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 Jun 2015 X-Ray El gato
SG Holter
This was written in the dark.
Whispered in the night.

It was wished upon a rising sun,  
Released in morning light.

Less a poem than a prayer,
A whimper more than scream.

Born as naked hope and watered,  
Grown from faint idea to dream.

Now the sound of summer coming;
Breezes rustling greening leaves,

Leaves us knowing things as growing,
Be it flowers, crops or trees.

Painless birth from earth to air,
Summer; springtime's daughter

Laughs and sings to sunkissed things,
Wet with broken water.
 Jun 2015 X-Ray El gato
Little whispers
reverberate like thunder
leaving devastation
in their wake
Born of
Blood and

Upon this
Beautiful yet
Far from

Birthed from
Sky and

These Bodies
Together yet

What do
We Create
Out of
Guts and

A Legend
A Fable
A Bedtime Story?

An Epic
A Fairy Tale
Crafted then
Finely honed?

A Soliloquy
A Tome
A Poem?

Before We
Revert to
Sky and

We Return
To Our
Heavenly Home
in hazy summer
dew on honey skin.

Sun sets over
new chapters
blown  in
by warm wind.
 Aug 2014 X-Ray El gato
Fury I wear like a slinky fox stole
whose beady little eyes look up at me in a deathly calm,
hanging loose around my boney neck.
Anger I hang like the Christmas star
blinking on to illuminate the dark with it's yellow hue
         anger yellow.
         anger black
Regret I type into block and wide letters
resembling the words like black ninja stars
hurtling, hurtling i throw them
with precision...returning the hurt- to your tiny -ling heart.
Black and White and Read all over you,
Blue, man. So blue
and that deep purple hue... the healing rainbow, black and blue
and green and grief, is it not so?
Oh, grief, oh fire of grief
burning the driest kindling that is hope, that is faith.
I am tissue paper flowers on the float in the parade
I am tissue paper flowers, that bloom until it rains.
And I'll tuck my indignation and I'll shove my righteousness
down deep into my pockets
(such a shame you never darned that hole)
Bellow.  Bellow out my rage
Wrap it in a shiny box, and tie it with a silky bow...
the gift of
knowing all the blackness
festering inside.
The gift of knowing  how loud the mother's howl can sound.
I learn the curves of the drive away,
I learn the legs that will take me to run.
I am born of this, today.
Tomorrow? Ill be born of these ash as all that is good begins and begins again.

i am always just really **** grateful anyone chooses to read what i write, it's just that simple. i am **** grateful, thank you.
 Aug 2014 X-Ray El gato
y i k e s
you're so beautiful,

but you're not meant for me.
i guess i have to deal with that

inspired by a death cab for cutie song
when he sees the sky,
awash in its magical,
migratory color,
his heart heaves.
His hand twitches
with a burning desire
to hold the brushes
and translate
those mystic messages
written in the Heavens
to the blank canvases
waiting here on Earth.
From early dawns darkest hour
Piece by piece
I was devoured
By the nothingness awaiting me
For my biggest fear
Is not to be
Oblivion is inevitable
Thoughts of fading away
Many dread something
Or someone
But I am terrified
Of being undone
inspired by edgar allen poe's "Alone"
Words will be written.
Thoughts will be told,
Information put forward.
Dreams bought and sold.

Tales of Inspiration.
Gutter-trash news.
Chaotic Information.
Informants ruse.

Politicians false pledge
Juggling board
Politics on the edge.
Should they fall on their sword?

Do they never blunder?
This Pie-crust elite
Information to wonder
While they're dragging their feet.

Our earth, our nation
With over fished ocean.
No sun without lotion.

Extinction of the wild
The draining of fuel
No food for a child
The greed of the cruel.

This world where we live,
Earthquake and Tsunami
Have we nothing to give,
terrorised from the sea.

Maybe acid filled rain
don't forget Global-Warming
Is this world that we drain
perhaps giving a Warning.
3rd August 2011 Posted Aug 25th 2014 © Copyright Christopher K Bayliss 2014.
the way she hides behind her glass of wine,
that smile as bright as she makes the world seem.
she loves me,
i love her

but i was blinded by her play pretend,
getting lost with me under the sheets,
bumping knees, lips against freckled skin
getting lost in herself as she gets lost in me.
and i can't be the atlas to guide her.
With my own map, I cannot find her

tracing the skin between her knuckles,
the mole on her breast, her legs around me,
knocking over the glass of wine next to her unfinished sketches
I miss the way she made the world feel bigger than it is,
the world she wanted no part of
and like that, she was the ocean and I was the sand
and she drifted towards the moon

leaving on her own journey,
after hiding behind that glass of wine,
tears on her sketchbook,
replacing her sketches onto her veins.
As long as she's feeling nothing.

how great would it feel to feel nothing, too.
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