The waves are misty clapping
seas, lovvv–i—,ng some——
thing inside a roar |beating heart/
| Gogh once painted it
but decided on fields with
flowers and twirl-swirling
stars
enough to make me cry
:: 07-19-2015 ::
Category Archives: #writers
THE WAVES ARE MISTY CLAPPING
CONCEPTION
the conception of my
poetry is less a spark
than feeling
the feeling that i know
my emotions are true:
the truest thing in all
the universe i have friended
:something to never betray
but hold dearly and especially
while i write!
sometimes i scream
other times cry
and a few in anger
but when i write
i seem more than ‘me’
it’s the voice of
universality
:: 07-19-2015 ::
OCEANIC ODE
IS then, that love
by gorgeous heart
begin when furnace
burns as stars
if then, that smile
by largest mouth
turns the tide of
all seaside towns
(their homes lit
to reflect light
upon the undulating
wishes of some Soul)
waves! Sound is salty
within my mouth dear;
but a tongue speaks
fresh-watered kisses
and jelly-fish are
hard upon the shores
speaking of how they
once danced in liquid
–love? Yes my dear
yours are soft and
still swimming upon
this embrace between
beating hearts! The
ocean sings tonight!
:: 07-18-2015 ::
I WILL MAKE ME HURT
i removed myself today from focused pain
(a thing that’s so real) and heavy days
are over so i believe(d) with pale tender
white feet walking over a road
strewed with shards of reflecting memories
like my empire of thoughts
:all dirt leaving me alone
in a soul of colored pride
beneath the stains of time
and eating — like someone
who goes all like everyone
i’ve ever known, goes away –>
beating sound within my
chambered chest full of
earth’s old timid grace!
you wished to make me whole
And your tears past before
a splashy muddy mouth in
the river of my own life
:whatever i’ve become is
exulting,gentle love
in the end…
:: 07-18-2015 ::
OLD FAMILIAR WAYS
i cut myself today
upon the thought of
when it is darkest(and
i look up in fear
who sees the reaper,
in drag: it comes to
all of us disguised)
like old familiar ways
so thin like the moon
on waxing days
and the world beats
some say in your head
of course we’ve lived
with how we cling to
our minds always
sharpest when comes fear
until i feel the familiar
sting that remembers everything
the purple flower’s largest
final air
is what we become my dearest
friend internal eternal
plunging everywhere untold
times
of enormous lost dreams
:: 07-18-2015 ::
IF I SHOULD FALL(INGLY) STUMBLE
IF i should fall(ingly) stumble
and reach my face against life
let me kiss that spot which
met my lips and refrain from
screaming: the pain, oh! the
pain of stumbling through life!
:: 07-16-2015 ::
DO NOT ASK ME OF LOVE OR LIFE
sun
is a kiss
and Soul
a wish
whose lips are fire)
lay before life
dreams so fragile
to the ground
and music:
poetry comes alive!
screaming tired winds of doves
so brightly against fearful life
when death comes
it is a friend!
:: 07-12-2015 ::
OUTSIDE THE BOX IS A PARADISE
IF the gods of time and space relent and if there’s any kind
of justice under this sun and if all the great questions
have no answers then what becomes of humanity?
And if the love of lovers are mirages brought by heat
of passion from the heart of an animal soul — then
let the oceans meet the land
let the magma burst forth
and clear the land
oh, let us try once again in another time oh oh
We live according to race and political shade and our
life is traded by tradition and false religions but we
should keep on trying and i am who i am
you are you and we are One
So let’s keep on trying!
:: 07-12-2015 ::
THE SPIRALING EXISTENTIAL THOUGHT
All right, okay, tonight we’re talking about
drugs: “Marijuana!”
No. Not Marijuana
“Hash!” No. Not hash!
“Speed!” No, not speed.
It’s let’s give a fuck!
And when i’m at work i want to work
so hard but walk so far between
alone and hearts
sweet so sweet i see the last breath
is colleagues and i can smell formaldehyde
on their breath it makes me wish i could
crawl inside their casket and find solace
the dead always smile when their flesh
fades away and i like lollipops cause
living souls can lick and the dead don’t
have tongues
:: 07-12-2015 ::
PENNY IN THE GUTTER
THE penny in the gutter
saw me ; nothing more exactly
terrible than
throwing opportunity away.
one lost by holes in a pocket;
than like despair which impersonates
a lonely street: me || the walls ||
my heart that lived, asks: “should
mind overhear and explain “Who?” —
the silence,knowing,feeling,SAYing
“do WE pick up the penny within the
gutter?” and then maybe hugging a
lonely dying destitute soul within
a park: a penny for your thoughts ~
for your hearts, for your soul
:: 07-09-2015 ::
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