THINE EYES!

October 14, 2020

Compressed black and swallowed, it lays buried inside a canvas of melted, foolish lines.

Busted color leaked into solidarity on an open pupil.

Trapped inside a fluxing current smudged with bereavement and the blissful madness in-bedded from

the gluttony of au courant moments, moments true and peeled,

moments rotted and soiled in the profoundness bathing inside the ticking unanimity of ones own mind; visible existence.

And oh the things it bares witness to;

Transportive passions spun into the playful minds of eager architects.

Mid-summer sky’s, boiling, smiling, scolding the skin.

How it exchanges the dreams planked inside the weary tear ducts of tepid cooling clouds.

And blackness, born from a speechless space, an alchemistic abyss;  one third of our lives.

What paradise finds home inside these jello eyes?

For it is they that wrote this, not I.

Eyes of white,

Eyes of gold,

Courted and neatly trimmed by the thoughts of Michael Angelo.

These glinting, darting, dancing eyes,

Why they have no option but to nebulously sink, in occasion, behind the squint of suspicious lids.

Safeguarded at all times.

But while they remain veiled beneath weakened lids,

They remain open,

fixated inside the belly of a crepuscular night;

 They do not sleep.

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Men of Great Stature

September 27, 2020

Paintings & poem By: MAGNOLIA LAFLEUR


Where are these men of great stature?

Whose voices disrupt built tension.
Lilac Lips soft with bones of timber that bring the heart to ascension.

Oh wonderous creature, muscled flesh and breathing hair, like blowing grass set a fire by a desperate prayer.

In the day, his logic & legs planked, firm like cedar, a focused dance with one direction,
but at night, billowing from the belly of his heart,
he folds into my arms where we lay with no part, mere perfection.

Honorable, his tounge forged with the stone from the tablet of Moses.
His eyes, ignited glass.
The color: pointed asphalt with a surrounding earth filament of tungsten wire
capturing not just face, but heart and mine own desires;

My lids, they close.
I am his,
of this he knows.

Your gentle hands, the craftmanship
Carved to hold me with one tight grip.

Rib torn for me, mine ears split for thee, summoned love born in the fashion of caterpillars floating from drunkard jars, colored wings detailed in the memories of future days of ours.

Cavernous, captivating and capsizing; You- These were the words that spilt from my veins, unraveled my nerves from start, when first your flesh paid heed to my thirsting heart.

The beginning and end of me,
a happy birth, and even happier death I do foresee.

And such a handsome face, salted or water fresh,
as I lick your lips to swallow the tears built in joy or in your fears, to refresh.
And you to me? I recall you saying, I was your tonic, your jubilee.

So are you that man of stature?
Finally come home.
Asleep no more, caught inside my dream catcher?

Tis it not your decision to make?
To have the courage to stay awake.
“Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.”
To love, to kiss, please more.

Eden, I Am But A Visitor

August 1, 2019

Eden, I Am But A Visitor

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“And in the beginning, life, like shattered shells splintering the solitude of a slumbering tounge, it slit, spilt and fertilized nebulous dreams.

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And just like that and oh so suddenly, with the wind against my teeth I was born.

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Slapped, belligerent and bear chested
Heart raged & reclined against varnished rubber ribs, clinging to the water in which it lived.

giphy (12)Vertiginous light, truely naked and all devouring sound, you’ve resurrected me from vapor, liquid to one solid mound;

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And here now, I am now here a life.

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And you, oh so solid feeling pain?

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“Finally free, unencumbered light. It was a seed in a planted tree that created me.”

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Oh sweet, apple of my eye,
geometric stills, I cannot see where they truely lie.

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Pathological movement nailed to growth,
Tormenting and ticking this sculpted sands bleeding beats, doomed to a moral code, an oath of good deeds.

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And at the entrance to mortality, a chair of choice soaked in the blood of everything I will come to love, your voice.

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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.

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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.”

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-Magnolia

(© 2018 Magnolia HL)

Acrylic on camvas 16×20

Mozart’s Beak

January 16, 2019

-ONE MUST GO BEYOND TO BECOME-

Sometimes I stand in one place,
but I am not there
In this place,
you do not know me.

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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.

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I stand heart swelling between my pores
pushing
this scared crows beak through atmospheric places fighting for MORE!

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Ruin and rapture, left to swim amongst the stars I soar.

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As my lips peel themselves around
Paradoxical pastries pleasurable and poisonous

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It is my insides that hemorrhage rabid &  boisterous.

Adom split, I am divided by three

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Frozen shelled it’s my soul that screams FREE!

giphy (2)Pouting, swollen in arrogance
It bleeds through my eyes
Where I remain is far from where my soul flies.

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And as I sink beneath the graveled earth, devoured
by swallowing mud and loving larva

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it’s Mozart’s beak that reminds me of Nirvana

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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.

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And in that warm, dusk kissed light,
Horizon stretched
My insanity is etched
A thicket of desires beating through pounds of flesh.

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Thirsting for resurrection, I stop only to drink from my own reflection.

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Still stood, cold framed
Purged
And sweaty
I soar with Mozart, extending myself, creating compositions, rubbed and ready

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Violent they’ve become sharpened steal pointed and pinning
Forcing me to go to the beginning.

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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.

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Sometimes I stand in one place,
but I am not there
In this place,
you do not know me.

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But should you look upon my pushed past in present face

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There you’ll find, entombed inside gorged lids, my soul, the God of impenetrable space.  beakMOZ1

original

By: Magnolia Lafleur

What Crones Up Crows Drown

September 27, 2018

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And though his bones they have bled into oat, ash & dust, his stories, quite blahsensical, they shall ever never rust.

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Whilst parliamentary principles perabulated in his head, he laid upon his pillow, solving problematic proverbs in his bed.

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Swashbuckling tales wrapped in a small trim blue skirt as she holds a ‘drink me’ bottle beginning the flirt.

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Algebraic equations tunneling the mind, make it difficult for her to follow that big bunny’s behind.

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And since I am no neologist, dreaming in ratios and gold, I can understand what the Jabberwocky’s point was in being told.

Oh and ahhhh the joy in those frabjous words interlocking the tounge with the mind as it does.

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Confounding it all is.
This world’s upside down.

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You’ll find that man who claims to be of scripture filled with Mach·i·a·vel·li·an sound.

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And that human who won’t work, it’s only because it left its soul in the hurt;

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something those pecking birds feast upon in deserts.

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But fear thee not and believe in thy all,
for a Tureen of soup may cure the fall.

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And if ye shan’t believe in thy might, I suggest you take an absence from this thing you call sight.

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Go ahead, be brilliantly bold, as blind as a blissful old bat,
fill your belly with the stars till its round, fruitful and fat.

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Go on twaddle twinkle, trip towards your leave;
as it’s won’t be quite difficult in more than six impossible things to believe.

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-Magnolia

Acrylic on canvas ♡

( © 2018 Magnolia HL )

The Sixth Element

March 3, 2013

By: Magnolia

I sat in silence, squeezing at the first fruit I saw in sight.

And as I crushed it,

Bruised, its tears bled between the angst collected in the gut of my palm,

And It absorbed my pain.

I wanted it all to cease

Clocks

Work

Things

And every element known to man, in which I supposed I could survive without.

Starved my body would wilt, but with you, my Sixth Element,

Through you my being is infinite

My divinity and happiness

Defined by the mere possibility of being cradled inside the womb of your arms

For together, we are a monochromatic combustion of harmony.

 *

But I lament,

For I have the feeling, that you are far away;

Your spirit near but your body,

It’s far away.

And as I watch the world roll by,

And fill my mind with ideas, materials and longing,

They all rot away;

Insignificant without you.

*

The sea, earth, sky, fire, wind, and you, my Sixth Element.

The crucial crux to my existence

You are my thoughts final burial place.

For no matter how busy this sphere gets

And I busy in it, will there ever be

A substitution for this feeling

Created and filled,

In what would normally take a thousand lifetimes,

By the life captured inside the streams of your rising chest

 *

Your breath is my sixth element,

The released & genuflecting wave,

The tectonic shift,

The fearlessness at the edge of a cliff.

The exquisite point to which all else rotates.

And your skin, a road-map leading to the tip of your lips;

The place where all longing is quenched,

And where silence is arced into shapes only seen by me.

 *

 You have shifted the melody of the sun and moon

With my nights being consumed with closed eyed images of you

A kaleidoscope of possibilities trapped inside of me.

With my eyes, never asleep for you.

And my days locked in the knowing

That no matter what I do or how much I grab,

You are the only thing, that I must, I have to have.

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On the way home, in the midst of his evening bustle

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His hand griped at the lament buried inside his hearts muscle

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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.

“Lovers”      “ Orpheus’ Sorrow  (1876)  ”  by  Pascal Adolphe Jean Dagnan-BouveretThanks to Laberintosyquimeras  for posting this wonderful image

Like a gold fish witnessing the sea while concealed in a transparent cage,

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He never quite felt he fit in his world.

Always yearning, waiting, transfixed on clock hands, tic tocked and twirled.

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Meanwhile, wedged inside his genius was the menacing feeling of a half-filled cup.

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For when he was little; he knew he was meant to be big.

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So, wishing by the sea & moon, he sat on a nest of twigs

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Transient figures, like neon signs burned between the dark sky’s

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Reflecting each tear in his dreaming, uneasy eyes.

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With tremulous cords and vacuous hands he let go and dove in.

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Splashed beneath the film of water, cutting the deep horizons, were two feline eyes with petrified black feathered lashes.

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Unable to look away, he felt the warmth of his veins cooled by her pale as corpse hand

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In hypnotic awe he studied her lips, shaped with the figure of the crescent moon

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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.

Topless mermaid, voluptuous amd alluring, seducing a young man at the bottom of the sea.Tumblr_me0gn8zezo1qfb46yo1_500_large

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They past childhood sand-castles, faint, white dried roses, tiered Polaroids and running crayons.

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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.

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Swallowed by smoke, swollen iris and startled heart he screamed, “I want out!”

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Treading and manic, he began to run out of air when the siren re-appeared,

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She quipped,”You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger my darling.”

He screamed “I need air!”

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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.”

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Like an arrow to heart, her words struck him,

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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.

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Freedom became he, as he floated, tenderly, above the sea,

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And the water slowly crept from chin to eyes, releasing him from self-demise.

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The next morning as he awoke, he found his back draped in wings and his heart cloaked in red

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And from his cage, he did not wonder nor did he wait, he stretched out his limbs & became a man, transcendent and magnate.

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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.

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God you should have seen her, hemorrhaging with ambition while smiling in the harshest of heat.

She stood in the belly of that crowd, raised her arm in the air & matched her heart to the beat.

And suddenly every patron in the city, believers &  doubters, rose quickly to their feet.

Their fists pounding against the rhythm of  the wind; boom, boom, boom, boom!

Kinetic electricity surged from every cavity & splashed through every layer in the room.

Head high and shoulders back, she gave the deuces to anyone who didn’t think she had the knack.

Once the souls that questioned her are now asking for her signature.

Although in the dark & blind to the masses, she doubted nothing while lighting her own torches.

Bearing the brunt of naysayers & pile driving while supplying her own transfusions,

Every night she closed her eyes and challenged the dark with esoteric allusions.

She was a woman, but didn’t need to prove it.

Her ears had swallowed  broken glass and her knees felt the itch of mud and laughing grass.

And while it was in style to sport the scent of gin and sex,

She didn’t bother, she was a self-accepted reject.

All the while undeserving, with gut and grit, she pushed Sisyphus rock up and made it stick.

Her razor tongue savored the water of Tantalus and of others opinions, she could care less.

Unapologetic & foolhardy with determination, she fashions her lips with bona fied narration.

But when the crowd has dissipated she sits alone, contemplative.

And although she is silent in her tears, she paints only what she wants herself to mirror.

Saying nothing, she curls her fingers around the heart of the moon

She squeezes it in hopes of growing more immune.

A disciple, a trend rebel, a lady who bears her own name, she breaths to the beat of her own drum, she is a consummate dame.

 

The Dancing Beasts Illusions

November 21, 2012

By: Magnolia Lafleur

She wanted to sink into the sweet nectar pulsating inside the belly of bloomed flowers,

unreachable in a towering tree.

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Her fluttered hope, in need of a soberly affirming place of rest.

After years of arduous labor, she twirled into a perched position,

calling upon the celestial spaces to reveal its power.

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She felt it encircling yet eluding her’;

mystical dreams wrapped inside the capricious fold of a Cheshire Cat grin

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She closed her eyes and imagined herself as a dulcet beast,

clothed in regality & seated at the right hand of calmness;

With great longing for the parallel universes to tangle and resurrect her

But with each moment of ascension her eyes were met by the plummeting trunks of helpless trees

and the abandoned cry of rusted desperation.

Unmoving energy arose the tumultuous beast inside.

Breathing forth in a paroxysm of rage; the battle to self-devour had begun.

The internal workings of a beast not put to rest dangerously desiring to be heard, spilled over.

And where screaming met her lips an eye appeared,

silencing vexation and illuminating three actualities:

The first,

 a street lined with the paradox of smog engulfed by a procession of cherry blossom trees.

The second,

an Egyptian proverb spelled in the ink of curled white clouds settled upon a black night.

And finally, with no origin or end,

 a dancing rainbow, driven by madness and awash in playfull delight.

Defeated by visions, she slept.

And as she dreamt, the trees overhead, in a rapturous intercourse, swallowed her.

Freed with joyful appreciation, she surrendered

 and piece, by piece, by peace, she floated away.

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Only to be awakened by the serene movement of wind and gravity.

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Metamorphosed this time, not as a fearful beast but as a pendant in the sky, non-yielding to the stars, she bore the world.

And in the belly of her arms, the glowing earth, basking in the sweet nectar of her sovereignty to create,  slept in sedate watchfulness.

***

 The Dancing Beasts Illusions

By:Magnolia

She wanted to sink into the sweet nectar pulsating inside the belly of bloomed flowers,

unreachable in a towering tree.

Her fluttered hope, in need of a soberly affirming place of rest.

After years of arduous labor, she twirled into a perched position, calling upon the celestial spaces to reveal its power.

She felt it encircling yet eluding her, mystical dreams wrapped inside the capricious fold of a Cheshire Cat grin.

She closed her eyes and imagined herself as a dulcet beast, clothed in regality & seated at the right hand of calmness;

With great longing for the parallel universes to tangle and resurrect her.

But with each moment of ascension her eyes were met by the plummeting trunks of helpless trees and the abandoned cry of rusted desperation.

Unmoving energy arose the tumultuous beast inside.

Breathing forth in a paroxysm of rage; the battle to self-devour had begun.

The internal workings of a beast not put to rest, dangerously desiring to be heard, spilled over;

And where screaming met her lips an eye appeared, silencing vexation and illuminating three actualities:

The first, a street lined with the paradox of smog engulfed by a procession of cherry blossom trees.

The second, an Egyptian proverb spelled in the ink of curled white clouds settled upon a black night

And finally, with no origin or end, a dancing rainbow, driven by madness and awash in playful delight.

Defeated by visions, she slept.

And as she dreamt, the trees overhead, in a rapturous intercourse, swallowed her.

Freed with joyful appreciation, she surrendered and piece by piece by piece, she floated away.

Only to be awakened by the serene movement of wind and gravity.

Metamorphosed, this time, not as a fearful beast but as a pendant in the sky, non-yielding to the stars, she bore the world.

And in the belly of her arms, the glowing earth, basking in the sweet nectar of her sovereignty to create,  slept in sedate watchfulness.

 

by: Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)
 
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY