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ryn Sep 2014
Sun to set, to herald the arrival of my moon
Prepare my vessel for an odyssey, golden mast and all
Best be on my way, best be soon...
Done this a hundred times come every nightfall

This night, I wish it different, wish it otherwise
My head isn't where it's supposed to be
Swimming in the clouds, in the star spangled sky
Speaking of plans to which the heart would agree

Time is now, it's time to finally drift away
Let go of all worldly trepidations
Hold all unfounded apprehensions at bay
Be brave to pursue fantastical notions

This journey ahead, I want to immortalise
Don't think I'd want to turn back
Leave behind the pillow stifled cries
With the moon as my guide across an ocean of black

"Close your eyes and just feel the drift
Know that the stars are protectively watching
Picture your moon; her hands bearing a gift
A gift you'd soon receive, after much longing"

"Feel the water, like a thousand hands propping you afloat
Passing you over to more hands that lay ahead
Lurching forward gently, this ethereal boat
Rest now upon your giant floating bed"


I took that leap of faith... I'm sailing
Cresting and bobbing towards my moon
I hear the stars for they are singing
Lulling me by with a celestial tune

On my way, now on this nighttime adventure
Don't think I'll ever look back
Together this night would span forever
Floating endlessly in a sea of black
Frisk Jan 2016
“Big change, huh? Bet you could take some awesome shots here, Max.”

Max nodded, only hearing the last part of Warren’s sentence. Truth was, she was distracted by how beautiful this place was. If Max stood at the end of the street, she could get a killer depth-of-field perceptive image by aiming towards the long and skinny winding roads being enveloped by the building’s shadows. San Diego seemed to flourish with art and photography culture, and great opportune shots to shoot photographs.

“Earth to Max.” That seemed to knock her out of her thoughts. *****, focus.
“Are you going to go swimming with me and Brooke?”

From the look on Brooke’s face, she was hoping to God that Max said no. Brooke is the relationship equivalent of a boa constrictor, and she wasn’t sure how this hasn’t dawned on Warren yet. “I’m not sure. Maybe. Let me unpack first.”

After Kate dropped out of going to San Diego Comic Con last second, Max was nearly going to join her when Warren practically begged her to come. Coming back to the present - equipped with her suitcase and messenger bag - Max lingered behind the couple by several feet. This was her way of trying to avoid the reminder that she was third-wheeling with a boy who used to have a very awkward crush on her and his salty girlfriend.

“I’m going to go down to the pool.” Warren said, sliding his key card into room #228, turning his head to face Max before opening the door. “Maximillian, are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Like I said, I’ll think about it.”

The moment the three of them walked in, Brooke and Warren beelined for the restroom with their bathing suits in hand. Once they came out, Warren had a blue and black plaid board short swimsuit on whereas Brooke came out with a highlighter-colored graffiti two piece.  “Alright, Mad Max. We’re out of this joint. Catch us at the pool if you need something or want to swim. If not, we’ll be back in an hour.”

Max waved them off, digging through her bag for that bathing suit. The crimson colored ruched one-piece vintage bathing suit sat abandoned at the bottom of her matching vermillion suitcase. Down below at the pool area, she could hear screaming and laughing and splashing of the pool water. Max got up from her suitcase, and opened the curtain enough to look out at the hotel pool. Several other people were down there, pushing the time limit very close to closing in an hour from now. Come on, Max, you’re really going to let your whole adventure be ruined by the usual high-strung Brooke?

**** it.

Max nabbed the swimsuit from the hidden corners of her suitcase, stripping herself down to pull the swimsuit onto her body. Once the swimsuit was on, she turned her waist feeling the soft fabric conform to her small but still vaguely prominent curves. Max can remember Mom always saying that she looked good in red, so she recommended a red one-piece since Max doesn't have the confidence to show her stomach to anyone.

Well, except her best friend Chloe. They used to take bubble baths together as toddlers so it used to be the most natural thing in the world to get dressed in the same room together. It must have been a better time, where there were no insecurities. Now Max has trouble calling her up without her finger freezing up as she attempts to type the very last digit of Chloe’s phone number into her phone.

As Max turned around in the mirror, she noticed how her lack of a rear end was a lot more distinguishable in red. Wowser, Max thought, this looks really good on me.

“Wowser.” Max said aloud to her reflection, and threw on a bathrobe.

It must have been ten minutes into Warren and Brooke swimming when Max opened up the pool gate, entering the vast perimeter of the pool area. There were significantly less people around the pool, where most of the people still inside the pool area were kids our age. “Max, you’re here!”  

This made two teenagers stop in their tracks as they were opening up the pool gate at the other end of the pool to leave. One of them whipped around so fast that it was a blur of blue hair.  “Wait…”

“Is that…Max Caulfield? It looks a lot like her.” Rachel asked to Chloe, who hung her jaw open in disbelief. No ******* way.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she watched Max drop the robe on a nearby chair. Like an awkward penguin, Chloe watched her best friend waddle up to the pool edge & cannonball into the waters below oblivious to the two girls standing at the gate watching her. “You’re going to wake up the neighbors and the owner of this hotel's parents forty miles away, Warren!”

“Do you want to go say hi to her?” Rachel asked Chloe.

As Chloe decided on actually going to surprise her, Max's friend said something that made Chloe change her mind in a split second.

“How would you know? Besides, you’ll eventually forgive me for that once you meet the entire cast of Star Trek tomorrow, Max.” Warren yelled at Max, and Chloe did a small grin as she turned away from her best friend, closing the gate on both of the girls.

“No. Guess the oblivious nerd is going to Comic Con too.“ Chloe took one last look at Max before going back inside the hotel with Rachel Amber at her tail. "Do you think she'll recognize me in cosplay?"

"Probably not. Unless I drop the bomb on you guys."

“Shhh. I don’t need you ruining my surprise party, *******.”

Max, Brooke, and Warren weren’t in the pool for long, since Warren bumped his head into the side of the pool while doing laps with Brooke. They had to get out, and put an ice pack on Warren’s sore bump on his head. “Now how am I going to cosplay the 11th Doctor? I need to gel my hair back, but I have this gargantuan bump on my head.”

“We’ll figure it out, sweetie.” Brooke said, and Max nearly gagged.

Max went back to the hotel room first, since being around Brooke made her want to strangle her.  This whole third-wheeling thing was annoying, and Max was regretting coming alone without Kate as her faithful chauffeur. Nonetheless, she wasn’t going to let that ruin her trip. She was here to have fun. And to take a bunch of photographs, of course.

The next morning around 4:00 am, Max was rudely awoken by Brooke who shoved her in her shoulder. “Get up, Max. We’re leaving in thirty minutes from now.”

Was that necessary? Max thought, crawling out of bed. From the bathroom, she could hear Warren fretting over the mammoth-sized bump on his head as both of them got dressed in their cosplay outfits. “Okay. That hurt a lot. Ow, ow, ow.”

“Oh, is there anything I can do to help?”

“Shut up, guys.”

Feeling slightly irritable from the loud ruckus Brooke and Warren were making in the other room Max rolled out of bed. She rustled through her suitcase for a pair of skinny jeans and a white t-shirt with the print of a doe on the front. Once she had her clothes, she stood up to walk into the restroom to change when she noticed the ending result of both of her companions.

Brooke’s multicolored dark hair was pulled down in waves framing the scarlet dress with a black belt fastened around her waist. As for Warren, his usually shaggy brown hair was gelled back for his cosplay. She had to admit, he looked handsome in his mahogany jacket, red bow-tie and matching suspenders, and the cotton collared button-up he wore underneath. For a cosplay of The Eleventh Doctor and Clara Oswald, it was quite impressive how close they looked like the actual characters of the TV show Doctor Who.

“Take a picture of us, Max!” Warren said in a chirpy voice.

“On it.”

Max pulled out her camera, and pointed it at the couple who held up peace signs together. Once the picture rolled out, the couple split apart to put on the finishing touches of their cosplay.  As for Max, all she had to do was throw on her clothes. There wasn’t a lot of work in dressing up like normal people. Besides, she’s never really been a fan of cosplay.

If you want to count dressing up as pirates with her best friend Chloe on Halloween five years ago cosplay, then yeah, Max has cosplayed several times before.

“Max, hurry your *** up. It looks like the amphitheater is getting crowded from here.” Warren yelled from outside the bathroom door towards Max, who sloppily tied her shoes.

As they exited out of the large double doors of the four star hotel, Warren and Brooke took the crosswalk, pointing out people cosplaying as characters from TV shows or video games. They were smiling and laughing, leaving Max to third-wheel again. Instead of lingering on it, Max put in her headphones and turned on Crosses by José González tuning them out.

“Where is the line?” Max asked Warren as they approached the crowded complex filled with restaurants on one side and the amphitheater on the other side. Tents were set up here, even.

“This is what I call natural selection. If you come prepared with prior knowledge on how this works, you can conquer this haphazard looking line.” Warren spread his arms out, motioning towards the crowd that was rapidly growing in size.

“Let’s go, Warren.”

“Wait!”

Like an octopus, Brooke latched onto Warren dragging him into the depths of the growing sea of people. After three painful hours of waiting, Max felt the crowd start to lighten up around her as excited but deafening chatter filled the air of the surrounding herd of people. Everyone was clamoring loudly, quickly rushing into the open doors with their San Diego Comic Con day pass thrown around their neck.

As soon as Max received hers, she eagerly threw her day pass around her neck. After buying a small breakfast sandwich from a booth, Max decided to start people watching. Some of the cosplays made her laugh like the Darth Vader cosplayer leading a conga line of faithful storm troopers, taking long confident strides.

Max took several photographs of several different cosplayers, ranging from Doctor Who, Scott Pilgrim vs The World, The X-Files, Breaking Bad, Undertale, Magic: The Gathering, and Family Guy. When it started getting crowded, she got up from her chair and entered the large archway into the convention center filled with colorful tents and cosplay galore.

Wielding her camera bag close to her waist, Max carefully maneuvered her way through the sea of people as she took a look at the booths. Suddenly, the throng of people became too much for Max. An elbow into Max's side pushed her into the left side of her waist, throwing her into a booth.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Max’s eyes glanced up towards a blue-haired girl cosplaying as Pris from Blade Runner, who had grabbed her waist. Something about her was actually kind of familiar, however, Max couldn’t tell. “You hit that table pretty hard.”

Max felt the warmth from her waist leave slowly. “This crowd is suffocating. I need a place to breathe around here. It’s too claustrophobic for my liking.”

“Are you alone or something? Because I could always use company in my tent. It gets hella boring inside this tent sometimes.”

“Do you say that to all of your customers?” Max asked, chuckling nervously at the blue-haired cosplayer’s comment.

“No.” She mumbled something under her breath that Max didn’t quite catch. “I mean – unless you’re uncomfortable with it. I’ve seen people faint multiple times from claustrophobia here.”

Since her head was bent down over a sketch she was doing in a journal, the only way Max could tell that the girl was blushing was by how red her ears had gotten. The realization that the girl became a nervous wreck all of a sudden after that comment had made Max’s day already.

“Maybe you’re right. I should just sit down. There’s no places to sit around here, though.”

The blue-haired girl patted the armrest of the empty fold-out chair behind the table. “This is Rachel’s chair, but Rachel is helping out with the convention rave for later. She’s on the committee or some ****.”

“Coworker?”

“And an annoyance at times.” Max went around the table, taking a seat in the chair the girl patted. It was itching at her brain that there is something about this girl that is so nostalgic.

Suddenly, a long brunette-haired girl billowed through the back curtains of the booth, where Max saw a tattoo chair in the back along with an extended table with clutter everywhere. “Chloe, do you have my phone? I really need it right now.”

Wait a second. “Chloe?”

“Great. Thanks a lot, Rachel. You ruined the element of surprise.”

"No ******* way!"

After Chloe handed the phone to Rachel, Max followed with her first impulse, throwing her arms around Chloe. Immediately, Chloe laughed as Max nuzzled her head into Chloe's shoulder blade. Max could feel the initial excitement pounding in her chest as Chloe tightened her grip on her as well. “Get a room, Chloe.”

“I will shove this combat boot so far up your *** –”

“Okay, I’m leaving. I need to call Frank and see when he was going to get here.” Rachel stated matter-of-factly, then added as she was leaving, “Hope you have a fun reunion.”

Once Chloe let go of Max, she held onto her arms staring into her face. “Wowser. This is crazy. You’re dressed as Pris from Blade Runner. That is definitely my ****.”

“I hope so. Someone asked me if I’m cosplaying Ramona Flowers from Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. Now I will accept that misunderstanding because Ramona Flowers is my woman crush.” Chloe glanced over at Max, changing the mood merely by narrowing her eyes at the brunette. “Alright, are you going to explain why you didn’t call or text me for five years?”

It was so sudden that Max suddenly felt inferior to Chloe. "I'm sorry. My parent's decision to suddenly move to Seattle wasn't my choice."

"That's not a good enough reason." Chloe attempted to change the tone of the mood lighter, since this wasn't exactly the place to discuss that. "So what's up with you? Living it up here in San Diego or something?"

"I - uh - moved back to Arcadia Bay. Two months ago."

"Without a phone call, telling me that you moved back." Chloe pressed her lips together, annoyed. "Nice one, Caulfield. That's just ******* peachy."

Max started to get a little irritated herself. "Look, I'm sorry. Can we just drop it?"

"I’m sorry, Max. I don’t want to be the ******* to ruin your day. In fact, this was the complete opposite impression I was going for. If you want to punch me for being such an annoying rat, go right on ahead.” Chloe pointed at the bicep of her left arm.

I shook my head – chuckling as Chloe kicked back her chair – propping her feet onto the table cluttered with various types of artwork. There was a dozen pieces of art here, but I noticed Chloe was really into abstract watercolor paintings. Mostly Chloe did sketches of characters from TV shows and video games and painted it in watercolor. One of the paintings in particular caught my eye.

Of course – like all of Chloe’s paintings – it was strikingly beautiful: In front of an obsidian background was a butterfly with eye-popping azure wings. One of the wings seemed to be slightly blurred to give more definition to the closest wing. “Wow, you’re a real artist.”

“I’m also a tattoo artist. If you want to get a tattoo, just hit your girl up. It’s on the house for you.” Chloe said, holding out her arm to show me. “Rachel helped me with both designs.”

Chloe had a beautiful sleeve on her arm and a tattoo on the top of her hand of a red chrysanthemum. Max traced the red ribbon detail on her arm tattoo with one finger, making Chloe shiver. “Dude, you can look, but you can’t touch the tats.”

“Sorry, it’s beautiful.”

“Hopefully it will still look beautiful when I look like the human equivalent of a raisin when I’m 80.” Chloe joked, holding out her arm in front of her face. “How about it, Max? Wanna get tatted up by your best friend Chloe? It might be a great experience for you, hippie. No gang related tattoos, though.”

“Yeah, because I’m totally a part of a gang.”

The smile that lit up Chloe’s face sent Max into a comatose state of delirium. Her eyes focused in on Chloe like a lens, taking shots in her head so she didn’t forget this moment with her best friend. For once, Max was having fun. “You’re still a ******* geek. That’s good news.”

“Always.”

Chloe shook her head before getting up. “Alright, so do you want a tattoo or not? This is your final offer, Max. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“I don’t know. You know I’m scared of needles.”

“Still?” Chloe grabbed Max’s shoulders. “Come o
Big Virge Jan 2018
WOMEN ... Raise Children ... !!!
******* Have ... " Kids " ... !!!    
      
WOMEN Are Forgiving ... !!!    
******* Have ... STINGS ... !!!    
      
******* Will Say ...    
      
"Men aren't nice to them !' ...    
      
But Here's The THING ...    
I'm ... " Wondering .... " ........ ???    
      
Do Their Remarks ...      
REFLECT ... Who THEY ARE ... ?!?    
      
When They Look At Themselves In Their ... " Looking Glass " ...      
And Aren't Propping Up Bars SHOWING OFF Their *** ... !?!?!    
      
See ...    
******* Will Say I'm Being SEXIST ... !!!!!!!!    
  
While WOMEN Will ... THINK ...    
And Then ... Make Their Case ... !!!    
      
See That's The Way I Like to ... " PLAY " ...    
Use Wordplay To Keep ******* .......................... AWAY ....... !!!    
Who Choose To ABUSE Rules of ... " The Game " ... !!!    
      
LIKE DON'T EXPOSE A Man In Zones ...    
Where Friends Are Close ...    
Because He Chose To Tell You ... " NO " ... !!!    
      
OR RUN YOUR MOUTH About His Moves ...    
If You STILL CHOOSE To GO DOWN ... " SOUTH " ...    
And Then CONSUME What He SHARES AROUND ... !!!?!!!    
      
See THAT's THE STUFF I'm Talking About ... !!!    
WOMEN Show LOVE While ******* Show CLOWNS ...    
How To DO THEIR ACT And THAT's Just FACT.    
      
That's Just MY VIEW of The Things They Do ...    
Because They PROVE Through The Moves They Pull ...    
      
That ******* Pull TRICKS ... !!!    
While WOMEN Get KICKS From RELATIONSHIPS ... !!!!!!    
      
Where LOVE's ... THE KEY ...    
NOT S P R E A D I N G ... L I P S ... !!!!!    
  
Just To Get A FIX ... !!!    
Or For LUXURIES And CASH MONEY ... !!!!!!    
      
******* ARE GREEDY And Are Willing To ... "Deceive" ...    
For Shopping Sprees That ... FILL Their Dreams ... !!!    
      
WOMEN Want To FEEL That Love IS ... REAL ... !!!!!    
While A ***** Will INSIST .... "Love DOESN'T EXIST !" ...    
      
Well That's Where THEY And I AGREE ... !!!!!!!    
My Mother Displayed TRUE LOVE To Me ... !!!!!!!    
      
NO WOMAN or ***** Will EVER GIVE ...    
THAT Kind of Love Until They're MUMS ... !!!!    
Then Their Love RUNS To Daughters and Sons ............................    
      
Because THAT LOVE Is For ... THEIR BLOOD ... !!!!!    
      
NOT Husbands or For Their Boyfriends ...      
Unless Your Blood's THE SAME As Theirs ... !!?!!    
      
TAKE Those Words IN And Let Them ... SINK ...........    
Don't They Make SENSE When You Start To THINK ... ?!?    
      
Or BETTER Still ... ASSESS ... !!!    
And REJECT Them Less ...  
Than ******* Have Friends ... !!!!!!!    
      
HELL YES I'm BACK TO Them AGAIN ... !!!!!!!!!!    
Cos' ******* Nowadays Are ALL OVER The Place ... !!!    
      
And ARE ... FAR TOO MANY ..... !!!    
While WOMEN Have Reduced To A Minute Few ... !!!    
      
Leaving The Scales ...  
Somewhat ... UnsTeadY ... !!!    
      
THIS PIECE Has Given You ... Some Clues ...    
As To Why We Have MORE ONES Than Twos' ...      
      
WOMEN On Their Own Are ALONE At Home ....    
While ******* Now Roam Like Mobile Phones ...... !!!!    
      
Texting THIS ... !!!    
And ... Texting THAT ... !!!    
      
USING The Phone ...    
To SET Their ... " TRAP " ... !!!    
      
NO Dialling Tone Or Telephone RING ... !!!    
      
Just Waiting Time .....    
For Their Reply .................................................................­­....    
      
... NO MORE Talking ... ???    
      
It's Their NEW TOOL ... !!!    
To ... Play It Cool ....................  
And ACT THE FOOL ... !!!!!!    
      
"I'll text him when he least expects,      
if what he sends doesn't cause offence,    
i'll give him ***, that he won't forget !"    
  
But If Your Reply DOESN'T Fall In Line ...    
TRUST ME Guys ... THIS IS How It Goes ...    
  
Her Texts Then Take A ... DIFFERENT Tone .... !!!    
She Makes You ................................................. WAIT .......    
And Your Phone Goes ............................................... COLD.    
Now You Either Go Into ... RECOVERY MODE ... !!!!!!    
Or Try To RING ........ She AIN'T Answering ...... !!!!!!    
      
Then You See Her Lips .....    
SLIPPING THROUGH Your G R I P ....... !!!    
      
UNLIKE ..... YOUR PHONE ...... !!!    
      
******* Like To Play These Types of TRICKS ... !!!    
But Then COMPLAIN When They're ON THEIR OWN ... !?!?!    
      
Fellas TRUST IN This ...    
******* HATE Themselves ... ?!!!?    
They're Quite .... UNWELL .... !!!!!!    
      
And Most NEED SHRINKS ...      
While WOMEN Are SANE ...      
      
Well SANER Than .... Them ... !!!    
******* Who Have Got PROBLEMS ... !!!!!!!!!    
      
******* ARE INSANE ... !?!  
    
WOMEN ... USE Their BRAIN ... !!!    
      
******* Dish Out PAIN ... !!!!!!    
WOMEN Aren't So VAIN ... !!!    
      
Therefore WOMEN Tend To Be ...    
MORE .... " Plain Jane " ....    
Than ..... SNIFF ******* ..... !!!    
      
DON'T Let Their SHAPE ....    
Make You TAKE The Bait ......................................    
      
Make THEM ...............................................­....... WAIT ....    
BUT DON'T PLAY Games Tell Them STRAIGHT ... !!!    
  
EXPOSE Their Traits ...      
And When You *** THEM Make It GREAT ... !!!!!    
      
So That They HATE To SEE Your Face ... !!!    
Because They're Sent Back To THAT PLACE INSIDE Their Brain....      
      
YOU KNOW YOUR BED For *** AGAIN ..... !!!!!    
      
SEE WOMEN And ******* Are NOT The Same ... !!!!!    
Their DIFFERENCES ... DISPLAY Their Ways ....    
      
So WATCH Them BOTH And WATCH Them CLOSE ... !!!!!    
      
TAKE Mental Notes So That You Know ...    
When To Be SMOOTH And Make Your Move ...    
DON'T BE Her FOOL or Her Footstool ... !!!!!    
      
Be SHREWD And PROVE ...    
You've Been WELL SCHOOLED ... !!!!!    
      
And AVOID The Traps And GAMES They Plan ...    
SET Your Agenda And STICK TO IT Fellas ... !!!!!!    
      
REMEMBER A ***** .....    
Loves DRUGS NOT Hugs .....      
      
While WOMEN WANT HUGS ...    
And Their DRUG Is LOVE ..... !!!!!!!!!    
      
That's Just MY VIEW It May NOT Be ... True ... ??????    
      
But Whether It Is I've Said Some Things ...    
That'll Bring Some ... TWITCHES ... !!!!!    
      
To .............    
      
........... " Women and ******* " ...............
Following on from my last post, as the treatment of the ladies is such PROMINENT News Currently ......
Lucius Furius Jul 2017
"23: July 24"
"24: October 5"
"25: February 19"
"26: December 14"
  
The words went right to the pit of my stomach.
All doubt was gone.
I'd graduate/be drafted in June.
By September
I'd be in Vietnam.
  
My high school gym teacher had been an Army sergeant.
He stepped on our stomachs as we did sit-ups,
"toughening us up".
I've had a problem with authority
(unsuited, temperamentally,
to obeying unconditionally).
I'd be a poor soldier in the best of wars.
  
But if a job required some independence/ingenuity --
a pilot or a spy, say --
and if the cause was right
(World War II, for instance),
I could fight as well as another guy.
  
I don't like fighting,
but I'm not so naive as to think it's never a necessity.
There's always someone who, given the chance,
will take our possessions and make us their slaves.
So who should decide
if a particular war is justified?
This seemed to be my own responsibility.
  
Vietnam? I decided it wasn't.
Weren't we protecting a democracy?
No. Thieu lacked popular support.
Wouldn't Thailand and India fall?
No. The domino theory was questionable at best.
Weren't our national interests at stake?
No, not really.
I'd decided I shouldn't fight;
They'd decided to make me fight.

The physical was set for March.
Unless I failed,
I'd go to Vietnam,
go to jail for seven years,
or go to Canada for the rest of my life.
  
In studying Army regulations,
I found a fascinating chart.
It showed for each particular height
the greatest and the smallest weight
the Army would accept.
I'd heard of people who'd gotten out
by injuring themselves intentionally.
Some exaggerated a minor back pain.
Others faked insanity.
Losing weight seemed nobler;
lying/mutilation, not required.
  
The low for me was 118;
lose twenty pounds and I'd be out.
(At 5'10", that's pretty thin.
Could I do it and not get sick?)
My parents thought for sure I'd die.
  
Help from doctors was out of the question;
on my own I studied nutrition.
Cut down on calories,
maintain needed nutrients
(protein, essential fats, vitamins, and minerals).
Once I found a working combination,
I stuck to it without exception.
Cottage cheese, wheat germ, and fish were staples.
Bored fat cells chose self-immolation.
My weight dropped to one hundred and twenty.

In cases where the weight was close
I'd heard the Army sometimes winked:
("Oh we'll fatten this guy up").
I decided to lose to one hundred and ten.
  
Contrary to my parents' fears --
though vigorous exercise made me dizzy --
I really wasn't sick at all.

The Army sent a special bus
to take us to the physical.
Once there, we stripped to underpants,
moved like cattle from each room to the next.
I weighed 110.
They classified me 1-Y
(examine again in a year;
if still unfit, reject).
Losing again would be inconvenient,
but free of worry since I knew that it worked.
  
I'd brought some food.
I drank and ate it ravenously.
  
So what did I feel on that bus heading home?
Triumph? Elation? No.
Relief, sadness, and guilt.
Relief because finally I was free of this mess.
Sadness and guilt because someone else
would be made to go and fight in my place.
It's true this person, on some level,
had chosen not to escape --
but maybe he just hadn't thought it through. . . .
  
Now for a bold statement from a slimy ex-draft-dodger --
I'm sure you'll think this hypocritical -- :
Each of us must be ready to serve.
Responsibility for protecting things we love
can not lie solely with the professional military.
(Future wars could overwhelm them.)
  
Service isn't always guns.
Service might be joining the Peace Corps
or electing leaders who effectively distinguish
false threats from real ones -- and pre-empt war.
  
Wars should be rare, ****** upon us.
No more propping up tottering dictators.
No more shoving "Democracy" down people's throats.
No more sacrificing 10,000 soldiers so we can pay a
      quarter less for gasoline.
  
Wars should be necessary and just;
everyone should serve.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_025_draft.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Rhyme, the rack of finest wits,
That expresseth but by fits
True conceit,
Spoiling senses of their treasure,
Cozening judgment with a measure,
But false weight;
Wresting words from their true calling,
Propping verse for fear of falling
To the ground;
Jointing syllabes, drowning letters,
Fast'ning vowels as with fetters
They were bound!
Soon as lazy thou wert known,
All good poetry hence was flown,
And art banish'd.
For a thousand years together
All Parnassus' green did wither,
And wit vanish'd.
Pegasus did fly away,
At the wells no Muse did stay,
But bewail'd
So to see the fountain dry,
And Apollo's music die,
All light failed!
Starveling rhymes did fill the stage;
Not a poet in an age
Worth crowning;
Not a work deserving bays,
Not a line deserving praise,
Pallas frowning;
Greek was free from rhyme's infection,
Happy Greek by this protection
Was not spoiled.
Whilst the Latin, queen of tongues,
Is not yet free from rhyme's wrongs,
But rests foiled.
Scarce the hill again doth flourish,
Scarce the world a wit doth nourish
To restore
Phœbus to his crown again,
And the Muses to their brain,
As before.
****** languages that want
Words and sweetness, and be scant
Of true measure,
Tyrant rhyme hath so abused,
That they long since have refused
Other cæsure.
He that first invented thee,
May his joints tormented be,
Cramp'd forever.
Still may syllabes jar with time,
Still may reason war with rhyme,
Resting never.
May his sense when it would meet
The cold tumor in his feet,
Grow unsounder;
And his title be long fool,
That in rearing such a school
Was the founder.
st64 May 2013
.
and so, what do we see?


[A]

1.
We see...
Their planet is third from the source
That it still takes sunlight 8 minutes and 20 seconds to reach Earth
So, they're not as koodauzled yet
Thus, stable (for now)
Despite the polar melts and atmospheric fumes....

2.
We see.....
Stick-like appendages still grow out of extensions
At the end of long, dangly limbs
With hard yet pliable, translucent growths at end
To use for countless tasks.

3.
We see....
They still consume: plants....and animals
No change there.
Yet, now ....less subsistence
More modified products to eventual detriment.

4.
We see....still
They engage in warfare, of all kinds
Air, ground, mental, cyber, chemical....
No end to barrage of senseless acts
Violence is slippage as means to commune.

5.
We see...
Some figures more gaunt than others
A kind of poverty of the inside duels external opulence
Deep clutter and subsequent wasting
Twisted fragments of utter decay increasing.

6.
We see....
More enterprising ventures in communication
From lightbulb to phone to pads
Neat advancements in technology and science
From many kinds of wheels to flight.

7.
We see...
Their offspring subject to long years in learning
To maintain (by rote) their disproportionate rules and ready values
Propping equations and formulae into heads
Castaways on a rickety boat in a deep sea of confusion.

8.
We see....
Amidst beauty of their art in all forms
Of dance and music, visual and written
Other forms of entertainment are demeaning to some
Mind-numbing staring and raucous outbursts.

9.
We see...
Figures of peace reduced considerably
Voices erstwhile strong and fearless, full of candour and truth
Now, fashionable puppet-sticks of media
With regurgitated rhetoric a-spew.

10.
We see.....
Mother Nature and geriatric folk not as cared for
Neglected and (..)used
How long before this greed catches up....
Afore progeny be heirs to blight.



[B]

We see not....
Enough of

Peace
Harmony
Kindness
Sharing
Forward Thinking
Courage  
Inter-Connectedness
Hope
Inner Consciousness


Not nearly enough.




[C]

We long to reach out and touch the centre of their being
And share fruits of universal wisdom
And steer all away from adversity.

Yes, we long so
For them to see.....


[D]

1.
Not yet....

All so easily done....but
They are not yet ready.....but
One day...

2.
Yet....

We will continue to observe
They know not we may be among them
observing



to return on the Aurora in a few light-seconds



S T,  6 May 2013


(dedicated to outridin' light)
.






QED...really?
as Mr. Lintnaar (my ol' Math teacher:) used to say

just a silly poem, is all.


TIP:
A must-see film (if only the introduction) ......"The Gods Must Be Crazy"


/ / /


INFO:

One light year (a measure of distance, not time) = 365 x 12 x 4 x 3 x 30 x 7 x 24 miles

The sun is 93 million miles from Earth (or 149 668 620 km)

Earth to Alpha Centaurus (closest star system to our sun) = 4,3 light years


/ / /


KEY:
Speed of light = 186 000 miles per second

One mile = 1,6 kilometres

1 light minute (the distance it takes light to travel in one minute) = 17 987 547.5 kilometres

1 light year = presently defined to be equal to precisely 31557600 light-seconds


/ / /


SITES:

http://www.universetoday.com/15021/how-long-does-it-take-sunlight-to-reach-the-earth/

http://earthsky.org/brightest-stars/alpha-centauri-is-the-nearest-bright-star


((((((((((: thank you for reading :))))))))))
Saudia R Aug 2013
I tiptoe across the wooden floor avoiding all the creaks.
Moonlight streaming through open windows of a silent summer night,
casting shadows over rumpled sheets of a well-used king size bed.
I hear the water running in the bathroom across the hall,
grabbing clothing strewed around the room I move with ninja speed.
Hunting for the elusive pair of ******* I just can’t seem to find.
Forget it, time is almost running out, I need to leave before that door opens.
Rushing now I grab my stash and head for the front door,
lightly hopping, stealthily propping as I pull on piece by piece.
Last, my shoes, I grab as I unlock the front door,
grab my keys, leave the note and run out barefoot.
“It was fun, I had to run, see you again someday,”
get in my car, start the engine, drive, drive away.
the commander in chief
has a propensity
to use all kinds
of weaponry
his Nobel Peace Prize
is looking rather tainted
as he is a man
who so likes war pictures to be painted
he's stated he'll make a limited strike
on Syrian soil
but why would a so called man of peace
need to become embroiled
is he propping the Military Industrial Complex up
those poor arms traders who require billions
for their impoverished cups
he might yet be making a miscalculation
as to where his fires a missile
for it may be greeted
with not such a friendly smile
the Middle East is a place
where some moderation is sorely needed
there are others who have a divergent view
to the commander in chief
they may take it upon themselves
to act in a certain way
which shall lead to some
very grey days
an explosive situation
is on the horizon
and the ramifications
are too dire
to contemplate
may the commander in chief
not press to the brink
for it may mean
peace on the planet is bound to sink
he must take a level headed approach
to any military activity
as it will mean
that harmonic relations
are in a state of permanent injury
All our country's taxpayers are becoming enraged
Bailing out companies which have been mismanaged
Countless millions have been forked out
Dollar amounts which are exceptionally stout
Ever the taxpayer is called upon to cough up
Filling the always depleted company's cup
Giving generously has got to cease pretty soon
Helping them is a cost that's gone well beyond the moon
Injecting our hard earned is too much
Just let them stand on their own crutch
Kick those CEO's into a reality check fashion
Let them not receive anymore of our kind ration
Money has been misspent by our former government
Never ending the out flow it's time for some abatement
Offer not another cent to those ailing companies
Propping them stresses the taxpayer's arteries
Questions must be asked about those per unit costs
Regularly increasing and so high are their imposts
Shores abroad can produce goods for lesser amounts
They run a more efficient book of accounts
Under a burgeoning payout us taxpayers are gripped
Vast savings we'd make if they were nipped
We've been supporting the big end of town for years
X marks the spot where we've been left in arrears
Yonder the companies can take their travails
Zilch is what they'll be receiving from our taxpayer bails
Liz McLaughlin May 2013
I want a nobody.

A faceless commuter swearing as the machine ignores his credit card. Or the guy two tables to the left who isn’t checking his watch because he isn’t waiting on someone. Any hoodie-wearing, adidas-laced, prospective english major rambling along the sidewalk.

I want a nobody.

‘Cause there’s never a somebody that won’t say “I love you” because it’s numbed by too many mouths that don’t form their lips the right way. The somebodies slide it off their careless tongues—

because little words are pennies in tip jars.

But Nobody, he’ll say

I love the way you put on a jacket
like some kind of whip-snap in the lapels and collar
tipping your chin up and
hooking your silver-ringed thumbs in the pockets

and I love how you flip through books
eager to break the spine but not fold the pages
holding your breath to hold the focus
propping open a paperback between long tapered fingers

and how the barista at the coffeeshop knows your face!
and blush rises like foam on your cheeks

because it’s so ******* incredible how
when you drum your fingers
you don’t drum you press
into a phantom piano
the treble clef of Linus and Lucy
or The Entertainer
or, if your eyes have already gotten deeper
—in a mossy well of thought—
it’ll be Augustana’s Boston
dancing C-E-C-E-G-E-C-E
in the jumping tendons of your right hand.

                  *

oh darling, I’m in love with
your clumsy movements when you fall into bed
wrapping a thick comforter over your bare shoulders
curling your legs as you settle on your side
hair fanned out on the bedsheet because
the pillow’s too close to the wall


but lovely, I don’t love you
because I’m not real at all
this is a strange abomination between poetry and prose. Thought I'd post it here anyway.
Matt Sol Jan 2019
Lost in Assimilation...
Propping me up
And down with the victim
Lost in Assimilation....
Detach the guilt
And lead from the symptoms
Lost in Assimilation....
Lyrics... Reading  a D-HEC sign in a restaurant (OtHello)
Helen Murray Jan 2014
There’s a horse in my backyard,
Most magnificent to regard,
Black his colour, long his mane
Upon his shoulder tangling down.
Jet coat shines and muscles ripple
As he rears and prances danger.
He’s a stallion, powerfully built.
His name is Anger.

There’s another little pony,
Very lovable is this one.
Bright and sunny is her nature,
White and gold her bristling colour.
As everybody’s favourite choice,
She works the long, extended hours,
But overworked, she has a voice!
She is Compassion.

Next, the pinto comes for breakfast,
Trotting sweetly to the repast,
Tough and wiry, head tossed gaily,
Snorting, stamping, propping daily,
He’s the one with his own mind,
Hard mouth, slow to understand
What is needed tags behind.
He’s called Willpower.

Can’t leave out the lovely racer,
Chestnut, and the red lights lace her!
Most eye-catching, charged, and ready,
Whipping round upon a penny,
Found where other horses run,
She’ll toss you off if she thinks she can,
Ever dancing in the sun.
Dependency.

There are many steeds at stable
In my backyard.  I am able
To learn to manage every one
Under tuition of the Son.
Jealousy, Envy, Hope and Fear
Are some of the others that I hold dear.
Each has its place and each its task
And each its sting.




For the rider who is highly skilled,
And has his mounts all daily drilled,
Will play life’s game of polo well.
His coach will keep him on the ball.
And every horse will become his friend,
Learn good manners, when to stretch,
When to pull and twist and send
The ball to goal!
This was one of the first of my poems inspired by years of telephone ministry and discovering that people have no idea what to do with their emotions.  I think emotions are like horses - powerful, it's no good starving them in the back paddock, and you can,t let them run the show because they'll dump you, wipe you out under a tree, bolt with you, squash you against the barbed-wire fence - unless you can ride.  Then you have a wonderful, powerful partnership.  It's a case of learning to ride them.
Nadia Aug 2019
She might be beautiful
On the outside

Hair, makeup, false smiles
Perfectly applied

She reflects warmth
Taking credit for stolen heat

She claims to protect
But she welcomes their defeat

A symbol of humanity
Though she possesses none

Propping up evil incarnate
Isn't a job for just anyone

NCL August 2019
Patrick Conroy May 2013
Taffy stretched streaks of color in the sky
Propping up cotton candy clouds
That pour lemon rain drops
upon lollipop trees
and fill syrupy rivers
that overflow onto sugary shores.

It was along that riverbank that I first saw her.  Ignoring my presence, she gazed quizzically into that river, silently counting each ripple in the water, and with only a few hours of sunlight left,
to quit now would make her day a waste.  
You see, she had this theory that if you time it right, a person could dodge every wave and submerged stone on their way upstream.  
When I asked her, "Why not just float downstream?", she responded simply,
"Because everyone goes that way".
Barry C Dec 2011
Outside a church a girl with permanent
mine deep scratches on her face
silently sells me matches-I light a match
and through the round church window
I see a crucifix propping Gods eye open-
the earth his spinning eye-the cross and eye
bridging time-humanity's leap into a new religious
paradigm; cross and earth meet, man's divine
awareness is complete.That night I light two
matches beneath a full moon and place my
hand beneath the flames and see God the
hooded falcon and Jesus his falcon-they cannot
see the fire in the eyes of each other.
Dreams were my bird of prey as i slept-
I was drawn to a wilderness where Christ
wept nails and howled beneath a full moon.
The wind caressed my wings and his hair-
he looked into my eyes and intoned a prayer
and rain-stones came down onto the plains
and bounced off my bedroom window pane
waking me-in the mirror I could still see the
figure of Christ preserved within my eyes.
I watched the TV and Jesus witnessed history
in documentaries. Jesus returned in a dream,
watched the earth in two streams and altered
its history- ended poverty and war, then drank
from the waters. After waking, this was replayed
in my eyes- Jesus they would vaguely recognize
and in return he didn't accept his reflection
in the waters of the streams.
Talia Rose Jan 2017
Blustering beats as her feet pound on the pavement
Racing against the world in what feels like a single heartbeat.

She’s been running for miles, losing herself in a world that can no longer decipher which way is up and which way is down.

He’s been running for eternity, seeking the girl who has always been nothing more than the whimsical melody that the birds carry throughout the wind.

Running and running and running some more.
But what do you do when your feet start to get sore?
When you’re tired of running and running some more?

----<3----

She’s gotten up only to fall again.
He’s been dragged as if by an invisible hand.
The chains bound both prisoners in unending journeys.

But they created a fire that burned brighter then hell, broke free and ran fast
until daylight fell.

Swallowed in darkness with paths intertwined.
They ran and kept running with no source of guide.

She ran too fast.
She lost him.
He’s gone.
Her heart’s screaming “No!” but her mind’s saying “Move on”.

Getting lost ain’t so bad if you block out the pain.
Run.
Run.
Run.
You’ll be okay.

She stood still for a moment and took a deep breath.
Her heart racing,
Her limbs shaking,
She was scared half to death.

There she stood like a rose, hiding behind thorns to contain herself in an unbreaking barrier.  

He fought and he fought and he fought to get in.
But her barriers held strong and his fight against them left him ridden with scars.
----<3----
Determined.  
Devoted.
Desperation.
Desire.
He fought, is still fighting to overcome her exterior.

The thorns might hold strong as a natural defense,
But hidden within is a rose that is wilting.

She wants to give up,
To fly high in the sky
Like the three little birds that are passing her by.

They’re tweeting and chirping without a care in the world.
Oh how she’d give to get lost like that.

Ha, how absurd!

----<3----

It’s so dark.
She can’t see.
The moonlight is hidden.

SNAP.
CRUNCH.
A breaking twig.

He found her!
He’s here!
Go!
Run away!

Her mind tried to warn her.
But her heart said to stay.
Who is to say which knows the right way?

Running and running and running some more.
But what do you do when your feet start to get sore?
When you’re tired of running and running some more?

----<3----

Blindly she ran.
The trees were a blur.
The vines and the leaves,
The whole world behind her.

Faster and faster and faster she went.

She might not be happy, but she’s safe at last.
Her heart is safe from the pain of the past.

Her defenses are back, no more being afraid
Of the man who was stealing her heart day by day.

He searched every tree in his mission to reach her,
But she’s no longer in sight.

He’s lost her.

----<3----

She ran like the wind.
Faster and faster and faster than…
…slower?

She fell to the floor.
The vines grabbed at her leg.

Too fast.
Too fast.
She should have slowed down.
She’s so tired of fleeing.
She just wants to be found.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I wanted to stay.
I miss you.
I want you.
God, why am I always running away?”

----<3----

Sobbing and sobbing and sobbing some more.
Her ankle is stuck.
She’s sprawled on the floor.

It looks like it’s broken.
But it will be fine.
Her heart is the problem.
Because it’s no longer “mine”.

She wants him.
She ran.
It’s always the same.
The insecurities convince her she must run away.

She’s always abandoned.  
Always forgotten.
The best of the best can quickly turn rotten.

He stopped running to find her.
He’s not giving up.
He’s just tired, so tired.
Like, “What the ****?!”

Why did she leave?
“Come back! ******* a!
I miss you.
I love you.
Why couldn’t you stay?”

Two souls that are broken are breaking again.
They’re both lost, they’re both losing.
It looks like the end.

She’s curled up with leaves on the cold forest floor.
He’s gripping his head pacing like a caged dog.

His thoughts are so loud.  
He just wants her back.
But her crying is louder,
Her heart’s out of whack.

The darkness is welcomed.
The cold is refreshing.
He’s starting to cry just out of frustration.

Dismembered.
Forsaken.
Defeated.
Distressed.
Two souls that are lost among all the rest.

----<3----

He couldn’t stay there.  
He needed to move.
So he walked and he walked and he walked on some more,
Only stopping to rest when his feet began to feel sore.

Propping himself against a tree, he tried to understand why,
Why she left when his heart was beginning to fly.

The birds sang for them.
The stars knew their story.
Every heartbeat felt right, every day a new journey.

And now, it’s so empty.
The seconds tick by.
The world’s in slow motion.
All because of goodbye.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back.
Only then does he hear it,
A soft little crack

----<3----

The leaves are rustling.
A twig just broke.

A lizard?
A squirrel?
Some sick twisted joke?

Whatever it is, the sound gave him hope.
Maybe it’s her?
He could hardly cope.

Climbing to his feet, he sought out the noise.
The sounds grew louder to his surprise.

He first heard a muffled groan from below.
But the closer he got, the sobs seemed to grow.
He knew that voice.
It was her!
Up ahead.
God, he couldn’t wait to see her again.

He ran and kept running with one goal in mind.
He’d find her.
She’s here.
She can no longer hide.

----<3----

She tried to get up but her ankle gave out,
So she yelped and then quickly, she covered her mouth.

Who knew what was out there?
The night was still black.
She was tired of fighting,
She wanted him back.

Her sobbing grew louder as she laid there like that.
She felt helpless.
Alone.
She wanted him back.

Her heart began to pound when she heard a noise behind her.
He’s here.
It’s him.
He actually found her.

Her mind screamed to keep running,
But her heart begged to stay.
Lord, she was tired of running away.

Her ankle was injured,
So there she sat trapped,
With leaves in her hair and tears in her lap.

Waiting and waiting and waiting some more.
Today is the day her whole body is sore.

She’s tired of running from the things she wants most.
So she looks up and searches for her handsome ghost.

He’s hidden nearby.
She senses him there.
Her body is tingling from his secret stare.

----<3----
He catches her eyes seeking him in the dark,
But he’s nervous she’ll run so he stays behind bark.

Watching and watching and watching some more,
Until he sees tears running down her sweet face.

Her agony kills him, his heart won the race.

He’s broken.
She’s breaking.
The waiting must end, so he swoops in and saves her like no other can.

Sinking down to his knees, he wraps up his beauty
As sobs overtake them in a moment of unity.

----<3----

Even though their worlds crashed, the past is the past.
They’re holding each other,
Together at last.

Only when her sobs seize does she begin to see
The tears in his eyes put there by thee.

She broke him by running,
But that’s all she knew.
Oh how she wishes he already knew that she loved him,
Still loves him,
More than the stars
The world’s nonexistent in a place like “ours”.

Their sorrow has eased, for they’re home at last.
The running and running is dead in the past.

The night is still dark, but they both haven’t noticed,
Because they have grasped onto their saving light within all the darkness.

Together they burn brighter than the largest fire ever made.
No words are needed, just the promise to stay.

It screams louder and louder and louder some more,
Until the whole forest is cast with love galore.

----<3----

Moaning.
Sweet kisses.
A song made of gasps.
The forest floor spattered with loves brightest match.

Sweating and trembling from their passionate throws,

“I miss you”s.
“I love you”s.
Their stories unfold, only to be raveled again in a blanket of “happily ever after”s.
----<3----
Soaring through life, she’s as happy can be
Bundled in the arms of only he.

“******* a, I love you.  It’s crazy, I know.  But let’s run away where no one will ever know.”

She looked at him, and then shook her head no.
“I’m tired of running, because with you I’m free.  My heart is safe here, I will no longer flee.
**** running, it *****.  My feet always get sore.  I’m staying, not running, not running no more.”

The look in her eyes made his heart skip a beat,
Their feet may be sore,
But they’re willing to leap.

Flying and flying and flying some more.
This time I’m not tired so baby,
Lets soar.
...I love you...
ConnectHook Sep 2017
A torrent gushes from the serpent’s mouth
wave upon breaking wave; it’s ALL fake news
swiftly eroding what is left to lose.
Democracy’s waterlogged corpse drifts south,
a bloated mess; all waters to infuse
with putrefaction, thus to breed disease
uncivil war invades our fantasies;
the polarized extremes now pay their dues.
Propping things up: it’s what they do the best—
business as usual, pawns all occupied
in scaffolding facades upon the West
and sculpting the friezes of fratricide…
but underground, the currents cave away.
Media will fail; God brings a brighter day.
And the serpent cast out of his mouth water as a flood after the woman, that he might cause her to be carried away of the flood.

REV 12:15 (KJV)
Scottie Green Jul 2013
The outside edges of my hands are bruised black
From banging at the bathroom door

I've given up, and let my back slide down the wall
And my face fall to my palms-
Taking a seat in my empty dark hallway that leads to the slither of pink light crawling its way through the bottom of the bathroom door

She won't stop crying
It feels like it has been months
Her, in her sunlight bathroom moaning with agony until I feel I just can't take it
Sitting on the other side with the emptied out sun
With the helplessness of a child
I almost feel crazy

Like she is not the woman I love
Like she is not a woman at all;
Just pain at the end of a dark hallway
The sound of lungs gasping for air
clasping for some sort of reasoning
Hunting for it, but never finding

A sound made of memory pressing its echo against the walls

It drives me lonely

But she lay on the other side against the cold gray tile and I can tell she does not even hear my bangs on the door
Nor the hollow cry she pushes up her own wooing throat
All she can feel is the pull on her heart and the pressure on her chest

Her cry drops to a sob
Then eventually a whimper
And topped off by exhaustion she falls silent

I pull myself from the wooden floors with the help of the cool steel handle of the water heater door
I walk through to the bedroom
and stand mindlessly sifting through my own junk of the dresser drawers before pulling a bobby pin from her neatly organized section to the left of mine
I walk back to the bathroom
I feel my eyes droop as I press my forehead to the white painted wood
I hear her almost silent, but heavy, breath
Creeping with orange sun beneath the edges of the door

I sink to my knees and play with the lock and the bobby pin
Until the door gives way
It slowly opens to her
Her left arm sprawled behind it
Her head curled into her right
Her legs, stacked right ontop of left, push backwards and up against the long backyard window

I lower myself down next to her with the assistance of the porcelin sink
Her face is still wet and red
Her eyes closed and her breathing labored
I curl what I can of her up into my arms
I take a folded beach towel from the brown wicker basket and lay it underneath my head
Propping hers onto my chest
I grab another and unravel it across us

I don't want to wake her
I will give her, her "petite death"
A small escape
But her eyes flutter
To meet mine for a second
She opens her mouth
Letting her head hang back a little
As if to begin crying once more
Like a newborn awakened from its sleep
Confused and in a darkening room

Exhausted:
She pleads no more
She lays her head back on my chest
I feel a few warm drops of salt water
A pull at the rib cage of my black tee
As if to say "I give in"
And then I pull her in closer
To listen to her heavy begging breathe

We both let our heads fall back to the towel
or into my chest
We fall asleep in the darkening room of the fading red sunlight, with the cold tile floor at our backs, with nothing but a black hallway behind us
RF Aug 2013
I watch the loping invalids in the courtyard
nil by nil by nil feet
How to describe a sensation such as heat
to them? The interminable sun and so on
I wonder if they understand that
Light itself is not heat

whereupon the bell sounds
their minds divide and fog in the somnolent air

I look at a Dupuytren in the room
Cord around the chair
His clothes hanging off him
Trying to move his remarkable shock of hair
From his eyes

My room looks out beyond the yard
It is high up - precarious
Through that picturewindow, the world without
is framed, beyond the walls the oldtown
spires and roofing
I see my own sadness, my impotence
In every inch of the heights

the girls come back, propping black bikes against
the gate;
my legs are wrapped in a blanket
and I feel nothing below my waist

Through a system of cables and consent
my companion molls in Bergonic poise
each day the room behind his eyes receded, the heart
lessening
the birds gathered around the bathroom doors to be fed

He read about Escher in bed
waiting to be plugged
unbeknownst rigours of treatment, and
unbeknownst methods
until he forgot those days in Margate
the sound of his nieces
and everything he read about Escher –


the light makes dull
the precision of the thorn
Edward Laine Feb 2012
Observations & conversations, written the the shallow heights of the sinister winter.
The year that the would ended, successfully, unsuccessfully
''who were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old & cried''(AG)
The same year we lost Bert & nobody cared & as a mark of respect, all of my guitars were given away as
parting gifts & so the songs did not cease to be written but only written now on key-junk & toy-scramble
& far as my plans are planned this is the way I will stay, & no, your're right, it's true I haven't played  show in  months. My fingers now smooth & twice as yellow, just like when I was older than I was tomorrow & you ask me if I have ever been forever & the notebook brimmed over full of eavesdropping & secret secrets I expose in writing that you'll never read  & long walks home & Picasso pictures of strangers that I've never seen (gasp!) The great mythological hat flapped, low heeled, opaque smoke covered goon of the night, only to be seen propping up lamp posts for a light to scribble by  & then gone in to the night again like Jack The Shadow when he was young & always one eye open when the cars drive by, to save the blind eye, in one eye anyway & now & then blind in both by text message of newfangled but out of date technobabble & uncool is the new cool. Tired, writing.
The gravel mounted marching marvel, which never really made any sense to begin with  but(have you ever read Tender buttons?) nothing else really ever makes sense too, just like when I discovered that time doesn't exist, but O' the contradiction of the clock ticking. simultaneously asking favours from the moon, saying ''come on, please, tonight could really be the night, one more, anything,  anyone will do'' praying, but only in jest & grand sarcasm just like the day that Chaplin died(although, yes it's true I do enjoy the merriment, but in the end it only brings me down once again to think how its only once a year that people stop hating each other & then only for the want of THINGS) & now birthdays too have fallen through the holes in the floor in a see-no-evil-hear-no-evil attempt to keep from aging & even now I feel a little older(tick tick tick). Always fearful of change, constantly fumbling for more change in futile empty pockets in the back bar to keep from being seen & then back around the river again to sleep & dream only the most mundane of dreams to wake up scared that you have no ideas left & your creativity, which was all you ever had has finally dried up before you really got to use it, & the pain in your nut-box, maybe you've really gone too far this time & maybe you really have woken up dead this time & woe is everything & you never got to be a cliche & move to Paris & write & starve  & drink with Hem & Fitz & watch Fitz faint & work in a hotel with Orwell & all the Russians & be treated like **** by Strickland(even he was fictional & if he wasnt he died a leaper any-who).
you know you've always been a leth-wretch & a glutton for sorrow, but who cares about happiness, all things temporary etc etc. & I remember saying '' I think to make any great art, you first need to die a little'' when I was drunk & the next day feeling a fool, but ''better a witty fool than a foolish wit'' etc etc. when I got the beermares & the flashbacks of secret hand holding under the table & us(I), waiting until we were alone & never spoke of it again(again)& now the standard issue of time apart before we forget again & the whole thing will unravel again with shocking to the detail similarity as before & the time before also similar, for which I wont go into details for fear of you reading this & having probably already written it yourself, you being a much greater writer than I & we both know it, but still you would never say it & I only babble about myself in a chain smoking, nonsensical, bending on a loop, only ever thinking out loud fuzzy feedback ash tipping of the mind but still I wouldn't give away any secrets. I'm still surprised I gave you my real name, but my oh my, isn't hard being a spy.
Scaffolded, encased in mortar
Propping up bricks of self esteem
Doubt had set in. Crumbling top
Layers absorbed....did they notice?
Felt but.....did they see it?
Who are "they"? Seemingly
Important and high ranking
Well....on a scale of 1-10 "they"
Pushed the 100 button golloped
Up all you can eat buffet.

Sit tight on your swing swaying to miss
Their broken sentences to avoid choking
In the solid efforts to snap your
Backbone, your spine tingling 'sit in'
Scares the beige from its safe spot
Red rioting around alerting the bull
Standing in the corner field, far left
Of your vantage point. Scraping hooves
Kicked up a stink large enough to have
You believing "they" hold all the cards
You trodden underfoot bilging cement
Running through your veins.

"They" didnt just see it
"They" designed, patented and claimed
The rights to "You"....
We met up at dobra tea.
Both our bodies were too long
For the tiny tables.
But we loved the atmosphere too much to care.
"I might have stalked you a little bit" she says
Handing me a slip of paper.
"I may have also read your poetry."
It's a poem about what beverage she would be.
I neatly fold it up and hand it back.
"It's perfect."
"Keep it" she says.
"Keep it?"
"Yeah, don't make it weird just keep it."
~~~
The beautiful woman now sits between myself and a bridge.
There is a bike path leading underneath towards the sun.
A guard rail separates us from the
Ocean and seaweed below.

All the trinkets in my pockets
Have been emptied onto the rocks beside me
So as I not hurt myself attempting to conceal them.
We sit against the guard rail holding hands.
"My mom doesn't let me show my sisters pokemon.
Because of evolution.
She's one of those super christians." She says.

"I'm an atheist
But every thing I've ever prayed for has come true.
So, I don't know anymore."

She sits on the guardrail and my head leans against her thigh.
Her fingers run through my hair.

There are so many things I want, that I can't have.
This get's typed into my phone and tucked away like a secret.
"Sorry" I say, and stand up, facing her.

Her forehead leans into my chest.
My arms hold her as I stare into the ocean.

"I have a song stuck in my head" she says.
"Sing it for me."
"I don't know the whole song"
"Sing the part you know"
"Well I only know one line and it's weird."
"Sing the one line, I don't care how awkward it is, I wanna hear it"

"Maybe I'm only in love when you wake me up."

"You didn't tell me you were a GOOD singer."

She reaches for my neck.

"What's your necklace mean?
Well it's the game of thrones martel sigil
People think it's for the show.
But it's for my ex's daughter...
A tattoo was a bad idea,
I can eventually get rid of a necklace."

We notice the sun setting and decide to check it out
As we get up and start walking,
I start to sing.
"I've never been the one to win it all."
~~~
I swing around a lampost and walk to the metal fence at my right.
I stare awhile at the sunset before
Crawling up the slanted wall to my left and sitting up top.
I scribble a note on the wall.
It reads:

"Dear god: please let me kiss her, Amen."

The beautiful creature still stands at the bottom of the ledge.

"You aren't allowed to say i'm a good singer when you sound like that." She says.
"It's like watching a live music video."

I run down and hold her against the metal fence
Our lips dare each other to inch closer.
She pushes her forehead into mine.

"What'd you write?"
She asks.
"It's not for you.
If you want to read it you have to climb up there and find it."

"Ooh you ***."
She crawls up the wall and searches.
"Where is it?"
"That's the fun, you gotta find it."
She finds it.
"This handwriting is awful.
I literally can't read it."
"I didn't want you too."
The sun sets and it's finally dark.
"Think it's dark enough to climb that building?"
~~~
We trek back through the woodsy path
It's pitch black and terrifying.
"We're gonna get eaten by cannibals"
"There's cannibals in maine?"
"There are in this particular part of maine."
We get to the school and start stacking milkcrates like a staircase.
She puts a wooden pallet against the milkcrates
Propping them against the wall.
"You're brilliant."
"I have good ideas sometimes" she says.
Testing the water my feet scale the landmark.
Then come down to support it
While the lady goes up.
After she's safe I follow her.
Adrenaline hits us.
"We're on a freaking roof right now."
"Are we going to fall in?"
"Is there like a trick to walking on rooftops?"
My body plops down and looks at the sky.
"Oh my god...
Please look at the stars with me "
She lays next to me.
"You know how I've been saying I've been transforming a lot of good little ****** girls
Into blood lusting sirens as of late?" She says.
"Yeah."
"I'm starting to think it's not just girls."
"Can I say something cute?
Or would that make things harder?" I ask.
"Say it."
Her breath is sweet.
You have the body of the most gorgeous woman I've ever slept with.
The personality of the woman I fell in love with
The dorkiness of my first high school girlfriend.
The eagerness to get to know me of someone new.
After my ex left me I said I would never love again.
I've been having tons of meaningless ***
Striving for company.
Greif ******* my feelings away
But you.
I'd buy a ******* house with you.

She kisses me.
"Why do you have to be so perfect?" She sobs.
We stay like this.
She moans and wiggles.
We hold our bodies together.
You wanna know what that note on the rocks said?" I ask.
"Yes."
I tell her.
"I'm a terrible wife." She says.
"And I'm a terrible atheist."
jimmy tee Aug 2013
at most points of your life you have to take a stand
this usually means propping up your own causes
in a way that allows everyone else to take a step back
the myth of the strong individual

every once in a while you have to shed a tear
when young, as a means of attracting attention
as you age, you cry toward yourself
as true maturity takes over, the plaque of the years
puts an end to this ridiculous practice

truth is unknowable
the unicorn just told me
so I spread it around
coldly, life is based on shared lies

how anarchy lifts the soul
great heights of blessed freedom
from you

of course he was right
we are built for small communities
where information dribbles in
in a process called understanding
not this ever accelerating gyre
it is just too **** big

so what good does insolence deliver?
well, it can be very inventive
and people are left confused anyway
no matter what you say
or how you say it
whats a ******* for, anyway?

maybe there’s a point to all this that everyone has missed
everyone but Voltaire
and he still ran out of time and space
I thought I was finished but I was mistaken
you see, warm air can hold more moisture than cold air
and grass grows in the direction of the sun
fences tend to separate things but cannot go on forever
and once you see a fractal, that’s about all you can see


there in the cinema
everything is staged for a purpose
maybe comedy or tragedy or adventure
then its all edited in order to present its very own meaning
that is not art
its tomfoolery

— The End —