Verve and Excitement
embellish the curves on her body,

while the undulations of her breath create
a dynamic dance
of shadow and light.

Without the sorrow of the world
heavy in her mind,
she is filled with the passion
and fire that burns in her compressed shell.

Her infinity boldly requiring her finite body
to express
                    fully
                             the great ineffable
                     she  feels trapped inside her heart.

The deep fire that burns in exploration of those dark corners
                                extinguishes all memories
                                         all responsibilities
                                          in a single breath.
                           Presence and lustful Observation
                                         are all that remain...

I desire for this moment to be all moments.
To be so full
   NOW
that I have no room for my yesterdays or tomorrows.

To walk all my days
                               with trust
                   that each one is held in the light of radiance
                                               and ends in a sweet sun-kissed goodbye.


In darkness, I will close my eyes.

All that remains,
               is to marvel in glorious surrender
                                       at every passing phenomena.

With my quill I transcribe thoughts into words. I ply a trade on paper and into print. I shape and mold ideas into daggers that pierce through corruption and injustice. I sharpen my implement to do battle against the ideas of ignorance and censorship. I cut to the core of the bone and separate the marrow from it. I slice out the forked tongue that tells lies and spits venom. Only with the written word can I stand my ground. When I am silenced, I find another way to pull my words together. In freedoms name, I may even lose my life. Yet my pen will cut sharper than any blade, because the truth and the idea of freedom cannot die.

A man once left a far away place and came to live among mortal men. He spent most of his life at hard labor then one day he became a teacher and a poet. He gained supernatural powers and did amazing things, only to be killed in the physical sense. Then three days after his death, he came back to life and told of his amazing journey. Forty days hence, he flew into the heavens not to be seen among men for a great while. He told of his return on a white horse that can fly and he will reward those who believe in him. This is the story I believe that will save my life.

fog, saliva
suffocation,
a shrill scream

legs in mud,
no good,
stained air

a stop sign
burn it down
don't care

running
clouds rise,
this mess

is red
is paved -
with love stress

I care
I care
just too much

if you
were here
as my crutch

I'd run
right back
to stop sign

to paint
above, that
‘you’re mine’

In dreams we see
A lot of image like
Movies but
We wish that
It come true
Dreams are things we like to
Happen in real life
Some dream are like nightmare
We get dreams when it is
Full of imagination
To show us that is a micarle
Dream is everything
Included love and compassion
In your dreams.

                    By K-mari ©2016

There are many things I avoid in life
and swimming in oceans is one of them

I don't trust the waves
that drown my barely-floating body
or the current
that seduces me into the center
of the unknown

I don't trust the jellyfish
that have stung me one too many times
and the the algae that grab my legs
into the deep darkness

But something about the sand
makes it all feel beautiful
the way it reminds me
that it was once a rock

that maybe collapsing
is what makes one beautiful

because it as only then
that they truly become
*themselves

A four line poem for my 8th grade teacher
an A for my efforts and a weekly pamphlet feature
'Blue' by Sam a tale of: spilled ink
of an endless ocean; the whole blue kitchen sink

19. 4 stanzas for a professor of mine
a little splotch of blood or maybe red wine
an A for the reference to Bukowski at the end
but I guess he didn't know the bluebird too, was my friend

Blue was it's name, it was almost the same
as the one hanging in my lounge in a frame
this time it talked of the ocean of endlessness
and was penned like the spill it referenced

A mark for my friendless existence
with lark he congratulated my sedulous recklessness
an Aeschylus with a reflective tragic fecklessness
driven to or destined for the precipice

so I hoped when
I hung beside my poem
the professor did know then
not all doors should be opened