Category Archives: Uncategorized

The Streetwalker’s Song

In the shadows, the streetwalker toils,
Her heels echo on cold stone.
She sings because she must, her voice
A melody both sad and sweet,
Born from the very act of being.

Oh, if ever I could capture
In my verses what she imparts
To the night through her labor,
I might lose the path
To my own varied destinies.

Chorus:
She sings because she must,
in the silence of the night,
A melody of sorrow, a heart in flight.
With every note, her soul takes flight,
But oh, the darkness still holds her tight.

Verse 2:
Her voice, a lullaby for broken dreams,
In the alleys where the lost souls scream.
She wears a smile that hides her pain,
In the pouring rain, she walks again.

Bridge:
And in her song, a tale of woe,
Of love long lost, and hearts aglow.
Yet in her eyes, the tears still flow,
A silent plea, for hope to grow.

There’s a profound unity
In this unthinking, reasonless act,
And even as she sings, she walks
The streets with rhythmic reality…
But who will cleanse my heart?

:: 08.05.2024 ::


ALL THE TREES ALL THEIR BRANCHES ALL THEIR LEAVES

All the trees, their branches whispering secrets to the wind
Leaves spiraling into the abyss of twilight dreams,
the grass at the foot of the rocks, conspirators with silent houses,
far off, the sea, a mirror that swallows your gaze whole,
these images, recurring phantoms of day after day,
the vices, the virtues, shadows of imperfection

Men, transparent specters, drift among these dreamscapes by chance,
women, ethereal whispers, breathe through your elegant obsessions,
your heart, a leaden relic, presses against virgin lips

THE vices, the virtues, mirrors of imperfection

Eyes, twin galaxies, conquer with looks of whispered permissions,
bodies merge, dissolve in confusions of weariness and ardor,
words, attitudes, ideas, reflections in a hall of shattered mirrors,
the vices, the virtues, echoes of imperfection.

:: 07.27.2024 ::


Ascending to Vengeance

Conquering shorelines of
storm-dredged beaches with revenge
The One first small now large
Ascending to the top of the light house
she seizes the clouds and pulls them toward her bosom
A sorrow no greater
A suitor more passionate
Bright are the fringes of the sun, shining so fine,
On the summit, a basin awaits, divine.

:: 08.02.2024 ::


dysmetropsia

THERE must be a feeling
that feels real
SOMETIMES sadness
is a purple color
at times sometimes
i’m surreal ~~ wondering
why i’m alive / don’t forget
where i’m at : never forget
where I am at : painting,
writing, playing guitar,
eating strawberries,
growing deep inside
forgetting time | Relativity,
never forgetting Time
it’s like the moon \ falls
around me / it’s like you
desert ring _
loving you.


RIVER OF LIQUID GLASS

In the garden of flickering neon trees,
where shadows dance with marionette leaves,
I met a man with a clockwork heart
and eyes like prisms, tearing time apart.

He whispered secrets in a language of static,
his voice a symphony of glitches and clicks,
telling tales of constellations uncharted,
and love letters written in binary scripts.

We wandered through a labyrinth of velvet mist,
where fish flew by on currents of twilight,
and the moon sang lullabies to sleeping stars,
cradled in the arms of endless night.

I found a river of liquid glass,
where thoughts flowed like mercury streams,
reflecting the dreams of forgotten gods,
and the echoes of interstellar dreams.

A carousel spun in an abandoned carnival,
each horse a phantom of forgotten lore,
and as I rode, the world unraveled,
a tapestry of surrealist decor.

In the distance, a cathedral of crystal,
its spires piercing the fabric of reality,
and inside, a choir of silent voices,
harmonizing in spectral duality.

When dawn broke, the mirage faded,
leaving only a trace of whispered winds,
and I awoke, clutching fragments of visions,
in the realm where the surreal begins.

:: 05.17.2024 ::


The World of Roses

In the world of Floris, a planet where every being was a fusion of human and flower, roses reigned supreme. The inhabitants, known as Rosalians, were characterized by their delicate rose-petal skin, leafy hair, and a subtle fragrance that filled the air wherever they went. In this unique world, the only flower that existed was the rose, and it was the foundation of their culture, economy, and identity.

Dr. Alaric Thorn, a prominent scientist and a respected teacher, stood before his class in the grand botanical amphitheater. His students, all young Rosalians eager to learn, sat in rows of petal-shaped seats, their eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Today,” Dr. Thorn began, his voice carrying the gentle authority of a seasoned educator, “we will discuss a revolutionary idea: the existence of other flowers beyond our beloved rose.”

A murmur of excitement and disbelief rippled through the room. The concept was as alien to them as the stars beyond their sky.

Dr. Thorn activated a holographic display, projecting an image of their planet, Floris, from space. “For centuries, we have believed that the rose is the only flower, the pinnacle of botanical evolution. But what if I told you there might be other worlds, other planets where different flowers flourish?”

One student, a bright young Rosalian named Lysara, raised her hand. “Dr. Thorn, how can we be sure? We’ve never seen these other flowers. What makes you think they exist?”

Dr. Thorn smiled, pleased by her inquisitiveness. “Excellent question, Lysara. Our recent advancements in interstellar observation have revealed traces of botanical structures on distant planets. These structures differ from our roses, suggesting diverse floral life forms.”

He switched the hologram to display various shapes and forms, each representing a possible alien flower. “Imagine a world where flowers bloom in countless shapes and colors, each with unique properties and characteristics. A world where the flora is as varied as the stars themselves.”

The students leaned forward, captivated by the images. Another student, a quiet boy named Thorne, spoke up. “If these other flowers exist, what does that mean for us? How would it change our understanding of life and our place in the universe?”

Dr. Thorn’s expression grew thoughtful. “It would challenge our perception of uniqueness and inspire us to explore beyond our known boundaries. It would mean that life, in its infinite diversity, has found countless ways to flourish. It would teach us humility and expand our horizons.”

He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in. “We must prepare ourselves for the possibility of encountering these new forms of life. As scientists and scholars, our duty is to seek knowledge and embrace the unknown. Perhaps one day, we will embark on a journey to these distant worlds and witness the beauty of other flowers with our own eyes.”

The amphitheater buzzed with a renewed sense of wonder and anticipation. Dr. Thorn knew that this was only the beginning of their exploration. The Rosalians were on the cusp of a great adventure, one that would take them beyond the petals of their familiar roses and into the vast, blossoming garden of the cosmos.

:: 07.07.2024 ::

Notes:

This poem conveys a message about the endless possibilities of life and the importance of remaining open to new ideas. It suggests that understanding and accepting diversity, even in forms of life, can lead to greater knowledge and a more profound sense of humility.

Conclusion

“The World of Roses” is a crafted poem that I sought to use as a fictional setting and characters to explore deep themes related to knowledge, diversity, and the human (or Rosalian) spirit of exploration. It invites readers to consider the beauty and complexity of life beyond their immediate understanding, encouraging a sense of wonder and a desire to explore the unknown.


How Love Can Hurt

SHE fled from me who once sought my grace
with tender steps in my room’s quiet place

i saw her gentle, tame, and oh so meek
now wild, forgetful, and she never seeks
those times she ventured close to share a crumb
now she roams, restless heart on the run
forever chasing change beneath the sun

Thanks to chance, it’s been another way
often better, but one stands clear as day
in delicate array, with a gentle fall
her gown slipped, arms around me, soft and small
sweet kisses whispered, “Dear heart, how do you feel?”
in moments shared, too precious, too real

No dream this was, my eyes wide awake
yet now, all’s turned by my tender ache
into a strange new form of forsaking
her kindness grants me leave, but still i’m breaking
while she seeks new thrills, my heart’s left shaking
but treated kindly thus, i yearn to see
what fate she’ll find, what will her heart decree?

I have seen your face before. I saw, with my own eyes
how a soul was incinerated by just a few words.

Oh, how long. How long before it’s my life?
Oh, how long.

My love hurts.

:: 07.07.2024 ::


Not The Love We Dreamed

Not the Love We Dreamed
We cross our grievances,
Speak of our sorrow,
Utter solemn prayers

To live another day.

We speak of laughter,
Share our private tales,
Make our promises

To live another day.

Life plans another week,
Each day a challenge,

To live another day.

We shed our tears,
Sometimes it’s blood
From a broken heart,

To live another day.

When the sky bleeds,
He comes, that Day,
Comforting the lonely

As we live in despair.

It is the spice of hearts—
My heart embraces
Crying inside your tears

For the rest of my life.

And alone, I weep,
Measure your absence,
Adore you in solitude,
All my life, needing you,

But it’s not the love
We dreamed of, my darling love.

:: 07.05.2024 ::


Songbird’s Serenade

MY dear throated song bird
Upon a branch higher than clouds
you sing Life
i dream of you
my song bird

How musical notes
sway inside my Life
touches a Spirit
called Life!

In the dawn’s tender grasp
your melody echoes clear
through whispers of leaves
and whispers of dreams

Your feathers aglow
with the hues of sunrise
painting the sky
with hopes unseen

In the quiet of morning
where silence meets song
you weave tales of wonder
in each note that’s strong

Through seasons that change
and winds that may blow
your song remains constant
a lifeline I’ve know

For you are the keeper
of secrets untold
in melodies whispered
in mornings of gold

So sing, my dear songbird
for my heart beats with yours
in rhythms of life
through nature’s grand doors.

:: 06.28.2024 ::


THE WORLD MOVES

THE WORLD moves and does in mysterious ways
as the thighs of a lover moving closer
breathing and touching, both awakening
the senses of the other.

How the quiet
night speaks, with low voice and rich
with leaves and moss and soil. The scents
of nature is between thighs. Both man
and woman. At all times whether in a bus,
or sidewalk, or riding a bicycle we exude
the scent of our animal nature. We are
the city of our Nature, the Empire. A tall
building of soft scaffolding mylon-foam
caught deeply within our throat and heart.

Appear as Mother, sweet and kind
On pasta, butter, and potatoes dine
The bee lady swims, unconfined
For those with wit not yet refined

Soup and cream, your frame bestow
The final word, you proclaim
Though plump, in splendor you will glow
Sublime and grand, you’ll earn your name.

:: 06.25.2024 ::