are slightly, (or mightily), built upon as time goes by;
that's what we do with what we did.
whether those recollections have collected
added details along the way,
we often do not know - ourselves.
these things don't make those things less treasured -
no, not less, but more.
tales are told, and in their telling,
(in)advertant lies cause normal swelling.
llp - dec'09 - dA
unseasonedsuffer silent WinterMore Like This
to speak, reborn
that's frozen life -
and well described
by yours and poets past -
who seek to make
the Autumn last.
llp - dec'09 - dA
fluididity - yeswhen developing one's mode of voice,More Like This
one cannot shut up
and speak silent to oneself.
there are garbled gabblings to be done with,
before one reaches the pinnacle
of punctilious precision -
such as i... haha!
llp - dec'09 - dA
self ownership - 1many people have no confidenceMore Like This
in their own innate goodness.
they think it's God who makes them
behave, when it's the misuse of God
which can allow misbehavior to be
too easily forgiven. they pray it away.
then, their conscience is clear.
[whether we are believers - or not]
our transgressions belong to us...
llp - jan'10 - dA
flightlessnesshe sees the thawingMore Like This
flying adroitly away
with his icy world
thus the sad penguin observes
as aircraft soar overhead
llp - jan'10 - dA
furrowedconcern upon your sulcate brow -More Like This
meditate it calm... start now.
imagine in a sulcate field -
ideas, future crop to yield.
a sulcate soul, from having sinned -
like dunes, furrowed by the wind.
[sins, are to be a transient thing]
[soon, will a wind, erasure bring]
llp - jan'10 - dA
we all are"i am, i am, i am",More Like This
the lovely young lady's plea.
though i'm unsure of what she means,
in myself is a set of three...
combined - all partial,
alone - not impartial,
effect - superficial,
there is the one i think i am,
another, for others to see,
and then, the one behind the scenes,
who's hidden even from me.
llp - jan'10 - dA
e-van-d-alizationpeople don't on purpose pursue the false, butMore Like This
no evidence is needed when the gut is heeded,
and nice to think there'll be forgiveness given
despite how lowly one has sinned or cheated.
an endorphin rush gives added push to words,
when shouted in some charismatic surge
of manipulation upon the captive brain,
[easier one might stop a runaway train].
surrounded by a fearing family shunning doubt,
to query is to dare the devil demon out.
false effective invectives perpetuate the lie,
prayed upon at birth and as you live and die.
every clown around you seems to be in thrall.
you feign to walk in step, but question every call.
llp - jan'10 - dA
Stephanie asked how...[anyone who is not happy enough with life,More Like This
please, read this. you can change things]
- before you read this, close your eyes and take a long
slow deep breath. hold onto that feeling.
- no guarantees, but for a good way to get centered
with youself and with your place in the universe, i
recommend meditation, namely transcendental meditation.
it's not a belief nor a religion - just a practice. all
you do is close your eyes and think a sound, (your mantra),
for twenty minutes twice a day. ideally, they'd like you
to pay for lessons, but you can easily teach yourself by
reading "meditation for dummies", available at Amazon.
- it can take a period of time, but another thing i'd
recommend is informed introspection, my term for figuring
out what makes you tick. through learning about how the
human mind works, learn why you react the way you do to
things which should normally not be important. the more
you understand yourself, t
aroundyour words seem relaxed. [don't ask me how]More Like This
my brow un-clenches; breath becomes slow.
sans poet intent, but it shall be,
for you [being you] will will it to be.
in this world, you keep me dreaming.
with you in mind, basis - reason of being.
time and time, as tomorrows flow by,
you'll reach my thoughts; erstwhiles, i'll sigh.
llp - jan'10 - dA
not quite a love poemfinally, deservingMore Like This
what it took long to see,
and thank, for the gift.
not now a part of my life,
this bed of mine
long ago made.
now truthfully, i lie,
to contemplate you,
then meditate my soul to sleep.
to dream of reaching,
no chance of touching,
here, i keep faith with connection,
to heed some basic need -
heavy feelings flow to,
is this enough?
a dichotome of vision,
blurred by the heart,
but love is not blind.
what is here should be of use.
and, it shall be, if allowed...
perception, altered by reality,
senses, alerted by serendipity -
to the difference in what is there,
now known, because it's seen.
...do you see?
i have value.
llp - dec'09 - dA
Zen or EnlightementMy heart is gone...More Like This
My hands are bare...
My body shivers in the wind...
My legs are numb...
But nothing hurts!
My eyes are tired...
There's too much light!
I close them and I hide.
My body falls into an abyss
Which is above,
And higher than the sky.
I cease to breathe.
No sign of life...
But I do live!
I am divine
Long live the loveA young girl waits, her boy to meetMore Like This
Upon their hill, on rough hewn seat.
Nearby a tree, their names carved there
To show their love and mutual care.
Her troubled look becomes a frown,
A head that droops in looking down
Upon the grass where they did lay
so often on a Summer's day.
How sweet the name of love did sound
When shared between them, newly found.
Their days were filled with surging joy,
A pretty girl, a handsome boy.
The hill was their own special place,
Where she once kissed his smiling face.
He'd picked a flower upon that hill,
And offered it with earnest will.
Each day for weeks she had stood there,
As Winter stripped the branches bare.
But she herself no longer cried,
T'was so long since the boy had died.
The wilted flower he once had gave,
She'd go and place upon his grave.
And then she'd let her tears run free,
Distraught that they would never be.
But he lived on inside her heart,
Soft death would not keep them apart.
LonelyI want to feel something other than lonely,More Like This
Sweet caresses and kind words of endearment only for me,
Not the false kind truth and unconditionally given,
I need someone to hold me tell me these things will be okay.
The pressure is threatening the hold to much to deal with alone,
If I could just return to that one but no it would never work,
Still makes me wish for the one who loved me first,
I can no longer stand the pain like a Man dying in thirst,
Am I so bad that I don't deserve help comfort support undistrubed,
Or is it true the giving kind seem to get taken every time stealing light,
I find I get lost doing for all but then there is me lost in broken lies,
Not one in my life has ever delivered or even lived up to the promises
spoken so easily and fool I am I still believe.......Someone is out there for me!
TransfigurationHere is the breaking of the glass-More Like This
A stained and shattered past
Crucified and resurrected
Here is my life in patchwork seams
The threads frayed, still untied
When I discover what life means
Will I still need to cry?
Cut and unravel the tangle
Leave my heart unmangled
Leave me to shine transparently
So that my soul may see.
The gain through lossLoss, difficulty, and the long roads of trouble and pain we all will suffer. The ultimate and most trying times in our lives are powerful and difficult in the world, but we are going to be stronger than we are now in the end. Only by being a clinger to the Truth that God has set for us, we will be able to live well. Remember o the Story of Job, the wealthiest and most happy man of his time. Had everything, wealth, land, family, peace, and love from all. He had to suffer to test his love in God. It was rough, painful, and he even yelled at God, but only in trusting and loving God in loss, we can celebrate our lives in gain, peace, and happiness. God's trials are the longest, most difficult, and trying things we will have in our lives, but keeping the faith and happiness there in the Lord shall we all live well and be safe and well in the world. ReMore Like This
My mind produces odd thingsTo be or not to beMore Like This
You mean a lot me
You silly man
You in the fuzzy sweater
That smells of so many memories
Not that I have the foggiest idea of what you mean
I just know you mean something
Reliving distant summer here in the heart of winter
Maybe you mean doubts and confusion
Twisting in my heart like the devil's brew
Whirling in a chaotic cacaphony
Maybe you mean a secret that I daren't admit
Not even in these silent watches of the night
Where my life slips away with loud music
And my soul with writing out philosophy
Or maybe I am just writing to write
To hear my own voice expressed on computer screens
To think I am awake and alive
Myths--updatedi.More Like This
Hugin and Munin are ravens that sit on the blind man's shoulders. He says they are his memory and sight. I say they ate his eyes.
Prometheus was Loki. He tricked, and tricked, until he got chained to a rock with the entrails of hope and had poison dripped in his eyes as he waited for the eagle to fly his liver away to freedom. I never could help the poor lad.
Medusa was actually quite lovely...she couldn't help that her wig hissed and that she was half-basilisk. I wonder if she ever fell in love watching a man from behind a veil.
The unicorn was replaced by rhinoceroses...the silver blood replaced with bellowing mud. That was truly an unfair trade. I miss the world having a bit of mystery and magic.
Cupid accidentaly shot himself and fell in love with the soul that he was meant to shoot. I think that I may have gotten caught in crossfire too.
Beauty Lead Astray.Each snowflake is soft, as it falls down.More Like This
The wind sweeps through, than they hit the ground.
The beauty is astonishing, peaceful and relaxing.
A mind at ease, a memory that's everlasting.
But my mind stalls, and my heart skips.
Fear overpowers me, and my feet slip.
The snow-covered path is now crimson red.
You came to save me, but killed me instead.
A sharp pain, here and there.
My bones snap, and I lose all air.
I try to beat this, but the temptation to fail wins.
I fall down to hell, with one last deadly sin.
I climb the steps to heaven, and my knees bruise.
Determination has got me fighting, I've got nothing to loose.
The pathway to heaven is longer than you know.
The plastic gates are frozen with white snow.
This isn't a want; it's a need.
I beat at the gates, and my knuckles bleed.
Tears fall rapidly, and my temper wears thin.
The gates than open, I finally win.
A single tearThat lingering first glance...HotMore Like This
I push you back against the wall...oh my!
Feeling my body crushing yours...I sigh
Kissing you hard I turn determined to walk away.
You grab my arm to make me stay,
I was pulled back against you and your lust makes me sway,
Whispering sweet nothings in my ear
breathing rapid your intent is clear,
I close my eyes and shiver as I pry myself from you
glancing your way I say I love you as I walk away a
single tear escapes.........
WinterWinter is the best season to me.More Like This
The snow streaks the ground like raindrops.
The sun shines in the snow,making it sparkle like stars.
The trees are bare,with snow for leaves.
Winter is so beautiful to me.
This was written by my Son for school!
So proud of his small but huge poets heart!
Aftermath of Castle RockCrestfallenMore Like This
weak as the wake
of the tepid trembling
breaking over the sand.
How hard it is
To Treasure smiles
in a sweaty bath of
or to honour vows
haul prayers from our faded minds.
To turn in such
is to discover a web of feet and hands, disjointed, discombobulated, unable to be grasped
in supplication or remorse
(The household names have gone now).
with half-dead voices
or none at all
unbending under the sky's great agony
unsalted wounds of the spirit
fingers clumsily find fellows
Hold as the soreness stretches.
A Salvage AttemptDrop dead,More Like This
How people are molds
Of the predecessors minds,
With a shotgun strapped
Underneath their desk.
They send out submarines
Unprepared for battle,
Divers without tanks of oxygen,
But, to the chief,
They send back steak,
Not rare enough.
Bloody grease drips off the plate.
With all that is left,
Secret code ends up
On the check.
Classification of what's
Nothing but an old war movie,
A marathon of exhausted avenues.
A Devil's FormFight.More Like This
The men that wound.
The teeth that bite,
The feet that stomp,
The hands that slap
And punch and bruise.
Into a calm innocence.
As if never beckoned,
Buried deep within us all.
Summoned and asked to behave.
A moment in timeI do not want to capture the worldMore Like This
In a thick glass snow globe
By crystallising a moment in time
It would distort, it must distort
But so often I am dragged
To that loathsome depth
So often I trap the world
Eyes, brain, fingers, pen
It's unfair, it's so unfair
That I pin it
Sprawled and helpless
Without mercy, I dissect
And it becomes tainted
The whole vast bright world
Reduced to a stuttering rhythm
Anaesthetised with cotton wool
And splinters of ice
Bound to do my bidding,
Tell the story I think it should
I will look back, I must look back
Not with shame but with remorse
At how callously I fouled those worlds
By snaring them in words
Life is for the living
Not for the world
To be road hauled
With shiny string
Behind the lumbering
And her innocent sin
Forgive me for my snapshots
For all the harm they've done
For KevinMore Like This
What dreams may lie under surface of a frozen star?
Once turned supernova evidence comes painfully late .
For the light that we see is but luminance turned memory,
slipped though our hands forever .
© 2007 Alexandra
Funeral of misplaced wantAlas my love its come to pass I've tired of our idle song.More Like This
I euthanize my failing hope give it to naught where it belongs.
Thou love me not, we know this truth. I finally acquiesce to fate.
I thousand lies I told myself to ease the bruise I contemplate.
Dust to dust no divine spark to bring the miracle to life.
Ill begotten travesty I see it now from empty height.
Were your silken words of truth, your actions louder they would speak.
I lay to rest my orphaned heart to walk my freedoms lonely street.
© 2009 Alexandra
Ritual Killing of my Child SibRitual killing of my child siblingMore Like This
He charged me like a one-ton bull,
deranged, afraid, eager.
But instead of waving a red gold embroidered capote,
I held a weed-whacker in my dream,
blades whirling full speed.
It was difficult at first to stay still
while metal ground on flesh, then bone,
his blood spurting out covering
my face in warmth as I stood unblinking,
but grew easier until all that was left to cut
For a moment all was still -
the smell of rusted metal fresh
with blood clung to the air,
the sound of gnashing steel and breaking bone
drummed in my ear, and
breath froze in my mouth.
The tool felt weightless in my hands
and effortless to control,
as if this act had been the estocada, death blow,
releasing my tension,
allowing me to slacken my white knuckled grip
on the hilt of my weapon.
Little brother's face was contorted in pain but also
in relief as though he simultaneously feared and craved
this end, as if it were his own release
or escape from whatever anxieti
the line to read and travelTo live is to travel. To let go of the known in search of one's true home.More Like This
Most of the time I see my home in open spaces, only for a moment or two at a time, but long enough to believe it exists. A glimpse of pale creamy sky punched by a slow sun above the oily waterfront, the moon coming out of the clouds just above the top of mountain in a moment before the scene shifts, the sunset above a thick hunter green forest where you can smell the chill in the air through the window glass. There is always a promise of familiarity and there is always a promise of losing the ambiguity of spaces and distances. The only way to find your home is to lose one.
The language works in the same way.
Before the Greek alphabet there were no vowels. The words were almost mysteries offering only a possibility of a meaning. They were a sacrament for themselves. The meaning was out there. They held the power of transformation, making the alchemy alive in the mind of the reader, calling for taking chances whil
van Gogh, the Orient: A LamentMore Like This
When van Gogh lost his soul
'twas no bushy-eyed barbarian
babbling about bushido
that enthralled him, but
a docile geisha's pallid wrist,
in his whisky
of cherry blossom
in his soul.
when van Gogh lost his mind
to a gunshot,
'twas no starry-eyed samurai
supplicating for seppuku
that pulled the trigger, but
a dying puppy's whimper,
storms of samsara hanging
by a whisker
of dead sunflowers
in his mind.
in this space I knowRecords should be keptMore Like This
of ghastly forms, pixelized
a painting in our digital museum
of everyday life
Paintings and dolls come alive at midnight
ghastly forms come alive when they like
and they die when they like and resurrect
sometimes in illicit tryst with a stranger
who might be a savior or more likely not.
I may not have fallen in love
cause I find rising in love more appealing
but some of us do fall, with no love
and that well of self-pity is deep.
You may not have understood
it's a trial by fire
but wet nevertheless
not because of the rain
I have witnessed fiery angels
climbing up my spinal stairway
many of them fell
and now when the earth is still dry
in the tonal heat of october's end
I see I have failed, too.
Fallen like the shadows
closely tied to ground
I may not deserve anything more
ignored the auspices, ignored the forebodings
erecting pyramids of stern illusions
predicting all facets of ifs and if anys
in vain, as in vein
The Marble and The EdgeAt three, my wide eyes watchedMore Like This
as a marble rolled across the table,
its path illuminated by the light
from the window -
(light still entered that house then)
rolled and eventually lost
its grounding, fell like a misguided Columbus
off the edge, rolled under the radiator,
hot to touch and growling.
Then Christmas and the wrapping paper
strewn about the apartment, blood on the carpet.
I never could remember what happened
between the before and after,
but I remember the dark, frantic motion,
the lullaby siren.
While they methodically separated
shirt from body, bone from flesh,
my hand remained in hers.
We rolled steadily forward, away from the edge,
that precarious edge that my mother fell off of, and my father,
the man she rolled under.
50/50, the professionals say, my prophesy.
DNA-crossed, predisposed to insanity: a father
on the edge of schizophrenia and a great
grandmother who was in constant fear of the rabbits.
(They listened to her every word.)
Oh, and any moment I could st
Amorous TranscendenceYes, yes, I know you will believe me when I sayMore Like This
the dandelions will soon explode
and all the little girls will attack the sun
and, most importantly, that my fingers
will soon become dizzy from running in circles over your skin.
All the experts agree
it is quite possible that every citys
newspaper will scream at the top of its lungs
and decree a war on words,
but thank goodness we dont need those.
Surely it is only time until all the walls disintegrate
and reveal the vacuous voluptuaries,
and us, wide-eyed and bending
to the will of each others desire.
Dont breathe in
the wind carries the noxious scent of sweatshop romance.
Join me in the shelter of our bed,
let the air be filtered sweet with these twisted sheets.
Once the world is arrested by the universe
and charged with Grand Treason,
we will be left as testaments to amorous transcendence.
musings from a dark roomOne thing I've discovered lately is how bright the sky becomes after the sun goes down. It's as if the sun, that fleeting giver of warmth and luminence, isn't shining as much as transplanting itself into a comatose patient. The sky and all beneath her lies open on the operating table of the universe as Sol opens an incision. She lies, patiently waiting, as the gleaming golden surgeon cuts her in two, pushing aside her shimmering insides and coating them with a false veneer of flesh. She remains passive as the golden brilliance of the scalpel envelops her very core, expanding to push aside the glittering amulet of the moon. The famous blue raincoat of dusk and dimness and sweet, quiet solitude lies crumpled in a corner. Eventually the effervescent operator grows weary of his own exsanguinating presence, and the time-keepers scratch off another day. The wound in the sky slowly heals. Silence reigns.More Like This
KaTP Kristina's Magical Buildup Trouble final pt 3(Back at the Chameleon's lair...)More Like This
Me: (woke up slowly and I was still strapped to the table that the Chameleon put me in earlier before he use me as a battery for his giant ray) Uh...What happened?
Chameleon: (disguised as Kitty) Kristina?
Me: (look at Kitty with my gleeful smile) Kitty Katswell, you've came for me! Did you defeat the Chameleon just for you to save me alone?!
Chameleon: (transforms to himself) Psyche!
Me: Aah! Not you again!
Chameleon: Yes, I'm back, and I'm ready to start my reign over Petropolis. But first I'll need some clothes that will make me look like a king. Be a good girl & make me a king.
Me: (sigh sadly) Fine.
Chameleon: Use your magic to make me some nice clothes fit for a king.
Me: How? You put the magic disabler on me and I won't able to use magic so I'm helpless.
Chameleon: You should be able to use some of your magic. Not all of it, but some of it.
Me: Okay. (Use my magic to conjure up the nice, royal king clothes for the Chameleon)
Chameleon: Ooh, this
Dorm Room Dolls Chapter 6It was not pitch black in Jessie’s box. In fact, she dreamed that it was white. She was in a vast expanse of white like the world was a palette. She painted the palette with all sorts of crazy colors. What started off as streaks and dots turned into landscapes, then she drew her own box. She drew herself coming out of her box happy to greet the world again. Oh, how exciting it will be when she greets her owner. What games could they play? Hide and go seek? Tag? She would surely win any game of how high can you jump.More Like This
Suddenly, there was a joyous noise! A tinkling melody about a monkey chasing an weasel around a mulberry bush roused Jessie from her toyish dreams. She felt energy coil up inside her, and when the weasel was supposed to pop so did she. She found herself out of her box into the light with an explosive power she never knew she had! Jessie did not care that powerful springs replaced her colorful arms and legs, nor did the scientific impossibility of her weightless
The Love of Dark Chocolate and What It Does"The Love of Dark ChocolateMore Like This
and What It Does"
She loved chocolate, dark chocolate the best. And he, well, he loved what dark chocolate did to her -- making her pleasantly plump. He caressed her love handles, playfully pinching her wide hips, rubbing his hand and then his lips across her cute little potbelly. He nibbled an inch of her tummy between his lips as she placed another piece of candy into her mouth and let it melt.
Bubble-Bunny“It’s no fair that I can’t date yet. I want to be older already, I’m tired of being a little kid.”More Like This
“Oh shut up! You’ll get your turn eventually.”
Usagi is doing it again, not understanding your complaints, not treating you seriously. It’s mean, really mean. Unfair. It’s not like you’re unnappreciative of the benefits of your youth, you just want to have what she and Mamoru have. You are really tired of her doing this to you. You thought she would’ve understood complaints of a girl of your age after she was turned into a girl of your age, but no, here she is still unwilling to hear you out. Well, you know what to do to get back at he. Older or not, she’s very easy to outsmart.
“I guess I should look on the bright side… I am still little enough for soda.”
“Little enough? I can still drink soda, adults can drink soda.”
“Yeah but not as much as me.”
“I can drink as