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Cut out wings and paper clouds
Tinsel flames and tin can rocket ships
The dreamers dream of heavens wrapped in cellophane
Don't Hold Back
Don't dwell on something for too long,
or hold on to something from the past.
Don't let it hold you down,
because you'll fall behind.
You'll fall behind on life,
on your responsibilities,
on everything important
because time waits for no one,
life does not stay behind
and wait for you to catch up.
Nothing will be waiting for you.
It will keep on going
and you'll have to play catch-up
on everything that didn't wait.
So let go,
don't let others hold you back.
Don't let your regrets and past events
weigh you down.
Cast them aside because you don't need them.
You'll feel lighter without them, anyways.
Staring Into Space (Slinky)
Staring out the window at the white gold of the night; pure and twinkling, wondrous stars
empty stares set on dull eyes over gaping mouths, as they are watching through telescopic lenses
slack-jawed staring in starry eyed amazement, fantastic sights above from here to worlds beyond ours
perhaps if none stared it might seem stranger, as dazzling displays play to confuse their senses
every unblinking human eye staring up at their earthly sky, while we drain their resources dry
your precious oceans drained you stare at your ice-caps freighted away, trees and minerals too
laughing at the lesser lifeforms continued stares, they'll awaken on a barren planet unaware of why
mocking their misfortune right before their blank staring faces, oh whatever will they try to do?
Sirens from the Master's ship, effects from the stare-down star will end prematurely halfway through
panic hastens the workers, loading and stealing everything, guiltily staring back at humans, caught red-handed
there are twelve
equally doubting apostles here,
each an even and radially spaced
arrangement of bone,
each born/unborn twice
between every passing stretch
of dark to light to dark
and as October days shorten,
a lonely gospel
between the verbal tick
and imagined tock
of our shift toward darker hours
where plagues, though netted
behind membranes of dream,
thrum with soft desperation
awakening the dust
of dead star memories
settled into our soil and air
and our blight writhes, aware
in ribbon limbs
its empty cornhusk sways
on October’s breath
an air of hope begun warmly enough
to remind you, you're alive;
now coughs cold and damp enough
to remind you, how little water
one actually needs
to drown alone in an open field
for, once October's hours
resolve the difference
between toward and away,
i know running is pointless;
that it already has me, many of me
tucked quiet as quail
in its game pocket
and in this unbreathable dark,
the hunter's leaf-muffled trudge
He sleeps peacefully
The sharp steel gleams in her hand
Now the hurting stops
©All original work copyright Edward D Cates 2018
You and your
I was happy
Being a lazyass
To your education
I´m a hardworker
Who can´t stand
Without doing anything
Or feeling usefull
I started to like
Doing staff with you
And your Values
You make me
A better person!!!
And I thank you!!!
Inktober 2018 Day 14: Clock
Pestilence (writober prompt 14)
Fear of unknown minds and unsullied thoughts
chips away at the fences holding back
a monster of history near-forgotten;
each unprotected child a tiny crack.
The rattled parent embraces what she loathes,
fooled by glamorous faces of fraud;
pestilence and waste is what Wakefield wrought,
but he'd be less than nothing if not for
the boogeyman constructed from mere difference.
A race branded "ill", "disabled", corrupted -
a pestilence in itself at the very core.
Well, if Lord Cavendish and the rest
of pioneers in their various fields
responsible for the might that man now wields
over his fate - if these minds among the best
mean a disease to you, worse than your child's death...
how dare you still live, stealing precious breath
from your betters, pestilence's slave?
Scrum from modern times, and die in your cave!
You cannot escape
the crushing weights on your chest.
Lowering from the sky, the great cranes-
Teetering necks that could feed clouds.
Groaning mammoths boring craters to
Bathe crocodiles. Machinery making
Mounds of earth. Common dump truck,
Broad back carrying progeny of pulp
And muck. A lone bulldozer, idle
Under shade of fir tree canopy,
Lost to time.
I Sing With Written Word
Have you ever noticed
That I type as if
I am writing song lyrics
Instead of an essay
That is because
I sing with written word
And not my voice.
Bound by Pregnancy
What is worse than the toxic unions I write of?
by unwanted child.
Born eager and vibrant and expectant of love.
Only to be met
by malice instead.
You claim she was always a viper,
but she's only what you made her.
Why surprise at the cruelty she shows
when it's all she's ever known?
You claim he was always a piece of shit
but you only felt that after you married him.
When you realized all the naysayers were right,
they saw what you wouldn’t, their doubts justified.
as do narcissists and sociopaths.
Miraculous conception does not discriminate,
and nobody dare intrude until it’s too late.
Do we blame you for leaving him?!
You should have never been together to start with.
Are you really doing what's best for your children
by screaming and strangling and spitting before them?
So enjoy your poison while you can,
taste it, sup it, delve again and again.
When enough is enough and you know it’s
Le suicide de Crocs de Vipere
Le suicide de Crocs de Vipère
Crocs de Vipère, Fourrure Brune, Saumon Frétillant, Mélodie du Vent
Lorsque Crocs de Vipère éprouva un profond regret lorsqu'il s'éveilla. Il cligna plusieurs fois des paupières et réalisa qu'il était revenu dans le monde réel. Il observait tout autour de lui dans la tanière. Tous ses camarades étaient endormis dans la tanière prévue à cet effet, creusée dans la terre comme une galerie sous-terraine. Les siens dormaient, lovés les uns contre les autres sur des nids de mousses et de plumes confortables. Crocs de Vipère ne voulait pas se coller à ses camarades. Il avait, depuis trois lunes, le restant de mousse de sa compagne, Tempête de l'Aube. Il refusait de la jeter puisqu'un fond de son odeur restait ancré dans la mousse. Ses doux poils étaient peu mais certains d'entre eux étaient aussi restés accroc
'Praying to Anansi' - incantation practice -
O frolicking mischievous tap dancing Creator
One whose legs are spindly yet graceful
Let me weave a tale fit for your honor
Let me verbally enthrall my audience as you so trapped old Python
I want to place before you the best silks and wine
I wish to remain ever learning and to teach the ways of the spirit
I'll turn myself to the ways of those who came long before
If in return you'll promise that I'll rejoin the ancestors
Tiny spider, so swift
Bless me with your arachnid grift
Such a beautiful web you weave
believe in The Forx
U must believe in The Forks, Folks!
Nostalgia, Beauty, and Oral Sex
Nostalgia, Beauty, and Oral Sex
when i was fourteen or so,
did not know
for the life of her
how to apply make up
not that i noticed,
or cared really;
she smelled sweet,
was surprisingly good at oral,
or so i thought
Not over yet
Not over yet
We went through too many things.
Weve destroyed it with too many words,
Lost on so much insignificance.
We cant go back.
We called these anger
Had tried to safe what was left
So often and failed -
Failed again! Was it all a failure?
A blockade of our selfmade hate
Keeping captive what we were supposed
To see and give to ourselves.
We went too far.
Went together, yet too far
With pulling and pushing
Staying and denying together
That our ways needed separation.
Now we are done with our journey..
Our longest and most beautiful journey
Finishing in such undear disaster!
Could you mind telling me, one last time
For me to hold and embrace too
For I need to know for the next one to show
Up - So I know the difference to be sure
What is love?
And what is love for?
I nearly died as she..
Despite our wrath to be
Came up to me
Embracing very tightly
Whispering in dear breathing
..Its not over...
lon3wolf, Sad Quote
Poem - The Muse Will Ask
The Muse Will Ask
The words provoked more than thought
in the prompt of stanza’s lines
or the rhyme of song’s refrain
one has comfort of the tune
the pair invoke the lyrical
regard power in the words
both share a form that provokes
desires both pure and far less so
speaking to the appetites
triggers stroked in syllables
perhaps purposed by the bard
to solicit the yearning urge
these hungers ask to be resolved
once commenced there is a yen
to be resolved before the end
few may deny if they try
that innerscapes now resound
with the cravings found inside
passions for the greed of life
once disallowed are made plain
on the page or by the ear
in the end the muse will ask
nothing less than siren’s call
to be answered by the crowd.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181015.
I challenge once again the spire
daring, dreading, to reach higher
I seek to touch the distant sky
again, again, again I try
again I’m falling from the sky.
Leaves drift slowly down
Confetti of red and gold
Autumn has arrived
After the heat of summer
Bring us some relief
Driving to work takes longer
Children back at school
Geese fly overhead
A perfect ‘V’ formation
As they journey south
Cliffs of the East
In from the mist of our material plain
Out far in the East lay a trail by the sea
Dotted with wells and the sounds of quails
Crusted jets of shined Earthen fits
Rubbed down from its veer as a mountain
Played out by the watery, rusted brass section
The Cliffs rise and fall on the water
And the Cliffs sit and wait on the water
Slowly lowing pours of passes,
Brooks and weathered ravines showing
Tracing inwards, out to pasture
Winds the coastline to these towers
Birds of Dover hover, soundless
Mixing air gusts line the pipers
Where Cliffs rise and fall on the water
And the Cliffs right down to the bottom
So may a beetle missing wing
Come eventually reach the sea
Gull by way or ever scaling
Geologic clock come sailing
Scoring drums the cheer of tides
Into when years are fossilized
As Cliffs rise and fall on the water
So Cliffs sit and be on the water
And all that stone bore out of time, styled
Dark and plinthed come moored day round
Ornate platters, restful gravel,
Granite or a painting gat
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