The lotus wades

     Shallow water

          Even and calm.

Her petals brighten

     In the beating sun's rays,

Glowing of tranquility.

          The onlooker grows jealous

     Venom green with envy

While the lotus rests,

          Mockingly green leaves.

a wan moonlight wades
the pond of the cold tiled floor
beaming existence
I could look up yet choose a
reflection of its presence

This poem casts a line from insomnia to morning
On the wind of a prayer that whatever bites, holds on.

See I have counted eleven score and ten,
with rainbow like curves of my neck -
contemptuous beasts leaping in formation
each bleating out a preach of vague platitudes;
A narrative for the night sky.

My hands clamour at keys for escape
until I tumble headfirst into a web so vast
it has ensnared the whole world wide -
millennials are living in-ter-net over in-the-world;
a new ultraviolence against humanity.

I beat my words into the screen until it breaks;
shattering scarlet emoticons like confetti
pouring over language as if it were a compliment.
My mind massages shapeless polypous thoughts
like tight constricted muscles aching for release.

3am casts these philosophies into horses,
whipping them into shape and speed
before the eyes of this statuesque ******.
This anxious wakefulness begs my manic self to dance;
suggestively ******* tickets to ride like cleavage.

Sleep is fast becoming a neglected former engagement;
as my mind trips over fallen heroes
wades through my favourite mistakes
in a wonderland unfolding faster than I can fall
while the world beyond my window remains dark.

THERE all the golden codgers lay,
There the silver dew,
And the great water sighed for love,
And the wind sighed too.
Man-picker Niamh leant and sighed
By Oisin on the grass;
There sighed amid his choir of love
Tall pythagoras.
plotinus came and looked about,
The salt-flakes on his breast,
And having stretched and yawned awhile
Lay sighing like the rest.
Straddling each a dolphin's back
And steadied by a fin,
Those Innocents re-live their death,
Their wounds open again.
The ecstatic waters laugh because
Their cries are sweet and strange,
Through their ancestral patterns dance,
And the brute dolphins plunge
Until, in some cliff-sheltered bay
Where wades the choir of love
Proffering its sacred laurel crowns,
They pitch their burdens off.

**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park,
this is an ode to you.

**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park
ambles behind
the kids sprawling out of the entrance
like baby spiders spilling
out of the crushed mother’s abdomen.

**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Waterpark
flip-flops his way to the lazy river,
shies his black Harley Davidson tanktop
to reveal his sunburnt
abdomious belly
flopping over his camo swim trunks.

He shakes off his flip-flops
and awkwardly wades in,
his hulking mass shifting with
each foot and tree trunk
of a leg smashing into
the shallow water,
sending shockwaves towards
screaming toddlers
in his wake.

Finding a vacant tube,
he turns his body around
and heaves himself
into the neon green donut
with considerable
and farcical
difficulty.

Mother at the pavilion
opens an eye from the lawn chair
and chuckles to herself,
applying another layer of sunscreen
over ruddy cancer-sensitive skin.

Sporting oblong racecar sunglasses
atop flushed puffy cheeks,
**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Waterpark
basks in the baking mid-summer sun
and the cool ****-ridden waters
he sinks his hands and feet into.

What is on his mind?
I imagine it is as close
to nothing
as he aims to get,

free from responsibility
like a wiry youth
he knew
from long ago.

The piercing screams of laughter
from ambulant children
splashing about him
are fruitless
in penetrating
his enclave.

He coasts about this way
for an eternity,
his red leather hide
burning in the hot sun
enwreathing his glasses.

Meanwhile,
mother reads
under the cool shade
of the pavilion,

the kids tumble down
slides and splash gleefully,
endlessly,

and life lingers on a moment
for a necessary
sojourn.

**** Middle-Aged Dad
awakens from his sun-cooked daze,
approaches the exit
and prepares himself
for his departure.

Waddling left and right,
he flops starboard
splashing magnificently
like a cannonball rolling off the deck
into the ocean.

His sunglasses leave him in the ruckus,
he gropes blindly
with chlorine-infested eyes,
til he grasps the visage
and stands up in the water.

His great body surges
from the waters,
fading tattoos gleam
along with a bald spot
in the sunlight.

He ambles through the waters—
water spilling out of rolls of fat
undulating in the motion—
and sensuously runs a baseball glove of a hand
through thinning hair.

His trunks bunch up around
firm, beefy buttocks
and a tired old *****,
thick tree trunk thighs,
ending its constriction just above
the wrinkled knot
of kneecaps.

Mother snapshots a photo
of the visage,
his fruits spilling about him
in perpetual glee,
his stolid look of authority,
wisdom, drive,
and endearment.

Years later,
the ambulant youths
on the cusp of adulthood

leaf through old photo albums
suddenly eyeing the Father piously
in a newfound awe,

aware of his gargantuan countenance
that shielded their efflorescence.

He was their sun,
he was their shade,
and their sky—

for he knew
when to plant,
and when to water,
and when to wait.

Running a thumb over
the diaphanous visage
exemplifying
an analog adolescence,

they jeer each other
over the Father,
secretly harboring
an amassing reverence
for the great figure,

the **** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park.

Lazily, a boy with silvery hairs muttering requiem aeternam
lifts his neck at the piercing radiance skimming off the eyeglasses rim,
and there looms the glory, the spotless sea of blue,
varnishes of spring gloss fuming out of the French coronation robe.

The still-brisk branches hung bent at the weight of vivacity,
sight of maidens whose eyes and grace bath in the full warmth of light,
the kisses on the face of the river by the shower of half-bloomed petals,
just as the stillborn thrills of the beating heart to the splintered fingers of Moirae.

The time of adieu,
the season of life.
The mourning procession amidst the lustily caressing May breeze.

-Primavera, thou name be the sweet irony of the dying flowers

The evening wades in, and the coy face of the mountain blushes;
Thence strides away the man whose gaze speaks of premature nostalgia

Here the wind whispers the rosy delirium from the sakura tree at the far side,
the faintness lushly hazed away by the cloudy veil of bittersweet grey.

SON
1
making love to make our son I kiss her eyes as if God were inside her
2
my wife gave birth to my son on the floor of the house I built
3
he keeps me up all night ***** on my sleeve feverish cries for his mama until dawn lifts the heads of sunflowers
4
forget poetry going out jazzed our winter born boy needs his diaper changed her ancient *** me house cleaning singing lullabies like a dove
5
wild iris sway as he wades downstream singing
6
one God many stories holding you our son walking the blue earth breathing away the pain with friends
7
amazing the ups and downs my son chasing ducks Sunday eating together my friend’s cancer battle my wife’s selfless moan
8
playing with candlelight my son burnt his finger I warned him
9
shower eat help my son memorize the constellations pay bills watch my wife sleep
10
worried about rats eating wallboard in the dead of night I get up cover my son
11
my son refuses to wear a raincoat in the summer rain
12
in his 2nd grade family drawing: my son gladday ready his mom hugging him me head in the clouds our cat smiling
13
when rains make bitter grass green with laughter my son springs from the winter of his room with his shedding dog and new baseball yelling to his buddies “Wait up!”
14
late afternoon October sycamore shadows blowing elm my son his dog me
15
after days of acid rain the lost sun comes promising heaven sent birds and boys' voices
16
dragged my son up the mountain to watch the meteor shower sons and fathers everywhere I hope
17
my best friend’s grave she loved singing my son asleep now she’s waving grass wildflowers
18
in a vacant lot my freckled face boy floats at the happy end of his 99¢ kite


19
the science of mystical seeds restores your left brain faith in everyday miracles like noisy boys climbing the music of old trees
20
if we could come back her a book of flowers our son blades of grass me the invisible wind
21
6 to 6 deep plowing then wall-to-wall screaming kids a leaky roof the old tractor my darling one naked notebooks full of dreams
22
sling shot boys kick red and gold leaves swirling down the street of locked doors at the tired end of Indian summer
23
my sons reaches for falling snow trampling veined leaves with footloose laughter fearless of winter's night the certain bones
24
true I care more than my son when he plays baseball
25
the orange tree my son planted today will fruit after we’re long gone
26
the bus driver brags about her son’s first home run wishes she could have been there
27
putting flowers on mother’s grave my son holds my hand
28
when night rises I yearn when my son comes home I relax when you sing I surrender
29
WTC on t.v. my son’s face a cloud of tears
30
his father beat him black and blue her husband her their sons their sons
31
the eyes told me that I’d play catch with his sons long after he thought breathed
32
I argued with my son explained the rules he still did what he wanted
33
my boy swaggers down Main St. sure he'll live forever
34
in the back seat good boys brag about good girls what they wanna do with them
35
sleepless until my son comes home late then finally I turn over
and rest
36
the light in my son’s words the silent stones of his tears
37
quiet room unmade bed boys playing in the rain stupid poems awful silence

38
all the dawns evening storms lovely ******* good talk tickled son blow plumeria drift
39
when the stone of night rises I a thief of songs yearn for the music of a woman's light
40
I don't get it gone son lost lover sick friends joyless graying unkissed ******* blood
41
half her half me our son didn't know where to go when she moved out
42
when I'm memory my son might think of me when he's gone I'm only a poem or two
43
bombs hunger lacklove prodigal son abandoned fields come down God get back to work

In all of the pages that you wrote
There was never once talk of the past
In every single story that was sold
You locked away all stories to be told

All of these letterboxes used to leave me love
All of the hopeful words you could dream of
But now your past is dead
The future wades in your head
To your new self
I say goodbye

Well, should I change? Must I remain?
Should I love you all the same?
March on steady to the beat of that drum
If it’s gonna go- I’m going this way, on this line

All of the people had the notion to speak
All of the words, now so weak
Surrounded now, blank white walls
Paint a life, your world calls
To some motivation
I say hello.

I’ll walk until I think I’ll stop
Rest awhile ‘till you catch up
Put my boots next to the fire
While the body and my mind do conspire

All of the birds would sing their song
Don’t mind at all if I sing along
In a quiet world sound erupts
The chant of choir soon conducts
To this plague of mice-like men
I shed a tear.

Beat, beat on that black-laced drum
The march that gets every man from
A kingdom to a kingdom in the sky
Living in a world of life just waiting to die.

All of the eyes were looking stern
All of my letters have been burnt
Carry coal from that mine
Who knows, he, she, or mine?
And tip my hat to whom it may concern.

she's never
known a man
that could walk
on water before.

'come on in,' he said
the water's fine,'
as he wades farther
and farther out into
a tided pool of nothingness.

'i'd rather stub my toe
against something sticky like a
starfish-
then feel nothingness
with you.'

she's never
known a man
that could
walk on water
before.

do you

River running..

That rushing sound in these parts
spell out the words, crystal-clear..
Tree-lined banks, giving way
to the Dark Hills,  upslope

Giving way,  to
granite-rocked outcroppings
giving way to  elk-hidden quakeys
Surrendering their holy-huddle's
pristine stances
to tall  prairie-grass, waving
wild raspberries  and tall pines

    And I,  myself.. 
    am surrendering also
She is watching the water, believing
That as it flows,
she will not lose herself in it
That it will not steal,  but heal

That I will not  rage again
within my fear

I am watching her,
watch the water
I am watching the water--  believing
That as I give  of myself
further  into the flow

that I will not become  diffused
by humanity
By the love  of man
and all  of its dishonesty

and all  of its  diabolical treachery

Of its  lack of concern,
or understanding
Or ability to break through
its own,  self-centeredness

Or its need  to swallow me up
    into the mundane.
Her hands are in the air now,
praising..

Worshipping
the true nature  of the flow,
Believing..
that I will let all of this, go
And as she  wades in
I ease, back--

Retreating
up the Dark Hills, *****
Clutching tightly..
To granite-rocked outcroppings,
  weeping.

Hiding in the quakeys,
among the majestic elk
Begging for the tallgrass, cover
among the wild raspberries.
   Now, fully concealed
   in  tall pines.

Her hands
are stretched out,  now..
as if hovering  over the waters,
participating

While I hide  from it all

While I hide,  from humanity;
From the fallen,  love of man

    She is wading in,
    Believing
.    
As I am leaving;
Believing

    As the cloud-hidden sky,
    starts raining--

playing the most incredible, of tunes.

I sit down in front of this piece of paper, pen in hand, the wind through my hair and a single dim light’s reflection in my glasses. I close my eyes, tired of repeatedly trying and failing to write an article. I wearily rub my eyelids and sit still for a while.
And that’s when I see him.

He stands against the backdrop of a waterfall, the green grass gently caressing his bare feet as he walks slowly towards the calm, turquoise lake. A sudden whiff of tulips assails my sense of smell as he walks into the water, his composed steps mirroring the complacence of the cool blue he walks into. He wades in till he is waist deep; birds chirp in the distance, trees sway in the wind and everything the sunlight touches melts into a golden brilliance.

As he walks in, ripples branch out from his torso, tattooing themselves upon the surface of the water. They move forward with him, each with a colour that merges into a thousand new hues as two of them meet. I stand there watching in stupefaction; he does not acknowledge my presence as he continues to walk forward, his eyes fixed upon the blue-gold sky over us.

All of a sudden, he climbs out of the lake and begins to hurriedly hunt around, muttering to himself
‘It has to be here somewhere.’ He darts off between the trees, with the raw agility of a young impala. As he continues to fly over the many shrubs and roots in his way, I chase behind him panting and puffing as the entire forest falls behind in a blur of green and brown. And then we hear it, the scream tears through the woods and the sky explodes into a whirlpool of colour; he turns back and looks at me, his eyes wide with horror and disbelief. I skid to a halt before him and I realize that we had reached the outcrop of a cliff. I turn to him, my back to the massive drop from the bluff, a quizzical look in my eyes as I find myself unable to articulate the words in my mind. He puts his hands on my shoulders, the fear etched deep in his wide eyes. And he pushes me off the cliff.

The air whistles past my ears as I fall to the ground; it seems like an eternity has passed before I finally rest my head on the hard ground beneath me. Every bone in my body feels like I have walked headfirst into a moving train, I gingerly raise myself off the cold floor to see him standing over me. He raises a finger to his lips, signalling me to follow him. We walk forward cautiously, the fear of an unknown disturbance still hanging heavy over us. We walk through an open field of wild grass, the pale silver stalks dancing in the breeze as the moonlight lit up our path. He doesn’t say anything to me; I walk alongside his shadow as his shadow. We come to a clearing with a single tree standing proud in the middle of a vast expanse of nothing. He gestures to the tree, we make our way there with haste. I walk into the cool shade of a massive oak and collapse under its mighty protection. He walks around the tree and returns with a figure in his arms. Next to my tired form he lays her down, a look of gentle calm upon his hard features. The moonlight dances upon her face and her shallow breath rattles through the night. Her stormy grey eyes lie wide open as she continues to struggle against an unknown force so as to keep breathing. He stands at a distance, silently watching the two of us on the ground; one battling for her life and the other silent and still like the great oak tree above us. Her lips part slightly, a single droplet of light rises upwards into his palm and she falls into a silent stupor. He gazes at the pinpoint of white in his hand, bringing it slowly to his mouth. I watch on as he proceeds to swallow it, confused about the events transpiring before my eyes. He throws his head back and looks up to the pitch black sky and a million tiny lights wink back at him in response. His eyes open wide, his jaw falls low and a burst of brilliant white light breaks through his tall, proud form. I see the mouth move, I hear him speak a few moments later. The voice rings loud in my ears, resonating from everywhere and nowhere and he says to me, “The path you seek is straight ahead. Do not deviate from the road and you should be fine.”

My head falls back against the firm bark of the oak as I witness my guide disappear into thin air with no evidence of him ever having existed. My eyes close of their own will and I embrace the comforting darkness of slumber enveloping my mind.

My eyes fly awake as a sharp ray of light dispels my drowsiness. I wake up to find myself looking towards a convoluted, winding path leading into the woods. Against my will, I find myself rising and walking down the dusty road. I try to hum to myself, no sound greets me. I try to dart into the woods, but something brings me back to the same path no matter which direction I turn. The sun beats down hard upon my head, and in the distance I hear the faraway call of an eagle. Resigned to my current fate, I walk forward taking in all that I see around me. The sunlight dances between the shadows of the twisted trees, the brown floor beneath my feet gradually begins to evolve into a lush green lawn and the air I take deep, calm breaths of is painted with the scent of rain. I brush aside a shrub and stop in my tracks as I take in the view before me.

I stand before an ocean. The sand twinkles against my eyes, giving me a psychedelic glimpse of a million pinpoints of colour every time I blink. The tide rolls against the shore lazily as the sunlight bounces off the surface of the water. The sky lies mirrored before my feet and my toes play with the fine grains as I walk onto the beach. I sit against the onslaught of the slow tide and feel the refreshing spray of water upon my tired form. The sun begins to drop gently from the sky, retiring to his home beneath the vast expanse of water. I watch the sunset, I watch as the sky is painted by the whims and fancies of the final rays of sunlight as they herald the appearance of a single crescent sliver of silver hanging delicately in the sky, casting a dim white light on me. An ethereal breeze gushes past me, and I find myself obsessed by an urge to enter the water. I stand up, the waves breaking around my ankles as I walk into the water with an oddly familiar slow, composed gait. I walk forward calmly, the waves breaking against my torso as I begin to feel the ground sink below me. I let the ocean cradle me; I surrender myself to the mercy of the sea as she carries me in her lap. All emotion begins to wash away from me; I do not feel the familiar wave of fear as wave after wave crashes over my head, pushing me down beneath the surface of the water. I feel no panic as I take in the water in deep gulps, I feel nothing but a calm of certainty as I feel the ocean filling up my lungs. I smile and close my eyes as I begin to plummet down under depths. I embrace the vast nothingness that spreads out before me and fall unconscious.

A blinding pain flashes behind my eyes, as I gasp and sputter to find myself on a jet black rock, sprawled out like an empty carcass. I look around, unable to find my bearings, and my eyes fall upon a massive, emerald green pillar. It stands on the shore, firm and unmoving even as the ocean tries desperately to push it off its pedestal. I lift myself off the rock with difficulty and force my sore feet to stumble towards the pillar. I fall at its base, every bone in my body feeling like a deadweight. I rest my head against my arm, panting and coughing when I feel a hand upon my shoulder. I look up to see a small boy smiling down at me with an odd benevolence, the light of ages of wisdom alive in his eyes. He puts his hand to the pillar, and I watch in awe as it begins to crumble to a vibrant green ash. I look at him in plain bewilderment, and though he chuckles silently, I hear his deep, rumbling voice in my head. “You have nothing to fear from me, I am merely here to deliver to you what you have been looking for all this time.” I hear his voice tell me. He walks over to the shimmering green pile of dust and pulls out a piece of paper. He places his hand on my head, clasps the paper in my hand and smiles. I see his small head throw my face into shadow as he blocks the sunlight falling on my face, and I sit still, relishing the cool shade.

I open my eyes in front of this piece of paper, pen in hand, the wind through my hair and a single dim light’s reflection in my glasses. And on the paper, I see this article.

Static whimpered then, now
was a moment, is and will be.

But in my deeper blue, waits a
Sapphire cesspool; waste and ivory
the Isle of Man, wades and drowns
silk swollen in the silence of still water,
through Hesperian greed and the tide
of golden apples.

In wandering, the cicada and cypress
grew in a moment's swan song,
Paradise was a pyre, and it was Winter
and the modern world.

And in what days of one day
would the enchantment bring-- of
the red faces and quivering tongues?

And what would the harpie bring--
icy tendrils of Spring to cool the flame?  
A wretched smile, of the witness
blackened, knelt cradling his
head in his hands.

and in that moment, I was a lost man,
a lost man,
And then the happiest on the face of the Earth:


Now, the night is shallow.
****** is a breath, Eros is breathing, I am still.

Still

caught in the net of waking dreams,
when a binary sunset births the piercing tone,
of frequency high and ears hollow:
I was on my back, floating
and Death stood waiting
at the end.

Chariot yoked, pinion on pinion,
I gritted my teeth, unfurled my wings
and wept-- the mind is vengeance
As cruelty is the Mother of love.

and Now
stands waiting,
in the memory of himself.
A war is waged each moment,
with the echo of forever:

soul for soul,
talon for talon.

He lost his wings at birth
Soaked in the misery of nothingness
Child caught the face of a dejected mum
Dad gasps for breadth in vanity of time
What lurks in the darkness beyond?
Where is the answer, the poor child reels
Eyes glinted at ignorant jubilation
Not again, the village moaned uneasily

Wings refused to flap inspiration
Sun refused to dry soaked misery rule
Conscious of the stream of pain not long
On and on breathlessness overcomes hopeful desire
Heart overflows with helplessness
Birds fly around filling the air with hope
Child closes eyes not to twig bitterness
So that sorrow could fly away

All at once the days come by
No means to endure the crunch of time
Denial by the offensive of futility of all
Rescue for survival nowhere to find
Staring the freshness of gentle breeze
Hope wades in with a struggle to live
‘Abrakadabra’ the witch doctor screams
So that sorrow could fly away

Don’t give up my brother
Determination beckons with authority
Sorrow and hopelessness dumped on the side
So that no other child sees it no more
Holding firm to tomorrow that is not lonely
Misery in abyss pushed aside to give way
Alas the flower glows and sweetness flows
Like the river of life beyond comprehension
Fly away your sorrow.

The moon wades the sea
and lifts his curved blade

to cut loose the tide
tied to the shore

and it's high time I listen
for the secret word

that tells me to turn
out the light and go home.

792

Through the strait pass of suffering—
The Martyrs—even—trod.
Their feet—upon Temptations—
Their faces—upon God—

A stately—shriven—Company—
Convulsion—playing round—
Harmless—as streaks of Meteor—
Upon a Planet’s Bond—

Their faith—the everlasting troth—
Their Expectation—fair—
The Needle—to the North Degree—
Wades—so—thro’ polar Air!

My darkest friend who knows my darkest side,
penumbral spirit might eclipse her own;
she gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.

While living through what most would not abide
she bleeds for us through all the cuts she's known,
my darkest friend who knows my darkest side.

She feeds the beasts inside we've deified
and knows my monsters right down to their bones.
She gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.

She wades abyss's waters at high tide
and dives in eagerly to swim alone,
my darkest friend who knows my darkest side.

Sensual, seductive, sanctified,
soft as woman, hard and strong as stone,
she gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.

She writes her deepest secrets, never lies,
while keeping from herself how much she's grown.
My darkest friend who knows my darkest side;
she gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.

Bring about a second war,
or pack up - and go home.
We can't accept apologies
from Sicily or Rome.

We can't impart cartography
to mayors without maps.
And no one wades the rivers here,
and water fills the cracks.

And water, liquid power naps,
repels us at the coast,
But draws us in at pipeline ends
and haunts us like Dad's ghost.

I died sometime, the future came,
and everybody smirked
and asked me, while we waited
for my casket, if it hurt.

Remembrance in November grows repellent
each year we rob it further of its sense
by hunting down objectors to compel them
to stand in line or cause a grave offense.
No private contemplation or reflection
when strident shrieks of nationhood prevail
Un-poppied collars count as insurrection
a slight to every brave, red-blooded male.
Division, thumping drums and waving banners
the media wades in with guns ablaze
forgetful of respect, or simple manners –
that’s not how we conduct ourselves these days
If this is what our fallen heroes wanted
I wonder why the cenotaph is haunted.

We cannot know what sent the soldiers hither
or claim the fallen courage of the fight
think boys who marched to foreign fields together
were simple symbols drawn in black and white
If we could rise above the spite and chatter
We’d find unbordered bonds and understand
that shells and bullets lacked the strength to shatter
the looking glass that straddled no man’s land
From timid chaps to lunatic berserkers
we canonise the men who heard the call
if wives had had the power to shoot deserters
there never would have been a war  at all.
Let’s render restless spirits more forgiving:
to honour best the dead, honour the living.

he tells me dark secrets  
and paints colors on the shore
where the salt mist speaks to him
in voices heard no more  

along he wades, watching
the growing ground at his feet
careful to not crush creatures in the surf  
***** crawling to bed themselves
in their own tugging time
before the moon full tides  

slowly, he walks
as if one long step
might fling him into the abyss  
he does not fear the fall,  
he knows, it comes to all,
fishmongers and kings  
falcons with their mighty wings  
all share the descent, as the sea
turns from blue to black    

while I hide far inland
he paints me dark secrets
vanishing tracks in the sand,
and I long to hear his brush strokes,
to see what vast weary waves reveal,
through his teary eyes

The river's current starts slow,
chilled streams trickling,
toes shifting, in the dark blue-gray;
almost unpleasant to the touch.

As she wades, the pull becomes stronger;
ice cold, it entraps her chest.

Slwoosh fwssh, she winces as the wind picks up,
and her mind goes still; resilient.

Drifting, her body gives way,
fwuomp, pssshhh.
Almost lifeless do her eyes wash,
away into the water's murk.

Like a ship stranded at sea,
her body struggles to withstand,
water filling her lungs like the hull;
her cheeks pale and wet.

Gasps break the water,
sending ripples as wide as her eyes,
and the tormenting storm laughs;

Each time it moves, grabs, without asking, takes without giving,
and she floats.

Piloting a rocket propelled spermatazoon
straight into the magma core of Arcturus!
And all the while our cute society
is humming a slithery little hymn
"Dip your toes and smile along
clap your hands and follow me home."
Alas my hands are golden waves
and bridge the space
where the monolith wades
Redemption plays
the poison harp
encouraging those forgotten
to never give up
the strings are dripping
and licking the ground
where flowers grow
the land is sound
there is someone at the door
always someone at the door

Is there a place somewhere known and yet unknown
where humans keep or lose their guilts
Is there a dumping hole or a snug
or a fierce incinerator blazing
That destroys or obliterates
human guilts

Is it a known some guilts carry comfortably and alone
just another thing for the holdall satchel bag or arm
Someday its worryingly heavy on the shoulders
other times it's just small and weightless
An accessory as any others
imperceptibly light

Is the heavy guilt or tons heavy ones like granite stone
a weary toil left in a storage or thrown over a cliff
What ever done guilts come with a personal receipt
bearing owners name time and number
Attached to owner and carried 24/7
marked as 'Non-Transferable'

Is your guilt or guilts  bearable or carry-able like your phone
have you stored, hidden it or pushed down a crevice
What about the indelible receipt on your person
that which is there and rests on you
Does it flare like an incindaries
or just simmer quietly

Is your guilt a bedfellow that clings to your chest in a zone
whispering in tone foreboding and chills persistent
Or one that wades in and recedes like shore waves
perhaps it's a type like a central rigid statue
An unmovable edifice of horror
coated in fear and alarm

Is your guilt light and niggly, a Bonsai with no tall grown
did you amend paying a due and penanced did leave
And though the attached receipt still haunts you
least you know it will gradually fade away
Leaving truly tutoring imprints
Never to be repeated

Is your guilt a stranger yet unmet and your spirit happy flown
do you walk in salient steps with no recourse to remorse
And greet each morn with pleasantries to I, me and self
enthralled no rent paid for secret storage or a crevice
Just the one that stands before man and Creation
Held aloof by a Conscience unstained



Copyright@Laurence14th Aug2018.all rights reserved.

Stop.
Now feel the tongue inside your mouth.
Notice the words forming between your teeth,
their texture, their colour,
where they come from.

Now look towards me
No, not at me
but at the air between our faces

Do you see it?
It wades there, suspended,
kneading the space, folding into itself
and waiting for us.

It arches its back as it’s ****** into you,
as it’s ****** into me.
It wants to be inside of us.

But be careful how you treat the air;
it likes to be inhaled slowly, deeply,
swim through your body, wrap around
your bones and lick the edges of your soul.

Do you feel it?

Do not trap the air at the back of your throat,
where it cannot dance, where it cannot give.
And do not bend it it ways it will not bend.  
Do not strangle it with your tongue and spit it out
tripping over itself.  The air does not take kindly to
such abuse so when that sharp lick of breath reaches me,
my veins, it will toss and turn in your leftover angst.

Caress the air, the little piece of sky before us,
massage its shaking limbs with your own,
let it travel up from the meat of your toes carrying
with it the scent of your blood.

I promise you, it will dance between the grace of your lips.

Or better yet,
let the air between us hang loosely in space
Let it settle like silent water;
unscathed, transparent,
so we can see eachother clearly.

God loves a river
a gentle flowing current
or raging rapids
Flora and Faunus preside
breathing life to the waters

she wades in hip boots
while checking in on her friends
to tree frog greetings
blessing all with her vision
seeing to it all is well

the sun smiles on her
this river nymph from the shore
ecology's eyes
she keeps the rivers healthy
as she walks through the waters

Facing the horizon
She walks barefoot
On the golden sand
Into the blue.
A clear sky reflecting
Upon the glass surface.
Using pain
To suppress pain,
She wades into the shards.
Piercing through her
Agony takes over,
Yet she feels alive.
Icy waters of the ocean
She's neck deep in,
She can't feel the ground anymore.
Her head just above the water
She takes one final breath,
And heads toward heaven or hell.
A moment of panic,
As she breathes in, but
They are now one.
Her pain washed away
Sorrow drowned.
One soul, born from
*A poisoned mind
Of the girl who felt alive
Breathing her last breath.
She lived awaiting death.

Shock and awe
I begin to thaw
The harsh reality
Of a year of insanity

Change is the name
Happiness is the game
I was stuck in the past
Moving too fast

Love was not lost
But it came at a cost
True love does not fade
It ebbs and it wades

Do not become rotten
What's done is forgotten
Forgiveness isn't earned
It is something that is learned

It is not deserved
But He still served
Live and let go
Smile let it show

Just wait
Laughter
That presence within your catharsis
Jezebel
Jumpstart your
Heartache
Liberation
Fabricated Materialization
J... J…J…J…

Just wait.
Time will tell when
William Tell will attempt to shoot an arrow
through your heart.
If he misses,
you are doomed
to a life of solitude and faithless trysts
trust is a hit-or-miss.
If it pierces through,
you are condemned to a life attached
like a leech to
some being whose
too tight embraces
take your breath away.

Wait….just…
Listen.
The wind is blowing
sweeping you
off your feet.
You’re head-over-heals
in over your head
falling into a pit of
broken promises.
Only to rake them up again.

Just w….why?
Realizations that
****** should
be punished
even if its
metaphorical.

For hearts can die
and are just as hard
to resurrect
as burning stakes
which were once *****.

Wait….
all hope is not lost
for loss cannot be
everlasting
unless…
Bill’s arrow was
tipped with
what is never blessed
that which makes
all mortals quell.

But one can never know
in certainty
until that day
occurs

Just witness….
til then
dear friend
my sustainer of life
I’ll feed you
elixirs to save you
from bleeding
out your memories.
For sewing you up,
is merely temporary.

I’ll force-feed you
vitamin D until you
agree to be blissful again
and I’ll be able to tell when
your artificial smile dresses your
sorrows
in brighter colors.

Justice wades
in deeper waters
but once you reach it
it’s worth all the effort
in the world.

Just Wait
Time will tell when
William Tell will attempt to shoot an arrow  
through your heart.

If he misses,
you are doomed
to a life of solitude and faithless trysts
trust is a hit-or-miss.

If it pierces through,
you are condemned to a life attached
like a leech to
some being whose
too tight embraces
take your breath away.

Wait….just…
Listen.
The wind is blowing
sweeping you
off your feet.
You’re head-over-heals
in over your head
falling into a pit of
broken promises.
Only to rake them up again.

Just
Realizations that
****** should
be punished
even if it’s  metaphorical.
For hearts can die
and are just as hard
to resurrect
as burning stakes
which were once *****.

Wait…
all hope is not lost
for loss cannot be
everlasting
unless…
Will’s arrow was
tipped with
poison
that which makes
all mortals quell.
But one can never know
in certainty
until that day
occurs

Just witness….
til then
dear friend
my sustainer of life
I’ll feed you elixirs to save you
from bleeding
out your memories.
For sewing you up,
is merely temporary

I’ll force-feed you
vitamin D until you
agree to be blissful again
and I’ll be able to tell when
your generic smile dresses your
sorrows in brighter colors

Justice wades
in deeper waters
but once you reach it
it’s worth all the effort
in the world.

My weary heart wades through the carnage of broken promises and sleepless nights
stolen dreams and endless fights
through the mess of slaughtered expectations
torn apart by passionless ****** relations
wasted upon new acquaintances
you used to release your unjustified frustration
when you merely lacked the patience
the butchering of a future, you never cared to let grow
you set fire to the very hopes you once did sow
scorch the earth, salt the fields of romance so they remain a barren desert
kiss him for the pleasure
these burnt eyes have weathered
a storm no scales could measure
tasted the fire of Hades
begging you to save me
as you crave the
physical equivalent to what you perceived to be love not lust
the bloodbath of trust
that forever stains my memory of the life I once did build
your razor eyes cut me down as you stood by while my love spilled...