pace, that tell us not to speak of discrimination and mold us to turn a blind eye to the harsh realities of 21st-century postmodern society heavied the air. I just needed to vent and let every bit of internalized asperity or self-directed hatred out in a beautifying paradigm.
      I'm realizing more and more that life is tough and quite frankly, short. I'd rather write for an infinitude on one poem, for the sake of saving myself, rather than compromising my own integrity (and creative latitude). The writing was becoming a drag: less about quality, and more about quantity. Thus, after months of phantasmagorical drought, I bestow a glistening glade of sterling words.
I hope this poem reverberates upon thine soul waves. Please comment as I am open to any feedback; moreover, I beseech it of thee. My deepest gratitude comrades.

Excelsior Forevermore,

Sanders Maurice Foulke III
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018


One can never see nor hold the same
the same flake twice, but that cannot
be said for the Queen whose skin
is as white as a star and just as cold.
A plum blossom who thrives off
the winters and blizzards.
Her silver locks tousled in her wind,
her eyes were icebergs of the deepest
blue and yet they burn with kindness
Her thin lips form a smile when a
flake falls in her palm, her open
hand becomes a fist.
But then unfurls like a flower
in spring to reveal a plum blossom
petal that glides away to the song of
zephyrs.
Winters may be cold but it brings
warmth -
lovers grow close,
families bond
children laugh
Memories form...
The Fae swirl leaving trails of shimmering
blue as she looks to the distance.
Her white robe billows, so cloud-soft.
'The Summer's sun has become Winter's,'
she closes her eyes and exhales.
'I feel your warmth and pride, Sister Summer.'
'My dears?' the Fae flutter by her head
in waiting. 'Be sure to have apricity embrace
them all. In hour of the Summer's Queen.'


Here's the second free-verse! ^-^
Nausea has cleared up alot more so I'm taking things slow and steady.
Enjoy! Let me know what you think
Lyn ***
tinhearts Dec 2018
Happiness is extinguished
While the heart still needs to shine
Dampening as the years establish
A cloud covers the divine
Like a cocoon
Being kept
For a later time
Believing in a God
Not yet understanding or ever taught the IAM
Who and what was this clever protective pod
Always condemned
Stepping out of childhood
Nobody cared what means are suffering ahead
Building a relationship
Between the heart and soul
Always thinking lightly yet now under Satan’s toll
Life has a way of drifting
Flowing with the tides pull
Never really knowing
The voice that kept control
Understated authority
Above the sinking sand
Strongholds of a purity
Underneath enemies hand
Slipping through loopholes
Unimaginable escapes
Drawing to another plan
Altogether youthful place
As if another lifetime omits mistakes
Eyes opening beyond
Renovation undertakes
A hairpin turn pulls
The shades
Brighter is the view
Whispered promises made
All to the planned purposes anew
Now focused to make the grade
Light everywhere
Showing where to go
No need for conversation
There’s an entrance to the know
Obedience sets in secretly
No observation shone
God’s plans have no time
Perfectly set for salvation’s zone
Years muffle confused
Believing sets the corse
Earthquakes upheaval
The beginning of the truth enforced
Years months minutes no time
Wave lengths of revelations
A new attention rewind
Focused on the truth’s elevation
The Light and Life unwind
Opening up new worlds proof of constellation
God’s behind all time
What a relief unfurls
Finally In safe hands
Embraced by the Light of the World
His peace amidst turmoil as He holds time in the palm of His hand.
*
tinhearts~©️



The unfolding of your words gives light;
it imparts understanding to the simple.
Harriet Cleve May 28
The American Dream has woken up

It's naive electorate, sold a pup

Trump is Putin's soviet ****

The Hammer and Sickle on the White House Lawn

No marching boots have crossed a U.S border

Yet Russia rules in this New World Order

Democracy has been put to bed

It's very sick and now spoon fed

Dr. Totalitarian's bedside manner

Unfurls the Red Flag's Communist banner

The American Flag is on the floor

Putin smashed in your hall door

Farewell America!, don your boots

Pack your bags, free speech and truth
Evan Stephens Apr 10
This is
a blank
diary
day, a
day to
refuse
history,
a day
to buy
the sun
on credit.

There is
a vagrant
flower
in the
fragrant
bower
below
a dappled
maple
that
reminds
me of
you -
a traveler,
beautiful
wherever
it posts
its blossom.

A day
where
Lorca's spell
unfurls:
"Green, I want you green,
green wind, green branch”

The sky is
casually
tossed
into a
patch
of wild
spearmint -
this is
a day
where
we join
the high
things.

This is
a day
for a
child's
lace
dress,
a day
when
the bricks
sigh with
their
architecture.

This,
this is
a day
for coins
of clouds
to pay our
admission
fee to
heaven.
Quoted passage from Lorca's Somnambulist Ballad
Michael Bauer Jan 29
You've all been warned
The end is nigh
But do not be afraid to die

The deep state is orchestrating genocide
In the name of a bigger world
But the playing field will be leveled
By Jesus as a girl

We are anonymous
You can't stop us
We fall like rain
Then go back up the drain

Ra, Elohim, Ja and Judah
I summon thee to sit like Buddha
And here we all will chat
Where I sleep on my living room mat

You've all been warned
The end is nigh
So do not be afraid to try
To sew up what's been torn

I came down with the Nephilim
So many years ago
To try and build a better world
The code is in my O

I summon the gods of antiquity
To fall upon their knees
And dissolve into the endless creator
In multiples of three

The deep state is committing genocide
They want to build a better world
Someone has to even the score
As singularity unfurls
Lauren M Oct 2018
Locked out of my own mind: let me back in!
The keys crack
        off, break and jangle,
        flat palm against a door: let me back in.
        Checking all the doors, solid.
And wait, is there noise coming from inside?
Glass shattering? Wood splintering?
Mystery cracks and creaks, not giving a hint:
what is wrong!? Is everything okay?
        Let me back in!
Checking the windows, do they slide? Are they unlatched?
No. Something is not right ...but what could it be?
Both palms on the glass,
eyelashes against the glass: curtains
made of smoke. Heat. Smack with both hands,
punch. Pick up a rock and throw it:
it’s only glass. It will break
and I will get back in,
will see what is wrong and how to make it better.
Beat out the flames and put everything back in order,
back in place. Then all will be peaceful
and I will relax with relief back into myself, all back to normal
except for one shattered window.

Hesitate, rock in hand to wonder:
is it worth it?
All the sounds have gone quiet:
maybe it is over, maybe
nothing is wrong. Maybe
I’m about to break a window for no reason,
        cause a ruckus for no reason,
        throw a fit, make a scene, get up in arms,
                                                                ­               for no reason.
And maybe it’s better not to know,
to wait outside until it passes,
                  whatever “it” is.
Just hold still and wait, like an animal caught out in the open,
bracing against foul weather. Commit to it:
living separately for a little while.
Think only of the next second
and how to get there.
Grow a second skin, maybe.
Watch the plants, watch
as the moss unfurls
like someone shaking out a blanket,
the trees thicken.

Again, the sounds,
        the signs that all is not well.
Someone is locked in there,
someone unable or unwilling to communicate with the outside.
A crack, something shifting.
Thoughts and memories realigning,
resorting to sorting through disorganized databases,
disbanding old patterns and expectations.
Inscrutable.
My mind still locked,
I have to guess what I am thinking.
                           what I am feeling.
                           what I am missing.
Peer through the windows for a glimpse.
Ask again, what is wrong?
without receiving an answer.
Just smoke leaking through the keyhole.
Falling asleep on the doorstep in spite of the wind and noise.

And when finally the storm is over.
A creak.
A door, open.
Umi May 19
A clear trail left in trance is how I shall form words,
Elegantly, majestically casting them onto a blank paper, focused on creating poetry, a time recording friend has gone missing,
Now the lonely sound of my scratching against the thin paper, lead by transience of its decay is the only sound we can hear.
What once was a world to create fantasy has drowned, black as ink into the darkness of a never ending tale, time and time again,
As if to hold on to embers, scared to lose all light when the last one goes out, for a cold, uninspired, spiriling dark of ones mind,
With the mission to accompany her throughout each and every writing as it unfurls, comes to life and simply blossoms in pride,
As I see a smile cast on her face, the determination to keep going alightens a flame, but unceartenty overcomes my weakened body,
When the trace of my mark begins to fade, I wonder how long it will be, until there is nothing more to say, do or think about,
Even if this dreamlike tale of endless, ongoing poetry were never to end or falter, never to be distorted nor interrupted;
Even if you don't have to die in a dream,
one is bound to wake up sooner or later,
As a tired hand carelessly, roughly, lays me down,
I wonder how many poems one can write,
Before running out of the ink of the mind.

~ Umi
Written from the perspective of my pen.

— The End —