Tag Archives: #writing

SHADOWEDSILVERGLARE

with a heart(broken)
knee, i bend low—
am i, your subject,
to love’s silent blow?
all that is as clear
as the whispered “moon”
falling softly from
your lips’ sweet tune.

conception raised her flag
high above the stream,
where creatures bathed in
their unloved dream.
commoner-kings, with wonder
now spent,
began to weep, their
nakedness bent.

“oh, the soft stars of november
are loved!” they cried.

the stigma, a shadowed-
silverglare, i screamed,

“my binding strong! my
smooth white pages! all my
blood and love, i have
fed and raised…”

the mouths of syntax
devour
m
e

:: 11-21-2016 ::
:: REV – 08.21.2024 ::


UNBORN WORDS

My words are children—born complete—
Or wanting—limbs—or Hearts—
Unyielding—though the form may lack—
Their Life—by Art—imparted—

A Soul’s embrace—a Painter’s hand—
Or Poem’s—whispered Breath—
Each speaks—unto the Giver—
Dances in the Shadow’s path—

They Echo—through the empty Hall—
In every silent Room—
Each syllable—a living pulse—
A Language to the Tomb—

:: Rev – 08.21.2024 ::


I am Forever In Debt

How you walk alone in rain clouds
smothering skies
Dressed blue fringes brown mud bare feet
and brilliant eye tears not from nature
but from Love broken i was taught as child
love is a small thing with big eyes
So lost in your big eyes bleeding cancer in mind

oh say:

In the quiet storm of your solitude, the rain clouds hang heavy
like unspoken dreams, draping the world in a veil of melancholic haze.
You tread the earth, bare feet sinking into the wet embrace of mud,
as if the world itself mourns with you, absorbing your every step,
every tear that falls from eyes too brilliant for this dim reality.

The fringes of your being, once adorned in the delicate blue of innocence,
now flutter like forgotten memories in the wind, frayed by the passage of time
and the weight of unfulfilled promises. The tears you shed, they do not belong to
nature—they are the essence of a heart broken by the purest force known to man:
Love.

A force that, as a child, was taught to you as something small, yet with eyes so vast they could swallow the universe.

And now, in the cavernous depths of your mind, those eyes have become a cancer,
an all-consuming void that devours every thought, every emotion, until nothing remains
but the echo of your own despair. You walk alone, not just in the world, but in the very fabric of existence,
lost in the labyrinth of your own making, where love is both the light that guides and the shadow that blinds.

As you drift through the mist of your memories, the world around you warps and bends, reshaping itself into a landscape that mirrors the turmoil within. Trees twist into grotesque forms, their branches reaching out like the skeletal fingers of forgotten hopes, while the ground beneath you pulses with the heartbeat of the earth, alive with the sorrow that has seeped into its core. Each step you take is a dance with the past, a delicate waltz with the ghosts of what once was, their whispers curling around you like smoke, filling your lungs with the bitter taste of regret.

The sky, once a canvas of endless possibilities, now hangs heavy with the weight of lost dreams, its colors bleeding into one another like tears on a page. The rain that falls is no longer water, but a torrent of shattered illusions, each drop a fragment of a future that will never come to pass. You raise your eyes to the heavens, searching for solace, but find only the reflection of your own despair staring back at you, mocking the hope you once held so dear.

In this surreal world of your creation, you are both the artist and the masterpiece, the creator of your own torment, painting with the hues of heartbreak and the brushstrokes of loneliness, lost in a world where love has become a distant memory, a faint echo in the chambers of a forgotten heart.

Orchids of smiles dying in your highness sigh.

:: 08.14.2024 ::


The Gentle Steps of Rona Mae Ronda

A whisper soft—across the vale,
Where Rona Mae Ronda treads—
Her footfall light, a breeze’s tale,
Through meadows gold—she spreads.

No need of day—her presence brings,
A twilight soft and kind
With every step—a thousand springs,
Awake in heart and mind.

The daisy turns—her face to see,
As Rona Mae Ronda glides—
Through clover fields—so carelessly,
Where innocence—abides.

The robin pauses in its flight,
To hear her laughter’s sound
For Rona Mae—by day or night,
Turns all to sacred ground.

She leaves no trace—yet all can tell,
Wherever she has been
The very air begins to swell,
With what the soul has seen.

:: 08.12.2024 ::


Luminous Reverie

whirling—how
darksome light
whispers(beyond
grasp)but
still more than
twinkling
a sudden flurry of
nights(licking
flames of stars
with
tongues

bitter). a tremble-quick
twilight
hands (a)cross
(a)cross the
howling—
fulgent.
more than
yesterday’s forgotten
dream(a
chase(ing)—glow(ing)
now.

 —tumble, tumble,
        sing! for 
more than nothing, less
than everything—the heart

p o u n d s echo(ing)
soft- hard
grace- rage
it is(was)(is)
only(echo)time
(quivering
pulse-twitch)
reverie.
abrupt.

:: 08.08.2024 ::


WHISPERS OF LOVE ACROSS SEAS

My sweet flower born from a precious sun
My sweet woman

I declare to all tallest mountains
the beauty of love

That all mankind feels when falling in love
you are the one my dear — the seed of passion

Oh, tonight the winds are singing across seas
ships who have sailed afar carry within sails
your words of whsipering adorn within sailor’s
hearts and tears of joy

In the deep folds of the earth
where shadows weave,

Your presence blooms like a hidden sun,
Illuminating the silence of the night,

A beacon where my heart, lost, is found.
In dreams, I drift among your celestial whispers,

Where every murmur becomes a symphony,
In your gaze, the cosmos stirs,
Two souls entwined, a dance of the eternal.

Under the moon’s caress, our hearts merge,
As rivers murmur tales of our unity,
Your voice, a hymn of ancient stars,
Flows through the fabric of time, tender and unyielding.

Let each sunrise and sunset echo our passion,
A love that traverses the bounds of days,
Where every tempest and calm we conquer,
Bound by a love that defies even the universe’s rhyme

:: 08.07.2024 ::


The Voice of A Poet

The poet is a man who feigns,
And feigns so deep, with artful guise,
That he, at length, with ease attains
To feign the pain he truly sighs.

Those who read what he did pen
Perceive, within his plaintive strain,
Not the pains he felt back then,
But a distant, unknown pain.

Thus, around its constant track,
There runs, to keep our minds in part,
The circling, ceaseless clockwork’s clack,
Which men have named the human heart.

:: 08.05.2024 ::


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 ::


The Terrors of Infinite Realities

The day is midnight at noon and the skies are bleeding red yokes.
And the skies and sky scrapers are on fire ./cars on fire with no one at the wheel
and the government\corrupt/ tens of thousands of suicides and the wind is hot
everyone trapped within the belly of this machine and we are screaming. And the machine
is bleeding to death while the flags are all dead on top of all those poles.

In the quiet town of Eldridge, four teenagers—Alex, Jamie, Sam, and Casey—stumbled upon an ancient book hidden in the dusty attic of their school’s library. Bound in worn leather and adorned with strange symbols, the book seemed out of place among the mundane school records and old yearbooks. Intrigued by its mysterious appearance, the group decided to take it to their usual hangout spot, an abandoned cabin in the nearby woods, to explore its contents.

As the sun set and shadows grew long, they gathered around a rickety wooden table, the book’s eerie presence casting an unspoken tension among them. Alex, the group’s natural leader, carefully opened the book. The pages, yellowed with age, were filled with intricate drawings and cryptic text in a language none of them recognized. But what caught their attention was a diagram depicting a series of interlocking circles—what seemed to be different worlds connected by thin, dark lines.

Jamie, the tech-savvy skeptic, used their phone to take pictures of the pages, hoping to decipher the text later with some translation app. Sam, always the curious one, noticed a small inscription at the bottom of the diagram. It read: “Beware the crossings, for they reveal the unseen.” They shrugged it off as an attempt to scare them, but a strange chill settled over the group, as if the words held a hidden truth.

Over the next few days, they delved deeper into the book’s mysteries. Jamie managed to translate some of the text, revealing that the book was a guide to the multiverse—an infinite number of parallel realities, each slightly different from the others. Excited by the discovery, they continued their research, unaware that their curiosity was about to lead them into unimaginable horrors.

One night, while experimenting with an incantation from the book, the air around them began to shimmer and distort. A portal, glowing with an otherworldly light, opened before them. With a mix of fear and excitement, they decided to step through, finding themselves in a world that looked like their own but felt off—darker, colder, and filled with an oppressive sense of dread.

As they explored this parallel world, they noticed subtle yet disturbing differences. The town was eerily silent, with abandoned cars and empty houses. The sky was a permanent shade of twilight, and an unnatural stillness hung in the air. It wasn’t long before they realized they were not alone. Dark figures lurked in the shadows, watching their every move with glowing eyes.

Panic set in when they tried to return through the portal, only to find it had vanished. Stranded in this nightmarish version of Eldridge, they had no choice but to seek refuge in their old hangout spot—the abandoned cabin. There, they regrouped and tried to figure out how to reopen the portal. The book, however, seemed to have lost its power, the once glowing pages now dull and lifeless.
As days turned into weeks, the group struggled to survive. They scavenged for food and avoided the shadowy figures that roamed the town. During one of their expeditions, Casey discovered a journal in the library of this alternate Eldridge. The journal belonged to someone named Dr. Alistair Crowley, who had apparently been studying the multiverse and its horrors for decades.

According to Dr. Crowley’s journal, the shadowy figures were inhabitants of the “Dark Worlds,” parallel universes consumed by evil. He warned that once someone crossed into these worlds, they risked drawing the attention of these malevolent entities. The journal also hinted at a way to escape, but the instructions were incomplete, the final pages torn out.

Desperation took hold as the group faced increasing attacks from the shadowy figures. Each night, the creatures grew bolder, their glowing eyes peering through the cabin’s broken windows. Alex, feeling responsible for their predicament, pushed himself to decode the journal’s cryptic clues. Sleepless nights and constant fear took a toll on him, and he began to hear whispers in the darkness, calling his name.

One evening, as the group huddled together in the cabin, the whispers became too much for Alex to bear. Driven by an unseen force, he wandered into the woods, where he found an ancient stone circle. The symbols carved into the stones matched those in the book. In a trance-like state, he chanted the incantation he had memorized, hoping to summon another portal.

The air crackled with energy as a portal slowly opened within the stone circle. The rest of the group, realizing Alex was missing, followed the strange light to the clearing. They found Alex unconscious but alive, the portal shimmering before them. With no other choice, they carried him through the portal, praying it would lead them back home.

To their relief, they emerged in their own world, but things were not quite the same. They found themselves in an Eldridge that seemed untouched by time, as if they had traveled back to a version of their town from the past. Confused and disoriented, they made their way back to the library, hoping to find answers in the book.

To their horror, the book was gone, replaced by a note that read: “The crossings have consequences. Beware the ripples.” As they pondered the note’s meaning, they realized that their adventure had left a mark on their world. Strange occurrences began to plague the town—people disappearing, mysterious lights in the sky, and whispers in the night.

Haunted by their experiences and the knowledge that the multiverse was real, the group vowed to protect their world from further incursions. They became guardians of the secrets they had uncovered, always watching for signs of otherworldly threats. Their friendship, forged in the crucible of terror, became their greatest strength as they faced the unknown horrors of infinite realities.

:: 06.16.2024 ::


God is a Lonely Child

AFTER I finish my statement
as confessed I, my fear:
if you should ever leave me
i know we love each other very dearly
,more
than tears from clouds and how they
need sunbeams and then they make
Mayflowers in Spring

          my breath of gentle touch

how the heavy Moon is twilights’first
thrushes may awake a pleasant country
and awake some world)selves

                .La. da. Da Da Dada da

(how i would live without you in madness
or in mere death or both who is la guerre)
you could simply me. darling

    how precious this point 

of creative never known
how unspoken words were feeling
before words before the moon
before God wished Himself into a Father

and then even<
we love and crave smiles and hugs
and immemorial of whos and hows
and whens )
before
how each Soul and heartbeat touches me
which I kiss.

:: 06.05.2024 ::