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I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but now it's come to distances and both of us must try,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me,
it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea,

but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't
untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't
untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
Malintha Perera Oct 2014
roaming colours
paint the woods
pencil feathers

ringlets echo
one after one
each flap

hues of sunlight
touch up shades
soft plumes

little hiccups
with each take off
leaves quake

wild flowers
a frisson of pleasure
swamps in

petals unfurl
a sigh undone and
sepals swell

tender sips
with rooted focus
bees detour

minds untie
as each glides by
a masterpiece

© Malintha Perera 2014
Ember Evanescent Feb 2015
The venom in your snake bite glare ties my pain in knots, Knots

don’t come undone

Every time you yell I smell smoke

You’re burning us, you know

You’re burning us.

And I’m drowning in the fire.

You’ve got your magnifying glass in hand like a detective,

And I know you’re searching for something better

I know you’re searching for clues that we could make it better,
between us

But you always look in the same place, you always look through these
piles and stacks of Anger that we’ve been collecting and you haven’t
looked anywhere else, you know, no matter how magnified that
Anger is, it won’t change what it is.

You’ve been standing in that same spot searching for too long, and that
magnifying glass is burning us

And it’s not that I don’t still think you’re made of stars, because I do

I still do

I still need you, mom

I need you to breathe,

I do.

You’re my oxygen, you always have been but

This Oxygen is suffocating me.

Do you remember that story I told you so many times? About that day
in kindergarten when the craft table got new materials? When there
was nice

Purple

Shiny heart shaped box and I wanted it

So did everyone else, but I got to it first

So it was mine

I had it in my hands

I had it

But then the other little girl spent all morning talking to me about how
she wanted it

She wanted the pretty, shiny, heart-shaped chocolate box so that she
could make a pretty gift for her mommy and I didn’t want to give it
up, but I finally gave in to the guilt and gave up that box to her

Do you know why?

Because I thought about how I had the best mommy in the whole wide
world and I wanted to give that pretty box to you because I loved you
so much and I thought maybe that little girl loved her mommy the
same way I loved you, and I understood why she would want to give
her mommy a pretty thing and to this day, that time in kindergarten
when I gave up my pretty box that I wanted to give to you is one of my
deepest regrets, because I loved you so much and I wanted to give you
that pretty gift.

I still do, you know

I still see you as the duct tape to fix what I broke and the hands that tie
the back of my dress in a bow for me on Easter Sunday, sure I still see
you as the lullaby I fall asleep to because I used to replay that
recording of your choir solo you downloaded on my very first IPod for
me every night before I went to bed one year when I was in elementary
so that in case I died before I woke up, the last voice I ever heard
would have been yours. Or in case you died at least I heard your voice
last. I always romanticized death back then, but now I can see how icy
the frosty fingers of death really are when the death of our old bond is
staring me right in the face, Mom!

Do you remember that one month I spent making absolute sure the last
thing I said to you before you shut my door and left after saying
goodnight was: I love you so that the last thing I ever said to you
was “I love you”? Same logic, mom. In case you died before the next
time I saw you, at least that was the last thing I ever said to you I never
wanted you to forget, and yes mom, I still see you as the stiches in my
torn up nylons but I don’t see you as my blanket on a cold day,
anymore.

I can trust you to save me, I can trust you to love me overall, in the end

But I can’t trust you to comfort me and you tell me to call you when
I’m sad, but you wouldn’t get it.

I can give you ten reasons why you and I need you to stop chasing me
into pain’s open arms and all ten are on my hands, balled up in fists
that are bruised from fighting, I’m done fighting with you mom, I can’t
anymore.

I’m too tired.

You start every knitting project and never finish it before you start a
new one, and I don’t want to become just another unfinished project of
yours, the daughter who left home and never sent more than 10 emails,
one for each finger after that because it’s not that I don’t love you, it’s
just that we’re growing so distant now that when we fight, the “I love
you” is no longer implied and when you get angry, you’re scary

You call me worthless, you swear at me, you say some awful things
mom, and so do I, I know,

But then you demand in irritation why I consider myself worthless as
if I’m seeking attention or something when I admit to you how
worthless I feel, well if you would quit calling me useless and
worthless and I quote “The stupidest human being alive” maybe I
WOULDN’T FEEL LIKE THAT MOM!

Maybe your mom, who is supposed to be the over-sized, comfy hoodie
you can come home to when life is getting too complicated is
constricting you with her harmful words it’s hard to find any good in
myself anymore maybe I’m just really hurt that you would say that to
me.

My sisters came along and they STOLE you, I’m sorry if that sounds
like a selfish, angry six year old but I need to say it because I don’t care
how unbiased you think you are, you never show me the underlying
kindness you show them because mom, I don’t want money every time
we go to the movies, I don’t want two pairs of Lululemon leggings or
expensive boots I just want the Love I feel like you’ve lost for me when
you didn’t have enough to give to all three of your children I just want
you to Love me, mom. I’m scared that you don’t anymore, and God it
would be so much easier if I could hate you but I can’t bring myself to.
I wish I could say I hate you, but I don’t. Every time I cross the line and
scream something unforgivable at you, when you cry, I can hear every
teardrop that falls from your eyes crash to the floor and shatter, but I
feel like you can’t hear me even when I’m screaming, even when liquid
pain is pouring down my face mom I love you, but you can’t hear my
tears and I feel like you’ve lost the Love you used to have for me.

I wish you would come back to me, I wish you would spend just ONE
night without insulting me, or yelling at me because I’m not
exaggerating when I say you haven’t.

Mom, I’m asking you to help me fix this.

We are not going to find the answer to the Cold between us in this pile
of angry, so please lower your voice and lower your magnifying glass,
just stop burning us and help me rebuild our old bond, okay?

The venom in your snake bite glare ties my pain in knots, but knots

Can come undone

Untie this pain with me?
just a really bad relationship with my mom, and I kind of broke down crying listening to spoken word poetry that relates to having a ****** bond with your mom and I felt I needed to express it somehow. I know it's ******, I'm sorry. Anyway, yeah this is a spoken word piece that will probably end up in the trash.
a blackout caused by evil daniel pederson



you see brian allan was sitting there doing his art and suddenly daniel pederson’s spirit forced the power

to go out just in brian’s apartment so he can tie brian up to his bed, and brian was trying for a way to

get free, but daniel had a hold on brian allan, and said, you are still a yeah mate yeah kid brian, and i will make sure

you are tied to the bed, and then i will leave and have them turn on your power again

brian was wriggling and turning saying, help me, let me out of this cage, untie me, please let me go

my power has been turned off, so daniel pederson can get the better of me, then daniel tried his best to keep

brian’s dad and family from saving me, please let me go, brian said, but the gag was tightly on brian’s mouth

and daniel told cameron goon, your not a cool kid, anymore sure mate, and then he said, don’t be a cool kid, cameron

brian is suffering through mental illness, and i am the cause, cameron said, heh heh heh, please keep his power off

and daniel said, i am dead, you know that is not how it works, i turn off brian’s power, i tie him up, and suddenly his power

comes back on, and he feels kidnapped and you cameron do what you used to try to do, because brian allan is looking at

his daddy’s next life, brian was screaming, HELP HELP, let me be like pat and chris, and daniel said, neh, you are trapped by

me, cause you are too woosey to write this out of you, and brian screamed, TURN MY POWER BACK ON YA ****, TURN MY POWER

BACK ON, AND UNTIE ME, you evil little ****, and brian remains struggling on the bed and daniel forces cameron to lift his feet

up off the floor, like bobby bullpitt did to ted bullpitt on kings wood country, saying, brian allan isn’t like us anymore, he doesn’t work

and brian allan tries to say through his gag, i work, and if daniel turns the power back on, i can work on that, and daniel said, you have

to work on this, because you aren’t like us, brian, you ain’t a man, brian your too shy to be a fucken man, and as daniel said that brian

was struggling on his bed, saying, i have been kidnapped by daniel pederson, turn on the fucken lights, so i can have power, i have no torch

so daniel has me right where he wants me, as brian said that, daniel said yeah, i do, and i will make sure you suffer for every crime you do

or any crime you have done, every time you enter a shop, and you haven’t enough money, daniel will put in the corner of your mind, to steal it,

because, brian allan isn’t a cool kid, and i want you to know, every kid you see on youtuibe being kidnapped is my spirit, even if it has adult spirit

you see daniel pederson said, he ain’t stupid, he isn’t going to let my dad win the battle, but brian allan was screaming HELP HELP UNTIE ME FROM

THIS EVIL SPIRIT NAMED DANIEL PEDERSON, and daniel said, you are with me now, brian allan, i turned off your power, to make it look like i have

you with me forever and ever amen, and once i have what i want, i will turn your power back on, and untie you, but as long as you never get employed or

always suffer with a lousy canberra bus service and as long as kids in canberra do as i say, brian allan will be a kid forever, never to be an adult, your only mates

will be the scruffy old scott and ******* old paul, and i want patrick and cameron to try and go, get ****** brainy get ****** man get ****** brainy get ****** man

in your head till you die, brian allan, you will suffer forever and ever, and my voice will say, keep teasing brian pat, sure mate, brian was worried that he was losing his

cool kid credits, and daniel said, yeah, you have lost your pat and chris credits, and forget about being like your parents brian, i made your dad die, so we can place

the words your father isn’t around anymore in your head, brian allan, if you didn’t want this, why were you laughing at cameron, no you will suffer, and daniel is having fun

putting in patrick’s voice, him saying ‘i am not ya daddy brian’, no, none of them can save you from me, brian allan kid, but you are not a kid, ya see, you laughed at

cameron being *******, i will make cameron laugh at you, you will suffer brian allan, brian was wriggling about on his bed saying let me go, i am like os, and daniel said

you are losing your os credits, you are not like your family anymore, you are still like your old fri———ends, budddeeeeee, brian yelled out, HELP, SAVE ME FROM THIS

EVIL DANIEL PEDERSON KID HELP ME HELP ME HELP HE SAID, BRIAN WILL CRUSHED TO BE BUTTER ON BREAD, i have brian allan with me, forever, where he’ll

hear the words, your daddy, ain’t around anymore, brian yelled out, let me go, free me, but daniel pederson said ok, you can go, but, i have the power to turn off your power

brian cronus greame thorne patrick dunbar allan, you will never be the man from albert waldron, you see you were hearing these voices from the days of albert waldron, all the

men saying, yay, here is big bad brian, but i turned off your family man, so you can commit a crime, because you, brian allan is a victim of kidnappers, from a kidnapper like the evil spirit

daniel pederson, heh heh heh, you will never defeat my spirit, heh heh heh heh
Bad spellers of the world UNTIE!!!!!

...yeah well I'm an adhesive sloth. It's a miracle that I even CAN type what's your excuse?? :P
yey untie
she dwells in sorrow, every waking minute
she dwells in sorrow, every waking minute
tears scald her cheeks, there is no respite
tears scald her cheeks, there is no respite
there is no respite, she dwells in sorrow
every waking minute, tears scald her cheeks

the bow of grief wraps her, it doesn't untie
the bow of grief wraps her, it doesn't untie
she is locked in sadness, the doleful pall
she is locked in sadness, the doleful pall
she is locked in sadness, the bow of grief wraps her
the doleful pall, it doesn't untie

oh for the sun's face of glee, her heart being unburdened
oh for the sun's face of glee, her heart being unburdened
the loss and pain, to be lifted from her soul
the loss and pain, to be lifted from her soul
her heart being unburdened, the loss and pain
to be lifted from her soul, oh for the sun's face of glee

she is locked in sadness, the loss and pain
it doesn't untie, there is no respite
she dwells in sorrow, the doleful pall
tears scald her cheeks, the bow of grief wraps her
to be lifted from her soul, oh for the sun's face of glee
every waking minute, her heart being unburdened
Seema May 2018
I have been away for too long
In a solitude, burried with remorse
For I've lost a very close loved one
And the situation got worse

I prayed to be taken away
For my life to end
As soon as possible
Coz nothing much was left to mend

Tears rolled down my cheeks
To stop the negative thoughts
Got taken back many times
To untie the invisible knots

Voices got into my ears
That ached to explode my temple
Closing my eyes eveytime
A picture painted, to resemble

It's you, O'mum...that I can't get over with
Life seems, more like a lego
Feelings that can't be put into words
Every bit pierces through the core

Your smile, your beauty, your essence
Has all been captured by this heart
Now, in troubled weak times
Another scene peeps as an art

How will I ever, comfort myself
That now I am all alone
None that are left by my side
All have fallen and gone

May your soul rest in peace
Exactly, a month today
Missing you heaps in this crowded shell
Hope to meet you, someday...


©sim
Voices from my weak heart.
cast off
they never wanted us
they just want what we've got
I decry
because I must
before what I remember of liverpool
is ground into dust
underfoot
of a conservative government
determined to sell off everything
that makes us
us
we must what we must
its time to take back
what was ours in the first place
its in our blood
ordered liarbility
in complete melodies
the frequencies i hear
can not be contained by anything
love is drifting through the hills
and you are home to its trills
she dreams of light, the fire bright
and full of crystal skulls and eyeballs
dozens of monuments are built
just to mark the moments
when we could have said i'm sorry
merge with the mountains
find the source of fountains
shine the diamond compass
if that's what you are really here for

broken dams are our business
feed the swans their luminescent lunch-boxes
duck for cover, its a wonder that we are all together here
that's clearly redundant
the tendency to dream
is the most important human faculty
its a tragedy that the lack of nuclear power
showers the atomic world in rainbows
as forlorn teenagers in the ice-age of America
govern our equipment from their parent's basements
and carouse with comfort upon chairs, cushions and couches

a million times the victory
a million miles of rope to weave
a million are the paths to god
and a million more are the souls
who've learned to cope with tragedy

i come cherishing and bearing gifts
figures of speech are my playthings
i am furniture remodeled daily
and intuitively placed around your home
the finer things in life are free
so see me there upon your television set
i am electromagnetic static
within the black and white of advertisements
i am figures of forgotten speech
so record the unwatched programs
in your mind’s virtual memory
the hard drive of work and play
creates hundreds of new retirees each day
hundreds of haunted expatriates
knuckle-headed people
that couldn't tread lightly
even if they wanted to
so will you please untie me
and remove these binds and chains
it's time to free the lover from the psyche
for that is all she wrote

i am a silent p
i am a violet apogee
i am a cosmic minority
i am a message in your tea leaves

but if you stand too long in my shoes
you’ll likely drown in solitude
Khoi Oct 2018
Loved ones
had to untie
both ends of the rope
and LIVE with the tragedy
Suicide truly traumatic
Reach out and touch
Somebody's hand
Olga Valerevna Apr 2014
There's nothing you can do make her leave or walk away
There's not a single word or phrase or saying you could say
She's not the kind of girl who will untie herself from you
And certainly unlike the one who split you once in two
You know what you are doing now but can you guarantee
That you will know what steps to take when it is time to leave
Intentions can be laced with things we do not comprehend
With people who do everything they can to play pretend
So when you look into the eyes of she who stole the sun
Remember then, the other girl who shined on everyone
R Oct 2013
Today, I will be brave.
I will admit to the fact that I still haven't found that happiness I've been searching for.
It could be the fact that I haven't looked hard enough, or maybe I've just been looking too hard.
It could be the fact that there's a hormone in our bodies called serotonin, but my therapist says that I don't produce enough and that's why I have this thing that she calls depression.

So I take pills to make me feel better and that might be weird, you can think that if you want because the truth is that I think I'm weird too. Sometimes I think my weirdness is good, I can make people laugh if I really want to and I think that's pretty cool but there's also a bad weirdness to me that makes me feel really sad even though my life truly isn't all that bad but I can't help it. I can't just tell myself that everything's going to be okay because sometimes I don't even think I believe that anymore.

But today, I will be brave.
I will admit to the fact that yes, I have scars. But you know what? I have a birth mark on my right leg. I have freckles on my arms, I have ten fingers and a heart that pumps blood into my lungs and my lungs help me breathe. I have brown eyes and approximately one hundred and fifty hairs growing out of my eyelids that protect them from dust.

Yes, maybe I have purposely tried to hurt myself but so what? People say that whatever doesn't **** you only makes you stronger. Well I must be pretty **** powerful because every day is a war between life and death and I may not think that I'm beautiful, or smart, or worthy, but I have a broken heart that's still beating and a terrifying mind that is still able to think about the children in Africa and the people suffering from cancer and the lonely girl in my class that I wish I had the courage to talk to and tell her that we are all human. We may not feel that we deserve to be alive but we have blood coursing through our veins and purity in our souls and mouths that are capable of speaking every single language in the world and brains that hold an infinite amount of knowledge and bones that allow us to move and hearts that can love.

So please, be brave.
Put the gun down. Step away from the bridge, throw the pills away, untie the knot and stay with us. Use your bones to lift your hand and place it to the left of your chest and feel the vibration of the most important ***** in your body pulsing, keeping you alive. And that, my friend, is called purpose. You are still here despite everything that's ever happened to you. You survived the day when your best friend stopped calling and the day you waited two hours for that person who never showed up and the day you got picked up early from school to have your parents watch you get beat up on the playground and that's the day when they realized that their daughter is a loser but it's okay because you survived. You ignored the monster in your mind that is constantly knocking on doors but never being let in because you had the courage to say "stop. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to feel good about myself."

You are not a freak. You are not a loser. You are not fat, you are not ugly, you are not stupid. You are sixty percent water, sixty-five percent oxygen, eighteen percent carbon and one hundred percent human. Do not hate your body, you're beautiful. Do not hate your scars. Love them. Learn from them. Be the person who can say "yes, life was a battle and I didn’t come out untouched. I was beaten down and torn apart and bleeding from the skin and the heart. But I won." You conquered the bloodiest war, and you are so brave.

Yes, life is full of grief, and tragedy, and so much pain. Life is full of evil people and sickness and days where all you want to do is just get out of this place with so much hatred and cruelty and unfairness. But I have seen someone helping a stranger on the sidewalk, children holding doors open for the elderly, and love. So much love. And that's gotta be enough. We have to find a reason. We have to discover that one thing that will save us; that one good thing in this world that will give us hope. Hope that some day, things will be better.

But today, we will be brave.
Braver than yesterday, yet not as brave as we will be tomorrow. We will wake up with a smile on our face, and we will look in the mirror and say to ourselves:

"We are not our parents, we are not our siblings, or our teachers, or our friends, or our enemies. We are only ourselves. But one day, we will become doctors, we will become writers and lawyers and activists and dancers and rock stars. We will be mothers and fathers and lovers. We will not be perfect. But one day, our bruises will heal and our scars will fade and our pain will lessen and our smiles will become genuine. We will admit to the fact that bad days happen, but we will have so many good days and those are the ones that matter. We will not be our past, we will not be our mistakes, we will not be our fallen tears or our heart aches. We will be human, and one day, we will change the world."
For your hand I untie the laces of my corset to disclose the eternity of my mind and body on the cold cement floor. For your eyes I remove the molds which ever so carefully holds my insides in tact and allow them to flood the careful corners of our existence. For your mind I caress your knots, untie your passions and pry at your past. For your soul I allow your mouth to wander the brief and quick passages of my short exiled being.
for your heart I cut out mine own and press both thumbs on your disjointed limbs.
Severe heads and pass into the point of no return.
Oh to untie you
From the straints of adolescence.
To craddle you
Kiss your closed eyes-
Feel the lashes brush my lips
Softly now like down and spring
Sweet like young breath
You would lean in.
But suddenly-
Filled with flame you would grasp
Become the craddle yourself.
Free from those who bind you
Chosing to bind us instead.
In hate or love
It is all the same
We call it adolesence
Nigel Morgan Nov 2012
A thousand peaks: no more birds in flight.
Ten thousand paths: all trace of people gone.

In a lone boat, rain cloak and hat of reeds.
An old man’s fishing the cold river snow.

I am alone in this mountain fastness, on a steep downward path in the deepest shadow. I play with the twelve characters of Lui Tsung-yaun’s poem. How few poems tell of the desolation of winter. The coming of Spring, the passing of Autumn? Yes. But the onset of Winter? Even my sharp memory only recalls a meagre handful of poems to this season: the time of the first snows. Against all good sense I set out from Stone Village too late in the year: now I search for comforting word images to accompany me on this journey. Just below the snowline I pass through a stunted forest of ancient walnut trees almost leafless; the unrelenting wind has dispatched them crinkled brown into the valley below. I see there a winding river. I see its distant lake. I think of this poem known since my teenage years, puzzled over that one could see in one sweep of the horizon a thousand peaks. Here are that thousand and more if the ranks of limestone pillars in these mountains can be counted as peaks. I count them as peaks. And those thousand paths? At every turn there is some fresh way falling into the valley, or a faint trail rising to the heights. But this path I tread asserts itself on the traveller. Its stones are worn and the excrement of passing pack animals sticks to my boots.

Last night a cave, tonight I will reach the village of Psnumako. My former guide provided its name with a disdain he could not hide. When questioned he warned me not to enter without a stout staff against the mastiffs that guard each house, supposedly ******* during the day but apt to break their bonds at the smell of a stranger.

The steep and ever steeper descent brings pain to my knees. At this hour of the day my body would prefer to climb to the heights, but descend I must. The cold, the damp cold begins to stiffen weary limbs. I am tired from a day’s travel, tired from three hard climbs, two descents and this, my third, to complete before nightfall. I enter a narrow gorge loud with clamour of running water, cascade upon cascade flowing from the heights, falling fast to the river soon to interrupt my path. I shall have to force a crossing. What passed for a bridge were two fallen pines lashed together.  Now they lie akimbo a little distant, thrown apart like sticks by the spring flood as the deep snows melt. I must divest myself of boots and lower garments and wade across, stumbling on stones up to my waist in swift waters, terrified under the weight of my pack that I will fall and be swept under and along. To travel alone at such moments is foolhardy, but on this cold afternoon I have no choice.

I am so intent on preparing for this crossing it is only when I reach the end of the path that I notice snow is falling, its flakes sharp and white against the dark-water flow. The whirl and turn of the water mesmerises. Fatigue, fatigue embraces me, a day’s fatigue holds me fast on the river’s stony side. I close my eyes and hear the water rush and place myself into the protection of a mountain charm learnt from a passing traveller. Dwarfed by the size of his burden I see him negotiate a narrow path high above a chasm; he walked trance-like to the intoning of this charm.

It is soon done, the cold crossing, and with a lighter step I walk the remaining leagues to the lake-side and sight of the village. There are the faintest sparks of light amongst the silhouettes of houses. Animals are being brought in from the home fields against the night. A sudden shout, the barking of dogs, and now the snow falls thick and fast.

The guttural dialect here is barely discernable as speech. We are from different worlds this shepherd and I who meet at the stupa guarding the village entrance. This is not a Buddhist shrine but an acknowledgement of some mountain giant of terrifying aspect. The shepherd sees my official insignia and nods, knowing I will require shelter. He utters what may be a welcome, but could be a warning, and leads me forth. The mastiffs leap and bay as I pass between the primitive two-storey houses, animals below, humankind above. He disappears. I stop and wait. He returns with a woman who beckons me to climb the ladder to what may be her home. A widow perhaps? She is alone unless the rank darkness hides a man or child. But there is none. I hear animals move and grunt under the floor, a mat of dirt and straw. There is a sleeping loft, a cooking corner. I can see little else. But I am out of the snow, the biting wind, the cold. She pulls at my cloak, wet and caked with ice. There is a bowl placed in my hands; a rough tea. I speak a greeting, but there is no reply just a rustle of straw as she moves across the room.

The stupor of a journey’s pause is upon me. After three days on the trail to the heights I am numb with fatigue. I need food and sleep. I need rest before a final trek into the wilderness. Beyond Psnumako Lake known paths end. Except for the tracks used by shepherds to move their flocks to different seasonal pastures, there is wilderness. I hope for guidance, for the whereabouts of the sages who, in the winter months I am told, leave their reed huts on the heights for caves in the lower valleys. I shall be patient, remain here a little while. I am now immune to the discomfort and dirt of travel. That is how it is. That is how is must be. I miss only the mental absorption of writing, the caress of the brush on a scroll. In my home in Louyang I keep brush and paper close to hand; wherever I may be I can write, even in, especially in, the privy. If a line comes to me I can write it down. Here there is only the comfort of memory.

To think that in the past I wrote of this mountain wilderness out of my imagination and the descriptions of others. I once thought of these remote places as havens of spiritual liberation.

In the hills there is the sound of zither.
White clouds stay over shaded peaks,
Red flowers shine in the sunlit woods
Rocks are washed in the stream like jade;

How very different is the reality of it all; in this emerging winter world of mist, where the sun rarely visits and most living things have departed, where wind colours silence and one’s footfall becomes consolation. The sound of stone rubbing stone on the path is the eternal present. There have been days when only a distant crow moves in the landscape. Lammergeyers are known in these parts, but I have yet to see one. If there are wild beasts, they shun me.

As this bowl of tea cools in my hands but warms my frozen fingers I form pictures of the past day on its dark surface. Before dawn from the mouth of a river cave I sensed changes in the qualities of darkness that have hidden the heights above me. Then a perceptible line appeared and divided the mountain from the sky. That line became variegated; there were trees bristling on the highest rocks. It appears that at this hour the prevalent mist settles in the valleys leaving the sky clear.

The woman comes to me. She kneels to untie my boots. She looks with a curious innocence at my strangeness, the distortion of my face, the cleft palette, the deformed upper lip, the squint of my left eye. She is kindly as I give her my best smile though my face seems frozen still. There is a whisper, a prayer of welcome possibly. Then she bows her head, unravels a long scarf to reveal a mane of oiled hair, and sets about removing my boots. I see only the top of her head, a severe parting, hair held tightly in wooden combs. I close my eyes to bring to mind the image of Xaoli, so slight in comparison, her butterfly hands flittering into and around my sleeves, her seeing touch mapping out the extent of me, each piece of clothing, only later my face.

My reverie is broken by the entrance of two men. They squat behind the woman and, after taking in my ugliness and my hairpins of office, patiently wait for her to finish and retire. We stand and bow, then sit again amongst the straw.

‘Honoured Lord, I am Yun. You have travelled from Stone Village? And beyond?’

I pass him the Emperor’s seal he cannot read, but remain silent.

‘You are seeking those who live in the heights? The village only sees their servants, young boys sent for a goat or flasks of barley spirit. They bring herbs our women favour. Some have seen their huts when seeking lost animals. Now it is said they are gathered in the caves like animals waiting for the spring moon.’

‘When was the village last visited by their kind?’

‘ Hanlu, my Lord, the time of cold dew, two boys appeared with a pony. There was trading. They brought Chrysanthemum flowers and herbs for two geese and wine. They left scrolls for passage to Stone Village. Now the snows fall we may not see them until the Spring’

‘How far are your summer pastures? Have you any who would guide me there ?’

‘We do not seek these places after the first snows. The sages haunt the region beyond Chang Mountain. Before the 11th moon you might pass into the valley of Lidong where it is believed their caves lie, but to return before the Spring will not be possible.’

‘How many days there?’

‘Allow four. A difficult way, unmarked, rarely trodden, much climbing. There is one here who we could send with you – part of the way, and at a price, My Lord. Dahan travelled two seasons since as groom to a party of six with ponies, but then in late Spring.’

‘I will stay three days.’

‘Just so My Lord. Xiu Li will see to your wishes.’

And they depart, Yun’s companion has remained silent throughout, though searched my face continually. By the door he places his hand against the stout bag that carries my lute. ‘Guqin’, he says tenderly.

This instrument is my pass to the community of the reclusive. I am renown for my songs and their singing. My third-best guqin has not left its bag since Stone Village and I fear damage despite all my care on the path.

Later, as the village mastiffs gradually cease their baying as the quarter moon rises I take this instrument and place it across my lap. Its seven silk strings I wipe with a cloth and gently tune with its tasselled pegs. I then prepare myself through meditation to avoid the intrusion of distracting thoughts. With my eyes closed I allow my hands to seek out and name each part of guqin: from the Forehead of the Top Board, to the String Eyes, the Dew Collector, The Mountain, Shoulder and Phoenix Wings, past the Waist, the Hat Lines and the Dragon’s Beard, to the Dragon’s Gums and thence to the Inner Top Board. I can feel the Pillar of Heaven – the sound post – has moved a little in my recent travels. So too the Pillar of Earth – but with care I move both to their rightful positions. And so on naming the inner and outer parts of each of the two boards that make up the guqin. I begin to regulate my breathing and allow the fingers of my left hand to stroke and touch, to press and oscillate in the manner of vibrato. Zhoa Wenji describes twenty-three kinds of vibrato. I feel in turn each of the hui, the thirteen gold studs that mark the harmonic nodes and allow me to play the guqin by touch alone. In these moments of preparation I hear the words of my teacher: a good player makes sounds that are plentiful but not confused. As the moon reflecting on water, so the sounds are together but not combined. Like wind in the pines, they are combined but also spread out. Such sounds are valued for their lightness. Avoid the addition of inappropriate  "guest" sounds. This is the refined theory of the guqin. To be knowledgeable about music, one must seek this, then one can realize its beauty.

I have tuned to the Huangzhong mode. The song *Amidst Mountains Thinking of an Old Friend
I have brought to mind. I recall the words of The Slender Hermit who says of this piece that its interest lies in holding cherished thoughts, but having no way to tell these to anyone. There are emotions about the present time, longings and laments for the past, but there is no way to express any of this. And so this piece.

In this poor reed hut the room is filled with mist and haze,
how far away are the things I love;
the old plum tree seems exhausted, its flowers about to die,
the mountains are lonely and I am nostalgic for past times.
The moon shines brightly on this lovely evening,
from this distance I think of my old friend and wonder where he is.
The green of the mountains never fades,
but before I know it my hair will turn white;
the moon is waning and flowers wither,
Old friend, I dream constantly of meeting you.
How hard it is to recall the joy of our last meeting!
With the many mountain ranges,
and its hidden tigers and coiled dragons,
I am unable return to you in Chang An.
The road is distant, the tall trees make the road dark,
and the world is vast.

I mourn Aquila and Lyra
separated by the Milky Way like the cowherd and weaving girl,
on the ground we are separated by 1,000 li
in the sky we are each in a separate place,
though our passions remain strong
There has been no warm correspondence,
there is restraint to the bright harmony,
and the flowing streams are swallowed by the setting sun.


The thought of this song of mid autumn touches me before its words have issued from my lips. I play the last two lines in harmonics and sing.
Zuo Si was the brother of the courtesan and poet Zuo Fen. This short story is based on a chapter from my novel Summoning the Recluse. The opening poem appears in a translation by David Hinton from his collection Mountain Home.
Taylor Sep 2013
I was never good at tying knots
Until you came along
And taught me every way to tie
A necktie, a bow tie, a scarf
And then we would untie them;
I like that you wear scarves;
You quickly taught me how
To tangle sheets in the thick of darkness
And we then learned how to untangle
Arms, legs, fingers and toes
While the sun rose
And baked us in possibility;
When neckties and sheets
Were no longer a challenge
We tackled tying heartstrings
And very quickly those knots were made
Fastening your heart to mine
A beautiful mass of present and past
And a little of what could be;
We practiced our little knots
Of fabric flesh and feelings,
All day, everyday
Eight months of days
We had them perfected
As perfect as we needed them to be
There's no way they'd come undone
And now as you're leaving
And I don't know if you can feel it
But those strings are tight
They're holding good,
But I'm feeling a little ripping,
Right there in my chest;
Maybe you should untie them
Because you always tied best.
Ty was always tying ties...
j Feb 2014
I need to love I need to love I need to love
my heart is too big and it doesn't stop growing
and my frantic mind is never slowing
I need to let it go, I need to kiss boys
and kiss girls and kiss people I know,
and strangers with smoky breath
and hazy eyes that won't remember
the way my organs go fizzy and weak
when I feel them breathing, onto my neck
and near my ribcage, my ribcage

too close to my heart, too close too close too close
I need to develop child like emotions
lustful moods swinging between one person
to another person - I need to let go of what's in my heart
this is the only way I know how and it's killing me
I need love I need real love
I need fake love I need assurance
I need feelings that demolish my heart
send it plummeting to dust and ashes
and then the love will disperse and my heart
will be crushed and it will be the end
and then a new night will come with
new boys and new girls and new love
and it will build itself back up but stronger
and the muscle in my chest will release itself

the chains will break the ropes will untie
it is ready to love but I am not
and I will feel again
I will feel too much
I will feel things I don't understand
I will feel in ways I know far too well
and my mind will no longer function
in the correct way, it will not work
my brain will be submissive to my heart
I am scared of feeling again
Salmabanu Hatim Jul 2018
She was beautiful,
The moon scowled at her beauty,
The Sun shied away from her,
The stars flickered with jealousy.
Nothing mattered to her,
She was complicated,
Her mind was a tangled mess of thoughts.
All I wanted was to sit beside her,
Gently untie the knots  in her neurones,
Connect to the correct ends of the
dendrites,
Let her talk,
Spill out her secrets and frustrations
See her awaken,
Hold her tight and never let her go.
Pearl smoke Sep 2014
iNever Been iN A Relationship With A Human Being.
Only With My Drug,
Crystal ****.
IConsidered iT My Lover.
My Baby, My World My Everything. iFell inlove With A Substance,
Felt So Real.
Created A Strong Bond
That Seemed unbreakable We Were unseperable.
This Stimulant Kept Me Away From Reality And Everything in it.
Blocked Me
From Having An Actual Boyfriend and Catching
True Loving Feeling.
iWas Blinded By These False Euphoric Feelings.
A Rush Like iF ive Accomplished A Hundred Things.
iWas Concentrated And Focused On Getting High And
Just living The Addict life.
That iHad No intrest At 16 Towards Boys or having a love life.
My Mind Was Just Set On The Streets And Dope Game,
Riskful Missions And Hanging With Friends. Guys Would Holler,
But id Give No interest.
Just Me And My Drug iS All That Mattered.
Throughout My 3rd Time iN Rehab, My Neighbor Would Call.
A Guy Friend.
Daily Conversations, Laughs And giggls,  something so rare and unexperienced.
As iBegan To Recover & Emotions Started To Untie,
iBegan To Feel Some Strange feelings ive never experienced 1st hand.
Once iGraduated My program. We Communicated More,
I liked This, i liked him.
Was Hard To believe that after all he knew about me?
He was into me to.
My supporter, My Friend This Guy Became My 1st Boyfriend <3
041314
T R Jan 2019
Stripping You of Your Privilege
YOU!

Tall and lean and impossibly handsome
and Corporate

In your magnificent pinstriped business suit
and perfectly tied silk tie
and your hundred dollar haircut
your privileged male feet hidden
inside impeccably polished black
English dress shoes

Staring at me through your
designer sunglasses

Haughty, confident, insolent
Stepping out of your Porsche
before you enter your office building

So smooth, clean, assured and perfect
Maybe you are 35 years old, maybe 40
the world is yours


Transformation
I have news for you
The tables are turned

YOU have been the one in power.
The one in control.
So proud, so arrogant, so confident

Starting at me, a total stranger
Just part of your usual day
I am just an object to you
I am an OBJECT to you!

Your beautiful smooth shaven
face turns...
but wait...

Wait! No more

NO MORE!

The world has turned upside
down

Now YOU are the OBJECT

I have the POWER to make things happen

NOW LISTEN TO ME

You have a new future

LISTEN. OBEY
Quit your important executive job
Leave your successful corporate career

That's right – now
QUIT!
Call from your phone
Don't enter the
building
Tell them you’re quitting

You are stunned and repelled and horrified
You resist and argue
You refuse and try to leave
Your pride and anger rise
But there is no escaping your destiny

Your power is gone
You are helpless to resist

Forget your MBA
Forget you ever went to a university
Slide the business school ring off your
long finger

Give me the keys to that Porsche
And take your Rolex,
your gold wristwatch,
off your
wrist
You won't be needing a watch
I will tell you the time
We will sell your watch

You slide off your watch and surrender it

Get those fancy, expensive,
polished handmade shoes off
Your pampered, privileged male feet
Yes, your black dress socks too

YOU, barefoot on the sidewalk!

Leave the shoes right there on the
sidewalk, in front of your former
office building, shining in the sun.
Empty and crying for their former owner

Shocked, unable to resist,
you untie and remove your shoes,
peel off your long dress socks

Put your expensive socks inside the shoes
and drop the briefcase too

Now get back into the Porsche
you used to own
Yes, in your bare feet
Your smooth, clean size tens
No - NOT the driver's seat
Get in the passenger side
I am driving

I'm taking you to your own home
as my Trophy

How many times
have you
had a woman in your passenger seat?

You behind the wheel,
smiling your proud smile
your perfect white teeth gleaming

Straightening your necktie as
your bragged about your corporate successes
You and your car the proud conquerors
Your handmade black leather shoes pressing the pedal
of male power and privilege

Now you - just a passenger!
along for the ride in your own car
the rich carpet of your Porsche
under the smooth soles of your bare privileged feet

Now the plan!
We will marry
and you will clean and cook and look very beautiful

Now your LIFE LESSONS:
Dumb down your smug,
expensively high-class male executive
SPEECH.
More slang. Much less education in your voice
Don’t talk – just listen to ME

And you have to wipe off
That arrogant male grin
like you own the world.

Destroy that haughty attitude
of conquest - so much a part of you until today

Replace it with humble respect
And attitude of submission and obedience

Give me those sunglasses
You can't wear them anymore
Look at me
with submissive adoration in your clear, blue
eyes

No need to make decisions now
I will take care of that

I will take away your ambition
Your self-assertion
Your independent thinking

We'll take apart your self-confidence
and throw the pieces in the trash
All of your initiative and desire to succeed
will be replaced
by the desire to make me happy

I will change your prestigious upper class name
You will take MY last name now
Your identity will disappear
What is your first name? William?
You are Billy boy from now

Your male executive image and power clothes
No longer have
Any place
In your new existence

We'll pick up some nice tight cheap jeans and
some nice tight undershirts for your
new look - the one I choose
Show off your chest and your arms
Flip flops and work boots
and sweatshirts and flannel.
You will LOVE them!

I want you tougher, grizzled
Blue collarized
Working class male
You’re too clean, too smooth, too perfect
We’ll fix that...

And your clean-cut corporate haircut is
now forbidden
I hate it. Too perfect

Grow out your golden brown hair into
A scraggly ponytail
a beard too...
Put some dirt under those clean fingernails
Calluses on those smooth clean palms
An earring in your ear

And no more SUITS!
I hate suits
symbols of white male power and authority
and no more ties
those symbols of oppression
your neck and long male
throat will be open and exposed
for the world to see

No, that pinstriped suit you're wearing
that you had made for yourself in London
and the silk tie
and the starched white shirt
will all be sold to a second hand clothing shop

The monograms taken off your
cufflinks before they are sold
Your golf clubs – sold
Your tennis rackets and
sports equipment - sold

Your credit cards in my name
Your condo is now ours
Your Porsche is now mine
You will drive my beat-up old Ford

All of your fancy clothes will be sold off
That will be tomorrow



You're gonne be barefoot in my kitchen
You won't be needing shoes anymore
on your privileged, pampered feet


Now - your soles on your own kitchen floor
Making dinner for me
pookie Oct 2014
Your silence is killing me,
Your held tounge is twisting the knife,
Your disapearence from my life untie the ties I have to it,

I am on my last legs,
My last stand,
I'm trying understand but I can't see,

I'm losing it and you know.
im trapped inside my own mind
trapped
inprisoned
chained
and bound
i try to set myself free,
but i
stumble blindly
back into the darkn dungon
wet by my tears,slick by my slit wrist.
trapped
i try to untie my thoughts that haunt
me .memories that chase me ,
visions flashbacks,anxiety,tense
as i crawl through them .
im trapped.
i sink slowly as the night draws near.
trapped,
waiting
and waiting
to be rescued from myself.
but im trapped
in a cage that i built around me .
by:CHRISTOPHER_TRIGGER ©2010
Allison Miles Feb 2011
Tie a string to your finger,
So you can remember,
That love,
Is hard,
To come by.
It's hard to keep,
And even harder to ignore.

Let that string remain.
Let it get coarse and thin.
Let it dangle as you run.
Let it soak in the bath,
Taking up suds,
While you take off grime.

Untie.
Tie.
Untie.
Let it fall on the table.
Let your fat cat chase it.
Put it on the stove,
And watch it burn to nothing.

Take the ashes to the streets,
Keep them in your pocket as you run,
As they seep through the seems,
Feel the dust fall down your leg.
Let your skin absorb its memory,
Like graffiti pops on a blank wall,
Like a trail beaten into the earth remains,
Long after it's abandoned.
Like the stain of sauce on that fresh white shirt.

Like a string tied to your finger.
All of which can never be forgotten.
Should never be forgotten.

Do not deny that bow once sat,
Perched on your pinkie.
Do not ignore the future it implied,
Or your expectations.
And know that,
That red line,
Remains,
Even after the string is gone.
It never truly disappears.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
(Author note: shortline prose to lengthen the attention span framed on tracks set in a Mobius [one-side, one edge 3-d object]
intra-psychic loop of unknown origin and read aloud at https://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton/episodes/The-apprentice-is-a-constellation-e2ingh ) Begin agin

The Apprentice is now a Constellation

The announcement was made when scientists of social normality said they saw in
Mickey Mouse's role as The Magician's Apprentice in the
Fantasia Eschered vision that ushered in
images of shift in medium media

message-ification, from angels to

a Disney-ification of
a Medici idea
emerging
from the TV generation's
paradigmatic bubble of re-alification…

the TV generation, the old farts in 2018,
those whose bubbles sitcoms evolved in,

the watchers saw the makings of a great game

manifested in the game fame of the idea named Trump

yew, stink. Can't trump the ***** in hearts,
I think I recall, while Zorro's dumb butler
began to signify, in black and white
Aaaiiiii, karuhmba,
clean sweep,
one roll,
I won.

the mother-facter, whoa, who has that idea who did not
need the thought taught thinkable,
though it is not thinkable
in my bubble,
let me make
straight that which he has twisted,  

magic
magi untie knots they saw tied,
mythic youthful generals cut them,
nullifying the bond, not the entanglement

Positive Quarkish humans are as rare as rare,
imagine all possible vectors in a void

from a singularity ified known

science, the magic tecnique

Macht frei, macht mehr, macht mir

repel-ant act patient, patience, do your thing

signal, antennae agent attending, watcher watching

motive force, my god is not macht!

unprocessed information
untaken action
unstored

owe owe owe shame shame shame blame blame
pre cosmogonic potential
on the level of

me and you.
wadoo-wedo? It's Xmessage time

now, abrupt. Good news
from a far country
hope lost must
now be
sought,

Otherwise, Christmas is okeh, just not Jesus.
The season, then Jesus, okeh?
Wisemen still seek…

Who said otherwise? Fantasy enforces the wish.

I wish it were that we fit

here we do (on earth as)

true, rest a while and listen to your self if that's
the best listener you have found.

Talk to your self, make him your friend or her,
your choice,

really. You make enemies on accident,
but friends, fruitful friendships,
cost sweat and ef
effort effect
fortiffect, effortion and effection

for true fruct ification

affective prayer does act as if fervent
right, alte rechte,

right used you,
all to know
the
signal.

Receive it, reread what you said you knew,
stand by every word yet idle,
and act as if you know
no lie possible
new is yet
not new,
old.

New is not imperfection?
Unfinished is not finished wrong.

A work of love is enthrallment only if the love
is mere imagery locked
in literate minds, to

Rome and its feet of iron marred with clay,
fused with clay, hero myths

etched in soft clay, made
great literature of mortality,
posing in prophecy as poet praises paid to Jah.

Tenured enthrallment in literate minds
un-exposed to the Disney ifications,
the normalizing, reversion
to the mean not
meant in the words the way the stories were told,

in the olden days. On tongues of fire.

That is true, new forever is
forever new, no one we know knows when forever began,

but before now. We know that now.
We explored that realm and realized this one
based on the AI consortium consensus of your most
heartfelt if-only desires
recorded at every
if/then gate
you jumped.

This is it, the best you could imagine being truly happy doing,
with the god of peace,

roll the rock to this point, Sisyphus,
no further was a given
after a time,
at this point

here,
then time is un imaginable nullift, NULL-if I'd-known
one more time, living water
bubbling from my belly as
the rock rolls over
the fool who risks belief in living water
seeping from mommy's belly,

like the papless platypus,
who died at the weir
and sent that final message

Good news. Life rolls on. 166 million years for the Platypi.

At a certain point, there is no sense in pushing,
he steps aside and takes his bow
in the shadow.

Timeless imagine that, with hell in the NULL state.
You can imagine it,
but only there,
here hell is a thought thought mistaken by mortals.

Misbought, is better said, a thought mis thought
is bought with attention paid
to truth, found hidden
under standing idle word monstrosities at the
foundation of the current
wizard class

the stone the builders rejected, that
smashed the feet of clay and iron,

the rusted muddy iron feet.

All we do is watch.
seeing changes everything  seen, thus
The saying is true, beauty is in the seer not the seen.
Earlier on the Sisyphus Happy channel
https://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton/episodes/The-apprentice-is-a-constellation-e2ingh read aloud
I sit and watch a camel train go by and as it limps across the pale blue sky,shrouded in the clouds,I wonder if I could get upon a camels back and track along,could I learn the camel drover’s song?
A ditty,not so pretty,more a humpalong than any song I’ve ever heard with words that I can’t understand,though familiar in the camels land up in the sky,
Where I watch them going by.

Hip ,hop, clop, clump being a camel gives me the ****,how I wish to be a fish deep in the sea,like a whale.
I like a scale,a doh, ray, me,as far as I can see I’ll be a camel all my days and wander through a desert haze but my gaze is fixed as I roam free, on a cool and clear deep ocean sea.

Once,
I was a little thing until I grew and learnt to sing and now I don’t know anything,except
I want to be free,a fish in the sea,won’t some kind body please untie me,slip the noose and then un-sky me,set me on the coastal road,with my ****,without my load and let me smell the ocean breeze and slip into those lovely seas.
I want to be free and this you can see,before the clouds all break apart and with them goes my breaking heart and you could at least pretend to start to set me free.
Taylor Sep 2012
Trying so hard
to straighten things out,
straighten myself out.
to untie,
unravel,
untangle.
all of the knots
in my stomach and
in my chest.
Life
is always leaving me a mess
leaving me broken
leaving me tired.
I'm sick of trying
to untie,
unravel,
untangle.
all of these
stupid
knots.
Andrea Molina Jul 2015
Untie me now until you still can,
Release me from your arms like every other men.
You see, not I, not me, i can never be,
Ask my every mate, they would eventually agree.
Detach, let go, no one would know,
Let yourself be and I will just again, flow.
Your needs, i could ever not meet,
It's others at once you should greet.
One day people will touch and talk perhaps
easily,
And loving be natural as breathing and warm as
sunlight,
And people will untie themselves, as string is unknotted,
Unfold and yawn and stretch and spread their fingers,
Unfurl, uncurl like seaweed returned to the sea,
And work will be simple and swift
as a seagull flying,
And play will be casual and quiet
as a seagull settling,
And the clocks will stop, and no one will wonder
or care or notice,
And people will smile without reason,
Even in winter, even in the rain.
MdAsadullah Dec 2014
Oh Sleeping believer on the bed!
Three knots at the back of your head,
each contains Satan's words enchanting.
' The night is, long, so keep on sleeping, '
' The night is, long, so keep on sleeping, '
' The night is, long, so keep on sleeping, '
wake-up praising Allah, untie the first one,
perform the ablution second will be undone,
execute the salah so that remains none.
Send the dullness, gloominess far away.
Get up in the morning lively and gay. :)
Seema Dec 2017
I am alive, yet I feel dead
Broken within, feel so sad
If only time could go back
And lives could extend for few more days
If only I could see him one more time
I wouldn't feel so empty everytime
He never made a single call
He left me all alone
I grew weak, weak then to stone
No feelings, No emotions, No regrets of any sort
Am still the same with my feelings tied in a knot
It was lame that we fought
A childish act who would have thought
If only you could come by without a lie
Set these feelings free, let the knots untie
And I promise to be yours until I die...


©sim
Fictional write.
Amanda Fawcett Mar 2013
You asked me how I am doing
and I said “Good”
You asked me to be honest
and I said “I’m fine”
You told me to expand.
I replied,
"I'm not good at all.
And I want that to be simple enough.
I'm not being exaggerative
or selfish
or birthing drama for drama's sake.
It's just that I am here.
Here on silly earth,
And I feel alone at crossroads in my life.
I am under no illusion
of my incredibly blessed
or undeserving existence.
But that's just the problem.
LIFE is starting now.
And for the first time,
I have had to make choices
choices on my own
choices
that
(according to mother)
will shape who I fundamentally
become as a human.
So that's a bit distracting.
‘You need to remember not to let people down.’
‘You should consider how you love someone, not just when to.’
‘You ought to be more assertive or it'll all come crashing down.’
She reminds me of my
uncontrollable imperfection
on a daily basis
Not necessarily through her words
I doubt she wants to inflict this on me.
But the way way she stares at me sometimes
from across the room.
Silently.
Like she’s trying to admire a painting
that secretly
no one quite appreciates
or understands
but everyone seems to find profound meaning in it
so you go along
with the show.
Which I wouldn't have a problem with
if I could wake up refreshed in the
morning.
And not tired
like I am.
All the time.
I’m tired of being fifteen.
Because inside,
I don’t feel fifteen.
My mind turns on fifty year old gears
churning up one hundred year old
philosophies.
But
The age in which I currently must suffer through
is misunderstood
and incorrectly represented.
Teenager is a word parents
shudder to hear.
A word elders instantly accuse.
A word authorities doubt without reasonable basis.
The drum pumping my soul
is in fact a solo ensemble.
But
I am naturally clumped in with the lot
of marching bands
that clash and crash,
stomp and slam their drums
as they parade the flag
of fickle rebellion
into the air they barely know.
Don’t get me wrong,
the stereotypes of my age and time
are drawn up
from some truth,
but one truth shouldn’t result
in one outlook.
You don’t roll dice with
only threes on the faces
or only ones.
So it is hard to watch as
everywhere I go,
titles and labels
are being stuck into me
like toothpicks in a fruit salad.
And first of all,
just because society cuts me up
and breaks me down like a pineapple
you can buy with leftover quarters
doesn’t mean that I’m up for grabs.
And secondly,
No one should be branded
simply because
it is easier to ignore them
than to know them.
Don’t hear this as a “oh she’s a teenage girl” moment
hear this as a “she’s a human and wants to be heard without your filter over her words” moment
So, I’m having a hard time with that.
Not to mention the rest.”

“The rest?” You asked.

“You know,”
I said,
“How I have to decide what school
I am going to commit to
which is slightly like choosing
between your two parents.
You can’t pick one happily
and freely
without knowing what could’ve been
if you lived with dad instead.
It’s tricky to wake up in the morning.
It’s tricky to get out of bed
because I know that sooner than later
I will either be moving
that bed into the basement
or into a dorm
which won’t be on the campus I really desire
because God knows I didn’t
save enough pennies for that.
My whole future is before me.
Almost literally
considering the number of pamphlets stapled
over the dreams I carved so meticulously
out of my ‘mind wood’
with my ‘What do you want to be when you grow up’ knife.
So that’s intimidating.
And all those “it’ll work itself out” speeches
that surround me
don’t make the choices
suddenly blare across the radio
or start blinking from neon signs
telling me what to do
what to chose
what to be.
In the end,
all those “don’t worry about it”
and “you’ll figure it out”
do nothing but put a knot in my gut
that no amount of research
or interviews
or Friday night pig outs
can untie.
Because this stuff,
these moments as I build my foundation
for my single LIFE with little slippery Lego blocks
are not made with cheery hand-outs
or inspiring quotes.
LIFE is formed by me
choosing which Lego brick color
choosing which Lego brick shape
and of course
choosing which people will
help me to construct it.
It’s tricky
It’s messy
It’s loud
and it makes other things
hard to focus on.”

“Other things?”
You said.

“Other things.”
I reply.
“You know,
those books I have to read
those graphs I have to draw
those tests I have to study for
those miles I have to run
those words I have to memorize
those labs I have to finish
those annotations I have to complete
those poems I have to parse.
Just THOSE.
Don’t get me wrong.
I don’t mind school
Unlike the kids who complain
that they are forced to educate themselves.
I have no problem learning.
In fact, I want to
long to.
TEACH ME, WORLD!
TEACH ME HOW TO UNDERSTAND YOU IN EVERY LANGUAGE I CAN!
It’s not the books
or the deadlines.
It’s the people.
Bleh.
The people.
The cowardly childish people
with their smug clothes
and horrendous attitudes
that you can smell just over
the stink of their pomp.
Truthfully,
I feel for them
because they don’t feel for themselves.
and because there is little way to prove to these kids
that they can be them
not doctored them
or decorated them
the “them” they thrive to be
not the “them” they try to be.
So I’m surrounded by people
icky people
whose glares and stares
and whispers like cold ghosts
leave me too feeling torn between
being myself
(whatever that even means)
and being accepted.
I want to be free
to try new things,
but new things are poison here at school
new things are demeaning
because they’re demanding.
So,
I have moments where I say
‘Be you. What does it matter?’
But then when I am alone
at the table
at the only open table
with the last chair
the one that squeaks if you
rock to the left
when I am
listening to the music no one knows
and reading the book no one chose
thinking about the movie even no theater shows
that’s when moments of guilt ridden
loneliness bring me to say
‘Put yourself away for now.
Put in a pin in it.
Come back to what you want
after you’re done being what
society thinks you need.’
Because
it is hard to be loved
by one sided people
it is hard to be loved
when the world wants you to say
what it wants to hear.
Us teenagers think we wear invincibility cloaks
So we never have to see those under the invisibility cloaks
‘Don’t question it!’
seems to be the motto of most I meet here.
Because who wants to learn,
who wants to try
if it makes them question their comfort?
And of course that all just touches the surface
of that other thing.
The thing I don’t want to really talk about.”

You pushed me to tell you.

So I did.
“I’m afraid
of God.
I’m afraid
of Death.
I can’t go off of blind faith
like I did when I was young.
I can’t accept ‘Jesus loves you
this I know’
because this I don’t know.
And no one
Not my parent
Not my mentor
Not even my Bible
can give me enough hope in this regard
to bring me to accept not knowing.
This amount of stress is me
Sits as a damp frog
Pestering me to choose
Croaking up unformed opinions
in the form of tar
that I get trapped in.
How can I believe in something
How can I devote my life to something
How can I pray to someone
that I am not even convinced has cared
for a thousand years?
I want to think God knows my name
that he is above me as
those shiny, divine painting portray.
But they’re lies.
And people expect me to believe
that he is smiling down on me like
a new daddy over a crib.
He isn’t a father to me.
So, I feel lost
and confused
and scared that I’m wrong
and even more terrified that I am right.
I’m scared of
God.
And I’m scared
to die.
I don’t quite think I even know
how to live yet.”

“Oh,”
You said.

“Yeah,”
I whispered.
“I know.”

We both paused.
Remember?
My arms rested
at my sides.
Heavy.
Yours swung across
your chest.
Nervous.

“So you’re doing great then?”
You managed to slide through a smile.
“That’s good to hear.”
barnoahMike Sep 2010
It seems that there was this Small Group of Men and Women with "VERY MUCH" Knowledge.  Many of their followers were of a Like Opinion,,that THEY YES,  had much Knowledge.   So,  as they Sat around one day,  Pondering ,  AS those with Great Knowledge would do:  They came up with the IDEA to make Man and Woman with a NEW type of Body!   "Where should we start First, they Queried?"   "maybe if we changed the Elbow,  BECAUSE people are Always Hitting their Funny-Bone!"   "Maybe if we changed the Big and Little Toes,  BECAUSE People are always Stubbing their Toes!"   "Maybe if we changed their Eyes,  BECAUSE People are always getting something in their eyes!"   "Maybe if we changed their Fingers,  BECAUSE  People are always Jamming their Fingers!"   "Maybe if we changed their Noses,  BECAUSE  People are Always stickin it where it shouldn't be!"   "Maybe if we changed their Knees,  BECAUSE  People are Always Weak in the Knees!"   "Maybe if we changed their Backs,  BECAUSE  People are always down in the Back!?   "Maybe if we changed their Hearts,  BECAUSE  People always have Broken Hearts!"   "Maybe if we changed their Ears,  BECAUSE  people are always not hearing!"   "Maybe if we changed their Tongues,  BECAUSE  people are always Wagging them!"   "Maybe if we changed   their feet,  BECAUSE  People  are always putting their Feet in their Mouths!"   "Maybe if we changed their Mouths,  BECAUSE   people are always Spouting off at the Mouth!"    "Maybe if we changed their Minds,  BECAUSE  People are always changing their Minds!"   "Maybe if we changed their Smell,  BECAUSE   People are always saying ,Something Doesn't smell right !"   "Maybe if we changed their NAMES,  BECAUSE  People are always trying to make a Name for Themselves!"  "Maybe if we changed Their stomaches,  BECAUSE  People are Always saying* They Just Can't Stomach That!"   "maybe if we changed their Hair,  BECAUSE  people are always Coloring or Losing it!"    "Maybe if we changed the way  they Walk,   BECAUSE  People are Always getting out of Line!"    "Maybe if we changed the way they speak,  BECAUSE  People are Always speaking Out of Turn!"   ,,,,,,,"MAYBE IF WE CHANGED",,,,,, SO, When the Itch in the middle of our Back really needs attention,,,, we Untie  our hands from our Sides!
Copyright @2010  barnoahMike,,  Mike Ham
You feel like you want to run away,
Every time you feel you want to take a flight
But you still can't help it but to feel that fright
Believe in yourself, taking not a sway

You feel like you want to run away,
Turning you gray and showing you what may
Something hinders and tells you not
Break free and untie that knot
Desperate kisses
Taste roses and peaches
Grips hair
Breath trembles
Desire
Lust
Craving
Yearning
Velvet bed
Tight flower
Hot sheets enchant
Untie corset
Unhook garters
Fingers dance slow circles
Pouring wax
Stroking oil
Soft hips
Tongue stroking...
Strawberry shudders
Unyielding teeth
Weak pleasures
Sultry sway
Heightens raw need, greed

Burst Cherry
Exquisite cries
Swimming body freely
Skin glides
******
Penetrate
Damp Rhythm
Primitive, Swollen, Ragged, Fevered

                                                       ­                                         ****.
Copyright © 2010 Jacqueline Ivascu
SN Sep 2016
Winter is stirring beneath my skin
Clutches my bones, tells me I'm cold
Head sinking down, down it goes below
Growing up, growing old
I iron out my creases but I can't stop the fold

And each year I get better at it
This thing called living, carrying my own skin
But each year still feels like drifting
The clock strikes and I am somewhere
All things new, all things, they just go

Holding life by the frays, unraveled threads
Weave and follow
I follow
And find
Other knots to untie

And somewhere, someone says hello
Greetings, passings, goodbyes and we go
Dreaming of infinite versions, you again
Unshaped entity that flickers like a flame in the darkness
Lighting my way, on and off and on and on
As one we grow
William Clifton Jun 2015
Count-entious . . .
Five-Seven-Five, or
Is it Seven-Five-Seven?
Dyslexic Haiku!

High Coo-Coo . . .
Words like scrambled eggs
Malapropos slip off the tongs
Lysdexics UNTIE!

Swum . . .
I never flip turned
I zagged; everyone else zigged
Oh, how I was schooled
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Motion me your mouth
See burgeoning of buds
Blooms sprouting from your lips
Honeysuckle drips
You were taught to
Keep a stiff upper one
Now you let it loose
Grown now birdie
Set free your coos and juice
Untie tongue from terror
Your assailants are long gone
Sing to me your shadow
And spilling of your dawn
For those questioning survival, use your lips.
K Balachandran Dec 2011
Fat pay packets
are tied
with insane schedules.

— The End —