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 Sep 2015 Dan
Tyler King
Holy Mother hear me now!
The High Priestess sits jaded on sapphire throne wreath'd in laurel purities,
Blessing the sinners one by one as they line up grovelling down the block,
Shivering for acceptance, the emaciated children of a future abandoned and thrown to the wolves,
In reverence, she watches the nations burn!
The prisons burn! The churches burn!
The balance bleeds the light of dawn into the sidewalk cracks and tinted apothecary windows,
While the other end of the spectrum weeps blackest night into the open casket funerals of the unjustifiable crimes committed in the name of PEACE
The Almighty PEACE
PEACE in the Highest
PEACE at all costs
The High Priestess rains down PEACE from her bomb shelter throne
You may not understand it now
But this is for your own good
 Aug 2015 Dan
strawberry fields
while getting high:
I
imagined my heart
blooming inside out
 Aug 2015 Dan
Tyler King
For EJ
 Aug 2015 Dan
Tyler King
Broken heroes of the first string
ready, aim, fire
**** the momentum and hold steady
The choir gave up before the song did this time, the final note dragged on for a decade of suicide, of bleached scripture, of double sided shotgun decision,
It's life or death now and I don't know how to fix this and neither do you so let's just burn it all down instead
It's what we've always done
Mortal doom painted on the windows of the brains shattered lobes, ripped open to exposure of the wicked senses, the holy spectrum exploding, the destroyers locked up and the keys swallowed whole, and the sadness drowned out momentarily in a triple C blackout haze
I called you prince once and spent the next 4 years draining secondhand love from your chalice, I was the Judas at your Last Supper, and I know you could taste the barely dried guilt in my bloodied kiss
I hope you can forgive all that now
Because I have watched the Columbus sunset a thousand times in my battered memory and it gets brighter every day while the next bell tolls for you and I both in moments of incarcerated brilliance
And I can hear our train coming now, and we don't have a choice but to go
I'll see you on the other side
 Aug 2015 Dan
Pablo Neruda
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
 Aug 2015 Dan
RL Glassman
Do not wait for the morrow
Or better days to come
For once arrived all tomorrow
Will soon be naught and done

Gently comes new sunrise
And nothing wanted achieved
Time like this only flies
And this few believed

Life to all seems sure and long
But time is only just fleeting
To say 'tomorrow' is all wrong
For there's an end to all heart beating

If you want something - do it now
For this day could be your last
In this time you must plow
Or it might just go too fast

So when your day gently does come
Hope all you wanted would be completed
And you're not thinking of what wasn't done,
But rather that you did what was needed
Written Nov 9 2014

..dislike this poem of mine, but thought I would share regardless.
 Aug 2015 Dan
Shanice Mckie
Dreamer
 Aug 2015 Dan
Shanice Mckie
She was a writer.
The words on the page mirroring her innermost thoughts.

She was a thinker.
A whole universe of beautiful thoughts running through her head.

She was a fighter.
When all odds seemed against her she pulled through.

She was a lover.
She loved so purely and greatly even though sometimes it wasn't returned.

She was a carer.
She looked after those who were stuck in the dark and she helped mend their broken pieces.

She was a dreamer.
And she is my friend
Copyright Ice Munday©
Dedicated to someone
 Aug 2015 Dan
Shuvangi Khadka
When my doctor diagnosed me as a schizophrenic,
My mother broke into tears, like it was worse thing anyone
Could be, I wanted to tell her to stop, it was starting to feel
Too unreal, I have been living in this mind for so long,
That I have turned against this world, which
Looks at me like I’m a burden to carry, I talk to air
Sometimes, it’s not insanity, not everything you can’t see is
Insanity, I sometimes see my grandmother, and I tell her
I miss her that I’m sorry I wasn’t there when she counted
Her last breath, you might feel it to be weird, but it’s not worse
Than this guilt gnawing at me, my mind is a canvas painted
By thousands of painters, and the pictures here don’t make sense,
But art doesn’t need to make sense.
I feel like a graveyard sometimes, haunted by the souls
That will never leave me, I feel like a morgue sometimes,
Walking around with my own corpse, that bleeds sometimes,
I am not abnormal or special or weird,
I see constellation in people, and I see a ray in you
When you smile, my hand stutters objecting to human
Touch, and I don’t call out for hugs, but this body could use some
Warmth, my imagination doesn’t run ahead, it goes round
And round,
Living in this body, is like inhabiting with a foe,
Which slowly takes over you, and you have no shield,
These meds help you sleep dreamless at night, but
They won’t protect you, nothing will be here to
Clutch on when demons that resides in you arrive,
So all you do is crawl on your bed, trying to take
As less space as possible, not letting the fear
Cover every part of you, you think you’re still here,
But you’re not, and thats exactly how it feels like
Living in a schizophrenic mind.
 Aug 2015 Dan
0o
Today, Oh Today
 Aug 2015 Dan
0o
Today, oh today, sick with rust and decay,
The clogged streets out of town that only got in your way.
Nightingale sing-song, sing cool summer nights,
Sing seashell-string houses, please turn out the lights.
We’ll be grown-ups grown up still wondering what we will be,
She said she won’t trust anyone over 30, only Jesus and me.
And I wait and I pace down the wall by the fence,
Nervous with 3am loneliness, ramshackle suspense.
Are there still windows worth watching, back dust country roads,
Some lost place love lingers, bubbles up and explodes?
You were here, I was there, are we anywhere still?
Be my sweetest regret, I’ll be your very first ****.
And today, just today, weak with strength, far away,
Swollen with promises of forever, and no intention to stay.
 Aug 2015 Dan
James Joyce
Tilly
 Aug 2015 Dan
James Joyce
He travels after a winter sun,
Urging the cattle along a cold red road,
Calling to them, a voice they know,
He drives his beasts above Cabra.

The voice tells them home is warm.
They moo and make brute music with their hoofs.
He drives them with a flowering branch before him,
Smoke pluming their foreheads.

Boor, bond of the herd,
Tonight stretch full by the fire!
I bleed by the black stream
For my torn bough!
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