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A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
That is one of my favorite tunes. Lately I’ve listened to a violin cover of it. Wonderful poem. |
Reserve this when dry eyes need to eek out a tear only one eye can fully produce knowing some have saved me, if just from myself and a metaphorical blade leaned into close Without, I'm within in some other world asea when storms rage outside my asymmetry. I was balanced by them, buoyed and came right back straight for that honed steel, because it's been the only thing to motivate me...that or... Along the way, experience, words working forth and back, some splashing up on me, liquifying dry heart, soul, brain seeking some sort of refrain, melody that could put it right but then eyes always turn back toward the tempest night I've stood above an abyss to scream and find no echo, nothing of me but tormented myself, like returning nightmare, perpetually. I'm not a crossmaker or a heartbreaker but a soul silent split right down the middle the metaphor repeatedly goes, dissection and day after day, night after night, no life, no resurrection My only value is what I gave to another and they rob my security in anonymity, mocked, shunned and cast aside a cleaved man How could I hate or resent but feel the same pain over again and decide that this is what I'm made for, facing your edge Be forewarned, there's no blood left in me to drain and no sport, you'll see. [Visit the entry for more...] |
And making a note or setting an alarm wouldn’t work. I hate the imposition of schedule, for some reason. In fact, I’m doing ten less important different things than what I put off. I’ve learned not to be hard on myself. I now adequately defend my condition (that I’m working on still in therapy and with constant self-analysis with google). You’re Angel of the Morning now. |
I identify. I'm awake at 1:30AM doing something that could just as easily be done tomorrow or next week. But I'm so flighty I'm afraid I'll forget. |
Added, ‘What’s the line limit, Kenneth? Rather, 53.’ For actuarial Porpoises, and adding that, too. |
My farts are just as good. |
I love it so much! Thank you for sharing it! It's genius. |
Master Of Flies no innocence spared I know who or what I’ll hunt when humanity devolves. I do not wait. I choose not to idle, to be struck first. The time to wonder is before a world on fire. Sticks sharp, traps ready will set. Blood they’ll thirst. I’ll not crave. Mind nightly maps each coming conflict and possible outcomes. Glass will be dull, deep shoved in cavernous heads. None will mount sticks. Flies will not feast where I flourish, but on red streets of my victims. They die by my hand. I’m undead, killed by them lifelong. I spared breath for muscle. Sinew strong, I’ll flex and strike again and again. No graves for them. They left me in rubble. I hide in ruby. Will rise from boulder crushed to pebble and dust. Life grinds, even now. The end could be near. Sharpen your sticks. You think you have just cause to fight, to the teeth? To your death? I have no use for you as you for a master after I was dead. 2.6.23 A Grindhouse Joint Revisiting “Lord Of The Flies” day after tormenting day and making my mind up about something. |
Week 31 PPC ▼ Elephant (In The Way Is Inside Me) Thick is my head — gray, too. So much space to envision you. My ears, mile-wide, satellites tall, receive transmissions should you call. I can’t forget, burning and small. The sun doesn’t set on this room. Spring is in bloom. No garden have I to spy. I harden. There’s an elephant in here I cannot remove without you, and eternal ash words — Good-Bye. 2.6.23 For Promptly Poetry Challenge picture prompt: Invalid Photo #1066877 "Invalid Post" Week 32 PPC ▼ "Invalid Post" She Found Me Your cool love echoed across deluged waters. How could I have missed a ghosted message? Pleasant voices heard remind it’s not hers. Your cool love echoed across deluged waters. Morning damped, burnt horizon tottered. Fire flares marked the spot I sunk the wreckage. Your cool love echoed across deluged waters. How could I have missed a ghosted message? Old movie reels replayed seek love’s beacon. Grainy films harbor these transparent eyes. Wet lips glisten, black streams to cheek deepen. Old movie reels replayed seek love’s beacon. Intractable scenes spin; soft souls weaken. Veiled torch siren chills, spills warm, sinful lies. Old movie reels replayed seek love’s beacon. Grainy films harbor these transparent eyes. Breezes sent a foul message to my window. I didn't latch the frame to shutter the scene. Napalm invaded still life, as winds winnowed. Breezes sent a foul message to my window. Curtains flow when my scarlet ghost’s sins show. Unsecure, her wonder slipped a sieve screen. Breezes sent a foul message to my window. I didn't latch the frame to shutter the scene. Numb hands aided her buttons' slow release. Did I really undress my altered dream? Flesh red-pulsed, her pursuit would never cease. Numb hands aided her buttons' slow release. Hunger doesn’t meet regret before sought peace. Cream, my love’s scream in intractable scene, Numb hands aided her buttons' slow release. Did I really undress my altered dream? Something felt, my tongue now needs ears to hear: Could have been anyone, when she found me. Nightly encroached, I begged her to not near. Something felt, my tongue now needs ears to hear: Weak, vulnerable, she savored my tears. My ghost nightly crosses a bay, finds me here. Something felt, my tongue now needs ears to hear: She could have been anyone. She found me. 4.2.23 A Triolet With ABaAabAB rhyme, eight lines with some repeating. This adventurous soul did increments of 8, employed stanzas focusing on senses. Chose to derivate on final line from repetition to punctuate title theme. http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/triolet.html Week 33 PPC ▼ Closed in Winter Sealed, silent through the safe winter door, he spied squirrels daring on a bird feeder, upside down. Soundless, until the red-plumed bird with white breast machine-gunned the dormant crab, framed in tight bay glass. A mound of mailers mounted a tray, brightly begging prying eyes and hands withdraw offers glued within. The folded laptop, powdered by dust accumulating, remained cold with coiled-up plug looped tight. His eyes met many images not on walls, mere glimpses in retrospect. No feeling found. She had handed him his glasses days ago, folded beside a cold black sipping mug, flavorless. He had not tasted her words — did not foresee or envision their meaning until he was ready to wake in Spring, when the door would unseal again, handles on tall windows cranked wide, as worthy envelopes were severed, thick hands stimulated could lift a lid and relive a pixelated winter of discontent. Lenses employed settle on the nose, savoring renewal in a green arm chair. Warm words would radiate each return rising, once realized how one might love her better. 2.21.23 For Promptly Poetry Challenge prompt: Unopened (things described physical and emotional, with showing) "Invalid Post" Week 34 PPC ▼ Mirror I see myself, and yet, no, not the one I boast. And you won't see me. I must linger here a ghost. I look deep within, but it's strange. Have I turned into glass; am I going deranged? Some nights I pass this mirror in the hall. Fleeting, but see something reflected in these walls. I'm frightened and concerned that I'm seeing everything. I feel alone with you, fleeting life now defeating. This mirror detects more than my blurry blue eyes. Like a shelved menagerie it sees through my lies. What have I become at this age? Am I a monster to you living inside his own cage? Even my ears have no clue. Soft to bed I go again, afraid of you since ten. Are you portal to another world that reveals my special girl? I could climb out the window to my darkening soul, but trapped within myself, you see, I'll just make this ending up. Fair well. 2.28.23 For Promptly Poetry Challenge prompt: Mirror "Invalid Post" |
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