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blue mercury Mar 2017
unstill life with a peach pit.
//

i paint you in every colour before you leave my field of vision.
i spit out words i don’t understand like i love you, i need you.
you dance with me in my bedroom, spin me around until i’m blue
in the face, you say you love my glow in the dark, i say but you
shine brighter.

maybe we could sip on the cyanide in our peach pit smoothies
while i carefully contemplate? i don’t quite understand this but i dream
anyway because there’s nothing better than our flashlights.

i’ll make you a thousand mixtapes and we can dance to modern
day synth pop and we’ll feel like we’re in the eighties. i’m a nineties
baby i just made it there. syncopated words, and clever cacophony
spill out of my mouth, you’ve got my lip gloss on the corner of yours.
stay careful, i don’t know what any of this will mean in two weeks.

but, we’ll go out singing,

*baby, we’re golden,
baby, i’m holding
on to you.
baby we’re golden,
baby i’m holding
on.
baby, we’re golden
baby, we are,
we are,
we are...
side a of a mixtape poem
Edward Alan Mar 2014
Canto I: Exposition

A dampened quill and wrist unstill
Dare gallop ‘cross the page
Scribbled lines in black do shine
With much and fervent rage

And without fail, they tell their tale:
A passage tried and true
Lasting years, through hopes and fears
On page of yellow hue

Epic tales and loss at sea
Are listed in its text
The hand that writ this hallowed script
Can be no less than hexed

It begged, it sailed, it led a crowd,
It took a lady’s life
It stole, it smote, and always wrote
In volumes more than rife

He took this hand to unknown land
To carve a profound path
He set the sail for times to come
Yet tore himself in half

He lay awake in warm Toulon
In misty-morning May
The yellow birds in shrillest words
Alert him to the day

For too long days and longer nights
He’s waited for the word
The morrow here will mark the first
Of correspondence heard

Bonaparte has rallied here
To Toulon’s bustling bay
Three-fourths a score of battleships
To Egypt make their way

Before the high and mighty men
Joined with the water’s ebb
A note was slipped beneath the door
Assigned to M. Lefèbvre

Finally, a true decree
Has blest his merry course
Soon, eagerly, he’ll set to sea
Lost time his one remorse


Canto II: Aleron

Out to sea are thirty-three
That with me sail the tides
With these men, I trust my life
They follow where I guide

And so we’re gone from warm Toulon
Just days from the decree
Noble men off far ahead
And me with bourgeoisie

Bonaparte has aimed his fleet
To Egypt’s sandy shores
Through pirate gangs and ill intent
His roaring cannons tore

We follow in this taintless route
As far as we can trail
But soon we’ll turn half-way to stern;
To Gibraltar we shall sail

Days upon the Aleron
Are short but riveting
My men maintain their cheery air
And working still, they sing

No more of cloudy restlessness
No more of shady days
The blazing sun and windy waves
Have chased off my malaise

We pull our sheets and head from east
To curve around southwest
Past Ibiza, whose northern shore
Our Aleron caressed

The choppy sea grows thinner
And our nerves become unstill
The pirates of the Barbary Coast
Could leap in for the ****

And now, a sign above the line
Where water meets the sky
A tow’ring plume of certain doom
Is growing ever high

The heavens choke with blackest smoke
As fires burn a boat
The raw, impending fear of Death
Is clawing at my throat


Canto III: Skull and Bones

‘Tis hours later and we’re chased
Beneath the star-dogged moon
We tried to break away to north
But broke away too soon

Unknown, we tailed the pirate ship
Then saw the far black dot
The crow’s nest signaled skull and bones;
We held onto our knot

We much too late had turned around
My Aleron spun slow
Sheets so white in plain of sight
Had sold us to our foe

Our heaviest of itemry
Into the sea we cast
Rusty tools and iron spools:
Submerged, and sinking fast

Yet still we could not make a pace
To lose the rotten crew;
On our backs, they sailed our tracks
And split our wake in two

And so the misty moon is here
And watches like a ghoul
As we divorce our southern course
For Pillars of Hercule

The flick’ring light behind us
Like a glimmer in an eye
Stares and preys upon us
In cover of black dye

It grows and throws upon our ship
A light of fear and blood
It digs into our drowsy eyes
With sharpness of a spud

We hold on to our frantic pace
Till night invites the day
When to our right, in bright sunlight,
An ally heads our way

With Godly sound the cannons pound
The scoundrels far in back
Our brothers there in ship so fair
Repelled the foul attack


Canto IV: Gibraltar

In safer seas, our Aleron
Met with Le Taureau Bleu
We buy and sell and trade our stock
And praise and thank the crew

For safety’s sake, along we take
Two cannons of our own
We’ll stand a better chance against
The skull and crosséd bones

On we sail, on more and more
On through the placid day
No longer faced with poor intent
We make our merry way

Finally, from the vociferous chum
Upon the tall crow’s nest
“Land **! Land **!” Enthused, we know
Gibraltar’s over the crests

I decide to park (good-will flag on ark)
At the British colonial base
With cannons in stow, civilians are we
Attacking is surely bad taste

Just then, as I stood face-front on the deck,
A shrill squawking was cast
To the back I turned, and quickly discerned
A yellow bird up on a mast

How dare it perch there! I’d **** it, I swear
But I’d fire not a gun
Britons who spy me would surely deny me
Fair entrance, if that’s what I’d done

Instead I’ll sit tight; my crew is all right
They don’t mind the bird at all
I’ll listen and bear it, and try to forget
That the bird is the cause of my fall

Closer we draw to Gibraltar’s port
The Britons are within clear view
With a wave of a flag, they accept us in
But my anger cannot be subdued

I ready my gun; to the bird I have spun
And fire my shots to the air
The Britons, upset, rush onboard and get
Me constrained; and ensued despair


Canto V: The Crimson Owl

Silver chains kept me detained
As questioning carried on
Was I a spy for whom I ally?
Or was I simply a con?

I kept face as the questioner paced
And the brute slapped me around
Lastly, I smiled, as after a while
They had no evidence found

With regret, they set me free
Determining I was no harm
But seconds before I went through the door
A fellow rushed in with alarm

Cannons, found inside my ship
As rifles point at me
Again, they had me cuffed and chained
And threatened hostilely

“Smuggling arms to enemy ships”
Was written in their book
Chained and gagged and stowed was I
No better than a crook

Between the pillars I was passed
But not as I had hoped
Both my arm and legs were bound
My fragile neck was choked

In the bowels of The Crimson Owl
I slept in dark distress
No other day, with truth I say,
Had I known such duress

The days had passed and I’d amassed
A hunger, fierce and true
All my thought was set aside
To find something to chew

When suddenly, the shrillest sound
Came flying from afar
A cannon shot had hit its mark
The mainmast it would mar

Sounds of death came all around
And finally toward me
My blind removed, I held in view
The pirates of this sea


Canto VI: Captain Riceau

I stepped aboard by point of sword
And left the burning Owl
“Bienvenue à Le Chat Fou”
Said a fellow through his scowl

But when I talked, they stopped and gawked
Surprised at me they were
A fellow French, I was embraced;
The Crazy Cat could purr

They brought me on, my captors gone,
And took me as their own
And for the time, I went along
And made this Cat my home

I was kept live, and was used for
My knowledge of the sea
For vengeance ‘gainst the Britons
I complied happily

For months - perhaps three seasons passed
I rode upon this ship
Captain Riceau valued me
He named me second skip

For cause unknown, we crossed the sea
Old Captain held his tongue
He would not tell us why we trekked
And chased the setting sun

He brought us ‘round the chilly tip
Of Chile’s southern shore
No reason from his crazy lips
Though long did we implore

Then at last, the day had passed
When Riceau caught a cold
His eyes were red, his limbs were dead
His breathing: hoarse and old

I became the skipper then
And buried him at sea
We cut up north to flee the cold
But at a loss were we

Confused and crazy we’d become
Just like the Cat, rode we
I thought to keep Old Captain’s path
And that meant mutiny


Canto VII: Mutiny

Two days it’d take for them to make
The foul and bitter plan
That I’d be through with Le Chat Fou
And they’d return to Cannes

I lay asleep, in sleep so deep
Dreaming of Calais
The maiden fair with yellow hair
Who one day would betray

In this dream, I heard her scream
And went to touch her cheek
But standing as a statue does
Her gaze was still and bleak

They dragged me back into this world
Then dragged me off the port
My lungs too filled with shockéd air
To object to this tort

They threw my pants and diary,
And sandals, as they laughed
For shoes could serve no purpose
On the ocean’s liquid draft

The flick’ring light before me
Like a glimmer in an eye
Stares but grows more distant
And retreats into black dye

An injury had placed me in
A lesser swimming league
Then again, it’d only serve
To cause me great fatigue

Three days, I had rode the tide
Of the western ocean’s waves
No shark, no squid, no slimy thing
For my flesh did crave

The crests came up like daggers
And fell like hulking trees
I prayed to God almighty
I survive the vicious seas

Finally, I set my stare
Upon the northwest sky
Far away, but clear as day:
An object in my eye


Canto VIII: Abyss

Although I swam me ‘cross the sea
As fast as my arm can
Dry throat and sun win victory
O’er me: a fainted man

Trapped in darkness once again
I spy my fair Calais
Screaming, shrill in bleakness then
With not a word to say

Over me her head hangs low
Her arm is slightly raised
Blood drips off her elbow
Her expression leaves me dazed

She’s gone; the air is hard to breathe
The wind is biting cold
A canopy of restless leaves
Is stirring uncontrolled

Lost inside this world of wood
I struggle to emerge
Feels like years have I withstood
While searching for the verge

No chirpings from my yellow bird
No noises all around
Not a sound is to be heard
But footsteps at the ground

No rodents gnawing at the bark
No insects in the trees
Alone I sleep in brush so dark
With nobody but me

In the drying mud I’m laid
Despondent of my fate
Looking through the verdant shade
The sun does penetrate

Streaming down, the light is rich
Bespeckled on the floor
Dancing ‘round without a hitch
Its presence I implore

I call upon the pouring light
To lift me from this hell
To nullify the chilly blight
Incite the warmth to swell


Canto IX: Land Forgets Itself

The burning light lends me its faith
Yet suddenly absconds
The dulling light projects a wraith:
My soul from the Beyond

The day retreats and turns to night
The moon in place of sun
Mute, and without touch or sight
I desperately run

Fleeing from my fading soul
Myself, I do berate
For no such being should extol
Escaping from my fate

Luscious leaves all turn to brown
They wither and fall fast
Suddenly, upon the ground
A dune of sand’s amassed

Crawling on the desert floor
And shaking from the cold
I hate and bitterly abhor
The night’s begrudging hold

In the distance, at the line
The land forgets itself
The beaming rays of light do shine
And warmth indeed does swell

Basking in the drenching sun
My coldness is expelled
Frigidity that night had won
Has fully been repelled

In the sands, I’ve laid to rest
To steal the heat of day
Yet no sooner had the sun caressed
Than sourly betray

Melted on the scorching sands
My body burned and scarred
I cannot lift my torrid hand
My feet have both been charred

The burning heat has ripped my lust
For life and will to live
My last resolve is brutely ******
Through Death’s unyielding sieve


Canto X: L’Oiseau Jaune

I coughed and spat the water that
I swallowed with my snores
Upon the sand my hand did land;
I’d made my way to shore

The beach was bright with fiery light
My skin was hot and red
I tried to get out of my head
Those visions that I dread

A novelist I once had been
Writing was my joy
With pen in hand, I could withstand
Each plot set to destroy

Yet Calais came and stole my heart
But also my free time
We wed and had a baby boy
Our life was too sublime

I raised my pen to write again
To feed the family right
I spent my days filling the page
And toiled all the night

When finally, she’d lost her mind
She needed to be loved
I tried to calm her shrill attacks
With no help from Above

My raging wife had grabbed a knife
And stabbed my writing hand
Yet somehow I had speared her eye
I couldn’t understand

At the elbow, I was chopped
And no more could I write
The widespread fact I’d killed my mate
Had augmented my plight

I beached onto an island;
This was no Chilean land
I walked around the grainy ground
And found nothing but sand

But soon a rescue ship had come
I was not too long gone
I read the name upon the port;
It was l’Oiseau Jaune
This was my senior thesis in high school, primarily inspired by "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by Samuel Coleridge.
Ruzica Matic May 2016
The river sings
The willows wail
Princesses in castle towers
Growing out their hair
Watching the landscape
Wind-wild and bare

No one coming
Over the bridge
No dancing shoes
That pinch and sting -
Only a comfortable
Weaving of tales
An angry pounding
Of summer hails

And fires burning
Burning through the night -
Are we too old to stop now
Too cold to put up a fight?
Sana Nov 2015
The absence of stillness is time. Time and stillness cannot coexist. Time is never your present for as you spell your very moment, it has already become your past. Make haste or sleep, but do not waste the energy of "unstill", you owe it to Nature.
Last thought just before drifting off to sleep
Stacey Handler May 2018
Oh, My Muse,
Staring at me through distant stars
Through laughter and tears
Through the hallways of my mind.

Oh, how you pierce me
A cactus in my desert,
How you sting me
A jellyfish in my unstill waters.

How you tickle me
As my pen tickles the sky,
Endless inspirations
Stanzas forever flowing free.

How you grab me
From away and afar
Confuse me
With the thunderstorms in your eyes.

If only it tickled forever
Didn’t hurt as you bring me to my knees,
If only I could fly to you like a bird
Land safely in your arms.

But no, it is not to be so!
You are words on my page, Sweet fire,
Caressing the armpits of my unwritten phrases,
The constant party going on inside me.

I must go to the party
Even when I am frozen, Afraid,
Exhausted from endless pokes of inspiration
Tickles that I wish would never stop.

I must fall free my sweet Muse,
Into the abyss of whispering pages
Where my darkness meets the light
Where you wait for me always.




Copyright 2018 Stacey Handler
M Jan 2014
You dipped your toe hesitantly into the water and pulled it right out.
I was already in, swimming freely as I forgot you were still on the shore.
I'd always taken to skinny dipping over bathing suits. I like the freedom, I like the way my bare skin feels in the water.
I turned around to see you looking out at me on from the shore, a hand over your eyes to shield them from the glaring, blazing sun.
I dipped my head below the water up to my nose, so you could only see my eyes as my hair fanned out over the water.
I could see it in the way you stood there alone- you were unsure. You were scared. The way you fingered at your shorts and the way you moved your hand from shading your eyes to instinctively rubbing at your hairline said it all. You were petrified of diving in like I had.

I used to be like that too.
I used to sit on the shore as the sun scalded my scalp and peppered my shoulders with little brown spots.
I used to dip my toes in and step back, watching the ripples go out in the water from my little interference.
I was afraid that ripple would unstill all of the solidity and security I had in my life.
I was afraid to make a scene, scream with joy as I crashed into the water.
I was afraid to be bare and seen and open to someone else, much less in broad day light.
I was afraid it would make me childish or foolish.
I was afraid to just go for it.
I was so afraid of getting in and feeling the waters chill and feeling insecure and ultimately feeling like I could get left alone there in my bare state, wondering how I could have been so open in the first place.

And one day, I realized diving in head first was the only way to go.
I couldn't live on the banks and only dip in my toes.
I couldn't go my whole life not knowing how to swim.
So one day, I jumped right in.
I screamed with joy.
I laughed as he splashed me and held me under the water and threw me around playfully.
He held me and it felt like something I can't describe.
We swam for some time until I realized I couldn't tread his waters anymore.
It felt like I was fighting to just stay afloat, like I was drowning ten times over.

I cried my own sea when he left.
So I know what it's like to tread this water alone.
I know how ******* scary it is to go underneath for 5 seconds and resurface to unstilled water and empty horizons.
I know how gut wrenching it is to dry yourself off alone and leave just the same.
I know how that can sometimes leave you with  the notion that not only do you not want to swim, but maybe you can't ever do it again.

I can't promise we'll swim together forever.
I can't promise we'll get out together either.
But you will never know if you don't dive in.
So when I watched you dip your toe in, I realized I needed to come get you myself.
Sometimes people can't just jump in.

I walked out of the water and grabbed your hand.
You sheepishly looked down, and I smiled and lifted your chin. I understand what you're feeling, trust me.
I saw the sun catch your eyelashes and make your eyes shine just a big brighter than they usually do.
I rose up on my tip toes and whispered into your ear, "Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and jump in. Dive right in and let me show you how to swim. I'll go first, and you can jump into my wake."

I turned and jumped without a second thought.
That's what you do when you're committed.

Maybe wouldn't follow.
Maybe you'd leave.
Maybe you'd scoff at what I'd said.
And that's the catch. Some people will.
But not you.
I resurfaced to catch you momentarily screaming as you hit the water.
I caught your moment of carefree, genuine joy.
You came up, water droplets falling from your hair down your face to return to the water.
Your eyes gave the water a run for it's money, they were so blue and bright I'd thought maybe the sea had met the sun and created them.
You smiled at me and laughed, loudly and heartily.
You swam to me and splashed my face, which made you laugh harder.
My smile must have been too big for my face because you hooked an arm around my waist, our feet lightly kicking each other as we tried to stay afloat.
You kissed my sundried lips and coyly offered,
"So, is this how you prefer to swim?"

Frankly yes, it is my preferred way-
Bare, all in, openly and freely, with little to no inhibitions.
I swim with the notion that I'm being as genuine and bare as I could ever be.
It's the same way I love people.
It's the same way I love you,
And it's how I hope you love me.
jennee May 2014
I write this story of grief
On a piece of paper
Or a plastic cup
Whether be it filled with water
Have it crumpled up or torn apart
As long as I have a pen or pencil
A hand and mind to pour it out
I speak the words I'm spoken
And I write the things we were all about

Expressing in past tense
I try to recollect yet forget the past
Of broken edges that kept me safe and sound
From tempting love and growing lust
A hand that won't keep still
Partnered with a body with an aching itch
I trust my mind but it's my heart that speaks
A hand kept still, a hand craving for bliss

I am stuck at a loss for words
A pen in hand, the impatient ink
Teeth gritting for a paragraph of her
Pages kept blank, with a hand unstill
A pen or a pencil, longing for touch
A plastic cup, half empty, half gone
Mouth thirsty, craving for lust

n.j.
Cheryl Jun 2018
Its like trying to hold water
fistfuls of water, grabbing and groping
trying to make it stay but it won't, it can't.

Too soon it's gone, down the drain and every molecule is forgotten in that moment.
We only have a splash, a short shower, a puddle and it's here for a second as we swirl it around, trying to form it into something we'd like, knowing all along it's flowing and won't hold any shape for long, least not in this form.
This form.
This form.
Then it's gone again. So splash in mine, it won't be long now.
Dylan Gabo Jul 2015
What crowded heart
So cold like the pit
red in loss and hard with memory
Away she said
and lightly tread
O'er summers better glory
Voices rich for lust
Remember paradise unstill
And bathe in times winter
Tanya Sol May 2012
Pulling me back
in the arms of Mr. November
Time moves unfamiliar
But still I am

Longing for the known
thinking of fall cold
every corner there I was
unfamiliar

The melody moves unfamiliar
strange comfort in delight
of nostalgic rediscovery
But unstill I am

Unrelenting release
naive meanderings
Through the fall
into spring
but still I am
PK Wakefield Sep 2012
i have said you
have said i and
through your
lips have walked
my words has
parted human
breath and from
it shook a whole
sea has threaded
by moonlight
never stilled the
words that are you
that i have spoken
and you have said
restless coils of ******
silver thick waves has
heaved in silence and
gasping ****** unstill
forever the word i have
spoken and that have
parted a whole sea from
****** coils of human breath
Butch Decatoria Jan 2016
The solicitous Self,
with and in each exchange
of conversation's
     volley of commiserating
                     commissary verbages
words of curbs and gutters,
owns not its guilt
knows not good will
             nor for those whom shatter
in our drowning hours, unstill...


The Self is begging
for your idolatry's bastions,
wants you to find it beautiful
and superior
     above any other

attention and ingestion
gorging and hoarding
     the tid-bit compliments
     the cloud nine glances
succulent smiles / flirtatious lick of lips

the audience pumping up
its hot air ego-balloon
to beach ball widths

     a deadly kind of perdition
     for you, character fool
                    careless and distracted
blase' as a toad on a stoop...

It is a ****

the amorous Self is
     harmless, the beginning seeds
and whimsy / at flowering
in your hands:
              fluff and puff intimations
child-like glee / pleasing / blowing
nonpluss dandelions
nonthreatening
       in ruminations  
       N' stuff...

but like any ****
when it spreads and takes hold
        the real estate of your time and soul
it chokes and feeds
off your serene prosperity
of peace of mind
of identity

a thief of your ideas
     makes your dreams its own

It suffocates all others
behaves with dismissive airs
      like you it becomes
                   you, who has watered
this pest and catered to its musings
      like a sudden sunrise it appears
out of the blue appealing
a dandelion, quaint & demure
                    yet alluring

The ******* that is the selfish
solicitous thorn
knows its own nature
     far too well
hides its hideous
kink so none can warn  
it is a war
      
with Self
the attention *****


Self being compelled
as all else
a parasite to its growth
a virus and its host

what she now only has to give
in return:

assuage
her malingered spell

she breeds in you
     a ghost of once you were
wastrel grime
wasted time
an empty shell

Abhorred.

Careful what the Self
is selling
the solicitudes
of obsessions  
Possession
Suffocation
                     not much else...


No succor for the Self.
Experimental...
Amy Perry Aug 2018
The heart of mine
Sings a tune
That does not need
To rhyme with moon.
The heart of mine
Does not need
Language at all,
To make its point a heed.
It says what it wants,
It does as it wills,
And I let it play
Like a child, unstill.
I let it rupture
Its voluptuous rant
About how it’s ignored
Or let it signal its chant.
I let it pout
I let it shout,
And do I ever
Let it all out.
I listen to its sage advice,
And let it counsel,
Its rhythm suffice.
It has a way
Of saying the right things
By saying nothing,
But still it sings.
My heart does a dance
Whether I want it or not,
But I have lived in a cage,
Why should my heart be fought?
And pummeled down
Like all of the rest,
To be less than free,
To be less than best?
I let it live its life,
I let it chant its tune,
And boy does it ever
Rhyme poems with “moon.”
abp 08/25/18
Derek Tatum Jun 2017
The chaotic waverings of the unstill surface leave the depths of the seas undisturbed...
jennee Apr 2014
We sat at the end of the stairway
Outside your house past your garden’s gate
Our lips moved whilst exchanging words
Our gaze was vast beyond what ears are heard
My outlines remained shivering and unstill
We talked and talked draining our hearts once filled
Our lips ran dry, craving for water’s bliss
You then took my empty heart and leaned in for a kiss
You parted, leaving me immensely wanting for more
I held your hand and it pricked me like a thousand thorns
Blood started pumping through and past my veins
Into your chest, into your heart infected with pain
I didn’t let go to you holding on
Your lips stopped moving, your words drifted, it was done
I touched you once more, pressing mouth against mouth
Severing heart, this hurt more than our lips filling in the drought
You pulled closer; it struck harder, slashing past before my skin
I took hold of you, trying to stay stronger, mouth deeper than sin
Hand in hand, it was sinking in; I’m falling down the rabbit hole again
The stairway was gone, the gate, the roses, you were still there but I’ve lost a friend
The garden gnome, he held the clock, time was slowly ticking away
Bodies side by side, our hearts then stopped, it had almost seemed like it’s been days
She and I, once innocent, now bare, with no more dignity to hide
She whispered “come on Alice, don’t give up, we’re got our hearts to find”
Scourged skin, torn dresses, unpredictably she smiled
She said “I haven’t been this scared in a long time; it’s been quite a while”
Our footsteps grew distant yet the clock continued to tick
She lifted two roses obliviously, her eyes followed to the one I picked
She held it close to her lips, sliding the stem past before her skin
Blood started streaming down, there’s more than there has ever been
Wounds started to unstitch, scars started reopening
And with the greyest of eyes and the rose between her mouth, it slowly started unfurling
She gave me the slightest smirk and approached me with an embrace
I felt her warm touch draining inside me, the rose pricking me through
And the was the last time, I ever saw her face

n.j.
Alice in Wonderland inspired
SøułSurvivør May 2015
---

sometimes i view
with my one eye
something
miniscule
in size

it could be a
flitting bat
it could be a
treetop hat

it could be a
fire light
it could be
the dead of night

i can feel there's
something wrong
but i look
and it is gone

---

sometimes i hear a
faroff sound
i don't try
to look around

it could be a
lonesome train
it could be a
thing in pain

it could be a
tinny fuzz
it could be a
static buzz

the windblown pages
of a book
but I don't think
and i don't look

---

something just came
and touched my hair
it could be
last week's nightmare

it could be
an errant fly
it could be
a fairy sigh

it could be
a sulphur wind
but i don't feel it again

---

sometimes i taste
something that's ill
it lies within
a tounge unstill

it is bitter
it is sick
like gone bad almonds
arsenic

I ***** my face up
then i pout
it's not my fate to
spit it out

---

something is
tickling my nose
it could be
sewer overflow

it could be acid
in the rain
it could be
something
in my drain

oooo i believe i smell that smell

it's coming from the
pits of hell



soulsurvivor
(c) 5/25/2015
sometimes we need to
trust our senses

---
Savanna Oct 2013
Laying still
Feeling cozy
Under bunched
Up blankets

Mind unstill
Thoughts waltzing
Wandering to
And fro

Drifting away
Thoughts return
Giving reminders
And to-dos

Slipping again
Calmness within
Warmness without
Breathing deeply

So relaxed
So comfortable
With him
Beside me

Feeling peaceful
He and
Blankets keep
Me safe

There's love
and warmth
To help
Me sleep

Peacefully, deeply
This slumber
Is like
Nothing else

Then suddenly
It's morning
I hate
Getting up
CR Jan 2014
you are shattered, so it goes
and the imperceptible adhesive from the
fallen framed photograph you
somethinged her—she was not in it—
she is on your hands
not in them

so it goes, the candle on the sill unlit
unstill
until
wax burns
fire goes
you are
never start
something
will end
never light a fire
never have a friend—

time makes a stopwatch of you
a spasm
a podium of her, all your something
stuck to your fingers
alaric7 Jan 2018
Like a road around a corner

never disappearing Michigan old

glory eugenics for German laws

Thirties’ ezratics racialist

limpieza de sangre, Velazquez

awaiting ennoblement, Ezra hound

reads Italian translation, 1940    

Mia Battaglia kleine mein

stumpf, o sweet Alabama

his small light

                utterly

erased, obliterated, negated

Cruel hygiene unmixed

hieratic Idaho’s

small pebbles, turquoise

tesserae, Roman, Babylonian,

and them Assyrian archers

Ever unstill Ixion ever turning  




Re: Canto CXIII

2017.11.12.
Melanie Elaine May 2014
The pitter and the patter,
The pounding on your door.
The slight leak in the roof
That drips on the floor.
The sweet smell of earth
With an afternoon chill.
The world is unquite,
And nature unstill.
Energies released from my inner energies
Fill the once still and energyless atmosphere around me.
I relax and find the cause of the unstill waves.
Comforting them back to their happy and nutral sleep
I enjoy the other sweet energies I bring forth from within.
Chakras, auras ..they show us color, emotion,and empowerment in soul.
The fuels in which we use to bring forth the right balance is essential.
Using my scale of wisdom, the auras are identified and the Chakras then balanced.
Most find the view of such rituals "poppycock" or "scienceless" in proving they are factual existances in events.
However, me knowing and seeing them at work....I see the facts.
We all have energies.
Fear is always the blinding energy as when it comes to identify the sources of our posotive and negative energies or "Vibes."
I have been unblinded by fear for many years.
Seeing my colors of red,blue,white,green,and yellow are fun and necessary parts of my being.
As Human "Animals" we all label them as "primitave instincts," "blind use of energetic porposes," and
other such "unqiue visions into the realm of the human psuchic."
I see natural tides that this "moon" must pull into balance.
As I drift and enjoy the journey of astral plaines and being the "Cowboy" who lassles these "doggies" back to their "natural penned fences"
I take pride in the adventure of "reeling them back in."
My take on Chakras and balance thenegative "vibes" that others can, do, and also as one who lets them out at times; I take pride at reeling these loose energies back in and the adventures I have enjoyed while meditating back to a Balanced state.
Colm Jun 2021
Just beyond the hillside windmills unstill
Where the horizon meets the sky
and eyes are lost in clouded light
Brighter than all cares and graduation caps combined

It is where the goodness of present day
And the tides of gifted times glide past
Beneath the feet of the lover stands
A happily shifting sand which has eroded away

And the only thing left there between us to be
Is the sea
In all of its wonderous and most secretive
Glory to be shared as one

(And all this my dear, is just beyond)
These moments are like waves, or so I find.
Eminence Front Mar 2016
that resplendent note;
sanctifying my heart;
little droplets of salted tears;
in reply to a deep feeling;
emerge from unstill eyes;
what do they search for;
the same treasures on the global map;
the same pleasures;
love that transcends;
music that overtakes;
warmth that shelters;
every time I hear your voice;
my love, my soul;
when I hear your voice;
within the abyss of my mind;
from a long-ago memory;
I push your voice forth;
and it grabs me;
I am in its possession;
I am in your possession;
even from a long-ago memory;
I am still owned;
by the sultry whisper;
that floats in the night sky;
the ambrosia of your breath;
as it gives me love's immortality;
the sensation of your lips;
as they caress every letter of every word;
the vibration of each wave of sound;
as it moves from science;
then to art;
then to an unimaginable beauty;
how ironic, dear heart;
that the only words I can use;
to describe this divine linguistic adventure;
must come from your own lips;
as it sanctifies my heart;
with that resplendent note.
Colm Jun 2021
The best way to get over yourself
Is to start climbing
To stop thinking
And to start seeing yourself as
Something truly surmountable
Mhmm
Icarus Fray May 2018
the smell of cheap cologne and regret lingers
as my skin burns under the traces left by your fingers

he tasted like mint from the ghost of the gum he had
he tasted like a mistake, a good answer that had gone bad

we did nothing new but I feel bothered, restless, unstill
but what do I do I cant control your will

my mind made a filter, a mask for you to wear
so the potentially bad choice could be seen nowhere

but in your stead stood a mistake, a regret, then no one
cause the one to blame here is I so let me be rendered undone

and then i woke up
and you were there
and i wanted to touch you
but i wasn't here

because my mind yelled at me for taking advantage of myself

i was the who pushed him away, the one who left him in a shelf


but i'm the one who claws at him, who wants to pull him closer against my skin

in the end we're both satisfied but in the end we both didn't win.
Émile Jul 2019
Oh how I heard it in the nighttime
Soft waves that breech the sea and fall onto land gracefully and with the will of thunder
I stand there taking it in
Miles ahead it is black
In there is the beginning and the end and all you feel is a fear but you stay standing ankle deep
Could you not bare yourself to move?
Could you not take yourself from the cliff you now stand on?
An oceans shelf ahead year by year reaching closer to you
You came into the water knowing what it was becoming
What comes forth to the quiet beach at night
And the faint hiss of the foam and the unseen creatures whose presence caresses your being
For what in the night slumps in the corner of your vision waiting for something more?
And if you look forward into that ocean, is it really there? Will it crawl on its hands and knees to you?
What is worse in the end
And no matter how many times you ruminate it coming for you
Your heart it lunges forward at the image
Unstill like the water surrounding
All things change to fire,
and fire exhausted
falls back into things.
-Heraclitus


Black block grove and glade -
it's all translated to wet geometry

by the patina of the rain slant...
It's like a spell has been laid on this place.

We are those without bedtimes,
the quick pestles of clocks grind

past Friday night into Saturday,
the sky tinted, louched:

greening cloudy wash wringing
opals into the late softened minutes.

Things fall back as they were before:
night dissolves in the cold window hood

until the only dark things left are hands,
unstill under sheets of morning lake.
Second draft

— The End —