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like every other cometI believe in enduring love
for other people
I believe in bridges that don't burn
as long as I'm not one of two points
I believe in meteor showers
I have learned about entropy
through intangible pain
I think the most difficult part of growing up
is realizing how much
and how little
I know that I contradict myself constantly
the high wireyou traverse tight rope words with ease
avoid the tangle of spiders' webs
touch the snagged threads of water
as the tide rises and ebbs
you weave the symbols from your wrists
place variable lengths in place
your mind dances nimble as your feet
when you catch equations to erase
there are functions with no solutions
yet you resiliently press against entropy
all this logical movement toward conclusion
that defies analogy
you've spoken diamonds from the river
shaped the banks into tangible ground
as water washes away pigment
your voice explains the sky with sound
there are finite oases of harmonics
between which dissonance abounds
yet it is the simple act of breathing
that breaks the monotonous silent mounds
the sepulchers so many whose frustrations
have been ignored
you bring a tender association
with which you heal the greater world
whether in effort or mere existence
your breath gives life and hope
there are pieces of this poem
that were once confined with rope
but the knots were undone
the patchwork quiltI forgot to wake with the sunrise
I walked through half the day
and thirty two miles
with my eyes closed
like the petals of a youthful rose
timid of the intangible emotions
too complex to disentangle
cutting my leaves upon my own thorns
and then in realization
I found myself 32 years older
and hundreds of miles away
from where I started out
a squiggle on a map
a dead pixel on the screen
life ain't a chorestrung like the guitar of the sky
I will sing the songs of concern
that give rise to creases upon my face
and as taut as the steel
that sings harmonic chords
I will weather change
upon every shore
sailing through life
as it is a pleasure
and not a chore.
gods of the guillotinewe all wander like gods
after the guillotine
surgery to circumspect
any external aspect.
we are all the nines
out of a scale of ten
peer pressure of the angelic kind
we starve like saints
and bleed like sinners
threaded through the eyes
needle after needle
woven by our c
would that I could listenI prefer guard rails to god
stairs to elevators
stars to light bulbs
and knives to guns
would that I could listen
to all of our sons
their hopes and fears
encourage their screams
and stifled tears
lessons that would
blot out the light of day
I offer you a pulse
without an attempt at sway
convincing was never a pressure point
I cared to place a finger upon
trading a queen for shorter chess pieces
life to which we must
constantly renew leases.
would that I could write down
and record the pain
offer comfort in place of disdain
I prefer love like a flame
that burns eternal
fed from within
by connections beyond material
I would not wish to be other than I amafter the nightmare of forgetting to breathe
I had a wish that these embers
beneath my skin
would simply leave
but I can no more quench my burning
than stop my heart
nor leave this body behind
for all that I am apart
or a part
of the earth and the air
and the water
and the flame
I choose these words
chose freedom and affection
love and loss
after the nightmare
and its subsequent dross
I would not wish to be
other than I am
merely presenting these scars
upon open hands.
a spark of internal beliefstudying the rising sun
and the bullet holes through my shirt
sleeping upon a sepulcher
with a knife
and dreams to knit
I am whole
beneath the moon
with nothing left to fit
the pieces that were pushed out
by projectiles from afar
I have gathered back from enemies
by following an internal star
studying the setting sun
the red rays of firelight
finite miraclesthin words stretch forth slowly forth
emerging from my mouth
letters in the haze of smoke
escaping my cerebral pouch
I have the moonlight
to which I etch the glass
several sequences of symbols
twenty three pairs in a single splash
thin words that spell out the complexity
of my path
a phone call at the witching hour
devoid of wr
Streak Of Light In the NightShooting star,
Look up and pray.
And beaming through the sky.
Make a wish,
Before it closes it's eyes
And forgets you all together.
Since that is the moral,
Quick and forgotten.
Just like we all will be,
Once we close our eyes.
So be fast with your choice,
Since once it comes round
Again, we shall
All be fertilizer for the
Grass to consume.
LizardShe still sheds her skin in daylight,
reforming the past:
just how her cold-blooded species would like it.
...of a blissful HeavenEver dreamed of what heaven was like?
Maybe it's a wide field of evergreen grass
surrounded by the lurking forest trees,
where all you could inhale was the damp leaves on the ground
and pines from the trees above, an intoxicating smell
that leaves you high after the rainstorm
Maybe it's in an oasis located within a desert,
however, it is not scorching ablaze,
but it's warm and you feel your skin tingling
a whole new sensation is evolving inside of you
and the warmth wraps you up in a blanket of sunshine
Or maybe it's at the peak of a mountain
where you reign over the world on your solid throne of boulders
the invisible wind is your invitation of escape
and while the slight breeze passes by
you begin to shiver with an adrenaline rush
I could be wrong and you might be right, but tell me dear, what is heaven like?
Owl CabaretIn bright dawn,
hold a daily meeting
among dew soaked daisies.
Their colours speckle
The hum of cicadas,
with white noise.
The colours shift,
humid air fading
to the melodies
of late night owl cabarets.
The Local Loch, August 2014 (27th), BI enter the trees.
Between the dozing leaves,
hugging canopy and soothing shade
I awe at a swan bathe.
Cruiseliner, white, pure, naked
graceful, living china.
Seven others chat by the hidden soil shore.
They see me, spread out ornamentally,
politely move away
and then fly
with curved ceramic blades
ready to pierce gravity’s oppression.
I've found Peace.
Theme Prompt - AirIt's a study in duality
Like so many other things.
Calm, gentle, soft, kind
Feathering over my skin.
Rough, wild, sharp, angry
Destroying all in its path.
Air is all of these things
And so many, many more.
Its the pulse of my lungs,
The storm lashing my home,
The thing I need to live,
Though it slowly kills me.
To harness it takes skill,
To use it takes vision.
Take the invisible and
Make it completely tangible.
That is the basis of me,
The core of who I am.
How Smiles Were Born"How Smiles Were Born"
By: Ulrich J Edelstein
Deep underneath the crystals lies beautiful gems of starlight.
The temptations to capture them are beyond imagining.
Only few have been able to reach into the jaws of the creature to possess these magnificent stones.
Underneath the blue swirls
And the reflection of moonlight's grace,
Are the pearls of time.
They have been sprung up onto those who are fortunate.
They have been formed to create a crescent moon of happiness.
If not taken care, they grow weary and decay.
They crackle and shatter
And no one admires them any longer.
It is important for them to be handled with gentleness.
For the future can be presented by gleaming smiles.
For all to admire, for all pearls to aspire to be.
That is why it's important to smile everyday and take care of your teeth.
Citron SunriseDimples accompany her smile,
like children opening their first birthday present
or wise women reminiscing.
Morning fog, sighing over the hills,
calling a lost friend.
Soft, unrelenting voice,
tart like lemon cheesecake,
softened by cream ravines
and crumbling mountains.
Canary wings in flight,
yellow haze seducing fireflies,
taking us away to
beginning and end.
The Local Loch, August 2014 (27th)Prehistory’s iPad.
When light hit the water
a supernova dance of
scurrying dust swayed
in their amber infinite.
When the wind tapped,
the waves flapped their feathers
and spread into
a migration of curly black lines
on a child’s drawing,
choppy pattern after choppy pattern,
wave conforming to wave
into a wallpaper covering
algae, flotsam, dead bricks, dead stone,
until the irregular birds changed the flow.
Be it the duck that draped a dress
behind in a V-shaped groove,
or the pudding-plump coots
who gently honked, imprinting
flat bubbles on water.
They live in the reflection of Life.
Fringed by feathers like icy mountaintops
and dead fish bloated on pollution,
an Irn Bru bottle imitates the nature it killed.
An orange bread packet is ignored by the mallard
for the tragedy it brought to town.
It’s a flat town, a houseless town,
but still a moving community of
twig islets and breadcrumb empires.
Fringing on their utopia is us,
us standing still from dry grey pavement
the composite solitudea bleached bone whale canoe
woke from crossing the sky
to find itself
buried beneath the sand
the hills were ruined
cathedral trees gone
leaving only burnt bones in the soil
like everything else unfeeling
it cannot harness memory
the anthropomorphic entity
but never more
than a concept
so you wear needles
along your inner thighs
an olive branch bridge across
hear it snap
just like a dove's neck
a peace symbol
the solemn psalm
but syllables blossom
with the voice of the bone whale
harmonizing baleen with stained glass
orphaned tears of the summer
falling across your barren back
I'd cleanse you this one time
kissing away the dust
till you were innocent of time
filaments of whale marrow
and your body merges
with the shifting of cloud
swiftly the bone becomes a limb
the motion of fingers
from index to palm
The BeginningHe told them, of course. He told those idiots everything, the whole damn story, including the blunder he'd made, and its consequences. Looking back on it later, he realized he had probably been in shock the whole time. It made sense, anyone would have been.
Soph was about twenty years old, and he'd been that way for a couple of years already, ever since the Hoarde had started attacking humanity from the past. Every day that passed, they ate at another day in the past. It sickened him. Those creatures had absolutely no regard for proper time and causality protocols.
It didn't seem to affect anyone else that way, though.
The Hoarde was the result of a human creation, of course, like everything bad in the world, though no one else knew about them. Then again, no one else had undiluted access to the power of creation. Even he didn't know much about the Hoarde, only that they appeared through some tear in The Fabric of The World and started killing people off. They appeared at some point in
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