Cold and alone
Weary traveler pushes on
Ice, snow, chilling wind
Nearly captures the soul
Determination
Driving the man to go on
Enduring
His every breath
Held in a firm grip
Some warm thought
Pushes him forward
Desolate terrain
Moon casts eerie shadows
Starlight polished ice
Reflects the man's thoughts
Cold that bites to the bones
Yet hope hangs firm
Nature must not win tonight
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and velvet words
drizzle
onto my face and hair
refreshing my eclipsed spirit.
Yet, fogged thoughts
and dreams
dumbfound me, transmuting
outstretched dewy petal blossoms
into a spider's sticky lair.
Tethered lamb
frantically dodging,
bucking,
straining
to set myself
free.
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a person is born
a free mind he has
freedom to express his emotions
freedom to express himself
he awakens to an environment
in need of change
only instead of making things better
he hides inside his thoughts
and creates pictures and paintings to express how
he feels
about the world around him showing what he sees is
real
we look upon his work to criticize and pay our gratitude
however we realize what he has captured could be our
fate
we can accept the things and make a difference
or we can move forward and make a change
we all are our own artsists
we all are own dreamers
the dreams we dream today
may become our tomorrows
only if we allow our dreams to be shared
only if we allow our dreams to live
only if we do our part and make our dreams happen
only if we decide to believe in our dreams
only if we allow ourselves to dream.
Peace.
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an artist paints a picture
and an image is created
a thought is expressed
and his feelings are displayed
a writer writes a story
and his story is told
his feelings are felt
as you read what it said
you suddenly are inside
the writers head
a poet writes a verse
and a language is shared
his thoughts are read
his feelings are conveyed
you feel what he says
you can get what he means
a dancer dances to a tune
she expresses in her movements
the type of mood
no words shall escape her lips
however her world is revealed
how she dances expresses
everything
the storyline the feelings
the scene.
these are the different people
who are creators
we are the people
who create a scene
we are the people
who reach you through
our feelings and our dreams
we are the dreamers
we are the creators
through our eyes
you see so much more
we hope you enjoy
and want you to know
there so much more
waiting for you in store.
Peace.
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There used to be a time when i was shy
where when I'd see him near I'd try to hide
There used to be a time when i could talk
to him about everything I dreamed of and everything
I'd want
There used to be a time when things were neat
and whereever we went he'd pull up my seat
There used to be a time when things were great
especially when for me my dinner he would make
Suddenly in the wink of an eye all things seemed to
change
especially when we were making love
and he called out someone else's name
There use to be a time when I felt on top of the world
Suddenly I am looking through the windows
as he's giving his love and affection to another girl
There used to be a time in my life when things were
the best
I remember the special things we did and try to forget
the rest
There used to be a time when the man I speak of was
mine
and every thing he did, he did it to please me
maybe I asked too much
maybe I never thought he'd leave
maybe things weren't as great as they seemed
maybe, just maybe it was all just a dream.
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I dreamed there was a fire,
It swallowed up anything
That stood in it's way
To get to you.
It wanted you to complete its flames
To have you and leave nothing.
And as it grew around your soul,
You just stood there laughing.
~
Your laughter rung higher into the night,
Depleted the oxygen and put out the flames
I lost my breath in amazement
Just watching.
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Tonight-
I am stronger than you ever were
Or will be
In your life.
Tonight, as I told myself the stories
I never believed would be
More than a dream.
As I lay drowsily in my bed,
Alone with the memories
I never wanted to remember.
As I promised myself I'd
Be woman enough not to cry.
Tonight, as I cried on your shoulder,
Surrounded by shadows and all by myself.
Tonight as the rainbow of your dream
Faded and came down
As the tears of my reality.
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Lost in a world
Where willingly,
I do not belong.
The dry earth parched below me.
The gray skies swirl above me
And I spin in bewilderment.
Everything is gone!
Everything is gone!
And I cannot believe my eyes...
So pessimistically inclined now
I'm lead to believe there's no end
To this series of depression counted in days,
There's nothing for me.
No sunrise, no sunset, and nothing in between.
I lie to the good land that supports me
And the tears it bears lead me nowhere.
There are no colors
There is no happiness
Here anymore.
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Wrap these dust bones tight inside a night-skin.
dress them with care,
call them to your need
as though I dreamed them to life again.
Blush my shroud away with your poison lips.
Bury me. Bury this.
My parted flesh lies open, a grave thing.
Open. Darkly stain your stony dagger;
push deeply warm into my breathless mud.
Come to me, my withered love.
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Invective Butterflies
bludgeon blacklit wordviolets where crosses torch
skies
and bloodwitches pray doomsday's flightless parables
Invective Butterflies
lifesuck darwinian nectar and pollenate rumor-fields
from worn blasphemepulpits with wings fisted into
rage
Invective Butterflies
hateswarm among thoughtroses bookburn and bootstomp
swaths
in flights of merciless ignorance bitter knowing lossthorn
pain
Invective Butterflies
devour dreampetals of reason with chapter and misversifying
teeth
(futile gnawing to egoassuage fear) o! hollowempty
hungers of noname
Invective Butterflies
dream the eagledream of pagesoaring
locked in stutterhalting flight
on the meadowedge of almost
paleshadowcowering beneath freedomclouds
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At Eve's Grave--
Adam: Wheresoever she was, there was Eden.
from the Diaries of Adam and Eve, by Mark Twain
I whisper to you
from my dust-and-laughter dreams
beneath this bank of flowers.
Can you hear my voice
and know my touch even now?
Love, no woman born
of womb and blood
will know what I have held
against my wild perfect flesh--
perfect because you made it so.
I smile, thinking, none will know
that it was love that birthed me--
not God, not a rib
but the baptism of faith seeded
between us on velvet stones.
What you made of me
I made also of you,
fire flesh of my fire flesh,
harmonizing earthly pleasures
in a Garden of our design.
We made ourselves, each other ,
and we unmade ourselves, knowing
the pomegranate fruit of what we wrought
tasted of thigh and lip, breast and cock
and small winter deaths.
I whisper to you,
do not grieve, not yet,
for we cannot be undone
what we are, what we were
will be written forever upon lover's tongues.
And, my Love... wheresoever you came to me there, indeed,
was Eden.
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You desire me in dreams
reach for me
your body quivering
thrusting the sheets
to seek my banished womb.
You will not find me
will call me bitch and whore
when you awake
to find yourself bereft of succubi,
this daughter of the same dust as you.
From what willing clay would you have had me shaped
to call to your service
as wife, less than, never more?
You tore a rib from your own wretched house
that she be yours
as I never was.
You call out for me
craving the earth-flesh that was your equal
You made this new one a vessel
you made her, even more than God
but I see Eve
as you cannot.
She is not yours, either
and goes at night to another garden
to hear the words of a serpent.
He is teaching her truths...
she learns them well
and I will teach her yet others.
Oh husband of limited sorrows,
flesh such as hers
is meant for sin
even more than my own.
You writhe and clutch at me
despair in your semen and sweat
while I suck your empty dreams emptier
and spit you, unwholesome
upon your own palms.
Your new wife comes
but
she comes to another
just as you
only come to me.
Yes, you see,
flesh such as hers
is meant for sin.
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Heres a toast to ageless memorys,
and those still to come.
For all the fading storys,
and those waiting for the sun.
A toast to those who fuel the flame,
and keep the dreamfire lit.
Those who ride lifes fate and pain,
and dont cry when it hurts a bit.
A toast to love with all its risk,
to break the strongest heart.
To take on chance for a moment of bliss,
knowing we must someday part.
Finally a toast to those who hear,
natures sweet siren song.
And dance through life without the fear,
of wondering where the time has gone.
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If home is where my heart resides,
then there upon my horse it rides.
Across those high, cold mountain streams,
as if in clear, well remembered dreams.
There the bloom of youth still clung,
like a warm blanket round me it hung,
and the wind blew a breeze so fresh and sweet,
into my life, that there seemed so complete.
I rode one fullmoon Autumn night,
and saw Virginia in its ghostly light.
Beside a stream we both did rest,
surrounded by land the Lord surely blessed
I rode with the sun, hills enfolding me,
and heard the coyote cry in Tennesee.
The Trail of Tears, the Natchez Trace,
I rode with legends in that faraway place.
Across the Mississippi we both did ride.
Rode on alone to the Arkansas side.
Six days of rain, now a memory,
to pass down with pride to my posterity.
Soon the sun warmed our now rough edges,
and we crossed the Red River into Texas
So if you ask me where my hear resides,
I'll say, out there upon my horse it rides,
Across those high cold mountain streams,
In clear, well remembered dreams
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On quiet nights with time to think,
I feel those spirits close.
When light gives way and slowly shrinks,
from the heavens that God only knows.
Where comes these fading reflections on life?
Invading my very soul.
pouring forth in the midst of bitter strife,
like sweet water from a flowing bowl.
I think they come from all the ones,
who have come through this mystery divine,
and leaving left a piece of themselves upon,
the forever sea we know as time.
So could it be we feel for them?
as they they cross valed centurys.
As we do now in a curious blend,
of ours and their memorys
And in the wafting sweetness of dream,
and in the quick light of day.
Things are not always as they seem,
for they are with us, or rather in us to stay
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I would take you from this place,
to walk within the light once more.
I would hold your hand & walk with you,
along the beach, as the sun sets behind the shore.
I would sit with you,
and talk away the long hours of the night.
I would lay with you,
till the early dawn, just holding you tight.
I would laugh, smile & cry with you,
until the tears finally end.
I would walk beside you
as a lover and a friend.
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It came to me,
walking along a stream,
a vision of thyself,
as if in a dream.
A demure smile,
a gentle face,
timeless beauty,
and elegant grace.
Standing there upon,
some distant porch,
thy beauty shinning,
brighter than heaven's torch.
I wished for a way,
to let you know,
that even far apart,
you were not alone.
So with a wish,
and a silent prayer,
I blew a soft kiss,
to you standing there.
Imagine my surprise
and astonishment,
to receive in return,
your kiss of kindness.
Though the miles be far,
and the words be few,
always, my Queen,
I am thinking of you.
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Come hither, all ye gypsies, and lend me yer ear.
Come sit by the fire, a story to hear.
Of a young lass, so tender and fair,
with jejune eyes, and vibrant red hair.
Of a young lad, in the prime of his youth,
for of their love, I'll tell ye the truth.
Never before seen, had two been more one,
she was the Moon, and he the Sun.
Upon the cliff, they would meet each day,
and secretly dance , in love's grand play.
One ominous day, it did come to pass,
her father did follow, and catch them at last.
And on that dark, and sorrowful day,
two hearts and one life, he did sadly slay.
A river of tears, her heart did bleed,
her love's sweet face, no more to see.
At sun set , she would walk to the shore,
and sing to her love, who danced no more.
Then on one eve, a vision appeared,
drawn to her side, by her song he did hear.
Her love had returned, for one last dance,
together they twirled, lost in love's chance.
Their music was the ocean, far, far below,
together again, in love's warm glow.
Together they danced, the whole night through,
about the cliff's face, to love's soulful tune.
Within her love's arms, her spirit did fly,
as they stepped from the cliff and into the sky.
Together now they dance, upon earth's hushed winds,
dissolving all bonds, as their love transcends.
If ye listen to the wind, beneath the pale moon,
tis said ye can hear it still, their joyous tune.
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Man who not know God -
All alone through life must plod.
Why a choice so odd ?
Could it be that he
thinks not of eternity -
where his soul will be ?
If he'd make the choice:
listen to the Gospel's voice,
greatly he'd rejoice.
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I can feel within a burning tide
which swells and must erupt from deep inside;
it strangely yearns to spew a flow of words
demanding through my pen to now be heard.
Can it be that what I must write down
are only thoughts that bring a smile or frown
to those who chance some distant day to read -
or is a deeper meaning there to heed ?
Could it be, this voice must now be heard
before the life that gives it breath is o'er
and sudden death consumes the hidden message;
quickly swallows the unwritten passage ?
Yet, I can't resist the urgent feeling
when the voice within demands revealing;
somehow I'm compelled to onward write
the words it speaks throughout the day and night.
To the task I labor on, not knowing
into what the meaning may be growing,
yet it isn't I who guides the pen:
It is the mystery of the voice within!
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The pulpit was vacant far too long, yet they could
not select
A man to fill the slot, but many names they did reject
They couldn't seem to find a man who had no fault
or blame
They found a fault, some real some not, with every
one who came
The grand committee stumbled on ‘til one man had enough
He stood to read a letter - though the letter was
a bluff
The facts were right although the application wasn't
true
The grand committee then was read - what I now read
to you
Dear sirs, I understand your pulpit's vacant far too
long
I'd like to fill the post if you could over look my
wrong
I've been a preacher of success, and quite a writer
too
I'm also good at organizing - churches . . .quite
a few
In 50 years I've never preached one place more than
three years
And often left the town because my work caused riots
and fears
I must admit I've been in jail at least three times
or four
But not for doing wrong or any law that I'd ignore
My health is not too good though I accomplish quite
a lot
The churches where I've preached - so many - some
I've now forgot
The churches all were mostly small - though spread
across the land
In many towns and villages . . . and some in cities
grand
I haven't got along with most religious leaders well
In fact the times they threatened me -- I really hate
to tell
I've been attacked both verbally, and physically also
Been asked to leave and driven out of town with rocks
they'd throw
I'm not too good at records and for that I've been
chastised
And sometimes I've forgotten just which ones that
I've baptized
However if you chance to use me. . I'll give you my
best
I promise all I have to serve - The Lord will do the
rest !!!
The reader asked the grand committee,...should this
man be called
The grand committee - good church folks - were awe
struck and appalled
A sickly, trouble-making, absent-minded, ex-jail-bird
Who signed this application. . .such a nerve we've
never heard
The reader keenly eyed them all, before he thus replied
It's signed "The Apostle Paul", ...but he has really
not applied
But viewing what we've gone thru in this time we've
judged and stalled
I'm not quite sure we'd accept JESUS, . . . . . .
.
If somehow
HE happened to be called
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A ruptured heart,
within it's lining,
medical science proves -
The body drains,
and from the system
all the blood removes.
A watery serum left
is all that therein
will reside -
As that which flowed
from Jesus when
they pierced
His precious side.
Was this the cause
of death upon
The Cross at Calvary;
Did His Heart rupture
caused from weight
of sin by you and me?
Three days it took
for most to die
from crucifixion's start;
Yet, Jesus died
in just six hours -
He died
of a Broken Heart !
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a bad day
when you wake
up to Congo drums
in the brain, the poison
still in the blood
the victim
still wearing your name
dogs bark at you,
children stare,
and cry their mother’s fat and angry,
could probably kick your ass
when they’re on the auto-brood-protect mode
your boss has had bad
dreams about you stealing
the company blind, he goes
through your desk, cuz your late,
again, and fires you just because
he can
you can wake up the king
and the peasants smile on you birds sing,
and shit on the guy ahead of you, missing you,
giving you the impression you’re bullet proof
people die of loathe addictions
and too much TV red meat
and you write about it,
dog’s piss turns cancer into
sleeping beauties
and you write about it,
the sun shines, and you write about it,
your version sounds better, burns hotter
twice as sweet with a low blow to boot
you’re the king, it may last a day a week
or a year, but for the time being,
you’re the man, and fate smiles back
because your 15 minutes could be
forever, this is what it’s all about,
everything else, a dream.
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Lost
spinning on ice
a skater without
a program or coach
razor blade feet
cut cut cutting
all beneath
Somedays
I can’t get a grip,
Crisco fingers slip
on ledges all too
narrow anyway,
gas bills get lost
with electric bills
and the other sock,
cold, hungry, one
foot naked
spinning
Other times
it’s the speed,
nothing stops
those razors
do the trick
juggernaut inertia
cutting lines
ice turns to snow
flurries, out the wallet
up the nose
flying on thin ice
Mostly
it’s just thinking
where ya been,
how you’re gonna get back
into that groove, not caring
about anything, just the jolt
that heavy salivating monster
living inside, the one you wish
you had never met.
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I can see
you writing
mad long looped scribbles
I am not sure what is in
the works; dear john,
to whom it may concern,
I don’t really care,
your lips and tongue,
yes I care, the way
they outline and frame
those teeth, a bit of a bite
a bit of a tear, a whole lot of
blessing if you ask me
it’s rude to stare, I know,
I know I am caught in the web,
or the deer light, transfixed, ready to brake,
but this speed, uh oh,
that pencil that darts in and out you keep tickling
it,
and your tongue it presses out one side of your cheek,
barely able to conceal movement tease,
yes that is just a memory you play back to me,
a Sat. Morning ritual,
just tongues teeth and cum, eventually anyway
your breasts are giving that silk blouse the old heave-ho
I find myself starting to sway I notice something,
down South another distraction, a member a club,
it’s all relative my view is constant,
as the images grow into size your legs,
are nice, I like the prize between,
I want to open the wrapper,
take a taste test, once or twice to be sure,
it seems all this thinking, and blood flow a distraction,
more movement, bringing me out of the curtain,
New York smelling salts no doubt
the man behind is bitchin’ about
not getting enough at home, well I got
three words for him; shower, shower, shower
anyway, there are lots here, I get a new
one every night, all you need is a little
imagination, maybe some luck, need to stand
yepper, it helps the view, the subway train
shudders and groans an end, a stop on the line
my girl gets up, going home for fun, maybe,
I get off, get off
you can’t beat the train
when the train beats you.
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the moon rises
with the shadows
wolves howl
while ravens
get swallowed up
in the oblivion
we call night
the fog envelopes
the town
each structure
one by one
it ravages memories
and torments those
who dwell
indoors
and for those
who choose
to venture
outdoors
they are in
for something more
for them
the darkness
creeps in
and steals their souls
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i am
a beautiful red rose
who has withered
and died
shriveled and black
my stem
remains in the ground
sadness and despair
overwhelmed me
in my slow death
the rain falls
to revive me
but the rain
is precisely the reason
i have died
numbness
crept in
and overwhelmed me
and when death
finally took me
it was almost
comforting
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i feel
like im in a snowglobe
without the snow
the clouds are rolling quickly
smoothly
the birds are
the last specks of sand
falling
slipping
through the hourglass
we are entombed
in the clouds
they move
quickly
innocently
but do not disperse
a child is standing over us i can feel their stare
stirring up the clouds
and watching the figurines
dance
and tumble to the ground
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i was your princess with a beautiful crown
of golden flowers
who have turned to ash and died
i waited for you
to come back
i couldnt reach the flowers im about to fall and hit my head
on the cement
and turn the grey
to red
you see me
as an old worthless
rag doll
lying on the floor stepped on and trampled on
you tear my soul apart
im in the way
you pick me up
and throw me away
i crawl out of the old dirty dumpster
where have you gone? i cant find you
i yell
and scream
but youve put in earplugs
so you can hear everyone else and tune me out
i went out to the garden to-day to water the dying flowers
i tended to the roots and gave them food
youve finally gone
and the flowers
are starting to bloom
so now
i can make
my own
crown of flowers
because im a magic princess even without you
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