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july hearne Oct 2018
mighty mighty miners  
mining for a heart of cryptocurrency  
mighty mighty houses  
might end up empty  

for fake fortune  
your drop of wine  
your speck of grain  
for fake fortune  

nec·ro·man·cers quick with answers
will you be their broke financiers  
will you be their paraplegic dancers  

you've got nothing to lose  
just a shield of children  
wielding weapons  
no one knows how to use  

mighty mighty miners  
mine on empty  
too much vacancy  
in a heart of cryptocurrency  

all one person  
all one horsemen  
all fake fortune  
all one horsemen  

wish NPC weren't too dumb to understand
mighty mighty houses built upon sand
because every time jeff eats an iguana,  
he's got the whole free market in his hands.
*Roky Erickson - I Think of Demons

Micah 2:2
They covet fields and seize them, and houses, and take them. They defraud people of their homes, they rob them of their inheritance.



ISAIAH 5:8 (MSG Version)
"Doom to you who buy up all the houses and grab all the land for yourselves— Evicting the old owners, posting no trespassing signs, Taking over the country, leaving everyone homeless and landless. I overheard God-of-the-Angel-Armies say: “Those mighty houses will end up empty. Those extravagant estates will be deserted. A ten-acre vineyard will produce a pint of wine, a fifty-pound sack of seed, a quart of grain.
Hastings Padua May 2013
you do not need to be quiet.
you do not need to expose your heart
to this brutal world to feed its ugly desire.
you only need to walk into the wilderness of your soul
and breathe, succumb to the silence in your heart;
rebel and provoke, then embrace the soft despair
of your broken body and heal; in the miles
of broken road between your heart and mine, repent;
cry a little and scream, for the valley will echo
in redemption and uplift you into the timberline
and up again to the highest point above the valley floor
until the sun whips its fingers across your face and you stagger,
kneel, then pray in your enlightened state;

you will smile when you come home
to the craggy rocks and dusty rivers
and the tender patches of moss along the boulders;
you will tease the tall grasses and the buttercups
and the sunflowers with your fingers
and push deep through the mud with your toes;
here, silence is forgiving.
Tenor Kemp Jan 2013
woke up old with cold bones creaking,
bright knives cut through shuttered blinds;
i gasped and breathed, remembered, rose
and crept out from the dark to find
a bag sat packed; the words came back:
"Come see me then, if you're alive."

the mist hung down from cloud and sky;
a sun sat brave but weak and low;
the trees so straight and tall remembered
summers young and long ago.

the engine spat and growled and every
tread declared its vigour still,
and soon the trees, the sun and mist
were lost behind the valley hill.

and on i sailed through burning winds
and grey and smokey white-lined seas.
i thought of all i'd say and all
you'd ask and what the past would mean,
and all those summer times we climbed
and hid among the valley trees.
23 July 2011
em Jul 2015
I want to say that I'm getting better,
that  these scars are starting to feel
like the marks of a warrior who has won battles,
but even if the bleeding has stopped, the war is not over.

There are so many days when the sun will come out,
and I can feel its warmth wash over me, and it is
when I am covered by its happy grace,
that the shadow of sadness is cast across the
sidewalks.. those sidewalks where every crack
was a canyon to wide to cross.
My blood stained on every square.

And as I stand on top of that mountain and look down
upon the valley that I had conquered,
i realize,
that my footprints spell your name...

Then there I go again,

crashing
burning

f
a
l
l
i
n
g

falling, right back into
the devils claw.
love.......ehh not for me :P
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
Dancing the billow in the sea
the cool one will show up
in no time with love.
Deep down from the deep
with the flute on the lips.

Listen to the flute!
The chorus clouds bang out
floating by the river blue,
they sing down the sky as they move.

The sun draws in
from the secret valley
ambling with the wonder light
as if it, the punter sun, in the sky
knew it, knows the flutist arty
rose from down the sea!

Every planet is a flying bee
twirling around the inner music
nothing ever stops in the solar disc.

The waning and waxing Moon
in silhouette and at half-light
swings over the sea full of life.

It all starts from the ground;
it was from our sea waterfront
Him the creative sweetheart in the midst
floated the leading light the bumblebee.
All the stars bubble in the galaxy
they know this ancient story!

Since then the brightest bulb
the sun in the solar ring  
leads the bunch’s mindful
butterfly dance on the way home.
Following the enduring haunting melody
of the pre-design command ‘qun’ be!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Unconditional
There she sits my sweet love
in the valley of lilies
her hair swept back by kind warm winds
summer has come to her wonder sweet

I hide on the hilltop and watch her as she sings
and all around birds she does bring
my heart does pound
as in the valley her voice resounds

Oh what a beauty she is
and she is mine
her surprise will be
that I am back and fine

So I watch her
ready to surprise her
that I am back again
to marry her

But for now I just watch her
as she sings picking white peace lilies
the ring I have for her finger
is just for her and no other


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sheer Mar 17
I miss you
I’ve missed you; and
I’m still missing you.

Come back to me.
Come back to me.
© 2018 Sheer
All Rights Reserved.

#YouKnowWhoYouAre
Lily Jun 2018
Look out and see
an ascending sun;

Her light dances
upon frosty blades of grass
in early morning;
as dawn breaks
and fog parts.

Surrendering,
to a fleeting warmth.

A valley where once was a heart,
now lives only light.
MJL Apr 2
Tibetan Brimstone butterflies wave wings madly at their paradise valley
In the beginning, before the beginning, and in the beginning
Their shaken snow globe makes them flutter in wild exuberance
As they reveal a mountain, then no mountain, then Kunlun again
Peace, followed by chaos, and then by peace
Mother Luna's kaleidoscope of enlightenment
Protected by the hooded one
Holds all worlds and shakes the four seasons
Nothingness, creation, abiding, destruction
The wheel of time
Moves the wind as it’s blown by vast circles of water
Aqua marine is washed again by golden earth
And in the center, the great opal mountain song of La
Nature's peace
Beyond white leopard snows, icy winds, and empty husks of death
Butterflies are born again
Shambhala’s mindful beat opens passage for light through darkness
Poets squint and ride on wings toward the hidden sunset kingdom
Watching another world's Avalon alive beneath a blue moon
Insulated chrysalis of love for all seasons
A fisherman, a carpenter, a shepherd, a merchant, a caterpillar
Discover a lush, isolated, peach grove
Nosing thickly scented nectar and purple primrose honey
In the jade valley of the kings, queens, and beggars
They meditate under the Bodhi Tree
Deep brown ****** lines are carved into their soft olive skin
Smooth hands are made rough, and then smooth again
Young, then old, and then young once more
Wisdom setting beside Queen Spirit Mother of the West
Sharing a bowl of her rice milk in harmony
Being in the realm between man and nature as Kalachakra turns
For six years the caterpillar eats of fig
And then the wheel breaks for flight one last time
Radiating light as she sheds her glorious wings
Here, the snow globe explodes flying petals of wild exuberance
Revealing a mountain, then no mountain, then Kunlun again
Transcending all, turning tears into the suns joyful rays
As they rise, then set, and then rise again
Nirvana
Beyond our Lost Horizon


© 2019 MJL
I loved the 1939 movie, Lost Horizon, and it's story of Shangri-La. It drove some interest in reading about Buddhism... Could we be butterflies reborn? How wonderful that would be... Young then old, then young again. All at once nature and man, one with our universe. Those who seek wisdom find salvation... The caterpillar here is a beggar who finds ascension. Cycles represent the wings flapping. There are also references to universal religious themes.
CK Baker Feb 2017
it falls through the glow of the silvery trees
building a cover under the breeze
luminous lights sparkle and hatch
snow pack high on the briar patch

pine cones fall from majestic fir
squirrel and robin rustle and stir
sitka spruce at tunnel bluffs
ravens roost on cedar rough

dusted peaks at hurley pass
snowline cuts the avalanche
fox and lynx are on the prowl
hollow eyes from spotted owl

cool winds up the valley trail
whirling snow from diamond vale
chilling flakes in candle hands
moonlight shines across the land

northern lights in krypton green
the sounds of verve are bitter sweet
curtains hang on a cold dark sky
counting stars, a lullaby
it left one night
when the wind was unusually heavy
and the air was biting cold
it is brutal this high
in late December

I felt it go
making it's way down the hall
and lingering at the door
for an unusually long period of time
I cared not that the snow was deep
and the wood was thick
the whispers of your fleeing love
could not be heard above the deafening roar
of Winter in these mountains
I stopped to listen or to see something,
anything between the gusts and the landing flakes

I had been gone an unusually long time
as you watched from the bedroom window
by the time you made the call
after finishing your coffee
the tears had long since frozen to my skin
and my pleas had long since echoed down the valley
11/07/18
Sam Jones Oct 30
I felt at peace, a feeling that wasn’t that familiar to me
My mind began to sink further and further into this feeling
Should I struggle or should I let it be?
I began to experience great healing upon my soul
Standing in the middle of a valley I began to smile
The sun was shining high from above and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky
This must be Heaven, I thought to myself. This must be the finish line
All my worries had suddenly drifted away
I was finally free
Then almost as quickly as it came, that feeling started to float away
Everything around me started fading to black
The sun began to dim, and the valley began to crumble
The peace that I once felt shattered into pieces
I then found myself in the dark
Not knowing where to go
All my problems came back at once
My mind started to panic
Where am I? Where am I going?
I started to fall, watching everything around me collapse into nothing
Then I opened my eyes to darkness all around me
“I don’t want to go,” I said to myself
Please Take me back
Take me back to the peaceful valley
M Salinger Jul 2018
A moment.

A line between
empowered
& defiant

holding within in it
the tenderness of our gaze

The night calls me
sometimes
tauntingly,
while sleep escapes,
sometimes
earnestly
to show me the truth
that day
hides

it calls deep within
my being,
like you

it resonates with
my darkness,
like you

Will you stay with me,
for a moment

of real honesty
& if you want,
silence

The valley of space there,
& between us
pulling me in,
like you

a moment of freefall
& endless endings
ours,
there to be
chosen

where we find
a way
to be suspended
in the
warmth between
you & I

I stand
on the sharpest edge,
below, the water surges
over the rock face
deep teal and chilling
a reminder that
beautiful
can also be
destructive

like you.

In awe and wonder
I'm trapped
in these
moments.
Inspired by the great beauty of British Columbia and how it's grandeur and imposing nature can be reminiscent of imperfect love
Sergio Esteban Oct 2018
I looked at the moon
And got lost between her eyes
I conform to her moves
Like the ocean and its tides
I hear her whispers
As she reflects the bright of the sun
Telling me
To lose all the doubt

You may be young
But you don’t have a lot of time
Take the initiative
To go out and live life

She spends her time lighting my way
Making sure I’ll make it to the day
She protects me
As she were the love of my life
And I thank her for lighting my nights

I’ve gone through valleys
Wondering if it’s my place in life
Little that I know
That I was there to lift the status quo
You were there too
Waiting for your paramour
But alas I’m here for you
In the same manner
That you are my moon
You’ll light my path
And I’ll light yours
Together we’ll see something more
Eleanor Sep 2018
The doors seem to be open, the room seems to pour out onto the lovely maple floor the woman of the house killed her husband on.
Writing is like drawing, you give so much time only to try to improve what's barely adequate and hardly deserving.
Much like her husbands love and his curly hair, not to mention the tasteless affair.
You can say you quit, you can throw a fit, but spotlights rarely move from the limelight.
Much like the fame driven actress, your morals weren't put into practice and Jesus wasn't there to act tactus.
Pennies weren't on his eyes, even after his demise.
They would have been stolen, had they attracted that bitter, mourning actress.
The love of 2, never fits in the love of 3.
Thomas Apr 9
The wolf cries the Raven flies
down valley long portents are strong
Of coming battle where foe I meet
from dreams of old while I did sleep.
Of valley dark with shadow long
through mists I march
    through waiting throng.

Behold the vanquished red eyed throng
bare witness to my passage long
These lost souls likely did come
but failed and fell and joined the throng.

Through many years my path has led
to culminate in what I dread
unvanquished foe I now must meet
though fear beset my tired feet

So on I march the valley long
through mists and shadow and red eyed throng.
Under Ravens eye past cry of wolf
I seek the foe my fate has brought

Should I survive this day of dread
to climb the hill at valleys end
May I find peace that blessed day,
To finally know I've found my way
Ra
#y
SJG Feb 19
(You could try falling in love
With the horizon line of your cityscape,
Or the crack in your garage roof,
Or the stars that flash and go
Like a prize that's changed hands so many times,
It's lost sight of its value
In a world driven madly by the urge
To move forward, whatever the cost.)

Somewhere in the Central Valley,
"I WANNA ABIDE BY HIS LOVE" is written in black Sharpee along the blank screen of a cathode TV that's been abandoned to the sands.

You get up midday.
You do **** around the house.
You take a fentanyl.
You stand in the doorway.
You smoke a cigarette.

You watch the sun descend behind the fence at the end of your yard.

You go to bed.

And it's just life again.
It's life upon you, baby.
Dawnstar Jun 2017
Honored companion:
When you return,
let us go down to yon forest,
as our hearts have yearned.
I know a girl of the green
bright balms and flowering hair;
when spring comes to the valley,
she will wait for you there.

As hunter shoots the stag,
so huntress strikes the lad's heart;
leaves crunch beneath their boots,
in crisp handhold they won't part.
Grass drinks the gold dew flood,
orange sun never wants to wane;
but far beyond the verdant wood,
a martial voice calls out your name.

So grasp your sword by hardened hilt,
and with pike upon your shoulder,
live not for the joys of life;
live but to grow older.
Then mount the hills with me,
cast aside your roving bow;
for ours is a life of misery,
and in summer we must go.
Updated November 5, 2018.
He walked the streets a begger
they buried him like a king
he played a six string guitar
he wore no golden ring

She had the voice of angels
survived a valley called death
then fearing no evil
she passed every test

They wrote the songs with sunsets
they walked the line together
they stood in a ring of fire
in love they burned forever
Tribute to Johnny Cash and June Carter
city of flips Jul 2018
wants to be my friend, for I am poet-woman nineteen.

she is sweet but sad. super sad.

a good poet who wants to guide me.

but there/theirs is the odor, not faint, of wants wanting,
the pus of corruption behind the curtains,
the Wizard-ess of Oz's
special blackout curtains.

seen how easy, how her illusions,
my medium rare rejections,
morph into her delusions,

and her delusions devolve into
her conspiracy theories.

"SHE will be my mentor, poetess lover, teacher for no charge!"

my parents thinks it's great, she wants (to be) skin in my game.

my parents will find this poem accidentally, exactly,

how I do not want
to be skinned alive.

for I am poet-woman nineteen and still! now, long past
the point of being fooled, the point of no return.

and see no point,
have no intention,
of returning to either valley

no more con the my mind into letting my body
be-fused.^
  

that ain't me babe.
ymmiJ Mar 29
From the heights of ever rising tower peaks
To plummeting depths of fertile valleys below
The spring of life is always gushing forth  
From south to north deep pools to shallow
Forever in rhythm and tied by this land hallowed
revered and worshiped in her Paradise Valley home
Dania Elmayer Jul 2018
A dismal dystopia.

A  dissociative place .

Abducted; from normality
suppressed my thoughts , cunning
immorality .

My mind craves for instanity .

Reached.
An eerie  valley
streams beyond the tide .

In a place were birds do not fly .
I crumble in my desolation
pleading mercy.

I resuscitate , revive.

LORD.
If this was pre -determined
why does my -fatality- never arise .
Ashley Chapman Jul 2018
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but of us
I have already masturbated twice:
jammed,
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace
- it's hot -
where glued we **** into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other.
My mind crowds,
with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a mountain,
white and reposed.
You,
murmuring desire for me.
****!
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep.
You have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
(the oiled bulb at the end of a finger),
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that stretches with pointed elegance);
as quietly inside,  
(warmly enveloped),
my couched *****,  
rocks us:
each diffusing into the other
like the early morning brew.

Lust and love,
closing-in,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
days,
hours;
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes,
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to penetrate your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tenderness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful elongated face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
so they flow,
run rather:
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of gathering you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
Come!
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay naked to me,
flesh,
sinews,
everything,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ******* over;
wash their smooth surfaces in my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain ***** on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we ****,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation;
from full lips,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

There,
Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
lusting after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me:
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting;
my arousal in your palm,
pops,
as you run a curved finger over my nethers.

Lying,
lying,
side-by-side,
lying prone,
lying ******,
never unconsumed,
because,
please,
please us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
nothing doing more than sleeping and carousing;
our sustenance barely enough to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
Oh,
God,
throw the ******* comic at me,
will you?
Beat my ******* flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your pearly naked glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a ******* puppy!
Beautiful
long-haired,
skin tight,
upright,
wise,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my **** into your **** -
where I love it best.
Rox Apr 1
Violet Valley
Violent Valley

In unison
a painted progression
possession

Seen to the point of intrusion

Illusive
In a cloak of mercenary wander
A violet valley
of a crimson dawn

Drawn from scarlet billows

Where I seethe
Into a prison I saw
A vision blurred from yours

Under the heath of an adolescence
comes a lapse of time
in a spiritless essence

Godless

Unsheathing itself
In the beds of silence
the voice of a cobalt rebellion

Freedom stricken
Gaslit onto your lips

The index of incendiary

Rearing fruits of wonder
Where knowledge is set without bound
born from the dusk
of a violet valley

No truth knows where it has risen
For curiosity is kept unkempt
inside obscure tides

of thought from yours to mine.
The Unknown Valley of Afterlife
-Subhojit Ghimire

Deep down a dark valley
Unknown to any mankind
The home of devils, it is called
With the picture of hell in mind...

It's a loathing place, no doubt
But nobody questions why
Before heaven everyone must go there
As soon as they die...

All the sorrows are washed down there
Giving the sinful soul a fresh new life
The bones are rearranged, the flesh is remade
And the whole new body ripe...

That place is not the end, but a mere beginning
And yet every being fears it
The energy to remake, and the soul so far dead
It's where the life and death meet...
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