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 May 2015
wordvango
about it,
I get
so affected when
brought up,

my doc prescribed
something
worse when
i got on it,

my eyes see
everything
in cross eyed projections,
I don't see,

how tomorrow
or yesterday
will ever be, subjective
I am me.
 May 2015
Camellia-Japonica
***
Heart throbbing
Mind racing
Breath panting
Pores sweating
Nails clawing
Lips locking
Tongues dancing
Skin tingling
Back arching
Mind altering
Eyes closing
Mouths moaning
Fingers finding
Hair pulling
Voice growling
Senses overloading
Being tingling
Blood singing
Body aching
Sleep **coming!
Copyright © JLB
12/05/2015
03:33 BST
 May 2015
Camellia-Japonica
I
Heal
Very
Slowly
And
My
Heart
Heals
Slower
Still
Copyright © JLB
11/05/2015
00:07 BST
 May 2015
K Balachandran
In a clinic, getting treated for amnesia of the soul,
I meet her, by chance and feel a sense of deja vu,
but can't place her properly,from which age do you appear?
you sure are her. Your face is familiar, even after ages,
then you ask me whether I remember; in my brain
solar flair like magnetic energy, light up hidden spaces.
The red poppy design, isn't it a pointer enough?
"The poppy effect.My insignia won't allow to forget
though I too fall in to a forgetfulness described as divine"
In a moment, it happens, I tumble down parting
thick clouds of stardust memories,fleeting, yet haunting,
intoxicating scent of poppies, ***** haze  takes me over

youth was the country, we've been banished from long time back,
I destroyed my passport, in an angst, that can never be expressed,
I land on my legs, flying down,before her curious eyes and smile,
interplanetary voyagers, we hardly know what happens to us,
like a poem with images broken as seeds  and spawn.

I was the naked man on your bed, the day you came in
under the cover of darkness, made love heartily till the morn,
you mourned aloud, I didn't stop you, no taboo,threatened me,
and you said, would never forget the play of natural instincts.
in many places we met, in some strangers, others as lovers,
each night different, with our bodies regaling in ****** finger play,
we sat opposite, had dinners, joked about blind dates, being swapped,
promised to be in touch soon and properly date, though not compelled,
to find out more about ****** habits and ,decide where to meet.

At the time of a heist, notorious, we meet in a diamond showroom,
you thought I am the kind pin that pulls the string.A mole I suspected
you were, though confident in duping you one more sweet time.
In this world of make believe, you can take me as any avatar you think.
Converging in each other's eyes, we reconcile and forgive. for this life
You whisper, "Ï knew you were a nihilist"Ẃe were, that and more,
exploring the core,till the essence inexplicable, will be  clear.

Appreciating a glass of fine wine, we sit opposite,to each other.
we shake hands and I see you off, from an underground station,
to a galaxy, light years away,called Pinwheel, a cosmic  spiral,
then, I realize, we don't exist, you , me or whoever think they are,
when we insist, we exist, forget it brother,only eternity, nothing else.
 May 2015
Camellia-Japonica
I hear its song in the wind.
Its mournful rhythm swaying through the leaves.
It's calling me to see its glory, its splendour.
Its calling me to sleep, a leafy lullaby.
Its rustle reminds me of a long hooped dress,
rustling across the ground. Running. Laughing. Hiding. Lost.
I am the wearer of the dress.
Silken leaves shimmy to a bride's first dance.
I am Meinir that runaway bride, lost inside the tree.
My bones will not be found inside the lightning  shattered tree, my soul is in the voice of the Talking Tree.
Copyright © JLB
06/05/2015
15:10 BST

http://www.nantgwrtheyrn.org/about-nant/history/folktales/rhysameinir
 May 2015
kayla morrison
**** this restricting world!
**** this corporate America!
Just kidding, we’re free

or

we’re told we are free
given a right to life liberty and property,
well originally,
but now we have the right to pursue happiness,
not to be happy, just to look for it,

But my search is over.
Who could ever be happy in this polluted world?
No polluted like the air,
polluted in the mind,
We are sick twisted carbon copies of what was once greatness

No room in the curriculum for questioning
MCAS MCAS MCAS
SAT SAT SAT
AP AP AP
these standardized tests **** originality  
****** questioning
Memorizing the test is blinding,
shutting out the good things in this still wondrous world,

you see me sitting quietly in my room,
My mind is screaming
you see me sitting calmly at my desk
I violently ****, and pull, and stretch the cage I’m in
taken captive by a so called reality

A reality in which money is the same as success
A reality where feeling is a sign of weakness,
and a reality in which fun is only for stupid children
when did this horror begin?

Money is meaningless just a piece of paper
feeling is NOT weakness it’s what reminds us we are human
and fun is something everyone needs sometimes

I was given hands, a mind, a mouth and legs
these are (from what I’m told) the tools required to rise above this reality
Yet this image, this illusion is stopping me
this illusion that my tools are inadequate broken

It’s like that favorite toy a young child has because
as I said fun is just for kids, by the way thanks for denying us Trix
anyways he’s at school all day
just waiting to play with it,
unable to think about anything else,
and he gets home and runs through his mom cooking in the kitchen
rushed up the stairs
almost trips but doesn’t
and he gets to his room picks up this fantastic toy and
it’s batteries are missing

This is like me

My hands have the ability to write,
to draft new ideas
beautify the world with diction and rhetoric
unify the world with strong words
that have positive connotation,
because I don’t want to pursue happiness
I’m a little greedy and it’s like this
if I have the right to live
and the right to liberty
than I am making **** sure that I am happy

My mind is a holy vessel
or it was before I let it be molded
before I betrayed the great thinkers that came before me
it should be home to morals and ethics,
yet it’s filled with lies
all my productive thoughts blocked
by the newest TV series on ABC and FOX

My mouth would be very useful
if my mind would help me think of something intelligent to say
oh I wish I didn’t betray
let them in day by day
infusing me with poisonous thoughts
thought of memorizing facts not understanding them
thoughts about questioning being the same as stupidity
thoughts lacking individuality

My legs should help me
stand up for what I believe in
Like Martin Luther King did
Like Fredrick Douglass did
Like The Framers, Rosa Parks, Abbie Hoffman
and Abraham Lincoln did
Stuff I would fight for
live, cry, and die for-
But I’m feeling crippled today

We’ve run out of Prophets Renegades and leaders

we are part of a generation too easily influenced and too quickly swayed
but what can I say? I am a victim just like you
and I’m curious as to what we need to do

I have-I’m not sure yes yes I think it’s an idea
and I might need you

Lets hold each other up
support our crippled legs with one another
lets question even when we’re told there’s no room
lets resurrect originality I mean after all
we have the right to life liberty and property,
well originally
 May 2015
Amitav Radiance
For long we have been echoing
The thoughts and ideas of others
It’s time we find our own voices
Interpret life through our perceptions
Not look through a borrowed telescope
There are newer meanings to be sought
Worlds out there under layers of similarity
Brave new world to be discovered
New meanings will give this world a reprieve
From centuries of borrowed perspectives
 May 2015
kayla morrison
It’s fresh I thought,
Too red to be old.
Someday it will fade,
soon maybe.
It will turn pink.
I try not to stare but,
it’s as if some invisible magnetic force
is pulling my eyes towards it.
Does he know I’m staring?
It makes me uncomfortable,
I slowly sit down.
look into my tea, at the wall behind him
look at my hands.
“how was your day?” he asks.
He has no idea I see it.
I start to shake.
I know what he did,
what he’s been doing.
How do I ask?
Do we get help now?
It’s not healthy I think,
to just ignore the problem.
“It was fine.” I say
The lipstick perched on his collar.
The same way his hands were perched on her *******,
Maybe only an hour ago.
All I see is red.
Someday it will fade,
a mere smudge.
Nobody else will see it,
But I know, like a scar,
the mark will always remain.
 May 2015
kayla morrison
I stepped out into a hurricane,
let the wind and rain
touch me, push me,
lead me and whip me.

I try to wash away the pain.
As I sink my feet into the mud,
I look to the sky,
to the Father
and take comfort
in the fact that He breaks things too.

It was part of His plan,
I lie.
I had to destroy you,
gnash my teeth and rip apart your soul,
point my finger and smite your innocent heart.

I left you empty,
unable, with all the languages of love,
to express the hurt, betrayal and shame.
That thing beating in your chest,
it's beat a constant reminder of me.

They way I beat your virtue out,
beat my body against yours,
beat the drum of life.

But even the greatest heroes have regrets.
Even David committed his sins.
I destroyed you,
so you could be reborn.

I stepped outside in a hurricane,
and let the wind and rain
hurt me.
But nothing can amount
to what I put you through.
 Apr 2015
Camellia-Japonica
This is a poem about nothing
which is impossible since Nothing is actually Something
An indefinite pronoun.

Now, I'm discussing nothing
a concept that makes 'nothing' a thing
Confused? I am.

My mind is buzzing with the thought of nothing!
So is my mind empty or not?!
Discussing nothing is leaving me blushing!

Now existentialists,
Sartre was influenced by Heidegger
Heidegger says he was misunderstood

In the effort to bring about a poem about nothing,
I've created something, so this poem is now about Something'
what, I know not.
Copyright © JLB
29/04/2015
15:08 BST
 Apr 2015
kayla morrison
When are you leaving?

The smoke from the cigarette
hugs me
I stare in wonder at something I’ve seen so many times
the white trails in the darkness
everything fades

Soon.

The smell will never
dissipate
I begin to wonder
Why is it called a drag
You can smoke a cigarette
in less than 4 minutes
It’s not a *drag

it’s quick

Last call.

My cup is almost empty
Jack on the rocks
the ice drowns
it melts into the canvas
amber substance

I’m almost done.

One more sip
One last taste
the mesmerizing magical magnetic
amber substance
it holds friends together
while the supply is plenty
but what happens when it runs out

Better to smoke the last of that than waste it.

I am pulled back to the
fate stick between my shaky fingers
smoke teasing in and out
deep breath
quick inhale
extinguished

One large swoop
grabbing liver waylayer
laywayer
swig
sip
empty

The bar closed
the door closed


*goodbye.
 Apr 2015
Camellia-Japonica
Would you like to be a fly on my wall?
voy·eur  (voi-yûr′)
n.
1. A person who derives ****** gratification from observing the naked bodies or ****** acts of others, especially from a secret vantage point.
2. An enthusiastic observer of sordid or sensational subjects.
[French, from Old French, one who lies in wait, from voir, to see, from Latin vidēre, to see; see weid- in Indo-European roots.]
Copyright © JLB
29/04/2015
01:33 BST
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