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 Sep 2017 Book Thief
sophia sacal
Torches lit the night sky,
A glowing river of flames
Burning with the passion of hate.

Body after body marching on,
Faces devoid of any humanity
And a grotesque amusement
Sparkling in their eyes.

Senseless chants piercing the air,
The place quickly becoming a gathering
Of ignorance and hatred.

The minutes tickled by,
The violence spreading like a wildfire—
No act of kindness strong enough to
Extinguish it.

**** flags painted the sky a ****** red,
The white no longer a sign of peace,
But rather the symbol of white supremacy.

America.
This is what the place we call "home" has become.
They say
I'm way too sensitive,
I think and feel too much,

I have never, ever denied this,
It's true, I feel everything
Without needing to utilise
My sense of touch!

They say
I'm way too emotional,
I wear my heart and soul
On my sleeve,

This, too, is also true,
Keeping it real
Is all I have ever wanted
To achieve!

By Lady R.F. (C)2017
Like tiny speckles of dust
Floating in the air,
Almost invisible to the naked-eye,
Unless the light is beaming down,

I inhale your essence,
Intoxicated,
My spirit gets so high
It's impossible to come down.

Unlike pollution,
Your essence is nutrition
For my soul,

Nontoxic,
Each tiny fragment
Fills the void inside my heart;
With each breath
It fills the aching hole.

By Lady R.F(C)2017
20 years
Of love
 Sep 2017 Book Thief
Pagan Paul
.
Bare feet pound along the pavement
yet there is not feeling.
The connection with the tangible solid
has with it no true healing.

The detached mind floats up high
a million miles away.
Terra firma are just empty words,
stout rock becoming clay.

As retraction of the emotions sits
apart from what is real.
A no-man's land of security shrieks
'this is what I feel'.

Withdrawal has its positive notes,
protection from the pain.
Keeping close the hearts secret safe,
never to be killed again.

Autopilots most clever disguises hide
that which should be faced.
But burying reality in cold defiance
renders it all but erased.

© Pagan Paul (29/08/17)
.
Just how I'm feeling right now.
.
 Sep 2017 Book Thief
Poetoftheway
"the ever shifting light of ourselves"
(a poem such as this)

For Jamadhi V.

<•>
8/28/17

at 11:09am,
the phrase arrests itself, then assertive,
ungently demanding fulfillment,
implanted, it cares not my whereabouts,
it is a child~phrase, inexact, mysterious,
wanting its breast milk feeding immediate
no matter where my presence visible

but to me, it stinks of familiarity,
for my shifts, my redrawn shapes,
exhausting, giving me cause to grieve,
write poems such as this,
which I regret both
before~after conception~completion,
written in a fevered misery of fervor,
hoping,
no one ever likes it and its witnessing

as light ever shifts,
it consumes, extinguishes, reignites,
poorly lit, revealing dregs and dustbins

better then to sit in the darkness
the one you call,
getting it over with...

6:00pm
<•>

~~~~~~~~

*the swelling and the spume


for Lucy:

who gave me the title, three poems, a compliment, and the X Factor {inspiration}
~~~
the spume, the sea foam concentrate,
a greener white
by the the salt and the souls of the
million dead organisms,
that are are the compost of its formation,
it, watches the poet, who watches the spume,
come ashore for its final act of
immolation by evaporation

which is why the random act of
an unseen ministering force,
fills my ears with humbling glory of
Samuel Barber's Agnus Dei,^
my fresh reminder that this swelling chest
in this temporary abode of mine,
by the sea, passage is prepaid for my
expiration by evaporation too,
all lambs march to the sea,
returning to spume
~
Lyrics to Agnus Dei:
^ Alleluia Alleluia
For our Lord God Almighty reigns
Alleluia Alleluia
For our Load God Almighty reigns
Alleluia
Holy Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
You are Holy
Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
Amen

~~~~~~

"may all my lost lovers haunt me"

for Vinnie Brown

even your kindergarten crushes?

what burdens you seek to retain,
the edgy border of delicious and pain is a raggedy cut line,
as lost lovings rhymes with duality

Once upon a time,
a middle aged man
left the woman he married,
the one who drained and cruel reigned
over the destruction of his-dreams
for one accidentally stumbled into,
the love who blurred his edges as well,
between forgotten happiness and
pain so bad when she grew tired
of his life's complications and the
valises of drama,
she left him,
weeping on the corner of Broadway and 83rd Street

was that 20, 30 years ago?
a memory
from no matters land
but
the physical ache that marred the hearth in the chest for months and months,
sent him to the doc who smiled sweetly
but gave him, had no, no relief for busted grownup hearts
that had normal  EKG's

and that remains a treasured affirmation to this day of
life's capacity to love that comes with an ingrown danger
of never forgetting

did you know the French outlawed the use of the term
Mademoiselle in '12 (Mlle.)?

I loved that salutation,
calling my one true lovers
with the soft feminism of that address

and still do

and you want to recall
kindergarten crushes?

Mister Vinnie
possesses a lovely contradiction,
holding onto
lost lover sickness
that lives on in good love poems

this my new found poet
is how that he, this aching heart,
fast approaching his shore line for one last return and final departure
repays a sweet compliment,
from one who complements
another man's lovely's insane desire to
never forget any of it

~~~~~~*

reading love poetry and listening to
Joni M.,
at 3:09AM
never wise,
but always full of hindsight
 Sep 2017 Book Thief
Nat Lipstadt
the rationale of the ultimate intimate*

one more for Bala*

a single pillow, an intrepid phrase,

"the rationale of the ultimate intimate"

sought and retained,
then fist-hammered into place,
for your fists reckon and recall all to well,
the contours of your face

the face,
the glib exterior
the canvas cover over the place
where reason and intimate
clash when each competes for your attention,
and ultimately,
it is the intimate that seizes by coup,
any semblance of that banished ghost,
rational reason

better perhaps to say,
that intimate was the ultimate rationale,
thus friend,
each then given its due
but your poems confirm
the intimate rules the world
did u not believe when I wrote:
I have a poem in reseve for each of you!
You're as radiant as the angel that guards the evening sky. When I look into your eyes, I see pathways to hanging gardens of Babylon. Your air is closure to all of my miseries and your smile sends all of my demons to their graves. I will never trade you for anything in this world.
I love you.
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