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 Feb 2016
katie
You & me
     are entwined,
       a vine wrapped
    around your
rib; my spine,
your death
   does not sever it,
       I feel the pull
          at night in my
       bed where I
hang off your
every word,
    so much I have
      learnt to dread
        the cursed
   dawn; the way
it silences your
tongue, but this
   light is not for
       long, I wait
          out the day
     to hear your
twilight song
 Feb 2016
wordvango
is any man meant to master the mystery
take in his earth bound mortality
the depth of understanding

is man in his strength more bound
by imagination or gravity
in his weakness

is the goal muscle or empathy
or is any question
to be fully realized

or ever answered
why innocents sometimes
are sacrificed

or some days the rain falls
the nights are dark
that life is

hard to live

at times?
 Feb 2016
SøułSurvivør
In my photo album there's a black and white snapshot from your old Kodak camera. I'm sitting upon your stalwart shoulders with a backdrop of mountainous desert. Upon your height my head is above the hills my smile brighter than the whole blue sky.

I still remember that day. We went to Picacho Peak with a picnic lunch and climbed through the rocks, investigated the arroyos. The desert was alive with wildflowers. I collected some and brought them to you - you named every one.
Bluish-purple lupine. Yellow rabbit's bush.
Orange African daisies. Bright desert poppies. Indian paintbrush, flaring strokes of carmine fire. Pale pink globe mallow.

You have such a brilliant mind, a scientist in love with nature. I think you collected some seed to plant with the cacti in your backyard garden...

I still remember. It was a day that stands like that peak in my memory. The breeze in my curls way up high, upon those mountainous shoulders. It whispered to me of the desert spirits. And our guardian angels sang of the wonders of freedom.

I know you heard it, too.


♡ your daughter,
                   Catherine


SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/20/2016
For my father Clinton E. Jarvis.
I love you, dad!

(I'm visiting with my dad today. This is an early birthday present!
Sorry I can't read today. It's going to be very busy for me.)
 Feb 2016
r
A blue guitar, twelve pieces of silver-
ware, some feldspar, an essay on The Art
of War, two pine bookshelves, fifty-four books
about the past, a stone axe that must have
belonged to the last of the Mohicans, fifty more
books about bones, stones and famous pomes,
a sliver of glass from a mirror that shattered
the last six years like they didn't matter
plus one to go, a shitload of old liquor bottles,
a fossil of an inner earbone from a killer whale,
a spear-point older than 12,000 years+plus,
a tooth from a shark as big as a ****** bus,
dust marks from missing pictures of us.
Dusting off the Smundy blahs.
 Feb 2016
nivek
take all as they are
and do not imagine you can change a **** thing
except with much toil and unending vigilance
'to change a small part of yourself'
 Feb 2016
mark john junor
she was an icon
the first time i saw her
looking back over one bare shoulder
the small photograph illustrating her in muted colors
thumbnail image of perfect harmonies
her name emblazoned in small type
but great things come from such small beginnings
roads the heart start out as a trail in the forest of humanity
hard to see where the path leads
winding its way thru mystery's
soulful words written there guide
but false trails can leave a man weary of the chase
mistaken paths can lead to dead-ends
i followed the light that she gives
i heard the song she was saying
now she sleeps beside me
wrapped gently in my arms
such true paths of the heart
make this life worth living
such beautiful days we have spent
our road plain before us
in laughing joys simplicity
 Feb 2016
Urmila
I wrote you a lullaby, listen,
Go to sleep, my dear,
Tomorrow's another day,
Another fight,
I just want you to sleep well tonight,
I'll softly sing you a song,
I know it won't right any wrong,
Maybe it'll comfort your dreams,
I'll work my hand through your hair,
Fall asleep,
For a few hours, have no care,
Close those eyes now, I'm always near,
And when morning comes,
I'll still be here
 Feb 2016
Seán Mac Falls
There is no awakening.  Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.

In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.

In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.

In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.

The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source.  The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.

In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.

How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun?  Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.
 Feb 2016
irinia
can’t speak about you in words but
in the heaviness of trees on unrelated stones
or all the things I didn’t chew
the worm of history froze silent
no axis mundi in my blood but
dysmorphic dreams
your rancid placenta

I can’t speak while
you spin around on streets smelling of flesh
and the layers of time squeeze all the screams of me

mother: the furthest language
 Feb 2016
K Mae
Crescent moon
I am full with void
touching light
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