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"wildness" poems
For my cousin, Chris Goldrick Lacing my skates after walking two miles in girl-strictured delight Mom's stories of Sonja Henie-- No, not ever Lacing my skates with  snow-ball pompoms felt skirt and nylon tights Cute little hat with matching scarf My thighs and fingers already freezing icy burn from miles on foot to get there the lake where-- I must get out I must get OUT! Knowing what to expect from my body the quick-twitch of muscle Could always sense specific-- gravity of water     at 22 degrees Desiring to feel the motion between ice and steel Read speed's vibrations through my body The brain registers relation to weather's effect Tell of velocity possibility of fall Feel the slash of the blades beneath me Throw my weight sideways, sudden to hear that furious hiss An object in motion tending, dire to stay in motion Threatening to stay there always in its heights-- of speed away-- from the crowds of skaters swirling distant in the lights Seeking instead the farthest reaches of Porter Lake speed and speed and more to overcome inertia of what it is to become undone at the outer edges, of humanity A force centrifugal unto myself Avoiding Pregnant and slow with years and babes.... The best must be broken and tamed of what it takes to stay free catching the edges with every stride catching my toe in the quick 180 spray of frost to the sudden still Listen to the frigid chill and the heave of my breath tumbling into evidence Gliding Once Forever-- on, into darkness of woods on frozen water The wildness of it all So infatuated with flight so full of grace I forgot Sonja The moon rose from her seat in the treetops and applauded
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Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
Night Skating at Porter Lake
For my cousin, Chris Goldrick Lacing my skates after walking two miles in girl-strictured delight Mom's stories of Sonja Henie-- No, not ever Lacing my skates with  snow-ball pompoms felt skirt and nylon tights Cute little hat with matching scarf My thighs and fingers already freezing icy burn from miles on foot to get there the lake where-- I must get out I must get OUT! Knowing what to expect from my body the quick-twitch of muscle Could always sense specific-- gravity of water     at 22 degrees Desiring to feel the motion between ice and steel Read speed's vibrations through my body The brain registers relation to weather's effect Tell of velocity possibility of fall Feel the slash of the blades beneath me Throw my weight sideways, sudden to hear that furious hiss An object in motion tending, dire to stay in motion Threatening to stay there always in its heights-- of speed away-- from the crowds of skaters swirling distant in the lights Seeking instead the farthest reaches of Porter Lake speed and speed and more to overcome inertia of what it is to become undone at the outer edges, of humanity A force centrifugal unto myself Avoiding Pregnant and slow with years and babes.... The best must be broken and tamed of what it takes to stay free catching the edges with every stride catching my toe in the quick 180 spray of frost to the sudden still Listen to the frigid chill and the heave of my breath tumbling into evidence Gliding Once Forever-- on, into darkness of woods on frozen water The wildness of it all So infatuated with flight so full of grace I forgot Sonja The moon rose from her seat in the treetops and applauded
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80
a breath of fresh air tickles still-waters a lone swan's quill let fall, takes flight   carpe  diem ― nigh weightless, buoyantly skitters across the water, laissez faire; barely dimpling the shallow peace on a lake in the wood a wild feather's mindless pirouettes emanate from the steeping silence lapping  its superficial  refection   the true nature of wildness, unspoken freedom, an untamed wilder – ness skims the skinny waters seeking their own level; leaving no trace of  ever being  containable   like a breath of fresh air reinvigorates unconquerable souls touching in the conscious moment ― a gentle passing breeze arousing a rogue gust Jesse Stillwater 01    June   2018
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Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
a breath of fresh air tickles still-waters
What truly is the definition of righteousness? Is it determined by act or by mind? They say a good man fights for justice, peace, and prosperity. But then, can a man of such moral truly remain so if he turns to violence as an answer? Does his intent to create marvels render him of moral status though his methods may empower death and promote war? Oh, this man is peaceful himself, taking letters instead of bullets to battle but his lyrics dislodge society in a manner not all approve and so begins combat. Can this soul carry such holy title, if the repercussions of his strung together words are strung up necks? Or is the good man the one who turns away from the world's fight to be his own embodiment of ethical beauty? For the one who remains silent causes no direct pain; he himself is passive and tranquil and moves to inspire such conduct in others without commanding it. But his silence encourages fierce vehemency and wildness. Does this fact not taint his name? The first man had pure intent, but with his tongue he spit sparks which others used to ignite a fire and burn the world. The second did not fight himself but his chosen hush could never end the blood rain, and so his lack of sharp verbosity allowed knives to flash and blood to spill. So I will ask again, what determines morality? Though this time with a grounding response; morals define morality. Each man's mind renders his own flawless ideal individually, and so one's perfection will always be another's monstrosity. In truth? There are no good men, or at least not one to all.
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Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
What is a Good Man?
What truly is the definition of righteousness? Is it determined by act or by mind? They say a good man fights for justice, peace, and prosperity. But then, can a man of such moral truly remain so if he turns to violence as an answer? Does his intent to create marvels render him of moral status though his methods may empower death and promote war? Oh, this man is peaceful himself, taking letters instead of bullets to battle but his lyrics dislodge society in a manner not all approve and so begins combat. Can this soul carry such holy title, if the repercussions of his strung together words are strung up necks? Or is the good man the one who turns away from the world's fight to be his own embodiment of ethical beauty? For the one who remains silent causes no direct pain; he himself is passive and tranquil and moves to inspire such conduct in others without commanding it. But his silence encourages fierce vehemency and wildness. Does this fact not taint his name? The first man had pure intent, but with his tongue he spit sparks which others used to ignite a fire and burn the world. The second did not fight himself but his chosen hush could never end the blood rain, and so his lack of sharp verbosity allowed knives to flash and blood to spill. So I will ask again, what determines morality? Though this time with a grounding response; morals define morality. Each man's mind renders his own flawless ideal individually, and so one's perfection will always be another's monstrosity. In truth? There are no good men, or at least not one to all.
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When you come face to face with your own mind Is all you find, growing wild within Are your eyes seeking to find The Golden Fleece Once again Are you suddenly fleeing where clouds have gathered With a burning candle raised on high Wondering if you have mastered This profound race of life Not a tear, you cry Do you continue walking within opposing views Saving certain parts of all you find Thinking surely it’s up to you To tame the wildness In your mind When you come face to face with your own mind Can you gaze upon the wildness and smile Not give a care if the fleece you find Yet enjoy the journey All the while
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Jan 1, 2011
Jan 1, 2011 at 9:05 AM UTC
Face to Face
“Angelica arguta”, He shows her his wildflowers “Angelica Susannah”, he says. And prodded further by her His heart. Lingers briefly with the night; Her affection has power, But not enough To keep him From marching off to fight. Tristan, son of One Stab, Brings wildness from the mountains. Lovely woman from the East, Fascinated by her, His passion. Revels in her bridal bower, And stops her Loving any other. Alfred, eldest son of his father, Full of rectitude and romance. Angelica abandoned, Adrift between the mountains Becalmed far from the sea. He takes advantage, Snatches her soul with riches, But never captures Her longing heart. Years pass and one son gone, The other lost and mad. Year of the red grass and Happiness found Is felt too soon. Tristan loves young Isabel, But Angelica is his doom. Yet only he survives The waves that lash her shore, “Like water in the ice, She breaks them.” And in the Spring, Is gone once more. Angelica Susannah is buried Above the box canyon in the meadow Among the many dead. Near Samuel’s heart, The executed Isabel, And others who follow soon. Until only Tristan remains, Left to hunt his nemesis, The bear inside him. And dream of one wife lost, And a lover left behind: Angelica Susannah Beside whom he should lie. He is slain by the bear in Sixty-three, After forty years of solitude. And laid to rest in the plot Between two women he loved, Isabel, his ingenuous wife And Susannah, his tragic love. Do their spirits meet at last And wander the golden fields, Or ride out to bathe in the hot springs, Under the moon of the falling leaves?
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Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 10:37 AM UTC
Angelica Susannah
“Angelica arguta”, He shows her his wildflowers “Angelica Susannah”, he says. And prodded further by her His heart. Lingers briefly with the night; Her affection has power, But not enough To keep him From marching off to fight. Tristan, son of One Stab, Brings wildness from the mountains. Lovely woman from the East, Fascinated by her, His passion. Revels in her bridal bower, And stops her Loving any other. Alfred, eldest son of his father, Full of rectitude and romance. Angelica abandoned, Adrift between the mountains Becalmed far from the sea. He takes advantage, Snatches her soul with riches, But never captures Her longing heart. Years pass and one son gone, The other lost and mad. Year of the red grass and Happiness found Is felt too soon. Tristan loves young Isabel, But Angelica is his doom. Yet only he survives The waves that lash her shore, “Like water in the ice, She breaks them.” And in the Spring, Is gone once more. Angelica Susannah is buried Above the box canyon in the meadow Among the many dead. Near Samuel’s heart, The executed Isabel, And others who follow soon. Until only Tristan remains, Left to hunt his nemesis, The bear inside him. And dream of one wife lost, And a lover left behind: Angelica Susannah Beside whom he should lie. He is slain by the bear in Sixty-three, After forty years of solitude. And laid to rest in the plot Between two women he loved, Isabel, his ingenuous wife And Susannah, his tragic love. Do their spirits meet at last And wander the golden fields, Or ride out to bathe in the hot springs, Under the moon of the falling leaves?
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63
Born to the night in the cry of wolves, We are….inked lovers spilling secrets, under velvet skies, Shrouding the night in silver spools; The season of silver silence, hangs upon shades of silken soul, This midnight offering, a white entice; My hair shimmers brightly, a wet fleece of gold, of shadow and starlight, And shimmering hues, emerald and sapphire breathe kindred embers into the bellows of passion; Challenging the flame that burns; entwined.... Whispered intrigue lays in the crescent of moon, In an eminent blaze of sweetest surrender Unborn whispers lie entwined with heated petals, silken; We shiver....I shiver, I am warm arms embraced; Your lips hard yet soft against my side, The feel of flesh warmed to a rising flame... The long moon steps into midnight; My ******* full of your hands as candles, pour hard against the ebon fall, Luscious to the hush of soft smiles Steeled eloquence flows in ribbon ripples; Winter sown, blood quilled, in midnights cast; Cloaked in beautiful, shadow's bed a bouquet of lacy foxglove... Eyes closed and deep of breath, Moistness seeps the sugared flower, and longing surges deep; Shudder me wicked, drench me quick; The wildness swirls inside as he moves like a shadow over my heart His tongue eager to swim the gushing urge; Touching, slick-slide, the soothe of smooth fingers slip past softness; Lips cross, moist to moan me quick, sliding to quivers. Thigh's whispering and heart pounding , Soft, the wind blows, tapping walls, fingers dancing And shadow sways to moonlight... Velvet-soft, the sweet of tongue's mesh, Fire burning, The tips of breast's aroused by the touch of a slow hand lover; Your tongue gently rolls, wet and burning hot, Hungrily, it feeds diving deep, and sandalwood spires upon the malachite air, And burning murmurs the silent song, pleasures Your flame to touch me hot, softly hard, Against the darting quivering rose, stokes sweet, the flame of conjure.... I weep as you strain to slay this huntress of indolent submission; Descending into darkness, I squirm upon your touch, lifting my altar upon your hunger, Eyes lost to ecstasy, the flow quickens from abyssal moans; Overflowing with need, release bound by gold shattered stars Suckling whispered thoughts; With us, for us, in us, in dreams, in thoughts, in love ....And in....time my love..................
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Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
Twin Flame Dance:
Born to the night in the cry of wolves, We are….inked lovers spilling secrets, under velvet skies, Shrouding the night in silver spools; The season of silver silence, hangs upon shades of silken soul, This midnight offering, a white entice; My hair shimmers brightly, a wet fleece of gold, of shadow and starlight, And shimmering hues, emerald and sapphire breathe kindred embers into the bellows of passion; Challenging the flame that burns; entwined.... Whispered intrigue lays in the crescent of moon, In an eminent blaze of sweetest surrender Unborn whispers lie entwined with heated petals, silken; We shiver....I shiver, I am warm arms embraced; Your lips hard yet soft against my side, The feel of flesh warmed to a rising flame... The long moon steps into midnight; My ******* full of your hands as candles, pour hard against the ebon fall, Luscious to the hush of soft smiles Steeled eloquence flows in ribbon ripples; Winter sown, blood quilled, in midnights cast; Cloaked in beautiful, shadow's bed a bouquet of lacy foxglove... Eyes closed and deep of breath, Moistness seeps the sugared flower, and longing surges deep; Shudder me wicked, drench me quick; The wildness swirls inside as he moves like a shadow over my heart His tongue eager to swim the gushing urge; Touching, slick-slide, the soothe of smooth fingers slip past softness; Lips cross, moist to moan me quick, sliding to quivers. Thigh's whispering and heart pounding , Soft, the wind blows, tapping walls, fingers dancing And shadow sways to moonlight... Velvet-soft, the sweet of tongue's mesh, Fire burning, The tips of breast's aroused by the touch of a slow hand lover; Your tongue gently rolls, wet and burning hot, Hungrily, it feeds diving deep, and sandalwood spires upon the malachite air, And burning murmurs the silent song, pleasures Your flame to touch me hot, softly hard, Against the darting quivering rose, stokes sweet, the flame of conjure.... I weep as you strain to slay this huntress of indolent submission; Descending into darkness, I squirm upon your touch, lifting my altar upon your hunger, Eyes lost to ecstasy, the flow quickens from abyssal moans; Overflowing with need, release bound by gold shattered stars Suckling whispered thoughts; With us, for us, in us, in dreams, in thoughts, in love ....And in....time my love..................
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46
There is some genie in our house, curdling poisonously. I stay in the house with a freckled old lady; we're roommates, unlucky enough to meet each other as life abated. He does not live in the attic, like a ***** ghoul; or in some rubbing bottle like an amnesiac. But we call the spirit lady, because the genie is vicious. She comes to the house and says we need to move things around. Her eyes are circled by some creamy mascara into these black, skin-tight, **** rings, like absurdist ****** targets. Things are moved, the genie stays, gets more vicious. The mongerer is blamed for bad things: broken pots, fights over rent, **** on the toilet seat, lost keys. We call the spirit lady, this time her fingers jingle with golden rings, her wrists sing with wrought-iron rainbows, and says rain will send that sucker running. So, we build little smoke pits in our house, and take the most important things: bills, and alumni letters from my school, and birthday cards for her, and burn them until it rains. The genie calls us falsifiers. The spirit lady comes back, a necklace of grimacing clams around her neck, and knocks around dancing, dancing, a frenzy, a wildness, a knee-knocking, throat-throtlling, dismantingly, limb-ecstasy, until she poops out and, breathing heavy, saying finally: "there is nothing I can do for you, I don't think I ever could, some things are just bad luck." She turns, walks away, and one of her clams drops from her necklace, it says made in America on the inner lip. The genie left a few weeks later.
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Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 1:48 AM UTC
The Genie.
There is some genie in our house, curdling poisonously. I stay in the house with a freckled old lady; we're roommates, unlucky enough to meet each other as life abated. He does not live in the attic, like a ***** ghoul; or in some rubbing bottle like an amnesiac. But we call the spirit lady, because the genie is vicious. She comes to the house and says we need to move things around. Her eyes are circled by some creamy mascara into these black, skin-tight, **** rings, like absurdist ****** targets. Things are moved, the genie stays, gets more vicious. The mongerer is blamed for bad things: broken pots, fights over rent, **** on the toilet seat, lost keys. We call the spirit lady, this time her fingers jingle with golden rings, her wrists sing with wrought-iron rainbows, and says rain will send that sucker running. So, we build little smoke pits in our house, and take the most important things: bills, and alumni letters from my school, and birthday cards for her, and burn them until it rains. The genie calls us falsifiers. The spirit lady comes back, a necklace of grimacing clams around her neck, and knocks around dancing, dancing, a frenzy, a wildness, a knee-knocking, throat-throtlling, dismantingly, limb-ecstasy, until she poops out and, breathing heavy, saying finally: "there is nothing I can do for you, I don't think I ever could, some things are just bad luck." She turns, walks away, and one of her clams drops from her necklace, it says made in America on the inner lip. The genie left a few weeks later.
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50
There is a wildness still in England that will not feed In cages; it shrinks away from the touch of the trainer's hand, Easy to **** not easy to tame. It will never breed In a zoo for the public pleasure. It will not be planned. Do not blame us too much if we that are hedgerow folk Cannot swell the rejoicings at this new world you make - We, hedge-hogged as Johnson or Borrow, strange to the yoke As Landor, surly as Cobbett (that badger), birdlike as Blake. A new scent troubles the air -- to you, friendly perhaps But we with animal wisdom have understood that smell. To all our kind its message is Guns, Ferrets, and Traps, And a Ministry gassing the little holes in which we dwell.
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4.8k
The Condemned
Some things we loose, while others we gain. When we take chances and put ourselves and hearts on the line any day is exceptional. No day is ordinary, for an ordinary day is when I met you. An "ordinary" day changed my life. I met you in my favourite season, I was wearing my favourite touque. You were foreign to me... exceptional, mysterious and cute. The blood stains on your canvas pants like a piece of art. The body of a doe in your bare hands, disturbing yet beautiful. The wildness that coursed through your veins, the life in your eyes... I always knew I'd find the man of dreams in the forest surrounded by trees. Although it was in a parking lot beside the naked hardwood fate brought me to you. Late night procrastination brought me to you. Under ordinary circumstances came extraordinary outcomes. We loose what is less to gain what is more fate brought me to you an ordinary day became extraordinary and grew forever more... <3
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May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
Extraordinary Love
A certain wildness can still be found within a heart When a new scent fills the air A distinctive flicker of flame to restart A smoldering ash Lying there A rising mist ascends from a pool thought run dry Floating and flying in the air Weaving intricate patterns to erase the shy From within the heart Beating there A vanished voice is heard once again throughout Now softly ringing crystal clear Reigniting a certain wildness in a scented shout Erasing all shyness Waiting here Tender footsteps dance into these waiting hollows Sweetly kissing fire anew Promising joy in all my tomorrows Filled with the wonderful Scent, of you
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Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 5:12 AM UTC
Scent
So many years I've spent on the sterile land in various cubes curbs my soul and makes me tired. So why not go the seas! To experience another kind of new life; to face the infiniteness the wildness, and be more tough! Great men of letters, Melville,Mark Twain,Hemingway,etc, all benefit lots from their colorful life as a sailor. Thus, to be a sailor, a sailor, a sailor, a sailor, a sailor !
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Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 1:48 AM UTC
To be a sailor
Is tamed wildness And manufactured wilderness- A plastic world All my young son will know? I have known gritty gravel roads And sunburnt savanah veldt. Swam and splashed in muddy dams and reservoirs. I have sat high above, in mountain peaks studying clustered clouds close enough to reach out and run my fingers through by day, and I have counted the dancing stars above in vast dark nights. I have discovered treasures in the misty valleys on early mornings And seen sun streak through heavy storm clouds to colour a grey sky with radiant rainbows. I have seen surreal snow fall And slowly erase the world around us. I have seen majestic beasts truly free- Wildebeests, various buck and cautious rhinos, Zebras that danced and played Around an elephant that loomed high above them, And elegant wings that whispered upon westerly winds. And it has all left me marked, these magical moments tattooed in my south african soul- And I am more for it - filled. what will feed their sould now?
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Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
wild youth
a journey of love, a journey of *** a journey so pure, you never regret.. a journey of wildness, a journey of happiness, a journey of sadness you never forget.. special times we spent together, times of fights and war, times of pleasure combined with pain, times which never can be lost.. its time for you, to say goodbyes, time to cry and to smile, time to be apart.. time to bear the pain, time to promise to stay, time to love always, for now, It's time for you to sail..
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Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
time to sail..
I saw him with new eyes. Gay eyes. (Though, these eyes have always been gay eyes.) I noticed his long nose, a slide for the sweat that took the ride down landing where his foot had once been. I noticed his hair, a wildness of blond, Going this way That way No way. His eyes of the sea darted this way That way No way. I shivered as the sea breeze touched me whenever he looked my way. I noticed his smile. A smile that pulled at my ****** muscles so I could grin. Yes, I saw him. With new eyes old eyes Gay eyes
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Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
Gay Eyes
There's no S upon my chest. Or a Bat signal too. I just wants to confirm. I'm the hero just for you. I'm Submariner. Or even the Mighty Hulk. I just believe with my heart. I'm the hero just for you. You're not the Invisible Woman. But you have the strength that's she do. And you mirror Wonder Woman in many ways. I just believe in my heart. I'm the hero just for you. I could be compared to Ironman. Even without his power. Or to Thor. And I'm not no God. I just believe in your heart you know. I'm the hero just for you. Some obstacles that we might face. I could wield protection with Capt. America shield. And show the wildness of the Black Panther roaing in the hills. Love alone is an heroic event. And you'll find it's the best things shared between us.
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Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 4:44 PM UTC
The Hero Just For You
i used to have some smiles 7 of them in fact 7 pretty little smiles one for each day of the week each brighter than the other we had monday, she was patient and honest but we had to give her away because we saw a passer by who needed to borrow her for a day and so we gave her away the stranger replaced her with a frown but that’s okay because we still have tuesday with us tuesday who is kind and innocent oh, wait no we don’t because along came a friend who had a broken heart and tuesday didn’t understand why but she wanted to sacrifice herself anyway before she went she said it’s okay, you’ve still got wednesday and the others oh, wednesday the tough softie he fought for them when needed he was loyal, he was brave. a soldier and i guess that’s why when my best friend lost her brother wednesday felt like he had to be there for her so i let her have him because at least i could see her smile on wednesday and before he went wednesday smiled at me and he said hey, you’ve still got thursday and the others then thursday and wednesday bid farewell two supposedly inseparable soulmates thursday, sweet and gentle to match wednesday’s toughness wednesday was his hero i guess that’s why when my sister was in pain thursday wanted to help just like the others thursday hugged me goodbye and wiped away my tears as he reminded me it was all for a good cause. he kissed friday goodbye and asked her to be good to me and friday promised she would but she left too she left while we were asleep she picked up and went we don’t know where but she was always the loud and reckless one we miss her though and i think the loss of the others finally made her snap. i don’t blame any of them. it’s for a good cause. that morning we woke up saturday, sunday and i all staring at one another i took them in, the polar opposite twins saturday with her cheerfulness and wildness, her free spirit and sunday with his sturdy consciousness and his good morals. they looked at each other and looked back at me and what they said broke me completely “we’re moving out. we’ve got a promotion and a house. we’ll still visit from time to time, but... we got a job where we can help the others .. it’s for a good cause” and i feel my shoulders slump as pain ebbs through me and i say “okay, i understand” and we say goodbye see, i once had 7 pretty little smiles one for each day of the week but one by one they left me they went on to do something great and here i am now with my straight mouth and dull eyes please don’t ask me for a smile because i don’t have any left within me ©️Elissar Mustapha 15.01.2020
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Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 5:11 AM UTC
7 smiles
i used to have some smiles 7 of them in fact 7 pretty little smiles one for each day of the week each brighter than the other we had monday, she was patient and honest but we had to give her away because we saw a passer by who needed to borrow her for a day and so we gave her away the stranger replaced her with a frown but that’s okay because we still have tuesday with us tuesday who is kind and innocent oh, wait no we don’t because along came a friend who had a broken heart and tuesday didn’t understand why but she wanted to sacrifice herself anyway before she went she said it’s okay, you’ve still got wednesday and the others oh, wednesday the tough softie he fought for them when needed he was loyal, he was brave. a soldier and i guess that’s why when my best friend lost her brother wednesday felt like he had to be there for her so i let her have him because at least i could see her smile on wednesday and before he went wednesday smiled at me and he said hey, you’ve still got thursday and the others then thursday and wednesday bid farewell two supposedly inseparable soulmates thursday, sweet and gentle to match wednesday’s toughness wednesday was his hero i guess that’s why when my sister was in pain thursday wanted to help just like the others thursday hugged me goodbye and wiped away my tears as he reminded me it was all for a good cause. he kissed friday goodbye and asked her to be good to me and friday promised she would but she left too she left while we were asleep she picked up and went we don’t know where but she was always the loud and reckless one we miss her though and i think the loss of the others finally made her snap. i don’t blame any of them. it’s for a good cause. that morning we woke up saturday, sunday and i all staring at one another i took them in, the polar opposite twins saturday with her cheerfulness and wildness, her free spirit and sunday with his sturdy consciousness and his good morals. they looked at each other and looked back at me and what they said broke me completely “we’re moving out. we’ve got a promotion and a house. we’ll still visit from time to time, but... we got a job where we can help the others .. it’s for a good cause” and i feel my shoulders slump as pain ebbs through me and i say “okay, i understand” and we say goodbye see, i once had 7 pretty little smiles one for each day of the week but one by one they left me they went on to do something great and here i am now with my straight mouth and dull eyes please don’t ask me for a smile because i don’t have any left within me ©️Elissar Mustapha 15.01.2020
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* *What I see in YOU...? I see the eternal existence in YOU I see the entire cosmos in YOU I see the olamic macrocosm in YOU I see the eternity and universe in YOU I see the everlasting wildness in YOU I see the aeon creation in YOU I see the ageless world in YOU I see a natural state in YOU I see the essence of galaxy in YOU I see the ecology and environment in YOU I see the glorious landscapes in YOU I see all the elements of composition in YOU I see the skies, moon, stars, sun, clouds in YOU I see the ocean, river, streams, rain, dew drops in YOU I see the animals, birds, bees, marine life in YOU I see your inner light, your psyche, your divine I see soul, I see spirit, I see LOVE in YOU I see what father could not see your inspiration to BE I see what mother could never see the "REAL YOU" I see miracle, magic, mystic and mysterious in YOU I see what YOU too could not see in YOU **I see in YOU what no one else ever has, Ever can or could ever see in YOU*** *
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Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 11:28 PM UTC
What I See In YOU...?
There’s a wildness within his eyes that sparks a fire inside my soul. Passion, desire and the bitter taste of lust float through the air as pheromones, Creating a bridge between us and linking us together. This visceral feeling acts almost like a drug, pulling me under and clouding my senses. It’s a primal game we play. We test ATTRACTion by creating friction with our bodies. And are frightened by the REACTion we feel, finding out that love, as a catalyst, knows no bounds of race, gender, religion, philosophy or age. That, in the end, we’re all just human and to love is what makes us so. And there’s no error in that.
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Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
Epiphany No. 6
That night, the moon was so bright its beams gave us shadows dancing for joy as we walked, hand in hand in wonder at the wildness of our brave new world with strange rules of addition: a planet where one plus one equals one, no longer the loneliest number but the most beautiful common denominator.
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Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
Simple Math
Somewhere beyond the hast of commerce, where noises sing rather than shout. I know of a place under a canopy of emerald leaves, haloed in the sun. Creatures come to crawl and fly, soaking the bounty growing natural. Moments of stillness blow soft, carrying stresses away. It's a place owned by the trees, they bend to greet travelers weary of their cage. A place I long to stroll, where summer kisses all that lives and wildness sprouts within
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Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 10:21 AM UTC
A place I know
In a busy town In massachusetts there is this college BCC At this cozy college there are 8 buildings But one has capture my heart completly G BUILDING Walk through the sliding glass doors Around the corner through the lunch room To the Dinning hall Noise assult my ears Beeping video games shouts of triumph Kpop and metal music Tables littered with playing cards Yugioh Pokemon Magic People as different as can be From all corners of the social spectrum Popular and geeks Join together in a crazy dance A swirling brightly colored tango Joined together by mutal intrest Riker, dear Riker puple fadora ever present My "Co-Pimp" a founding father of the trolling company Damien, Oh damien Your strangness growing stranger Your hair of deception Another founding father Jose, Dear Lord Jose You're pervertenss proceeds you Cat calling Video gaming Holly, sweet Holly Looking innocent and sweet Masking your wildness underneath Nathan, My Naten My best friend through the ages Opinions flying Jungle juice by your side Casey, My sweet sweet Casey Ghost story devourer Trusting you with my secrets Everyone's little sister John, John of the lake Annoying as hell but loveble all the same only kind things to say Josh, Or should I say Shoji Big Brother Laptop out Video game in Matt, My lovely Matt This is where we met Fate intervined brought us together This is where I belong This island of misfits This G building gang This is my home.
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May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
The Tale of the G building Gang (mind you this is VERY VERY LONG)
Hot summer forest, sweat and dawn’s faint light, My feet in time with sighs of willow trees, Bare cheeks and skin, dew-glossed and shining bright, My ******* sway freely, ******* hard in breeze, Moss meets my wetness—harmonies, soft lies Nightbirds perform their final song with ease, While fireflies blink out their last goodbyes, Alone, I’m cradled close by nature’s sweet surprise, An ****** of dawn—my body soaring as I rise. In dappled gold, a turtle halts my stride, Her ancient fortress shell, a gaze unblinking, Paused, I’m exposed—no secret folds to hide—  Her slow, wise eyes undress me, softly blinking. “Old mother,” I sigh, “what are you thinking?”  Does my left breast seek the gentle morning sky?  Do wild curls shame me, or my fantasizing?  Do you see ******* not a perfect doll’s eye?  The forest hushes, breathless, waiting for her reply.  I study flesh—each mile sculps *** and breast, Do I run for her, or am I just insane? The rush of blood, feeding animal unrest, Her body in our bed—my lust, a hurricane. She’s dawn’s first glow; I’m shadow, bound by chain. Does this sweat feed her gaze, or pool between thighs? I pass fat faces, screens glued, cold with disdain— I’d rather die in wildness, in open skies, My body, food for forest, feasted by butterflies.
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Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 12:24 PM UTC
****** Of Dawn