This destiny is dead.
— Chuck Akot
“There must be some kind of way out of here, said the joker to the thief.“
I know all the angles
every possibility for pain
every path to self destruction
I’ve been building
a map for years
updated
with every trauma
annotated
with every failure
and still he
laughs at me
mocking me
for my obsessions
"There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief.”
pummeled by
circumstances
struggling
to maintain
balance
each blow
thudding
across my
thoughts
forcing me
to put
my hands
in front of
my face
to shield
the little
normalcy
I have left
“Business men, they drink my wine. Plowmen dig my earth.”
they arrive at 1am
nine pickers
from Modesto
for the next ten hours
they’ll pick
20 tons of grapes
using clippers
they quickly
snip the grapes
and put them
in small plastic
bins on their heads
that evening
an ad executive
sips a glass
of chardonnay
while enjoying
a five star meal
at his favorite
restaurant
“None will level on the line. Nobody offered his word.”
they were cowards
hiding behind
silence and self interest
watching it all burn
never raising a voice
to say it was wrong
piously telling everyone
it was time to move forward
while accountability
lay buried in the ashes
“No reason to get excited, the thief he kindly spoke.”
he operates below
the sight line
and when
encountered
artful
misdirection
is his cloak
with subtle
persuasion
coating every
word he speaks
there is a
calm tonic
in his conversations
that hide the
poisonous nature
of his intent
“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.”
all the fragments
of myself
gather for
comfort
and
guidance
in that
hidden space
within my soul
too many voices
full of despair
angrily blaming
each other
for wanting
to give up on
this life which
has no meaning
but I do not
listen to them
I light a fire
in my heart
and follow
a different path
“but you and I, we’ve been through that and this is not our fate.”
it isn’t fate
which brings us
together
it is the
fire of change
which burns away
all the lies
we tell ourselves
we are not
broken
we are not
unlovable
it is the forge
which sets us free
“So let us stop talking falsely now, the hour’s getting late.”
we live now in the lies
of our personal illusions
waiting
wanting
thinking
the other will change
time is not our friend
we move forward
with the realization
there is a storm gathering
at the edge of our house of cards
“All along the watchtower, princes kept the view”
they wear no crowns
but my guardians
keep me safe
making sure nothing
gets inside without
intense scrutiny
they see it all
from their elevation
every fear
every failure
every doubt
it is the army
of my enemies
that gathers
out to the horizon
and no matter
how strong
this fortress is
I know a few of them
will find their way inside
“While all the women came and went, barefoot servants too”
it’s safe to say
I loved every
one of them
thinking
it would
never end
but it did
and they
are gone
not even
the unshod
considerations
of their fate
remain
“Well outside in the cold distance, a wildcat did growl”
I hear her cry out
and I answer
with my own pain
reflecting hers
captured by our
wrongdoings
unable to break free
of our failures
we have injured
our souls and
they will not heal
the pain fuels
an anger that is
unstoppable
unavoidable
and even across
great distances
I can her growl
turn to a roar
“Two riders were approaching and the wind began to howl.”
they are
two figures
of serenity
and strength
steady
in their
approach
ignoring
the storm
on the horizon
but I can hear
the wind begin
to howl and
pray they
reach me
before
the storm hits
Day 22: Under The Lights
There was a Vanilla Villain
Who roamed the Broome coastline.
His nastiness was well known fact,
Although he smelled divine.
His sidekick was named Choc Cocoa,
Nemesis: Healthy Paul,
They would have great bake-off battles
The should both try all.
On Paul’s turn, he tastes the whole lot
Gives praise of high import,
But Vanilla eats only cake,
For he’s not a good sport!
want. The terrible need of it.
Heaviness in the eyes,
Lurch of cavernous stomach.
As a child cries for something
Denied. lack of understanding
There, ah yes, there it is.
-
Circle around again after a
Few moments, in breadth of
A clarity granted by the passage
Of time
-
Let it go as a season goes
Without thinking.
Absentminded as leaves fall
Only for them to grow again
With the return of birds.
It is not for me.
-rb.xyz
i worry that the trauma
i have endured has made me
numb to the point where
i don’t seek for anything
but noise, i continue to
sacrifice myself like it’s the only choice
my pain has brought me great wisdom
but pathetic ways of coping
so i don’t know if i’m honest or
too self-loathing
but i want to feel
way more than what i allow myself to
kira malibu
I haven’t thought of you
in a while now.
I have forgotten the
softness of your name.
The blue-grey of your eyes
in which so many memories swim,
torrential
relentless.
I haven’t been caught adrift in your current,
for it is quiet now.
Without rain, the dry has abraded,
worn down everything to a dull ache.
The sun has baked
salt flats for miles and miles, as far
as the eyes can see and further…
The season of love is gone and soon
everything else too
will go,
leaving the cracks
in my heart
wide and gaping.
© SoulReserve 2020
I struggle.
I struggle to know that the sea of Now
on which we surf
will surely reach the beach
and melt into foam.
The silt and shells that wash up there
will reassure me
that it happened:
but the water retreats,
beating an inexorable escape into the ocean
and the vast tide
of the infinitely possible.
My humect; desiccating
Under the thrum of gentle sweat bees
Wildflowers nodding, apoplexy
Take me away, sweet things, carry me…
Far-flung on the tears my body cries continuously
Sweat it. Forget it.
It’s all synonymous here
Take a line right off my body
White powder hiccups into jolts of electricity
And I wish I knew
What was hip to erase you
_______________________________________
Maureen Armstrong @haikkun
Souls were laid bare tonight. Hearts we’re made Fair tonight. Time was torn asunder. We ate the remnants. What more could you ask for from Mortals? Does God expect us to become a god? Live and Let Live. Die and Let Die.
When you shine like the sun
Everyone wants to bask in your light
The darkness inside draws them to you
But be careful
Some people live to steal your sunshine
To keep it all for themselves
When they can’t take it from you
They extinguish it
This heart dances a wild blaze
on moments of
sacred air,
its calming breath of euphoria
washes over me
as a gentle rain falls softly over the earth
soaking my skin through and through,
and as it fills cracks and crevices
of my soul with wonder,
I ponder the ways
we look for joy
in the emptiest things,
how can we drink from a cup that is
not full of love that keeps us alive and wonder
why we’re barely breathing?
—M.Rubino January 22, 2021
there is no beautiful way
of telling a story of a duckling who dwells in a garden that doves call home
… or so it seems to me
For I can only helplessly pace through buildings, if not have wings
In this inconceivable garden
I covet every petal I encounter
Whose blessings bestowed outshine my dearest golden hours
If petals can be eaten, say, may I devour?
Hindering my path, there is a dove who paints, and another one who sings
I pray in the dark, oh wing-giver, won’t you give me wings?
… can I not see my own wings?
give me wings +..。*゚fleurellette
57. keep
.
but is it okay if i die in your arms
as the sun sets in the east and the ice turns warm
is it okay if the look on my face
is only a gateway to what fills up my chest
to the winding maze of intricate thoughts and wishes
that you unfold with patience as you walk the bridges
i’ve designed and assembled in all the wrong places
but you’re gentle and kind, all you do is remind
me that truth looks different after a good night of sleep
so i close my eyes knowing it’s you i want to keep.
.
• through-the-motions (poem + photo) •
Sometimes I feel that I just have to write, and write, and write
Things that are inane
Things that are insane
Things that wash away the pain
Some days I just have to go away, far away, far far away
To find some rest
To find my nest
To find that I am blessed
Sometimes I have to sing, and sing, and sing
To hear my voice
To hear my choice
To hear the angels rejoice
Some days I need to just reach, and reach, and reach
To grasp a hand
To lend a hand
To walk with God and man hand in hand
K. C. Barry
you stared as the dark raven
pierced through the thick,
violet, twilight sky…
yet, my eyes obsessed over what…
possessed them to see
this biblical bird as a prophecy;
the last omen of the curch
of the broken god,
a once mighty, higher power
now fallen, crumbling
tumbled down like castle walls
former majesty,
glorious, no longer
spurned by a material world,
where the heavenly kingdom
of the spiritual world,
long ago disintegrated into pebbles
…sands honed by time
washed ashore on crimson tides
beneath blood-red skies,
abandoned prayers and irreversible lies;
all the signs before our eyes
…so goes the skybound silhouette
of the black-feathered messenger
in disguise, who visits us, then…
once again, fleets and flies
©️ @followcb ☆ January 22, 2021
I am, love, you are
sun on moon, shining through
Illuminates truth
amid darkness, stars are proof
frozen in stolen moments
tidal forces of celestial oceans
spiritual, extraterrestrial, immortal
our souls are intertwined
in the foreverness of infinite time
limitless, fathomless, cosmic
your love, unbounded, by mine
©️ @followcb ☆ January 22, 2021
I have a rose thorn in my foot,
It is quite sore, you see.
Evidently I wasn’t meant
To have a thorn in me.
I’d been pegging clothes on the line,
I’d been told to wear shoes-
But grass so soft and sun so mild
Did cause me to refuse.
Alas, someone had been pruning,
And dropped things on the lawn,
Then I came merrily along
And was met by the thorn!
The moral here, as you might guess
Is so clear I can’t doubt:
When someone tells you to wear shoes,
Don’t peg the washing out!
unorthodox realizations
(sighs under breath)
mystical murmurs
embrace my chakras
(stimulate, numb)
claiming surreal vistas
acoustic arrival, melodic survival
words splayed across
a frenetic universe
pull an invisible, silver chord
(imagined tangent point)
recreate, deviate norms
releasing a tangerine aurora
ivory-dawn, fog-blanketed skies
cascading along coastlines
beneath snow globe mountains
imperial icelandic lilies of the valley
northern lights, optic flights
a thousand million nights
of relapse, reoccurrence
recovery of sonic sorcery
infinite arcs form halos
choral tapestries
(majestic angels gleam)
orchestrate lyrical testimonials
restore enchantment
presence of a very calming place
©️ @followcb & @rhapsodyinblue80
January 22, 2021
You should never have to hear the words
“ I love you ”
to know that you are loved…
- Devine Theory