Scattered trees whose nails are painted in rose buds and thorns Waving inside the lofty breath of rushed and waited wind. Quiet, its weathered lids, canopies above your quick-flirting eyes.
And you, You cannot woo it, even should you try.
For it is the wild that drowns unmerciful structures. It doe not speak through electrical wires and erect thumbs; Nor does deal in self-devouring gold. Crowned in the mirth of a quintessential performance, It’s self-invigorated
As the rivers do not mind you, or me. Above we see mere clutter, but below, Below its all one grand parade. Organized, processions of apple roots, warm clay and leaves, as emerald as eyes, journeying to drink beneath sun-bathing water lilies. This rivers skin, reflective and teary eyed, like bottled wine drunk on light, it absorbs EVERYTHING.
And this, THIS is my wilderness!
Mad, its barks reveals its pouting veins buried beneath wrinkled moss. Its ceremonial quirks, and exiled sounds, They twirl and turn and take me. Somehow transforming corrosive syllables into brilliant, soundless, swishing waves.
Here, one has not a choice but to listen & behave.
“And in the beginning, life, like shattered shells splintering the solitude of a slumbering tounge, it slit, spilt and fertilized nebulous dreams.
And just like that and oh so suddenly, with the wind against my teeth I was born.
Slapped, belligerent and bear chested
Heart raged & reclined against varnished rubber ribs, clinging to the water in which it lived.
Vertiginous light, truely naked and all devouring sound, you’ve resurrected me from vapor, liquid to one solid mound;
And here now, I am now here a life.
And you, oh so solid feeling pain?
“Finally free, unencumbered light. It was a seed in a planted tree that created me.”
Oh sweet, apple of my eye,
geometric stills, I cannot see where they truely lie.
Pathological movement nailed to growth,
Tormenting and ticking this sculpted sands bleeding beats, doomed to a moral code, an oath of good deeds.
And at the entrance to mortality, a chair of choice soaked in the blood of everything I will come to love, your voice.
And yet still, I am but a visitor, a pilgrim crossing carnivorous rivers, moving to keep solitary cells in their proper jails, wanting to meet my home in the space where whispers reside, hoping for the fruit of our labor, that we both bit, to bear our bonded bones before we are a drift.
And so here I am, Frankensteins monster, cultivating understanding, adapting to longevity, bedazzled by the questions that come from first bites, disheartened by mechanized beings and forever searching for Adam in my dreams.”
Sometimes I stand in one place, but I am not there In this place, you do not know me.
Here, my blood boils between sighing senses and a sewn In gut Like cats teeth I gnaw and claw at my weakest strands Pulling apart the places where I failed to take a stand.
I stand heart swelling between my pores pushing this scared crows beak through atmospheric places fighting for MORE!
Ruin and rapture, left to swim amongst the stars I soar.
As my lips peel themselves around Paradoxical pastries pleasurable and poisonous
It is my insides that hemorrhage rabid & boisterous.
Adom split, I am divided by three
Frozen shelled it’s my soul that screams FREE!
Pouting, swollen in arrogance It bleeds through my eyes Where I remain is far from where my soul flies.
And as I sink beneath the graveled earth, devoured by swallowing mud and loving larva
it’s Mozart’s beak that reminds me of Nirvana
Flapping feathers furrowed then freed above fluffy mounds of blushed cotton, Breeze brushing backwards beyond dreams begotten. Tonight I dream of leaving it all, of basking in the forgotten.
And in that warm, dusk kissed light, Horizon stretched My insanity is etched A thicket of desires beating through pounds of flesh.
Thirsting for resurrection, I stop only to drink from my own reflection.
Still stood, cold framed Purged And sweaty I soar with Mozart, extending myself, creating compositions, rubbed and ready
Violent they’ve become sharpened steal pointed and pinning Forcing me to go to the beginning.
And in the beginning, “the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.” My veins weep as my breath, it leaps beyond this eternal sleep.
Sometimes I stand in one place, but I am not there In this place, you do not know me.
But should you look upon my pushed past in present face
There you’ll find, entombed inside gorged lids, my soul, the God of impenetrable space.
Her lethargic breath was rooted in the cave of a cumbersome heart.
Standing a foot the blank podium, tethered by opportunistic strings,
was the birth of a whisper
ascended into what became, a cataclysmic thought.
Like spiraling stairs with no beginning nor end, she spoke.
“Ejected from the gorge of emotional destitution,
I have realized that I have ascribed form to an existence that is but a shadow,
if not a dream.
And while I’ve remained fixed upon my daily deeds
I have abandoned my internal needs;
Misguiding shapes inside a living tomb.
I call upon the earth to fissure beneath my brain,
To thwart an arrow into the chasm of my heart,
and to pardon this lump of clay’s weary ways.
Soil and ice, no longer will you replace permutable fog.
For truth, a concept whose doors are not open for interpretation,
alas, has made the journey through pore and rushing blood and found its home
upon electrical wires breathing life into a paralyzed heart.
I say, empty handed and fragmented from a self-induced illusion,
that, that which is, is not a at all, and that which is to be, is to exists inside of me.
Compelled to create prickled shapes that would garner me the world, while gazing upon a blank wall, all at the expense of my heart beat.
Fair exchange it was not.
For I have spent most of my clock devouring the irrelevant, in hopes of quenching a parched soul,
and merely numbing it in the process.
But now with exhumed vision and frail valves,
I have but one thing I want to do, and nothing else.
With the elegance of life’s exoskeleton bewildering my eyes,
And with the seed of creation rousing a previously unemployed heart
Through inspired skin and resurrected possibility
from below me and above,
my only purpose here,
is to love.
“Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.”
—
Plato
“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love, every man becomes a poet.”
—
Plato
“According to Plato, we don’t learn anything. Our soul has lived so many lives that we know everything. Teachers and education can only remind us of what we already know.”
Her usual floppy stance became erect and watchful.
Her eyes scintillated and sunken in fright
As a phantom, superior and with bizarre curiosity
Arose, deliberate, detached and delighted while disentangling itself
Inside the lucidity of a half- remembered dream where
All walls collapsed
Atoms took to beat and
Form neglected the boundaries of human conceptualization.
And while reality took to bed possibility
Buildings skipped from side to side, back and forth in comical repetition.
Red became green, blue, pink and plush purple.
Numbers echoed their “I am’s” until they, like a string of pearls, conjoined into a choir of nothing but decoration in an empty space.
Fatality became a companion only to walking apathy
Bombastic unpredictability became soothing potential
Quick became irrelevant
And like the sloth, all had abandoned the clock
And just like that, slow became comfortable.
This outer body experience left her observing the shell she originally inhabited
As all it’s questions, and pondering and confused, rampant vocalization,
Silenced her timid lips, and all that remained, was one thought
“Am I dead, or am I free?” a wonder that lasted but a second,
For suddenly the turbulence of beauty sliced into her experience
And the happiness of a moment coded in the feeling of a kiss;
Encircled, nuzzled and clutched every molecule
Below and between the gaps of every impossibility.
And a voice breathed forth the
Absence of fear and the presence of peace into an anxiety filled form
Everything was nothing, and nothing was everything.
And all that mattered, embraced the obsolete.
Closed eyes, and in the silence of her peace, her skin whispered, “What am I supposed to do with this?”
And in the dark, the face of an old man, expressionless, and bound to no sense of gravity
With one look, injected truth into into her barely beating veins,
“My love, thou inhibits all and everything. Boundless, you are the daughter and son of this creator. And your soft gel like tissues, afloat inside a castle of bones? A mere means of transport in a sea of possibility.”
And while her veins pouted in swollen satisfaction, with her last ounce of strength before her soul cavorted with a sleeping body, she said,
“I understand now, but if I forget later?”
And with no words, he thumped the answer into her heart,
“Then close your eyes and open your child.”
With those last words, she awoke
Drenched in the knowing that there was nothing more to be done,
She surrendered to trying and excavated complexity from the jaws of her trained mind.
And her eyes, drooped in the reckless abandonment of being in love with the infinite,
On the way home, in the midst of his evening bustle
His hand griped at the lament buried inside his hearts muscle
Wilted and torn he took off his blues and remained in the dress for which he was born.
Pondering in the stillness of feeling lost and lovelorn.
Like a gold fish witnessing the sea while concealed in a transparent cage,
He never quite felt he fit in his world.
Always yearning, waiting, transfixed on clock hands, tic tocked and twirled.
Meanwhile, wedged inside his genius was the menacing feeling of a half-filled cup.
For when he was little; he knew he was meant to be big.
So, wishing by the sea & moon, he sat on a nest of twigs
Transient figures, like neon signs burned between the dark sky’s
Reflecting each tear in his dreaming, uneasy eyes.
With tremulous cords and vacuous hands he let go and dove in.
Splashed beneath the film of water, cutting the deep horizons, were two feline eyes with petrified black feathered lashes.
Unable to look away, he felt the warmth of his veins cooled by her pale as corpse hand
In hypnotic awe he studied her lips, shaped with the figure of the crescent moon
And her blythe batting lids, concealing double helix eyes, they compressed and released to the drum of his heart.
Dazed with curiosity, he allowed her lips to expand his chest & surrendered, they swam.
They past childhood sand-castles, faint, white dried roses, tiered Polaroids and running crayons.
Intrigued but perplexed nonetheless, till his eyes set upon Cherub Caliel, crying and withdrawn.
And as he approached extended hand and comfort unfolded, the cherub quickly turned and said,
“Awake ye now and rid thyself of death and dolefulness, that I can feel heavy upon thy heart”
Bewildered he looked for the siren that led him, but fled she had, and stuck he was.
Turned back, and before his eyes, the cherub decomposed into a plume of red & green dust.
Swallowed by smoke, swollen iris and startled heart he screamed, “I want out!”
Treading and manic, he began to run out of air when the siren re-appeared,
She quipped,”You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger my darling.”
He screamed “I need air!”
Appearing to rescue but merely passing by, an octopus flushed in red, said, “So wake up.”
As he began to swim up, panicked, he found his feet tethered to the ground.
The sea became more turbulent and a tiger vehement in speech said, “So wake up!”
As he struggled he suddenly found he was not a captive of the ocean but enslaved inside his own tub.
And a final vision of the Siren appeared whispering, “When you desire happiness as you have just desired air, then you will have it.”
Like an arrow to heart, her words struck him,
And not all too sudden, his muscle embraced silence and thoughts vanished as the bones in his back gallantly began an unraveling procession fixed on rapturous expansion.
Freedom became he, as he floated, tenderly, above the sea,
And the water slowly crept from chin to eyes, releasing him from self-demise.
The next morning as he awoke, he found his back draped in wings and his heart cloaked in red
And from his cage, he did not wonder nor did he wait, he stretched out his limbs & became a man, transcendent and magnate.
Trapped Utopia & Unfettered Wings
By: Magnolia
On the way home, in the midst of his evening bustle,
His hand griped at the lament buried inside his hearts muscle.
Wilted and torn he took off his blues and remained in the dress for which he was born.
Pondering in the stillness of feeling lost and lovelorn,
Like a gold fish witnessing the sea while concealed in a transparent cage,
He never quite felt he fit in his world.
Always yearning, waiting, transfixed on clock hands, tic tocked and twirled.
Meanwhile, wedged inside his genius, was the menacing feeling of a half-filled cup.
For when he was little; he knew he was meant to be big.
So, wishing by the sea & moon, he sat on a nest of twigs.
Transient figures, like neon signs burned between the dark sky’s
Reflecting each tear in his dreaming, uneasy eyes.
So, with tremulous cords and vacuous hands he let go and dove in.
Splashed beneath the film of water, cutting the deep horizons, were two feline eyes with petrified black feathered lashes.
In hypnotic awe he studied her lips, shaped with the figure of the crescent moon
And her blythe batting lids, concealing double helix eyes, they compressed and released to the drum of his heart.
Unable to look away, he felt the warmth of his veins cooled by her pale as corpse hand.
Dazed with curiosity, he allowed her lips to expand his chest & surrendered they swam.
They past childhood sand-castles, faint, white dried roses, tiered Polaroids and running crayons.
Intrigued but perplexed nonetheless, till his eyes set upon Cherub Caliel, crying and withdrawn.
And as he approached extended hand and comfort unfolded, the cherub whispered,
“Awake ye now and rid thyself of death and dolefulness, that I feel heavy upon thy living”
Bewildered he looked for the siren that led him, but fled she had, and stuck he was.
Turned back, and before his eyes, the cherub decomposed into a plume of red & green dust.
Swallowed by smoke, swollen iris and startled heart he screamed, “I want out!”
Treading and manic,l he began to run out of air when the Siren re-appeared,
She quipped,”You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger my darling.”
He screamed “I need air!”
Appearing to rescue but merely passing by, an octopus flushed in red, said, “So wake up.”
As he began to swim up, panicked he found his feet tethered to the ground.
The sea became more turbulent and a tiger vehement with speech said, “So wake up!”
As he struggled he suddenly found he was not a captive of the ocean but enslaved inside his own tub.
And a final vision of the Siren appeared whispering, “When you desire happiness as you have just desired air, then you will have it”.
Like an arrow to heart, her words struck him,
And not all too sudden, his muscle embraced silence and thoughts vanished as the bones in his back gallantly began an unraveling procession fixed on rapturous expansion.
Freedom became he, as he floated, tenderly, above the sea,
And the water slowly crept from chin to eyes, releasing him from self-demise.
The next morning as he awoke, he found his back draped in wings and his heart cloaked in red
And from his cage, he did not wonder nor did he wait, he stretched out his limbs and became a man, transcendent and magnate.
I decided to write a blog about love, art, and the human condition. The good, the bad and all that is in-between. I will go through the looking glass and back examining all that is love the roots and stems of love. We see evidence every second of every day of the existence of true love. It takes the form of art, freedom, beauty, callings fulfilled, nature, music, healthy relationships, etc. Through the transmission of real love we find some of the world’s most awe inspiring people, acts, and inventions, creative and otherwise.
In the old day all people had was their word, there was a level of sophistication, loyalty, innocence and corniness that was not only acceptable but revered as brave, beautiful and honest. It’s not that it does not exist anymore; it’s just not as popular as it deserves to be.
So, ready or not, here I go through the Rabbit Hole searching, dissecting, discovering and restoring True Love. My hope… to pump the sigh, swoon and lift of the heel back into love.
Oh! and where theres LOVE you know they’ll be a little POETRRYY Readdingg!
Fav.Quote:
“Knowledge is the best eraser in the world for disharmony, distrust, despair, and the endless physical deficiencies of man.” -Battista, Orlando A.
“Love is passion, someone you can’t live without. If you don’t start with that, what are you going to end up with? Fall head over heels. I say find someone you can love like crazy and who’ll love you the same way back. And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I’m not hearing any heart. Run the risk, if you get hurt, you’ll come back. Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love – well, you haven’t lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven’t tried, you haven’t lived. ” -Meet Joe Black-
Vertiginous light, truely naked and all devouring sound, you’ve resurrected me from vapor, liquid to one solid mound;
Pouting, swollen in arrogance
