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 Jul 2017 Eiram N
nina
happy place
 Jul 2017 Eiram N
nina
i used to swim a lot.
  i swam so much,
    my mum used to call me a mermaid.
      i'd take three deep breaths,
        then dive into the pool head first.
          & even though i was told not to,
            i'd keep my eyes open.
             as i swam,
            merely inches from the bottom,
          i kept my eyes wide open.
        i'd see the rays of light,
      breaking through the surface.
    as i swam,
  wiggling like a mermaid,
deep beneath the water,
  i kept my eyes wide open.
    i'd happily watch,
      as the lines of light,
        danced across the floor.
          to me, those reflections
            at the bottom of the pool,
            looked like marble tiles,
             lines of blue smoke,
            or lights from shiny shells.
          it was always peaceful.
        graceful,
      magical,
    beautiful,
  it was always my happy place.
& your eyes...
  they're pale blue,
    with little hints of green.
      & i stare at the lines of blue,
        dancing in your irises.
          it's as if the goddesses
            of the water
              have blessed you,
            with shards of water.
          shards of where my heart is home.
        & when i miss my happy place,
      all i need to do,
    is dive myself into your eyes.
  because your eyes
are my happy place.
»a.b.
 Jul 2017 Eiram N
Nat Lipstadt
•<>•
the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages,
scar of pleasure, a forehead Cain mark, scarlet letter of pride,
for this reliving of our stories retelling is the skipped beat
of our connection not born from practical reason,
but from truths we own equally and though reason says
mine, it is not, it is only to be yours when the sharing
resonates resonates resonates resonates resonates
and every molecule, becomes a human tuning fork
in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with
the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit


                                          July 4th, 2017
                                                •<>•

"If you spend enough time reading or writing, you find a voice, but you also find certain tastes. You find certain writers who when they write, it makes your own brain voice like a tuning fork, and you just resonate with them. And when that happens, reading those writers … becomes a source of unbelievable joy. It’s like eating candy for the soul."
And I sometimes have a hard time understanding how people who don’t have that in their lives make it through the day.
David Foster Wallace
July 4th 2017 10:45am
Shelter Island
 Jul 2017 Eiram N
Valsa George
I don’t remember when I lost my tenderness
And hardened into a thick shelled adult
No more innocent, no more gullible
Like a snake, I have peeled away my old self
It was easy enough, but having shed it
I realize no spring can bring it back!

There was a time when my imagination
Was so fiercely fuelled by fairy tales

How I used to visit the magic realms
Traversing the path from wonder to wonder!
On fancy’s feathered wings, I flew
Dwelling with fairies, demons and vampires
Roaming through the gilded hallways of magic castles
Peering into wishing wells
Wandering into enchanted forests

I searched under pillows for tooth fairies
Lay awake in bed to hear a tap on the door
With the ringing plea, falling in my ears
‘Open the door, my princess dear
Open the door to thy true lover here’
Wondering if a slimy frog has leaped over to my bed

Many hours were lost in fearful suspense
Pondering if the hoodwinked Red Riding Hood
Would escape the claws of death in the woods

With bated breath I followed the three Billy goats
On their way to the meadows beyond the bridge
Cursing the wicked troll that lived under it

Scrubbed old lamps hoping a genie would crop up
To bring things, my little heart cherished,
Looked up to see Aladdin on his magic carpet
Whizzing past the clouds,

Once I left my homework undone
Thinking those helpful elves would do it
While I snored away in the dead of the night

Now bereft of all such queer fancies
My brain has gone into lazy slumber
My world once checkered with colorful patterns
Now lies damp, dull and laden with strife!
One of my uncles staying abroad used to bring for us many English story books. I had the privilege of listening to fairy tales at a small age....
 Jul 2017 Eiram N
Akira Chinen
We are the children of madmen
     with voices
    louder than bombs
We are the dreamers of tomorrow
  with a love more
    blinding than hate
We are brother and sister of lunacy
   with kindness in our blood
     instead of prejudice
And we are here to make fear tremble
And we are here to end corruption
And we are here to protect
  the rights of all from those
    who seek to take equality away
From the poor and the hunger
  and the homeless and the lost
    and the innocent and the abused
     and our brothers and sisters
      and mothers and fathers of
        all colors and nations
         and of every orientation
We are here for the our
  endangered earth
    and oceans and seas
     and rivers and streams
      and mountains and soil
       and the dying close to extinction
        and for science and reason
We are here to pursue the right
  to the freedoms of happiness
   and creative expression
     and intellectual conversation
      and to love and be loved
       by any and all brave enough
        to have a gentle heart
         with an unfaltering beat
           and courageous pulse
Against the Ignorance of presidential pigs
  and politicians of swine
   and the whorish hogs of war
    and those that feed at the trough
     of profit from the death of innocence
And we are here today to take back
  our tomorrows and our lives
   and our bodies and our hearts
    and our will and our power
And we will roar with our voices
   with the light of love
    and words of kindness
      louder than your bombs
 Jul 2017 Eiram N
CGY
Of aftermaths
 Jul 2017 Eiram N
CGY
A dent in the wall -
Something said, something thrown. Hush,
A praying fly sleeps.
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