Makes me pause to wonder why
I conjour thoughts to let them fly,
Float them forth as dreams do sing
Of hope's eternal leavening.....
Leavening the quiet subdued
Of retrospection's agate mood,
As still as glass in hidden pool
Soft utterings of maudlin fool.

M.

Lick the words
from my lips
let them slide down
your throat
like fruited jewels,
   dark, hard candies
   that melt into cream
a healing liquid  
oozing into my
               ventricles,
pumping milky beats
out through
           your cells
permeating the deep
of my wild
  
My syllables will
   wrap themselves
      around your syntax
frothy hybrids
of buttered silk
                and irony
heart-to-heart
conversations that
flow into the ether,
as heaven's night
endlessly begins

We twirl our tongues
into guttural utterings,
lustful verse
that glides from
slick-fervored ice
to an outpour
                    of lava
We feed each other
dreams
our saliva like honey
dripping with dawn's
tender glow
as we open up
like baby birds,
begging to be nourished
at all costs

Here,
in this lingual forest
Your breath finds a home
on my tastebuds,
my tongue
in your
          cheek
            
In between the tumults
of our
exploding oceans
This
     is how we
  love

You woke me in the thin dawn.
Like a riot of rain in a bleached dry summer.

small green shreds of shrub sprang from my heart
as tumbling birdsong might litter the long pale sky.

your voice came drifting through the shallow line
And I let the sound seep like a soft assault on my senses.

I hear the words and picture your lips
Folding around the consonants like a dance.

I hear your breath carry the words and taste the phrases
That linger on your tongue as if to  speak them in a  kiss

These words that spin this cloth of gold in whispered utterings
This silken tease with a wild sprinkle of kisses and anatomy.

And would my words soften your eye and entice your body
With fevered adventures seeking to be sated with a touch?

Could you taste the blessings erupting from my tongue?
Would you ache inside far beneath the longings of the flesh?

It seems that every cell is sighing a simpering listless want
to be captured by the haunting breath of a lover’s call.

They don't have donkeys at  South Bermondsey or market stalls.
The pigeons find it easy to loiter
the thoroughfare now
fish and chip wrappings are considered passe.
I wonder if the girls should dress  in black
as a counter statement
against the new builds above Tesco.
A sort of mourning for these  changes.
What's left of community?
last shot down by mothers helpers.
Town planners,  gosh
nail and  execution executive

Spanish

Vagos preludios. En la noche espléndida
Su voz de perlas una fuente calla,
Cuelgan las brisas sus celestes pifanos
En el follaje. Las cabezas pardas
De los búhos acechan.
Las flores se abren más, como asombradas.
Los cisnes de marfil tienden los cuellos
En las lagunas pálidas.
Selene mira del azul. Las frondas
Tiemblan… y todo! hasta el silencio, calla…

Es que ella pasa con su boca triste
Y el gran misterio de sus ojos de ámbar,
A través de la noche, hacia el olvido,
Como una estrella fugitiva y blanca.
Como una destronada reina exótica
De bellos gestos y palabras raras.

Horizontes violados sus ojeras
Dentro sus ojos–dos estrellas de ámbar–
Se abren cansados y húmedos y tristes
Como llagas de luz que quejaran.

Es un dolor que vive y que no espera,
Es una aurora gris que se levanta
Del gran lecho de sombras de la noche,
Cansada ya, sin esplendor, sin ansias
Y sus canciones son como hadas tristes
Alhajadas de lágrimas…

              English

Murmuring preludes. On this resplendent night
Her pearled voice quiets a fountain.
The breezes hang their celestial fifes
In the foliage. The gray heads
Of the owls keep watch.
Flowers open themselves, as if surprised.
Ivory swans extend their necks
In the pallid lakes.
Selene watches from the blue. Fronds
Tremble…and everything! Even the silence, quiets.

She wanders with her sad mouth
And the grand mystery of amber eyes,
Across the night, toward forgetfulness
Like a star, fugitive and white.
Like a dethroned exotic queen
With comely gestures and rare utterings.

Her undereyes are violated horizons
And her irises–two stars of amber–
Open wet and weary and sad
Like ulcers of light that weep.

She is a grief which thrives and does not hope,
She is a gray aurora rising
From the shadowy bed of night,
Exhausted, without splendor, without anxiousness.
And her songs are like dolorous fairies
Jeweled in teardrops…

                          The strings of lyres
                          Are the souls' fibers.–

The blood of bitter vineyards, noble vineyards,
In goblets of regal beauty, rises
To her marble hands, to lips carved
Like the blazon of a great lineage.

Strange Princes of Fantasy! They
Have seen her languid head, once *****,
And heard her laugh, for her eyes
Tremble with the flower of aristocracies!

And her soul clean as fire, like a star,
Burns in those pupils of amber.
But with a mere glance, scarcely an intimacy,
Perhaps the echo of a profane voice,
This white and pristine soul shrinks
Like a luminous flower, folding herself up!

When Robots ruled And “The Guardian” went into liquidation
It will be a strange quiet world when robots take over
there will be no middle-class the ranting of the eggheads
in the Guardian will cease their utterings will be quaint.
At the time when robots were perfected a pill emerged on
the market  made women and men infertile until they
wanted to start a family, alas, it was irreversible and it only
Takes a generation. The poor was working for the robots
picking up trash such as screws, the streets were empty
and cars were obsolete.
Some robots that had received too much learning wrote
Books to each other – as they did now- and had literary
reviews, but since each book sounded like another down
to the ****** “,” it fell out of vogue, so much academia
and no one to buy their books. At the same time as it was
discovered by the human workers that when a friendly
robot accepted a glass of beer it made a summersault, froze
and became a piece of junk leaking oil.
The fight back began the robots had not been programmed
To tolerate Alcohol, the Achilles heel, and the workers were
Jubilant waved flags
No longer should robots- any robots with mechanical learning
whether university or not- to rule over them.

Spheres floating in the chilly dark,
white and fluffy,
vain and uncorrupted.
They act as the air
being both here and never
there;
they act as the heavens,
little shining points floating
in a sea of black.
Islands so pure
floating in a nightmare sea--
how I abhorr their isolation,
their pure and careless
floating
though I, too, am alone.
Adrift in a sea of
introspective mutterings and
the utterings of a mind entrapped,
I sail the dark and simpering seas
of the Universe.
My vessel is a snowflake,
a crystalline craft carrying me
through the synapses and
nervous connections
of the thinking brain.
How infinite is the mind,
how wondrous is the world,
an immensity unto itself and
yet so tiny and contained.
I have never seen the ruins of China,
the fallen columns of the Romans nor
the ancient halls of the Al-Hambra.
I shall never see the samurai in bloom,
arranging flowers and painting
pictures of naked women
haunting their snowflake mind.
I shall never construct the
anonymous clockwork of Archimedes
but rather be trapped in the mechanisms
of the modern machine.
Adrift,
my confusion,
my blind anger and hatred of fate and
the gravity that pulls the snowflake ever closer to the ground
is pure vanity and self illusion.
Do the archways of Troy or
the mathematics of India
make us any larger in size
when compared to the Universe?
How can a snowflake
measure infinity?
What Universes exist
within the frozen ice of a snowflake,
what wars and great romances have played out
within the crystals;
what gods have been erected,
what nations have coalesced from the ashes
within the molecules and atoms
crafted by the cold
and the senseless flow of water?
The myriad explorers,
philosophers,
inventors,
geniuses lost to the ages
have mapped out the physical
while still being blind to the
finite world around them.
They sailed the Universe's
inky oceans of unknown,
their mind's sails billowing white,
puffy and hopeful
as they drifted off the edge of the known.
How they wriggled and rolled
so miraculously through the dark,
snowflakes floating carelessly
creating the world out of necessity
and pure ingenuity.
What white specters might exist
in the libraries of old,
in the halls of Alexandria or
the melting *** of Baghdad?
Do they wish to leave me a message,
the snow that saunters down,
to build a city in my mind
and a home in my soul.
What thoughts were caught
by the ancient genius
floating carelessly
like snow falling
in the anonymous black
of night?
Like islands they stood
for the men sailing the unknown waters
to rest and read and
contemplate
for just a few moments longer.
Swallowed by the darkness,
layered on the ground,
the knowledge is lost
among the infinitely white expanse
and the all-consuming darkness
of the night.
I am lost
like a snowflake falling too fast
I am buried beneath
layers of snow.

in time
our life forming rituals
when woman held man in common
gentle willing people a tribe conformed
by wisdom of woman thriving with women
these creators of humanity in frame work survival
of living on planet Earth the hours indifference
the east to the west the Earth rising east
into the new days Star the west darkness prevails
as the world turns east the hours given
for the Earth of the west to rise in east Star rays
as the world turns womb in and man
building life customs a living family the sexes
creation performing rituals
to hold power over both sexes in tribe
between them bringing water to the table
from the well of the forest primeval
we *** advancing the daily rituals in time
not knowing the outcome in survival
our knowledge is common of good or evil
our humanity or power of greed
our family bound to survival of our being
gentle people cast down mutts of power
gentle people up held by wisdom
the living as one wisdom of womb in and of man
not **** power greed a tribe of humanity
to continue the beginning dominate
the right of spirit beings to intellectualize
producing decisions a *** beginning nurturing
an utter speaking from the heart of woman
profound utterings these ******* of womb in
from her to eternity the ******* of woman uttering
the real Mc Coys in the darkness of time
a first uttered sound this life light hidden
a beginning of human soul the memory our utterings
thru power greed over humanity
we live off planet Earth held
in regions of space to incubate the humanity
movement of space life held by the darkness of man
unable to break the bonds of tyranny
to return Earth wisdom to light
for the stars utter humanity
a flower child hue being ultimate receptor life stance
giving off light as fragrance
available knowing life choices as flowers
of the Stars we are earth buds exposed
by the rays of creation an eon of time
standing swaying in earth winds our moment
of life becoming a chance   of a life time
to create form  flow of the Universe expansion
star light to build the uttering of time
humanity rise above  power greed
know all we can live and be   the one
Universe of love nurturing in utter harmony
Universe of creation this life realm
made from an utter in time
a being of humanity shines on this earth
let life shine back to the Stars
give the right of creation
the love of mind............gjmars 6/14/15

.
I see myself in you—
With a spike we two spoke out,
Vagaries of wind, verisimilitudes
And the moon gives us her light.

Black bird, black robed Druid,
We both are spinning round
The hills draped in psalms
Of the oak and windy leaves.

Your words, I hear, go unsaid,
My utterings babble, ring in a rill,
Cold and cascading to mosses,
Bleeding from a lone escarpment.

There was something
about the peasant in her
as she lay there
in the tall grass
the sun shining on her
the white clouds overhead

birds in flight
there was that aspect
of the peasant
in the simplicity

of her manner
the gesture of hands
the look
of the big blue eyes

and the skirt pulled up
nakedness revealed
and he
lying beside her

taking in
her whole aspect
the summery smell
the heat

the almost airlessness
about them
distant train
steam sounds

and she said
you're to tell
no one of this
( she had said that

about the first kiss)
and he said
of course not
whom would I tell?

he lay his head
on her soft *******
cushion like
as if afloat

she murmuring
more words
he lost
in the softness

of her
the scent
of her mother
(borrowed lavender scent

from the dressing table)
if my mother ever heard
she said
there'd be hell to pay

so say nothing
my lips are sealed
he said
nosing between her *******

muffled words
a rush of birds overhead
her hands on him
resting on his back

he tongued her
breathing her in
you're my first
she said

at doing this
say nothing lad
his inner voice
suggested

words wound
say nowt
he felt her hips
fingers running over

finger tips sensing
smoothness
moving lower
sensed thighs

she breathed harder
words gone
utterings wordless
she spread herself

like a butterfly in flight
he pinned her there
in the tall grass
as he'd seen

butterflies pinned
to a board
in the glass box
at school

he breathed in
she breathed out
he smelt apples of her
mixture of lavender

and apples
and that earthly scent
of bodies in motion
the tall grass

became an ocean
waves moved and sank
she sighed
he uttered wordless sounds

she kissed his shoulder
bit flesh
he kissed her neck
lip bit

****** skin
the summery sky
the birds silent
clouds drifted

she saw them
white over blue
over white
her palms on him

pressing
caressing
he journeying
to a heaven

birds gone
sky above him
unseen
just the ocean moving

a huge expanse
of green.

Greetings, it is merely I,
   He who breathes despite the lack of air,
   Gasping at a tenuous breeze.

I'd call this breath of redundant utterings,
   A practice of utter futility.

The breadth of my wonderment at the crushing silence graced upon my deafened ears,
   I stand fast as the verbal stone is cast upon my fragile being,
   Your callousness resounds within my vacancy,
   Occupied by none other,
   Confined within my ceaseless selflessness,
   Even if it is imperfect.

I am merely a soul.
   Cast 'pon the mercifully unforgiving earth.
   Borne brazenly to those who are willing to listen,
   At the risk of those who won't.

******'d herein I lye,
   Gazing 'pon the relentless monochrome.
   Searching for any guiding light.

I am merely a man,
   Searching for a home.
   I am merely the mind within which I reside,
   I am,
   Merely,
   Who I am.

~Robert van Lingen

I confess to you
I hardly confess to her.

Why I say this is
I often deliberately miss
To say the sorry-s I owe her
For having found fault with her
Only discovering after some hours
It was me who was wrong all along
What she did was amply right
What she did was with farsight
Her acts take care of only my needs
My wants she always perfectly reads.

A piece of the dairy white sweet in my lunchbox
Soft silken milky treat
When melts in my mouth
I remember this morn I told her
Why you bring these ****** plain sweets
And not those juicy colored scented treats
Don’t put any of those in my lunchbox
Not caring her face’s strains of shocks!

I have forgotten though she has remembered
My utterings of emotion its every word
How I miss dear those plain white sweets
Pure unencumbered most delightful treat.

I have forgotten she remembers
My companion of all weathers
She picks my choice she knows my mind
Yet for her a sorry I hardly find.

*Don’t you think tonight in her ears
I should coo a sorry in unuttered whispers?

The little boy with the shining eyes
Was skipping along the street,
They said that he was autistic, that
He never would learn to speak,
He laughed and played in the open air
And he chattered away inside,
But he couldn’t utter a single word
That anyone recognised.

His mind was cluttered with happy thoughts
Of colours and sounds and things,
He couldn’t make sense of the what-they-were
Or anyone’s utterings,
He thought they spoke in a special tongue
That nobody understood,
They kept on saying the same old thing,
‘Now Oliver, you be good!’

He thought that ‘Ubble ee yuli dood,’
Was the sound of a creaking chair,
Or maybe the voice of a ‘Wotsigot’
When his mother was tearing her hair,
His father would just say ‘Geepimin’
When he wanted to go out late,
And she’d say, ‘Wotdid yalass slayv dyeov?’
Locking the garden gate.

He’d learned to scale the iron fence
That was built to keep him in,
And he took his chattering Umblevorks
That were gambolling within,
He filled the street with his Landyplatts
Where they lay on every lawn,
Waiting to play with the neighbour’s cats
That he knew as Gratzendorn.

But down the road was a nasty man
With a name like Hubbrygast,
Who would grab the lad by the scruff of the neck
And drag him home at last,
‘Keep your idiot son at home,
Away from my place, at least,
If I catch him out on the road again
I’ll be calling the local police.’

The day was Doodly Wangle with
The Flubber up in the Guy,
When Hubbrygast saw a Landyplatt
From the corner of his eye,
The boy was singing a Wollygong
To a two-tone Grindlepick,
When Hubbrygast poked the Landyplatt
With the sharp point of a stick.

The Landyplatt gave a gorble that
Had enraged the Umblevorks,
And Hubbrygast was surrounded by
His own sharp garden forks,
They poked and prodded and brought him down
‘Til the nasty man had bled,
While a bright red volluping Corple
With a *****, took off his head.

The people hide in their houses when
The boy comes out to play,
And nobody tries to speak to him,
They wouldn’t know what to say,
They weave their way through the Landyplatts
That have taken over the street,
And try to avoid the Umblevorks
That chatter, under their feet.

David Lewis Paget

deep down inside I knew
it was nowhere else to
turn; I'd lost the feel of his
words against the breadth
of me.

into my pillow I'd bury each
drip of saline's onslaught;
as it burrowed its waterfall
in every vessel of my heart.

and...

I'd decolorize into recesses
of self; left to mourn in solitudinous
pain, longing for a touch or
glimpse of masculine beauty.

beauty...

that once awakened every
fiber of my being with just
a slip of syllabic utterings.

which...

I miss, fore, he'd breathe
the epitome of love's need
and want, just by his presence.

now...

I dwindle within as I try in vain
to revive what once use to be
the beginning and end of love.

his words against the breadth of me...

Janet snarled at me,
As I redressed her with bloodless clothes,
Those eyes could ****, but for unknown reasons,
They denied me release.
Not looking upon her with a single eye,
It was a hideous sight,
Washed her clean of nightmares,
Worn outside her skull,
Beside a waterwheel followed by no one,
Except my guilt.
I tainted once heavenly waves,
Of prosperity that flowed between hands,
Sticking not an inch up my arms,
I was denied awareness of that difference between,
Surface temperature and groundwater.
Because I had to do what she needed,
Not what she wanted,
Janet pressed that silence,
That stole her voice, replaced by primal utterings,
To my unafraid throat.

Good Friday. Dark purple over
All the statues. Grimstock stares
At windows coloured glass light
Shines through. Kim Keltis on his
Right dressed in black mind in prayer
Standing there. Crucified on a brass
Crucifix a Christ hangs the eyes
Closed arms stretched out the hands
Nailed. Grimstock’s eyes lower down
To the slim waist of Kim and lets
Eyes move over firm buttocks fleshy
Thighs her dark dress caressing.
Unaware of his eyes her eyes closed
Holds to prayer talks to God confident
God is there not knowing Grimstock’s
Stare.  Grimstock’s eyes like feelers
Reach and touch **** and feed in mind’s
Eye greedily the prayer book in his hands
Clutched tightly becomes part of the girl’s
Fleshy thighs becomes this becomes that
His dark eyes moving up rest upon her
Brushed hair. Kim standing still in prayer
Not aware Grimstock’s there with finger
From forehead to her breast from shoulder
To shoulder makes soft sign of the cross
Imagines her own sweet Crucified hangs
For her in pain there Sweet Jesus she mutters
Like eased breath. Grimstock dreams she’s
Undressed beside him in his bed making
Love passionate utterings ****** soft touches.
Kim opens her dark eyes sees Grimstock’s
Greedy stare travelling over her standing
There his rough eyes like fingers touching
Her ravishing her soft flesh ****** her in his
Mind and knowing that deep down that this
Man pushes hard onto her Jesus’ thorny crown.

Digging underground
Found the diamond
Lost
In the crowd
Soundly speaking on the floor
Beaten badly wanting more
Bruises
Delirious about the uselessness
Of therapy and Sunday classes
By the masses
Childhood memories of running
On a beach
Sand between my toes
Mechanics strange and
Wired like gadgets
Tickets on trains to seafoam
Shores when
December comes
Beguiling smirk
Gazing like a toddler in wonder
At the said shutters of others
Maybe in split-screens with
Vivid color
The lackluster utterings die
At the sight
Cat-eyed and wild
Sighing like a child at coarse
Trivial arrivals of those
Suicidal yearnings resurfaced by
Days-break
Dysfigured in space as shapeless
As the speech that defined it
Butterfly darlings my
Coat flowing on the windless air
As a cocoon I'm enveloped in
Bed by many toppled books to
Beseech in disparity at all the
Shared pairs I erased
Like tickled bruises all sunken and
Hopeless in keeping up with
The moment
Gloves stitched
Kerosene patched dribbled
Against sunscreen
Tired-awake unable to sleep
Fascinated with miracles and the
Shadows in sight
Dismissed while in a crisis that
Felt steep in the night of one's
Soul
A tourniquet strapped around
My elbow in the cold snow
What's the criteria for the
Mentally unsuitable
We are preachers, poets, wives
With ribbons in our hair
Cradled in hate
Dissipated softly only to
Awaken with grim morning
After morning
Dark-days of chaos-tripping
Laid flat on my stomach-ache
Removed by time like an
Hourglass state of mind
Written on my *******
Glamorous sheen caught deep
Within the recessions of my
Brain
Unseen and I imagine
I am that firefly caught in the
Glass container
Blue as lapis lazuli
Blue as the livor mortis after
Suffocating

I see myself in you—
With a spike we two spoke out,
Vagaries of wind, verisimilitudes
And the moon gives us her light.

Black bird, black robed Druid,
We both are spinning round
The hills draped in psalms
Of the oak and windy leaves.

Your words, I hear, go unsaid,
My utterings babble, ring in a rill,
Cold and cascading to mosses,
Bleeding from a lone escarpment.

I see myself in you—
With a spike we two spoke out,
Vagaries of wind, verisimilitudes
And the moon gives us her light.

Black bird, black robed Druid,
We both are spinning round
The hills draped in psalms
Of the oak and windy leaves.

Your words, I hear, go unsaid,
My utterings babble, ring in a rill,
Cold and cascading to mosses,
Bleeding from a lone escarpment.

I see myself in you—
With a spike we two spoke out,
Vagaries of wind, verisimilitudes
And the moon gives us her light.

Black bird, black robed Druid,
We both are spinning round
The hills draped in psalms
Of the oak and windy leaves.

Your words, I hear, go unsaid,
My utterings babble, ring in a rill,
Cold and cascading to mosses,
Bleeding from a lone escarpment.

In the vortex
of my mind
      under layers
            of consciousness
something is opening
within me
like a reverse arc
            going deep
                into other landscapes    
                      kaleidoscopic spheres
                                              swirling                  
                            in new development
and I am holding onto
my living room chair
as a slow tornado
whirls around me,
new wisdom filling me up
in whisperings
unable to be heard
          to the naked human ear    
sacred utterings
beyond definition,
beyond the realms
                   of fear  
Seeds of knowledge
that burst through
old patterns,
a force that defies
All I have been
working towards
striving to rise    
pushing through debris
exploding, gently,
to the surface
   a coolness emerging
to soothe this burning
                          furnace
causing my secret
desert spaces
           to evolve
into green-covered
dense jungle waxed
exotic flowers
so tiny and so large
they look like caricatures
(but they're real)
and I had no idea
this was part of the deal
I stare in wonder
at the plants
and creatures
I have yet
to name
wildernesses
that preferably
must stay
         untamed

And into this clearing
       they venture
shyly, daring to emerge
from the dense,
intense forest,
all negativity
                      to purge
to eat from
           my fingers,
waiting for my
            primeval blessing
These sweet, feral creatures
I wish for each
and every one
to bestow upon me
their grace,
bless me in turn
as I stroke their face
they  almost seem
                   to glow
                    in their            
primordial powers
and let me
anoint their brows,
my hands grazing soft
and rougher patches
of fur, of reptilian skin
predator and prey
joining as one within
They come
to meet me today
to partake in my strength
They bestow me
with their
indigenous, glowing
           earthiness
written indelibly
inside their eyes
their innocent power
flowing, balanced
          between cloudy and clear skies
and as I gaze
directly into
the naked horizon,
            tornados ceased
I feel that something
             akin to…
                         peace
I am blessed in its
          rivulet, immersed in its stream
and I know I am
on my path to an
ever-sacred
           dream

letters sit
in order,
line by line
at attention,
waiting for
thoughful reading.
a road,
of sorts,
to redemption
sitting, mulling
ruminating on
scripted worth.
engaged in
conveying thought,
from mind
to page,
to mind
again cyclical,
periodic conversely,
intermittent reoccurrences.

alone most,
are little
strokes of
graphite or
ink calligraphy,
mutterings of
little intonations,
phonectic sonances,
utterings, begetting
for their,
episodic isolation,
mumbo, jumbo,
gibberish as
birthing rooms
but together
ordered, united,
babble becomes
lucent, lucid
oratory of
inordanate worth.

Winters folly does in spring create
in essences a dire, wily fool
who, speaking truth- a noble trait-
can make the blooms anew seem cruel
In temperate waters, the ocean blue
bind you to me as I to you

Youthful solstices in equal parsimony
bring hushed utterings, the listless creed
of breaking hopes, the terrible fragility
that lifts desire, want, dream and need
Before this schism, our great undo
bind you to me as I to you

Stars never see the light of day,
or feel the warm stroke of the sun,
but each is at peace, in its own way
before and after it’s burning is done
With sunfire and ice, kiss me imbued
bind you to me as I to you

The hollowness of my voice that fails
and falters belies the nature of my love
and defines more than the tale
of young souls in the greater above
Let our hearts, that simple truth
bind you to me as I to you

.
I see myself in you—
With a spike we two spoke out,
Vagaries of wind, verisimilitudes
And the moon gives us her light.

Black bird, black robed Druid,
We both are spinning round
The hills draped in psalms
Of the oak and windy leaves.

Your words, I hear, go unsaid,
My utterings babble, ring in a rill,
Cold and cascading to mosses,
Bleeding from a lone escarpment.
.

days on end
lakes unending going nowhere
the cyclic random nightly trilling
words that, mean .
and also mean what you want them to
hollow laughter
and the hollowness of a child's face
which means what the mother says it means

but without words
without thought
without worldliness
and utterings of ultimate absurdity
we find meaning
however we can

Modernity sounds so much like too much like

She's a mother

Not a trucker, mister bucks,

Too mature

She seems atypical maternal wit

Matrimonious

Age of knowing better...

And most times bedwetter babes

Ignorance can't write you letters

So now how's this just now

New most times certain to be

Better

The weather our love encounters

Living Modernism

A breath without Lies

I chose to utterings no longer

Long means "dragon"

Wars' fiery language

How loud dead pasts linger

Mosaic hearts that we are

The bird is the finger

Hate's invisible fire

Chaos speaks

When no truth in modernism

Where none dare to sleep.

More fashion forward

The All of Ages

The pages the Here and Now

Modernism weeps

Her mystique...

Knowing How.

Now...

Waiting
to hear
do you want to come
with us?

Lets go!
with a smile on
their faces

Join us!
with approval in
their eyes

because you're so
cool
so awesome

The words
I like you

Instead I see
something else

Is it
mean looks?
Disdain?
You're in my way?
Move!

Do I hear
Yes I do hear
worthless
And other utterings
which make me
cold
bold in the mean way
sad with dry tears
mad with burning hate inside

They leave me
alone

Always alone

So when they ask me
Finally

I say no
with a smile that cry
They see a happy face
instead the pain hidden under
a sweet blanket

Why should I go
when they probably
dont really
want
to have me there

So I am

alone

Alone

I am something a spectator, heart spilling with whimsy.
The sky is a carnival, closing its doors all too soon
And I am the last guest standing.
Mouth agape in utterings of wistfulness,
I am dripping in the sort of sun-drunk awe that falls in love with
Spinning lights and
Phantom screams of laughter.

Once were u alone on an island

And I far away in a strange southern land

Politely in goring  knocking

And notes sent asking

For a moment in your mind




At last u spoke and I retorted

Nestled now safely in your thoughts

We pratter in strange tounge

With words, strokes and quietness

Places filled and dearly held




Speak do we of smallness

Overcome by strange utterings

Wondering why words are all

We needed to make small talk

Tak

for Andre


you arrived as she slipped
into that mysterious abyss

for weeks the void filled
with warm hope

the touch of your skin
electrically comforting

shuddering under me
something overtook your eyes

grey pools that never closed
as we kissed and I tasted

the sweet salt of your lips
a searching hunger

I felt as well
after the family funeral

we met again with my grieving
tears on your shoulder

your arms surrounding my
stammering utterings

ironing out the words with
reassurances and the indication

of something deeper
than I've seen for so long

then there was nothing
but silence and another death

our interlude broken
axe through an antherium

I had sent you a photo of
one of their flowers

the last night I saw you

I'm blind, he speaks his mind
I'm mute about his mind as he
claims that I'll deceive,
I'll dearly deceive
as the close of this is what I really want

I'm blind, he speaks his mind
with branches and brambles
and utterings
we'll quiet him
I dream that it is finished

cut the lesions, stand up with your joints
solely heave the streaks to recent motion
I dream that the gossamer would shelter me
my ruthless teeth shield only one

-c.j.

I am my own people.

My heart is the fire by which I warm my soul.

By the sustenance of my mind my spirit is fed.

I dance in the wilderness into which I have been cast.

On the rocky moors of self-sovereignty I run,

wild and free.

Use all available space!
they must be joking
honing their comedic skills and
that's what kills us in the end,
not the smoke and mirrors
but the utterings of demented
announcers
dribbling out words that would
bounce us from here to
infirmity,
It's beyond me.

what ******* space do they mean?

Seen from the outside the
inside
looks inviting
ha
you couldn't fit ***** in there.

Oops did I swear or was it twice that I swore?
It doesn't matter
the announcers bore me
with their disingenuousness
they caress the ears with sweetness
and light
but it's dark in the tunnels where I
might be
if there'd have been some available space.

Fading dusky dawn
Echoes of night to end,
That move earthly spawn
And cause utterings to send.
None know what before them lay
Save High in the beyond,
To infringe upon the day
And witness what dawned.

The road it stretches, endless
Eyes to horizon, left right left

The faces of the many
Still blinded gaze is cast, bereft

So keen and clever-minded
I too, alone, count myself deft

Affixed on greener pastures
Move steadfast on, grieve not what’s left

The voices they cry out
The love they’ll share, devout
Their hearts will they pour out
To lands parched e’er in drought

The sky it rises upward
Nose to the grindstone, *** for tat

Words fall from lips affirming
This fractured vessel crumbling fast

Old bones a wake comprising
Who knows their names, or cares at that

Enthralled they line up, willing
They know they’re here, but not to last

The lessons they prefer
The habits they can’t cure
Their airs it will obscure
In molds built to endure

If only ears could take in  
The utterings of pain and bliss

If only eyes envisioned
A soul beneath this frail surface  

If only time was for us
And every day was meant for this

If only change came willing
To we who thwart true happiness  

The brave might lead the blind
The strong might hear their cries
Their truth might reconcile  
We all might heal in time