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Kyle John Somer Oct 2012
We are all so very fragile.
Our sun kissed porcelain faces
are freckled with Achilles heel fault lines and chipped paint.
Shining through to our nervous nervous system and our tendency to over think things.
We hide so much inside of us.
Behind dance less masquerades
Our bodies held together only by cages of ivory bones
cages that cradle the thin winged heart beats of our chest
nervous moths stumbling around inside
knocking books off of shelves and
eating the sweaters that we use to keep our hearts from freezing over.

The autumn wind is cold like sad glaciers
and it's easy to break down at times like these.
Our bones ache and shriek like boiling tea kettles.
Making it hard not to shatter.

We are all so fragile.
Burnt out light bulb fragile.
Frozen lake fragile.
Defibrillated heartbeat fragile.
We are broken branch fragile
chronic alcoholics sobriety fragile.
The middles school girls reaction to the word “fat” fragile
We are the kind of fragile that set off big bangs.
We are, paranoid breakable.
And its got to the point where
we have begun taping up our light leak vulnerabilities
with perceptions of perfection and thoughts of rejection
spending our time in dark rooms as our minds just keep reeling
and trying to shut off feelings and unwind
but we have been over exposed to such ****.
To slides and slides of negative negatives

we used to burst apart with so much light.

but the sun isn't shining honest, the night sky is black
and its raining in all the wrong ways.
We're out of season.
sewing up the holes in our personality
with floods of insecurities and droughts of identity.
damning what matters.

****, its hard to know what matters.

But I am still trying to figure that one out
And the moths are still here
as the pendulum clocks keep ticking
eating the sweaters that we used
to keep our hearts from freezing over.

But we are freezing to the core.
The atoms inside of us splinting into half lives;
we haven't even lived half of our lives
yet we feel so ancient.
The dust piles growing on our slanted bookshelves shoulders
Our bright idea light bulbs flickering,
getting covered up by snowdrifts.

We are gas giants wrapping ourselves into open space darkness
hiding from the bright side of the moon.
Like a black cat superstition we are running from our own precondition
of lying about being ourselves
We pull dark black-hole hoods over our eyes
wincing at the light trails of shooting stars
though we, too, want to be brilliant.
We try to orbit the sun hoping that humanity is a symphony;
that being popular and having the most friends is what matters.
and we can be where the grass is always greener by fitting in and by being mirrors
Even though not being yourself is nauseating.

We can be nauseating, we can be mirrors.

Because we are scared that if we don't
hide who we really are
we may end up like Pluto.
Ostracized for existing.
floating around in space having stare downs with wormholes
A shivering rock entity with a complete loss of identity.

We already are so lost.
Our souls waning and waxing
Rocking back and forth
on wood beams and porches.
like an ADD moonbeam rocking chair.

But now its time to stop in one place and readjust our backbones.

Because I know that we are fragile, I know that.
I know that its hard filling in the cracks that have found their way down our back-stabbed spines
we all have our histories with being dropped and rejected.
But we weren't made to be cardboard box people,
packing tape and labels wrapped in all of the wrong places.
we are boxes full of wormholes into other dimensions
we are full of life and blood and bones,
full of oceans and stardust and daggers
There is so much more to us than our brown paper complexions.
So climb out of those kangaroo pouch caves that you have called home for the last few years
There's no need hiding anymore.
You can be safe in your own skin.
You can climb the Himalayas and scream out as many lightning rods as you want
we will all be listening as you burst apart into thunder claps.
As you bleed yourself into infinity

So, dim the lights

Throw your self at the world
and crash like waves into existence
you are perfect when you are yourself.
Grab that porcelain off of your face
and let your smile super nova fracture into a cosmic grin of constellations.

People will look up to you and be inspired.
A cardboard box rookie sprawled out in the stars.
Lighting up all of our faces with E.T. fingertips.
No longer hiding being reflective eclipses
There's only one person who can tell you who you are.
Only you can speak for yourself.

I know that your fragile
I know that.

We all are..,
Aaron Mullin Sep 2014
You are a leader ship

how I know this?

cause I'm a leader ship too

I can see the sinuous fibre of your very being

take a look

I bet you can see it too

we are borne of the earth and the stars

borne in the wind

there are four cardinal directions, N E S W, do not forget about the intermediary

be an intermediary ~ who wants to be a cardinal?

we need our leader ships following their own true north

2D - 3D -- 4D --- 5D ---------------------------- >

following the wormholes ... the aether

following certain signs and symbols

trust in divine feminine ... .. . .. ... masculine divine in trust
trust in masculine divine ... .. . .. ... divine feminine in trust

" 'It's all this!' He wrapped his finger in his fist; the car hugged the line straight and true." ~ Kerouac

Ship builders choose their timber mindfully
Be mindful with your archetypes, Noah!
Fleshed out 25 September 2014 in High River
Finished and published in Whitehorse ... but always in process ... stories are kinematic

http://archmarisbaltici.wordpress.com/case-studies/conceptual-evolution-in-shipbuilding/
*** tiddy um,
    tiddy um,
    tiddy um tum tum.
My knees are loose-like, my feet want to sling their selves.
I feel like tickling you under the chin-honey-and a-asking: Why Does a Chicken Cross the Road?
When the hens are a-laying eggs, and the roosters pluck-pluck-put-akut and you-honey-put new potatoes and gravy on the table, and there ain't too much rain or too little:
        Say, why do I feel so gabby?
        Why do I want to holler all over the place?.    .    .
Do you remember I held empty hands to you
    and I said all is yours
    the handfuls of nothing?.    .    .
I ask you for white blossoms.
I bring a concertina after sunset under the apple trees.
I bring out "The Spanish Cavalier" and "In the Gloaming, O My Darling."

The orchard here is near and home-like.
The oats in the valley run a mile.
Between are the green and marching potato vines.
The lightning bugs go criss-cross carrying a zigzag of fire: the potato bugs are asleep under their stiff and yellow-striped wings: here romance stutters to the western stars, "Excuse ... me...".    .    .
Old foundations of rotten wood.
An old barn done-for and out of the wormholes ten-legged roaches shook up and scared by sunlight.
So a pickax digs a long tooth with a short memory.
Fire can not eat this ******* till it has lain in the sun..    .    .
The story lags.
The story has no connections.
The story is nothing but a lot of banjo plinka planka plunks.

The roan horse is young and will learn: the roan horse buckles into harness and feels the foam on the collar at the end of a haul: the roan horse points four legs to the sky and rolls in the red clover: the roan horse has a rusty jag of hair between the ears hanging to a white star between the eyes..    .    .
In Burlington long ago
And later again in Ashtabula
I said to myself:
  I wonder how far Ophelia went with Hamlet.
What else was there Shakespeare never told?
There must have been something.
If I go bugs I want to do it like Ophelia.
There was class to the way she went out of her head..    .    .
Does a famous poet eat watermelon?
Excuse me, ask me something easy.
I have seen farmhands with their faces in fried catfish on a Monday morning.

And the Japanese, two-legged like us,
The Japanese bring slices of watermelon into pictures.
The black seeds make oval polka dots on the pink meat.

Why do I always think of ******* and buck-and-wing dancing whenever I see watermelon?

Summer mornings on the docks I walk among bushel peach baskets piled ten feet high.
Summer mornings I smell new wood and the river wind along with peaches.
I listen to the steamboat whistle hong-honging, hong-honging across the town.
And once I saw a teameo straddling a street with a hayrack load of melons..    .    .
******* play banjos because they want to.
The explanation is easy.

It is the same as why people pay fifty cents for tickets to a policemen's masquerade ball or a grocers-and-butchers' picnic with a fat man's foot race.
It is the same as why boys buy a nickel's worth of peanuts and eat them and then buy another nickel's worth.
Newsboys shooting craps in a back alley have a fugitive understanding of the scientific principle involved.
The jockey in a yellow satin shirt and scarlet boots, riding a sorrel pony at the county fair, has a grasp of the theory.
It is the same as why boys go running lickety-split
away from a school-room geography lesson
in April when the crawfishes come out
and the young frogs are calling
and the pussywillows and the cat-tails
know something about geography themselves..    .    .
I ask you for white blossoms.
I offer you memories and people.
I offer you a fire zigzag over the green and marching vines.
I bring a concertina after supper under the home-like apple trees.
I make up songs about things to look at:
    potato blossoms in summer night mist filling the garden with white spots;
    a cavalryman's yellow silk handkerchief stuck in a flannel pocket over the left side of the shirt, over the ventricles of blood, over the pumps of the heart.

Bring a concertina after sunset under the apple trees.
Let romance stutter to the western stars, "Excuse ... me..."
R Sep 2013
wormholes.
they are so tiny--
a trillionth of a
millimeter.
maybe even less.
you cant see them,
you cant touch them.
but with them,
time slows
and everything
becomes new.
i dont mean like
a shiny new toy "new".
i mean like for a trillionth of
a second, things in our
universe change.
they change not by much,
but by how they are supposed
to originally be.
like port keys,
they take you to a new place
in space and time.
they open up a
whole new universe.
wormholes.
arent they beautiful?
Nhlanhla Moment Jun 2013
You comfort me, my cover my blanket
Shocking how our electric bodies met
Interesting how I took you travelling
Overwhelming how you became a sheath of warmth
an epitome of hope

It is a mystery how people combine
Whether it is a case of conflicting individuals
Or the mere phenomenon of how souls pair
I need you before I meet you
I miss you and yet I forget you
Once with you I know I have what I've been looking for

My portal to higher worlds
My partner in creating new energies
It is in making love with me
How the physical eyes close and the ethereal open
Your etheric body glistening as mine charges yours
Joining the divine in creation, where those watching - entertained -
whisper words of motivation
In this centered point of fusion, lust is an illusion
Our vibration high and muse sinking as voice does sigh
Some advanced life-forms jealous and aroused
attempting to possess your body to have a piece of me
The low beings trying to possess me to evil bring

Drenched in sweat but not too wet you bring me closer our bodies frisson set
We dive into wormholes and white holes
The doors of the universe if not windows
Playing hide and seek, hearing vortex points beep
We make fire and plasma lights up
The liquids surrender to heat and speed
a connective energy created
and ******* juices exerted

This would be the end but the physical must be converted
We take a breath and sparks fly passing through the foggy smoke in the air
love is in the air and our chakras dance to rhythm adore
trust then flows and insecurity -jealous- abhors

We then talk about the nothings to avoid this wonderful something
Learning about each other we do not wish to lose one another
The Venusian Tesla would be proud of how we've done electricity justice
This science, this drug, this philosophy, this state
Time has nothing on us we cannot be late
In our future we were dreaming of our past to remember the present
so to figure out how time went

These tongues and curls I speak have me bent
Admiring the cosmic accents
Acknowleding the galactic language
Now I know what the words, "I Love You" mean
for it isn't only a noun or common thing
But a lifestyle in astral streams
A pronoun when brought to the matter world
A verb lived like a movie
A story I will never forget.
Nhlanhla Moment May 2013
Was it luck as I was awe-struck?
It is said that these gleaming falling stars are UFOs
It is also said that at times when UFOs land they then become IFOs... They come to fetch a king as the king dies
Sending him home to distant skies

OR was it merely a sign that the Pleiadians have landed?
Or other races beyond, from Lyra to Procyon
not to mention the bellicose Orions
we wouldn't see this of course
as all that would be would be what isn't and what isn't would be what it truly is
Living in Alice and her wonderland
We see politics and earthly government
but the point is to hide exo-politics, Councils and Houses

We would be asleep when the unseen god is an emperor of just one constellation
We would be asleep as the centre of the Universe serenades Gaia
We wouldn't see as Nihahua engages Sol
We wouldn't see as Tiamat rises to the fourth dimension for we would think we are asleep

We would think of raptures holy as they are protocol to transport souls to other planets
Yes advanced some are as they are 4D others even 5D
and a means of exchange not being money
so that makes our planet a child you see
These things you wouldn't know as they are cleared by the MIB's
These things you wouldn't know when mediums or channelers form religions
These things you wouldn't as hybrids and starseeds form religions
These things would seem ridiculous for you are programmed
You wouldn't know what to believe for restricted are tools to examine
You wouldn't know what to concoct when access to information is limited
It said some serve the upliftment of humanity
I'm talking about the Andromeda Council and Christos Council

From Babylon to Rome
Or was it from Atlantis to Mu then Ur? Before the Annunaki went to Sumer
From Rome to the whole world
Was it Nibiru which heaven was?
Are we really living in Star Wars?
Are we ruled by Star Lords?

Are we humans trying not to be aliens?
Or are we aliens trying to be human?
The strongest angel ever created, the weakest
a sad day in heaven
the angel of light then brought darkness
Not a mystery why light is sought after and its essence

I saw a falling star
Some are abducted, sexually indulged and barred
They are ridiculed in society as they are told that's how insanity starts
There are people who go missing in caverns, not knowing that they would be genetically manipulated and brainwashed
There are communicators of divine knowledge
They are called lunatics who feed ludicrous knowledge
We wouldn't know the difference for we are trapped in matter
We wouldn't care for the physical is all that would matter
From the Els to the Yahweh consciousness
From the Serpent gods to Sorcerer kings and Priest kings
Do we know where it all started?

Religion would be coded astronomy
The movement of stars, astrology
if we knew the galactic anthropology
We wouldn't think we are alone
Science fiction would present technology
Linear time would be no more
Wormholes the doors
The Ark of The Covenant a device used as a good weapon
We would know all and more of this if we saw more falling stars
We would know more of this if we weren't kept busy by the masters
We would know more of this if we stopped thinking we are free
Then we'd know who we are and where we are going
to that place of all knowing.
Listen to Niribu by TaMarah #np on #SoundCloud
https://soundcloud.com/tamarah-taesee/niribu
Yağmur Kaya Jan 2019
I cannot reach you
In any thought of mine
Or in any universe
Or in any destiny of god
But my desperateness for you
always exists
In the wormholes
Or in the unknown galaxies
And I know it, I will love you
until cosmos reaches its limits
But guess what,
no one knows
when will it
or will it ever
As my love's existence and fever
But I accepted it, your impossibility
Now even a dream of you is actually enough for me
Because love is not about having
It's about feeling
And I can feel you even if you're not here
Or even I have never touched you or hugged you or kissed you
I don't need any memories to love you
You are enough for me
just standing somewhere
breathing, laughing somewhere
Somewhere where I've never been
But it doesn't matter, cause I've learned
How to always feel you
Within my being
Quantum physics scares the **** out of me
Well it’s not really just quantum physics
It’s everything that stands in between its letters
It’s both the solutions and the questions that frighten me most
I was 12 when I first had a panic attack about eternity
I was in the shower, writing thoughts in steam
When all of a sudden
I was suffocating on forever
And showered with thoughts of before time
The all around terrifying notion of timelessness
Caused shivers that felt like our heater had gone out again
Tears rushed down my face
Faster than the speed of light
Not that I knew what it was
But it felt like lightening filled my body
From that moment,
I learned my truest fear of unanswerable questions
As I grew and grew wary
I took less showers in hopes
I wouldn’t find my fears
Swirling in around my ankles
Clogging up the drain
Lingering there
As the only thing that I could
Never wash off of me,
Never flush away

As time moved on with
A sureness I could never have
I floated amongst the thoughts of
Others so as not to drown in my own
But as night comes
So others rest
And as others rest
The Fearful attempt to count sheep
But even the sheep begin to wonder
About the unfathomable
And before I know it
I’m screaming into my pillow
Blaming the sheep for my restless nights
Insisting I’m not crazy
Insisting that wool blankets are the problem
Picking problems to bring me to now
Problems that make the present
Matter more to this masochistic brain
Than the questions that I should never have asked

Unanswerable, I’d repeat
I’d resolve
I’d allow myself to toy the word around,
Flick it around in my mouth,
As if to keep it too busy to ask more,
But also to make the original questions taste so sweet
That I never wanted them to leave my mouth
So I swallowed them
As if to indulge my taste buds just a little longer
But they sat in my stomach like seeds
With time they grew up my throat,
Watered with theological and scientific discussions alike
The first time I was told that my questions, could have a solution,
My stomach lurched into my throat
Now was the time
The questions were uprooting, ready to grow out in this world
But my jaw was taut
And refused to let others be haunted
So the vines
With no where else to go
Moved with intention
Past my mouth,
Behind my eyes
Into my brain
It had taken over
I became my questions
Rooted in the pit of my stomach
Paralyzed by the pain of
Wooden rigidity
Each move dictated by the unbending will
Of an oak tree caged by iron
Questions acting as a fungus
Rotting out happiness,
Killing the mind
That had formed the seed in the first place
I was immobile in my fear and
Planted in my questions
Unwilling to explore
And so the tree stayed
And I saw the world through
Shaded light
Always careful not to climb
Too far up
Too far in
Thankful for the fact
That not many aspire to
Plant seeds
Let alone
Climb trees

By the time I first saw you
Many rings had formed
You were passing through crowds
Like you walk through forests
Letting things be
What they were
And
Watching people act as they may
Imagine my intrigue
As I saw the callous on your hands
Smelled sap on your breath
I felt a friendly fear
In your eyes
But your hands
Did not look pained
Only worn
Still with care
Only when you spoke
Did I feel the logic in your branches
The whips of your leaves that
I had refused to grow
You were questions fully blossomed
You had leaves made of
Wormholes
And
Budding flowers of dark matter
And as I drew my trunk back,
Insisting I was allergic
I got lost in your bark
I found possibilities
Buried amongst your ridges
I soon found a taste so sweet,
It brought shame on my appeasing mantra
Without control
Like forces of nature tend to be
I grew into you
Yet still,
It was not the color of your leaves
Nor the feel of your vines that took me
It was your ability to blossom
Your permission of exploration
The blossoms, though pleasing to the eye,
Grew through your watering and sunlight

As if by some evolutionary revelation,
I turned my face upward
And found the warmth of the sun
Didn’t have to burn me
I opened my body up
And felt a comfort in the waters that
I had once felt would drown me.
The budding flowers I had let wilt
For so long
Arose from my branches,
Now growing toward the stars
With a few more rings
Of sunlight and starlight,
You’re much better at blooming than I,
But with questions now being watered,
My trunk grows with possibility
I may never grow to such great heights
Or fully know the universe beyond
But I do know, that no matter
The truth
If the wormholes
And multiverses
Are as real as
The Redwoods
And
Cherry Blossoms
I’m infinitely pleased
That I’m in this universe,
Sharing starlight,
And questions,
With you.
Steve D'Beard May 2013
the glitterball in space
wrapped in wormholes
caressed by distant quasars
peak at optimum speed
before floating falling
toward the muted aromas
of space age earth

the bile of industry
smears the planet in neon
one giant shinning marble
city lights stretch
in the haze from pole to pole
whatever hemisphere
whatever timezone
whatever continent

aqua is the precious mineral
few places exist where
hope springs life eternal
rivers were rerouted years ago
run by power corporations
who package it in sachets
with dehydrated memory

a planet of consumption
tectonic plates stitched
stapled, bridged and woven
the fabric of the world

we unzip to consume
revel in the electronic tune
that breeds our contempt
for the the lost seasons
our reason dilluted, polluted
by the tune that remains the same;
beautiful stranger
dream a dream for me
because now all we have
between us
is acid rain.
a poem to accompany a track from my forthcoming music release on Herb Recordings. You can hear the track here: http://soundcloud.com/kinkslapandfriends/aqua-ft-marion-jordan-sayonara
dj Apr 2014
I closed my eyelids.

a unique space-time I've
created. A new world with I
               and you,
and in it we're us;
pseudo pagans
               adjust
in my multiverse of could-have-been's
wannabe's and forget-me-not's,
there's a million wormholes back thru

it's a glittering new world
where we're happy forever
               (embalmed)
present-perfect continuity
we'll never need to question or worry
               of it
because it'll be ours to [edit]
a spiritual instagram. sorry for the link.

I'm a believer.
our story is brick-bound & pyramidal
it's worthy of true realness
I'll never let that faith fade.

and all I have to do is stay asleep
seal myself, artery by nerve, in this bed.
eyes closed but moving underneath
               (forever)
and here I'll lay; 1,000 years on
entirely petrified. a fossil of trust.
everything/everyone I had known - gone
               forever.
fleshy eyes, solid as stone now. Blissfully
(always) unaware of their end. No matter the time,
my (      ) still eternally & happily
               in dream.
Scarlet Niamh Nov 2016
If I could travel on a one way ticket
to the other side of the universe
instantaneously, I would do it
and take the other one. My scientist, my
love, my strayed away boy who will never
be. If those wormholes we dream of existed,
we would be together in a heartbeat
and away even sooner.
~~ My heart hurts when you looked at me, but it breaks now that you  don't. ~~
Liv C Aug 2010
To be in a clueless hurry I scurry to the amigos,
Where my heart belongs as they eat burritos.
Stolen are we to bury our nose,
In what seems to be a natural pose;
Catching his gaze he speaks of the glow,
Oh how I freely flow.
We laugh we philosophize,
Ron's darkness makes my heart drop as do the butterflies.
To keep composure and store away feelings of danger,
We meet and stand as though we are strangers.
The cold AC takes me back to the smell of astrology,
where I sit with the others and burn my apology.
Elle May 2015
Sun
I tried to look for another place
But no matter how hard I strive
To connect with a distant soul
The driver stops to drive.

The earth never stops
revolving around the sun
And someone once said
The connection never stops.

I guess we're not wormholes
And neither are you the sun to my earth
Cause you are the only one— my universe
Trevor Gates Dec 2013
Ripples of effulgent colors
Reaching out from waters disturbed
Waves bothering no one
Except silent moods
And heavy sighs

Leaves falling like the fire from the skies
Sitting at the river bed alone
Hearing the blazing trumpets of angels
In the air for all of the world to hear
Definite, gazing and profound

The streets echoing the screams
Of thousands
Maybe millions burning
The people melting
turning to ash

And

Visions so pristine, with pools of clear waters
Where the universe dances with shooting stars
Nights so serene, with comets and saucers
Where multi-verse poets tell fables from mars

Mirrors orbiting realms of light and sound
Along ghost ships, serpents and mango worlds
Wormholes overwhelms clouds that surround
Near women’s hips and flowing hair swirls

The earths below like a burning molten orb of muck
Where Rephaite giants wrestle behemoths in vile seas
The dreams glow here like a harem where angels ****
And centaurs play Gato Barbieri tunes full of gleam

And

That sad moment where I wake up in an ***** pit
Below the Broadway theater
And a little Chinese lady scoots me out for new customers
And I stumble out into the streets
And buy a paper
Reading of a stock market crash
and the end of my job

as I fend for life in the jungles of Vietnam
I see friends of mine get their faces shot to pieces
And their brains fall to my lap
And I scream as the Vietcong rush me
Hack my limbs off and leave me for dead
And I wake up in a hospital bed
A quadruple amputee
Falling in love with a nurse I might never see
Again, so I ask her to hold me and let me
Cry into her shoulder
Then I pay a homeless man
to push me off a bridge with him

We fall and hit the water hard and—
He sinks
I don’t
I float up to the surface
And when I emerge I see
myself at the edge of a river
Tossing rocks into the water
I call out to help
But He doesn’t hear me

He stands up and leaves
I crawl up from the river with new arms and legs
Crying with an emotion I cannot describe
For what dreams and past-lives have been here
And there
On this Day of Wrath?

On this beach of trash and rocks?

Where I can see my grand-kids playing
In the southern California dusk

And my wife reminds me of the first time we met
In that hospital
Next to the ***** den
At the end of the world.
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2021
Let's say,
you're an apple,
but you'd rather be a pear.

The internet recommends
phoning the produce gods,
in hopes of being replanted.

However, there's a catch:
it's a collect call
to another dimension.

And so you sulk and rage,
and pretty much bruise your skin,
until it dawns on you:

Wormholes are
spacetime's phone booth,
and it just so happens,
you're full of them!

Yes indeed!
Going bad never felt so right...
david jm Aug 2014
Anxious for my
Afternoon embalming.
Flushed free,
Laying down the masonry
Of trees yet
To be.

I must confess I want a jack and ginger.

My favorite manieur de mots,
Your offspring making
Silk of my spit.
Two book wormholes,
Circumventing travel,
Welding my smoggy sand castle
To the grey island you anchor.
Would you care to
Fatten up Elpis
With me?
For my pen friend.
Amy Grindhouse Jun 2014
Quantum grave robbery corpse bride stood up
acting as a grotesque sign post warning but
that tragic sideways glance splits seconds and
intersections spatters concrete bodies
Pathological investigation and morbid dissection
bears the heaviest weight
of horrifying and paralyzing eternal return
when time loops breaks you upon wheels
Tethered in bad faith
reminiscent of clamped surgical invasive insertion
Ouroboros chasing the dragon only to find the dragon is itself
taking shape as endless mass fed media distraction
Nativity naivety engaged in misstep
of evolution smolders like oaths broken from
talking heads revealed
as trumpeting propaganda warlocks
and even in an infinite period of time
they are still liars
No longer concerned with if it curves
oscillates
stays flat
explodes
is empty
Only want to know
when it all ends.
Zulu Samperfas Nov 2012
1979, A live broadcast, my father bid me come
to our new color TV set, the high pitched whine
it gave off muted by meaning
"remember this moment" he said
and we watched, in awed silence as
two men, Anwar Sadat and Menachem Begin shook hands
and our President presided
a cold peace at last
In retaliation for... Sadat was later shot through
the skull and died on a stage in a pool of warm blood
surrounded by his brethren

A letter dated 1944
My father's fingers trembled with it in his hands
He brought it out to show me
"I am the only survivor...all the rest are gone...
I am going to Israel"
Written hastily with pen and ink, our last
surviving relative who we know not of
bid farewell to Russia and was on track to a new land from the wellspring
of grief and ******

A Jew, my father
A half Jew am I and would have been all the same
to the **** killing machine I thought one languishing summer day
as I ate unripe apples with small wormholes at a farm
full of horses
Safe in the quiet, if uncaring peace of a world far away
from dead Nazis and the abandoned killing centers


Rabin Square in Tel Aviv, 2003
We walked through at night, my husband and I
A large empty space in a city without largeness or emptiness
We walk without recognition
as it is now just a place and not only a shrine
But I linger to look at one corner
At an embedded sculpture of confused cement blocks
jagged angles and useless plains, rendered in immobile lasting cement
a testament to futility
It is pain, frustration and the sickness of human violence--
Itzak Rabin
who was shot and bled to death
in a crowd in the dust of his also unknown and forgotten ancestors
in retaliation for the hope of peace

News of more bombs today
Fresh death
Mangled human potential rendered useless
In retaliation for...
Ashley Garreau Apr 2015
Where was I?
I fell through the sky when they all thought chicken little cried wolf
Somewhere in a black hole sun
A coin stands on it's edge and things aren't what they seem
Bermuda Triangle violently exhaling anomalies
The air splits like a wound when propeller blades start spinning too fast
Eventually we all get ****** into this perfect storm
I hear it's a place where magicians perform
Pull me out of a hat and watch the universe unravel
My heart strings wound too tight
The world collapses like a lung

Where was I?
Always dwelling in ancient libraries
Deciphering unknown artifacts
There's foreign footprints in these catacombs
All these digital files and old photo albums
Analyze, evaluate, re-analyze
Question everything
Metamorphosis manifests
And the chameleon knows how to change it's scales
The world goes off balance when Atlas's shoulders get tired

Where was I
When the sirens sounded their alarm?
Have you seen the basements of my mind?
Charcoal smeared and cold dust
Cluttered and hazardous
Climb out the fire escapes in the thick hot heat of things
Underground bunkers at Hiroshima
Salem burning
There are witches under the house
These tornadoes don't rest
because the scarecrow has a stick up his ***
Where does the lion hide?
Where does the lion sleep when the jungle's on fire?
How does the tin man ****?

Where was I?
Somewhere down the rabbit hole
Running out of time
That ferocious lunar grin
Meet me under the Cheshire moon
In that last lamp light
The toadstools tremble beneath our toes
Did you plant these mushroom clouds for us?
The mad hatter struck a match
and our house of cards is burning down
Why do my hands smell like gas?
I saw you catching ash on your tongue
I guess there's something beautiful in the way things burn
The roses are dripping red
and there's blood on my hands
The dream is gone when the queen cuts off
another head

Where was I?
Always digging tunnels in the ant farms of my mind
Dirt covers up old bodies
I leave them a rose
For paradises lost
For another lost soul
Another Eden gone to hell
Something slithered in the grass when the apple fell
Apocalypse now
But what is it about the way things disappear?

Where was I?
Where is here?
Khoisan May 2023
In a scribble
grammar-sphere
Covid-spastic-wormholes
from a new world intelligence.

Come on dudes this is a personal invite
who-ever own the guru-rules out there
come clear make contact
let's boogie on Bach
eat together with Spock,
vegans are welcome too
no disecting
no probes
no props
only sunlight strobes
just the few of us
a humpback tv
Danny Glover, Aeon flux
and Spielberg,
indulged in mars bars and smoked-yeast,
if the kitchen heats up I'll offer you
oil Sheik in galaxian crude dip with
elongated Musk on fire and ice.
Exzoplanet dips for the refined while the EATH is burning.
Sethnicity Jan 2016
To mutilate a body
of work and play on
To justify the night
from day,
Tray bomb
When ink on court paper
dismay
When blocks are heavy
more than cities and hoods
Having pens and fingers
crossed unlucky would
be Having plenty of sense
yields no change  know nothing
These are the feels
of blacks on reels
best trip found on wheels of steel
boys in hoods
dream of get a ways
but stuck in rent trap
just around the way
old whips spinning in place
feudal fictions with chrome face
but they spin in place
mine expired on the shelf
others capped in plastic
gone without a trace
and souls never get laced
wanna speak up
but the protest gets maced
wanna be out and about
but the fear has clout
taken root like gout
and tyranny's history can't be erased


We palpate emotions and scatter when lit
scared of the shadows ***(s) it reminds of the gallows
we don't **** each other for hate but the fear of fake fellows
when wedged against one another friendly fire is common
want the hole truth ask a woman
about **** and her worth to her mate
easily forgotten
or a conditioner well set in
the follicles of cells
that have scheduled themselves
does she have to remember or is she trying to forget
it's not irrational when the actual is soul grim
not one goddess in my life has been free from man's sin

So why would you ask me to fore grin the future for-a-shadowed past?
Those fair weathered sentiments won't equalize the rash,
the cash, the inevitable failing that you will consider surprise
but everytime I tune I-n-turn-all-bleedin; so eyes
Caulderize
in glass
and I rehash
pipedreams
about what it means to be flesh and
bleed to death until
dues US part          
of a hole
Whispe ring smoke shaped
squares that paint bland pastel No thin g(s)
over the future
over the graffiti gravel walls
artistic truth strewn loudly in rainbow-essencent  font
wormholes to the past
the truths written outside of the lines
like my thoughts
residing before and after their time

But I will not be blotted out
I will not be a second page story
I will not be his story
I will be beautiful
I will be bold
I will bow as I
will my will
into arches
like

A rainbow
you've seen one before but Why not once more
A candle cut and relit
You've Seen one before but Why not once more
A levy split wide then mended
You've seen one before but Why not once more
An invisible line to demarc yet removed
You've seen one before but Why not once more
A Justice Deferred to a Justice Realized
You've Seen one before but
Why not see One More
The 4 car pile up
You've seen one before but Why not once More

My Dreams have Dreams
and my deeds have means
I'd mute or late the alpha; Bet!
com mem or ate via
Con temp late buy weigh a
lack-lust-or-love core tessy of
for est ries dove s
held high above
a symbol to shove mine waves
in current streams
d v us meme S
eth ni city
Make Like Kings
and drop beats
down sewer swings
where rats tap time
on the crumbs of earthlings
Shiva grant me Wings
So I maybe shot out the sky
by pole lease hap slings
but Fire Works
with ease
Pop Flare
Beware
FREEZE
don't stare
You There
Whoop and Hollar
with yo hands in the air!

My dance is broken english
To Mute or late my body
of work is fore play
better read weep to soak up my
oil of a lay
scramble Hamlets in four ways
door ways work both ways and
mine is a carol cell of more rays
sung from sunrise to where devils dwell  
Jorge
No bullet will silence my pathway
Just incite celebration
reincarnation
for a birthday;
I learned that one from MLK
Happy Birthday to Ya!
Nhlanhla Moment Jun 2013
I am the guy outside the window
Wondering what it must be like to touch,
to feel...
I am the guy who appreciates a few seconds of kindness
Wondering what it means to live in a perfect world

I am the guy who finds success in defeat
Digesting just how strong I must be
Often finding failure in victory, if victory means I sell my soul...

The hours are long and there is so much to do in a second
it boils down to a single act
right down to thought and the moments in between
and the way you perceive the world as you stop thinking
without falling asleep
Reason takes sharper frame
there are so many questions and evident half truths
So outside the window you analyze the grey

and see the curves and spirals
and everything physical becomes an illusion
people and things become props
and life becomes a play
soon enough you reach a point of high epiphany
becoming clairvoyant, pictures and sounds transmitted along the web
the web that connects us all
and temples you see, many sailing in boats
Slaves and Masters, Kings and Councils
and Earth becomes a mirror of everything the verses unison

You deviate from prose and read the poem
a song starts to play and your mind begins to sail
thinking at high wavelengths
what is chaos here, is a planned order up there
and you transcend from dimension to dimension
picking up thoughts, incarnating as a walk in on other realms
taking part in Strategy plans of the Universe
you have a chair in the Federation
all races meet talking about their human and hybrid children

You learn that out there is not too different to in here
there are Spaceships and exhibitions
Aerial restaurants
Cosmic *** in a theatrical sense
the end point being the creation of worlds in voids - worlds absent
And you learn that there are Watchers, they are watching us
Learning about us, taking notes and samples
Sometimes they send telepathic messages
Sometimes they video-mix our dreams
Other times they take you travelling
From Egypt to Mars, From Mars to Konder, Konder to Lyra and back
at this point chaos down here, is a planned order up there
perfection becomes ridiculous as you see evil conducted
Mountains and vortex points, tiny dots on the screens of planet-ships

You wake up and you don't feel quite the same
You can sense vibes of having been through wormholes
Time linear starts all over again
you have to constantly remind yourself of where you are
One thing remains: the memory and They, that They are here and They are watching.
Bor ehgit Jun 2016
I could swim through wormholes until the universe ends and I'm certain I'll never find anyone like you. I'd be a billion light years away, still clutching that same photograph.
Neobotanist Aug 2021
eating figs
eating ***
eating flesh

i swim through my mother's veins
and peel back layers,
distinctly feminine.

i see me.
i feel me.
i taste me.

we hold delicate
yet strong and vibrant lovers
in our mouths,
inflated candy eggs—cosmic nectar.

foolishly gazing at our sordid massacres:
flesh upon flesh
seed upon fleshy seed

visions of nightquests
sing-songing liquidly

i vanish into wormholes,
fiery transformations,
and bitter leaves,
which weep through silver pores.

feverishly, we pick apart the stems,
dropping them away.
hurry, hurry!
we're so impatient to get these figs
into our mouths.

heads crane forward
and tongues ****** first.
hands follow, fingers last.
crush down once, thrice
on earth maternal—
it's not juice, it's cream.

siddhis speculatively come forward
and burn triangle patterns behind our eyelids.
she is freed again from past recollections,
elegantly fighting off disease—cellularly—while drumming solos,
gnashing figs,
and caressing twigs with toes.

i invite you to breathe me in—
soft, solid air,
stale with anticipation
but honey-lemon sweet,
and empty besides.

we pour sweet broths into banana-leaf cups
and drink beetles out of sugarcones,
traces of ectoplasm dribbling down our chins,
violetly forgetting the echoes of
peppermint vapors,
and nourishing our bellies
with heavy, pregnant plant mothers.

i long for excess,
and i can never get enough.
besides,
it is the summer of figs,
and we cry openly
at the beads of sweat
forever forming on glassy surfaces.

i taste-touch with my fingers
and feel-taste with my tongue,
and still i feel that we aren't close enough,
so i invite it to enter me and become me,
and now
i am fig.

it's as if the cilia-seeds
and tender pink spots
expect the pressure.

it's true:
we expect this solid, gravitational pressure
and they rip off wings,
just to bathe in our nectar.

she hadn't known true ecstasy
until this violation of figs,
until her madness imploded secretly
like their demure insides,
and all she could think about
was jelly pulp and pale achenes.

so saccharine, you say,
wiping your mouth with a sticky hand,
and wiping your hand on stiff denim,
but really there's even more sweet to come later.

green-plump
violet-plump
pink-pulp
swallow

i hear it before my ears do.
i see it before my eyes do.

i swimmingly tesselate
and wade through the liquid air,
particles dissolving around me.

there's some give,
and i'm able, you see,
to be here in this palace of
pent-up pleasures and lastly,
comes stillness.

she weeps hatred from her body
so it doesn't seep
into her half-digested fig:
the fig of all figs.

caked with dried mud and chocolate,
we emerge
and fall off effortlessly
into angles of light.

dust rises like a prism
along pre-choreographed
provocations of smoke—
steps cascading for spirits of anjeer
to patter down
into our realm.

feed me, they say.
and so we do.

we break open the figs
with childish fingers,
tasting before offering
on little plates carved out of spoons,
melting coconut lashes and spidermilk
in the process.

the oven creaks quietly,
and raindrops lift gauzy veils
from drowsy eyelids
on sleepy mornings.

pulling waterwords
from unification,
fiery feelings die down
until they're just a glimmer—
a glimmer of softness,
with wet embers tantalizingly
dripping fireworks,
like childhood.

waves murmur something secret,
and the whispers only take 5,000 years
before they reach your ears,
yet you still startle and awaken,
sweat on the brow,
and glisten your way through,
splashing sloppily through
paper screens
to deliver messages.

iron tea kettles sit in dying ashes for far too long.

in my visions,
i saw ripe, bursting figs
hurtling across starlit skies,
blossoming beautifully
before dropping heavily and with sound.

and suddenly it was summer—
radiant, glowing summer—
with our skin dissolving upwards
in the golden heat,
sparkling dramatically
in the decaying light.

i wanted to pull something out of me
but the strings were tied to my organs.

slippery insides meant less danger,
so we tiptoed on grains of sand
and grains of rice,
and black beads,
and black beans,
and pearls,
and magnets.

we tripped through hours,
while minutes crawled to a close,
and sifted fine blue watersilk
until it exploded with mollusks.

i am a clam
and you are a gallon of fir tree sap,
delivered every wednesday,
to embellish our
fried and crispy things.

almond-shaped plumes and
majestic, purple heliochromes
blaze saturn rings coldly,
while the fruit falls apart—
first at the center—
and our gaze lingers on mother:
she is
dancing,
and dancing.
PAGE ONE SIDE ONE

      The diffident boy’s chameleonic anguish sought to be cordial movements, only projected shaking and quivering hands while strolling along with a girl into a saunter down, down the street on a bridge hanging over a lake in a park.
      "Hold my hand" the boy said in a swoon to the girl, continuing - - "I love the shake, I love that frigid quiver, lets walk, jostle too beat, beat down the wind and jostle the street!"
       “Let us move further toward the illuminated illusions of the sun adjacent with the moon’s reflection blurred, misguiding us from shade for our eyelids, hiding,” the girl deviled, “but I know where, here,” she put out her palm, “that ****** glow is the heart of mine; take it, it is only our own warmth you will find. Let us be it. Only Be. Shade the other rays, for the other way to leave."
       She goes to hand the boy her heart, the boy abducting his hand to his side, distracted with the sun falling from the sky.
       “Oh, I must be here, here at this solemn lake, when it stills,” lightening and thunder from yonder occur, “Locomotion accompanying rain like pillars plummeting into walls capturing you and I becoming the storm’s echo. You may know where it is hiding, however, you will never go to where it is hidden.” each word pulsating from the boy’s mouth, his vision lost in the horizon of the sun burning out like a cigarette’s amber, “If I could only flick dawn into an astray and always be this high, then I would devour that glow in the palm of yours.”
       Tips of leaves sink to point to the ground, the sky begins to cry, and the boy and girl mourn.

PAGE ONE SIDE TWO

            “What the **** are we doing here, we, well I, must leave!” deep breathes in between each word as he spoke, “the air is dry, I can tear off the skin of an idol, spit up a song verbatim, ***** visceral vanity all over your tired hand.” The boy softly said, “To say that I care my dear.” Before the boy could finish all noise in the park inverted, causing sparkling wormholes splashed across the fields and meadows, slices of the moon shimmer on the rounded puddles. “I feel rested, well,” the boy paused, “the surroundings are spoken easy, calmed,” resonating, “calm, only small, smaller than the other."
          "Once… no only once I was told I was cold!  Consummate partner in your parallax! Whirlpool mirage, muddy pupils in the pits of hell, where at least? Is it scene that they are truthful devils?" The girl asked, “You must know, **** it!”

PAGE TWO SIDE ONE

The boy cried, he bellowed out killing, the sound killed,
whistles of felicity disguised in
a distant tree planted far, far over
on sides of mountains, where birds play a poet, creating, projecting the outcome of  this universe evolving, stepping-up the eardrums to shake… vibrate… create...
       "Noo…" the girl held herself under a tree with leaves stealing her. Roots absorbing her warmth, using it to darken the amassing shade, she’s dead, she’s a ghost now.
Killed while the sound killed, she's alone, holding herself, chancing upon her own to keep her memory alive.
       “Heed her advice, heed her owns. Draw pictures of her, with her face clear, photograph her face filled with tears.” The boy facetiously said.

PAGE TWO SIDE TWO

       "Oh, oh, I was a ****** fool, ******. It's graying out, the skies are dispersing, splitting into bluffs, let's go inside, forget about all of this.” The boy diverted.
    “Boy drops dead! Boy is dead!" the girl sedately said, "BOY IS DEAD BOY DROPS DEAD." She said, "lie down, grab hold of your chain, I will hold you no more, I hold only till I warm."
      "Chained? The links I combined on my own, with only you dragging me along. I'll speak easy, hang from this chain where I belong, and carve my epitaph into withering bark. I’ll starve until you deciduously leave this bright park." The boy’s eyes shutting as he fawns his final plight.
Boy dies changing his shoes.
Girl dies draped across roots.

— The End —