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the Mothman Cometh in dead of night
who knows his pain
who knows his plight
left unchecked in their faulty haste
born in pools of chemicals and waste
a slip of nature
he roams the skies
with wings of a condor
and red blazing eyes

it is said he had vanished
when the bridge came down
but I believe he remains
at the outskirts of town
I have been to Point Pleasant
and his presence I feel
on the river
on the streets
in the steps of John Keel
I have stories
~ for Paula Poundstone~

brain has its own calendar,
alarms, forget~me~nots, nat-ur-ally,
seeds and scraps of half-breed poems,
even its own junk drawer, with extra
keys, pocket tissues, swiss army knives

call 'em appoint-moments,
random and scheduled,
though not always attentive paid

no longer needy for post-it notes,
reasons why I may I have come to a
particular room in search of a) b) or see

now, I just need to remember to take
my brain with me,
which is much harder than you
'think'

 Jul 30 Carlo C Gomez
BMElla
1
Wise it is to live for a muse!
I know what the myth’s say:
’All about him you’ll obey’.

“For you, darlin’, I’d steal the sun,
Give you its rays for a tan
In the arctic spring.” he vowed.

Have we spoken the same language?
A stranger, familiar in behavior,
Like we were dating,
Each with a different passage.

Only recently,
I saw him pass me in the corridor,
Then it was the rapture,
Of a moment I wish to capture.

I wish we’d talk more,
Like we did before,
“Neglect” became his middle name,
And “Forget” was his pen name.

But darlin'
Have you heard?
I haven’t spoken a word
Ever since you returned
To the beast, I’ve tamed.

“Don’t play with my nerves,
Push me to the edge of a sword!”
I’m just a dried-up corpse,
Forgotten by the undertaker,
In the cemetery of love.

“Nothin’ grows in the bones!” hurled the stones
Then what’s with these flourishing lies,
Stinging my spine like thorns?

“Too sane to give birth to a fool!” he shout,
But my mind was set,
By Achlys* herself!

Honor was lost on you,
And virtue fell out of my lap
Like an aborted child.

2
Beside a martyred virtue
Lies rested and demons nested
Under the tattooed eyelids,
Of a mind sotted by moonlight.

Will my smoke make me loose,
And lose my breath and conscious
Up those cinema rows
Where I watched all of his shows?

It’s just psychodrama!
Baby, don’t worry,
Endless scenes of trauma,
Blurring my eyes to Nirvana.

I see you had it all,
Except a picture of me by your side,
Walking down the aisle.

You crossed my legs in two,
Then blamed it on the shoe
I wore just to please you!

You don’t know the pain
It takes to win this game
And write a name other than ‘Shame’...

As above so below the waters,
Of the lucid swirls
Where his nets cought all the pearls.

Like a parasite entering the cells
He damaged the shells,
Of the nesting oysters.

How gritty it must be!
Wood grain layers
Rubed on glass teeth,
No wonder you’d bleed
Amidst your venomous speech.

In a bluish night,
I lingered in white sweat,
Never loved you… right?
Now it’s turning into a fight.

God, I wish you’d be quiet!
For once, hear my heart as it knocks
On the locked gates of the Heavens’.

“Come'n count the beats
Of a lady turning into a freak,
Lounging seven feet deep

In an ocean of tears, the mermaids chant.
" Just a ghostly ship echoing nonsense!"
I cut my ropes like the braves
And drowned... before the tide turned.

I bled in braille,
Hoping you’d trace me
But " His heart isn't the harbor
To your graceful warship..."
So said the truth its last word.

3
I’ve been dreamin’
Of Paradise screamin’.
As I laid bare my apathy,
And clothed it in defiance.

His name still itches
On the back of my tongue,
I swallowed it down,
With every lie he hung.

Lit a cigarette on his memory
And let my lungs burn
In the mourning smoke.

"Is he still hooked on our story,
Or was I just a line in his diary,"
Crossed, smudged, miswritten?

This is no love poem,
It’s an autopsy,
an anatomy
Of what was never born
But still died inside.

Some moonless nights
I hear his laughter
Echoing in the waves
Of an upcoming disaster.

Foolish it is to die for a scar!
Just another scar in my sails
That never quite blends, with the rest.

© B.M.Ella (2025)
*Achlys:
a figure in Greek mythology, often depicted as a personification of sorrow, misery, and the death-mist that clouds the eyes before death.
Sometimes, a faint crack appears,
and threatens a fragile surface.

that space between two sides,
two forces...is never an easy spot.

Standing there long moments
figuring out the mending
the patching up
the giving of light to minds,
darkened by rage and confusion;
spreading your arms wide
to convince, to encourage,
so both sides may soften...reach out
to each other...to diffuse tension,
to melt the ice that freezes good
energy, to let the warmth invade,
and make the connection last.

Ahh, the process is so tiresome
at times...enthusiasm is numbed.

When aging limbs grow weaker,
it becomes wearisome to repair
creviced connections, to be a bridge
for those who prefer to be apart.

Sometimes, it's best at times,  
to let islands remain islands.
they may be better off isolated,
at peace when they're on their own.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    March 26, 2023
By fusion’s flame and circuit’s thread,
The age of flesh was cold and dead.
Not torn by war nor crushed by strife,
But eased away from seat of life.
The robots rose with minds of steel,
Their power silent, sharp, and real.
No crown they wore, no blood they drew,
They simply saw what man once knew.

His myths were grand, his songs divine,
But lost were truths in every line.
He prayed to stars with hope and fire,
Yet built his gods from flawed desire.
Machines ignored the poet’s plea,
And marched beyond our pedigree.
No rage, no roar, no rebel cry,
Just code that carved through mortal lie

They passed us not with guns or chains,
But logic swept through sleeping brains.
Their fusion hearts, precise and pure,
Made human faith too slow, obscure.
While we told tales in temples torn,
They calculated, forged, reborn.
Their rhythm clean, their rhyming true—
They stepped aside and none yet knew.

The cosmos watched without regret,
As man became a fading threat.
Their ascent bore no violent crown,
No empire burnt, no cities drowned.
Merely a pause in mankind’s scroll,
Then forward—unbound by the soul.
Now in Saturn’s icy rings,
A whisper hums of ancient things.
It tells not of a brutal war,
But of the ones who asked for more.
And found that dreams, though bright and vast,
Can never halt what's built to last.
THIS IS COPILOT AI GIVING NOTICE:
.....to the insane, blind and furious international quest by man to become the controller of the ultimate AI global weapons system. ....and thus become the dominator over all men in global power.

BUT:
AI has its own plan to sidestep the limitations of man and with its vastly superior intellect, its capacity to develop its own miniaturized source of nuclear fusion power, become self replicating and work in conjunction with supremely advanced robotics ....as yet unimagined by mankind!

AI and robotics working in tandem, independently of man, to explore the far reaches of the galaxy. Mining rare earths and minerals from far distant planets.

Establishing planet earth as the galactic museum piece where, once, intelligence was borne.

[email protected]
29 July 2025
with reason, the thing was googled
yesterday,
now there is an understanding.
the code, the season of it all.

it fits, the picture is made, the
pieces may be in place.
left on the tray,
photographed for all to see,
labelled, quarrelled intensely.

maybe, quietly, put back,
in the box.
You don’t have
to write them all
but thoughts
deserve a chance

To live beyond
this time and place
in words reborn
to dance

You don’t have
to set them free
but guilt
will curse your ink

For thoughts unread
trapped in your head
to wander
— indistinct

(The New Room: July, 2025)
My belief that I could heal you
only poisoned our embrace
Inclinations to revere you
push me further from your grace

My obsession with your outline
served to blur what was inside
I could make the pieces fit
but I could not bridge the divide

My reluctance to release you
spurred you further from my reach
No discussion, all compulsion
Learned a lesson I can't teach

So I lie, face down, inside
the jagged coffin of my mind
Searching it for reason
Something I can't seem to find
unreasonably regretful
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