[x]

LifeI’ve seen the world with these two eyes.
A movie played inside my mind.
I’ve traveled the seas in half the time
Without ever leaving home.

I’ve spread my wings but didn’t fly
I’ve touched heaven, but I didn’t die
Had the chance to ask God why
Without ever receiving an answer.

I’ve count the stars and made to ten
Lost track and had to start again.
People laughed, but that’s how we make friends
Without ever knowing their name.

I’ve loved completely and watched them leave
I tell the story—some don’t believe
Let them go or did you flee?
Without seeing what tomorrow brings.

I&#

I dance in clown shoes.

You compose your conversations.
Fitfully gesturing with whatever you hold,
ending arguments with a flourish.
Make a point, now whirl, quickly.
Make it impossible to counter with your unpunctuation.
You duck and weave, spin, sidestep, pirouette:
One, two, one, two, faster, harder, stronger.
You leave me confused and two steps back,
just far enough behind to appear lost and unsure.
And if I catch up, if I make a point,
you spin again, a trail of words falling like pixie dust
as you make your escape.
And as you storm out, you slam the period behind you,
Ending your sentence with a door.
And I must follow you, my thuds down the sta

Sex.Love is lusting
Love is trusting
Love is thrusting.

Minus two
if you do-
But know
that Sex
is a vex;
A curse
for the worse.

A voice
without choice.

Indeed,
to lope
and cope.

Pulling the pieces
Through nephews and nieces.

Making mingle
be single.

Singular-
Like the word unheard.

But those
who speak
are weak.

Just fuck
and with luck -
The Sun
will shine
Devine.

But those who care
will spare;
Those who live
will give.

But what is life
without Sex?

A goddamn vex.

If I Were A LineIf I were a line
I think I’d be curled,
billowed and swirled,
and slowly unfurled.
I’d sweep over a page,
if I were a line,
with the wind in my hair,
and my heart laid bare.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a line.

If I were a spot
I’d be round and fat
(now how about that?)
like an old, well-fed cat.
I’d have drizzled and dropped,
if I were a spot,
pittering and pattering
with a slight hint of smattering.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a spot.

If I were a colour
I’d be a rich red,
like a painted deathbed
or a sword to the head.
I’d lunge for macabre,
if I were a colour,
m

On Parabola

With subatomic subtlety settling on his brow,
he said 'Time's a broken arrow
that points from then to now.'
Once a grain, I entreated him
to stop this flow of sand,
'You're immersed in the irreversible
until, entropical, I land.'

In that glass all is hours,
the busted bucket and the spade,
and each collapsing castle
that our spilt ice cream made.

Since his hands are tide
we can all be shore,
when the sediment slides
there is no more.

death

at the station
one exhausted passenger
the train on the track whistles
you have to obey
get on it
and ride away

one exhausted passenger
the trip ended where it began

Butterflies...Our lives are filled with Butterflies
In moments that we seize
They guide us with our heart and soul
Placing themselves in our memories

In days so dark we find them there
We feel them midst our pain
Guiding us to all tranquility
Till we are whole again

We see them in each golden day
They flutter strong and true
Each one more glorious than the next
Their colours a vivid hue

Our laughter guides each Butterfly
To peace and harmony
To place them amongst the flowers
To dance in reverie

Such gentle creatures as they fly
Their silence creating calm
We watch them with surprise and mirth
A cool and soothing balm

Butterflies are our

Turner's HillOn Turner’s Hill in snow lit sky,
the very dead of night, and cold,
the joy of life is measured by
a brace of wind and stinging snow
the bane of hand and eye.

Scudding clouds do not deter
the laughs, the shoves, the dares,
a dangerous game is playing here,
unknown by those who run and slide
a fate awaits the years.

“Dot Com” Derrek struck it rich,
Stilwell died of cancer,
Alex never found his niche,
William died a soldier’s death,
Jack became a dancer.

Sled on dear boys! and show no lack
of boldness off the mark!
One by one, straight down the track,
the hill is life and night is death,
there is no going

Dream WeaverDream Weaver, Please
Weave me a dream
Make it the best
That I've ever seen

Fill it with joy
For you and for me
Fill it with hope
For the whole world to see

Paint it in colours
To bring us delight
To replace all the darkness
Except for the night

Bathe it in sunshine
As warm as its rays
Fill it with friendship
To last all our days

Give peace in our sorrow
and joy in our song
Weave this dream soon
Do not wait too long

We all need our dreams
To be and to see
To share all we have
From you and from me

Thank you Dream Weaver
For weaving this dream
It is the best dream
That I've ever dreamed..

an alternate final stanza:

To RememberMy breath, is caught, within a sigh
Remembering moments of days gone by
My Lovers found and passion spent
Of no regrets and friendships meant
Our souls entwined for evermore
The rhyme and reason, my heart to store

I see myself so fancy-free
Each day was filled with what was me
A woman in a world of hope
Of seeds to sow and ways to cope
With promise and the need to know
Adventures fresh with eyes aglow

I see, I saw, my eyes I close
my precious moments, in time I froze
I hear, I heard, now silence reigns
Of sounds and words, the fear that feigns
the truest part of who I am
Of

The Poet's DreamLast night I dreamt that life was sleeping,
And a man held in his keeping
All the souls of all the dying,
Cold and crying, lost and lying,
Harvest of the reaper’s reaping
And God’s vacant sighing.

With troubled mind I paused his pacing,
Asked him, though my heart was racing,
“Will I, sir, end here someday
With all these souls like pallid clay?
Tell me what it is I’m facing
And whether I will end this way?”

The man just laughed and turned aside,
But still the truth he could not hide;
Said, “When you wake upon the morrow,
One day hence will fall your sorrow,
For nothing pushes Death aside
That you

Eden of The East-Sinners CallsI saw you in Heaven
and heard of your glory
You saved our world from the fallen angels
I saw Messiah standing,
Standing before me with no words
Nothing but "Hope".
When we lost dread, a Demon was laughing
But now you are showing us wonder
Giving your love
With awe, down on my knees again
I've got to know you're the one,
The only one reveals the world

The King has come!
To lighten up our feet
The King has come!
To save us from the dark
Who could ever doubt? We have faith

Let me walk with you when I'm lost in the wild
I know you always lead me to another Eden
Let me bless your name, O Lord, O Lord!
Your words will never fade

I Dream, You Dream

Come pray with me for eternal bliss
Of laughter in dreams, and love's first kiss
To hope for days of everlasting sun
Of a bright new world that has just begun
Back in time when all was clear
A world without ego, judgment or fear
Unlocked doors and pleasures of purest simplicity
Of love between Them and Us and You and Me

I laugh, a nervous laugh, a dream I know
Of hidden complexities too scared to show
I guess somewhere, somehow, it once was
Shed with tears of memories, all but lost
Resurrect me not when I am gone, to keep me with you still
Hold me now, to your heart, until you've had yo

TwelveO'One: Superbly RefinedMidnight now has chimed again
When the shadows have their due
The clock heralds their transient reign
Till the sun comes into view.

The hands meeting for an instant
Like they’ve always done
But always moving inexorably
Until it’s twelve o’ one.

But soon there will be a time
When the hands will move no more
When all is still and silent
Time not ticking as before.

When the hands will stop at midnight
For that last and fatal chime
When the shadows will reign forever
At that silent death of time.

ChaoticRose 07:12:09

The Kitten

Tiny body, little frame,
To my heart its now contained
All is love; youre so naïve
Furry curiosity.

Out there is a world of pain
Random murder, acid rain
What a contrast you provide
To your master's bloody sky!

Go on to sleep once again
Unawares of human shame
Profit gained of blood verbose
Crueler worlds could you have chose?

In this world of human stain
Innocence itself, a strain.
To your virtue, one aspires
Killing off ones own desires

Purring thus, you carry on
To the brink of blood hewn dawn
What to wake? What will you find?
In the hands of human time.

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Rondeau IIn the silent bay we lay,
watching shadows for us play,
making not a slip of sound-
They are buried 'neath the ground.
What they do; we cannot say.

There they dance, all slick and grey,
bothered not by ocean spray.
We turn 'way from what we've found
Knowing that this is the day-
we turn from green.

Sin and sand before us sway
in a dread and secret way.
Fervent whispers from the ground;
moonlight streams from all around
Waiting for the break of day-
we turn from green.

The JourneyHe had set out on a journey, not really knowing where, but he set out all the same. He had loaded up his packs and put them on his horse; he had no idea for what he was packing. He go upon his horse, weighted down with his packs, and left. He told no one, not that they would have noticed or cared.
The path he was on lead particularly to nowhere, which is exactly where he wanted to go, though he never consciously thought of it.
The horse knew the way, though the driver did not, but they continued nevertheless. Into the forest, the single path went, relatively smooth and worn (from what, no one knows), but not in the least straight. Along the

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Face

by ~yaosvyeshchayu, Mar 24, 2006, 8:13:45 PM
Literature / Poetry / Philosophical / Traditional Fixed Forms

I see the old man's face,
dried-wrinkled as a prune,
and all I can think of
is how dead he will be soon.

Time creeps up, like a snake;
only one can save you,
Death can cure any ache-
how refreshing, like the dew.

Fall into the nothing,
and to yourself whisper,
of all you ar thinking
for Death is a great shape shifter.

I see the old man's face,
dried-wrinkled as a prune,
and all i can think of
is how dead he will be soon.

   How
         lucky
                he
                    is.

Faceby ~yaosvyeshchayu

Literature / Poetry / Philosophical / Traditional Fixed Forms

~RusskiyaPoetika Mar 25, 2006 Photographer

very interesting comparision once again, death isn't always the answer...but then im not one to preach of living life happily for my own sins still lust for the sweet numbness that death has to offer...

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