From the Earth to Kiss Our Skin

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Cold air combs my hair; it turns my nose to ice,
I remember those days, filled with the warmth of vice,
There was hardly sunshine, but there was wind,
Energy that flows from the earth to kiss our skin,

The bricks crumble as they hold up our lives,
Like bees selling honey to mortgage their hives,
Glass lets us cut into the lives of those we ignore,
Instead of seeking entry through their front door,

Dishes pile as we breathe and conspire,
Entwined in our bed; this lust is dire,
Our minds drift to forests, where fairies dwell,
Green covers all life, animating this sweet dell,

Walking upon moss that sponges and frays,
Sipping the sweet smell of wild floral bouquets,
Stopping to drink the water that drips and drops,
Hushing as we see the lone bunny hip and hop,

Hand in hand, we are borne into movement,
Solace warms our soul in this anagogic ascent,
We rise above the earth’s vibrating energies,
Forward and returned like the tides of the bluest seas,

We make our own warmth as we urge, together, on,
Awaiting the sweet, milky skies that precede dawn,
If our hands are cold, our spirits are tenderly anchored,
Swimming for an eternity, finally reaching the shore,

Rising and falling, desire dances upon your lips,
My spirit escapes me—-

—-spiritless, in a moment, eclipsed,

Life grows in the moss, as love flows from the sky,
Silence falls as mother earth hums a last, sweet sigh.

 

-fin

Growing Pains.

He said: “It will rain.”
She said: “I know.”
He said: “I won’t cause you pain.”
She said: “Yes, you will.”

He said: “Let’s walk hand in hand.”
She said: “My hands are full.”
He said: “Let’s go to a far away land.”
She said: “I have spaces here.”

He said: “The sky is blue.”
She said: “It’s lovely.”
He said: “Let me help you.”
She said: “I’ve done it thus far.”

He said: “Oh, okay.”
She said: “Let’s day-dream.”
He said: “The sky is blue.”
She said: “It’s not what it seems.”

He said: “What is it then.”
She said: “Love, I think.”
He asked: “What’s that?”
She said: “It’s like being thirsty, and having a drink.”

He asked: “Like the desert?”
She said: “It’s like feeling home, when you’re away.”
He asked: “So, going home?”
She said: “It’s like sleeping and having good dreams.”

He said: “Let’s dream together.”
She said: “Let’s dream alone.”
He asked: “Why?”
She said: “To share our souls.”

He said: “I like that.”
She said: “I knew you would.”
He said: “I like you.”
She said: “I made your heart grow.”

He asked: “I made yours grow too?”
She said: “Yes, always.”
His eyes said: I love you.
Her heart said: I know.

He said: “It will rain.”
She said: “We have umbrellas.”
He said: “I’ll cause you pain.”
She said: “We will grow more;growing pains.”

He said: “Let’s walk hand in hand.”
She clasped his hand in hers.
He smiled.
She said:”My hands are full.”

fin.

 

nb: Just want to clarify that the genders used are meant to implicate power dynamics as well as character differentiation.  #inclusiveLove

Tessellated words; Mosaic thoughts.

I am afraid of not being heard.
Not because I am not speaking,
but because no one will listen.

You have so much courage,
To talk, to express love and emotion,
Even if there is no one else around.

You show what you feel.
You breathe new life into the world.
No one has to hear—you just feel.

Not only do you feel, you share.
How do you do that?
How do you not feel the world compress
your soul, your voice, your heart.

Do you feel it?
Do you just keep breathing?
Where do you draw your strength?

I’ve tried stick figures,
You know? —to stick it to it,
But I just got stuck.

I am going to keep trying.
Trying to sing to the birds,
Hum with my soul,
Dream with love as my guide.

It is so hard;
But laughing is so joyous,
Laughing from your toes
Snorting through your nose.

I might stumble along the way,
But, from time to time,
Sing with me,
Try with me.

But most of all… dance with me.
Show me how you love
That the sky is blue,
That it rains and it pours,
That the sun kisses just as it runs away,
Show me how you love the possible

Show me how you love
the impossible.

I’ll stop being scared.
I’ll try and stop being afraid of
not being…
not being…..
It’s too hard.

I’m clawing against my own mind,
I’m retching out the emotions that make me up,
I’m reorganizing, re-categorizing, redrawing.

Not withdrawing.

I’ll try and love,
I’ll love.
I’ll not offer the world fear
or contempt, or jealously, or hate.
I’ll love.

If you catch me as I am laughing or
being too loud
Please laugh with me.
Let’s just be ecstatic to be.

 

Spiritual Debut of the Murmuring Heart

Pressing thoughts deliberate their untoward will,
Crashing relentlessly from wall to windowsill,
Rays restrained from filling dark fissures of thought,
Expanses of desert drinking up all I have got.

Level the field that engulfs the sea of squandered souls!
‘Don’t do that!’ they brazenly chide and they scold,
Leaving the empty unconnected—like stars with no signs,
Expecting us to forget the agéd power of the divine.

Warmth is a feeling often served to the bitterly numbed,
As our limbs pine and our dreams needle to overcome,
My fearless hero! Brave the storm of abject ignominy,
Mending the broken walls of shame by nurturing dignity.

Remember dear heart….

Love is a phantasm that swims into the depths of the bay,
Just as it soars infinitely, farther, up, and away,
It refuses to be held in the palm of one single hand,
For there it has little room to stretch, grow, and expand.

Like the pressing forces that mark the point of no return,
Hand in hand, the meaning of love is less easy to discern,
Fingers interlaced, woven together so they may never fray,
Palms pressing into one another, as fruitful souls sing and sway.

Cherish the crosses and noughts that expose your fears,
For it’s easier to live a life without love that’s austere,
Miserly counting the affectionate dissonances,
Instead of writing one of the world’s great romances,

Whisper your secrets from the depths of your murmuring heart,
Erratic, muted tones that, together, morph like abstracted art,
Let it be seen by someone, without further ado,
All you can do, angel-mine, is bring love to your spiritual debut.

 

-fin

edit:
To hear it read… click ME

Piano Man

spoken with accompanying music (prelude in e minor) here

The pulsating air could not disguise how the mallet fell,
Resonating notes written in an enchanted, magic spell,
Bewitched by euphonic mysteries that herald love’s promise,
Symphonic paradise that revealed lovers suspended in bliss,

An abeyance of laws and physical worldly realities,
Ethereal movements colliding in fragmented unease,
Touching and caressing, softly or roughly with pain,
Hallowed be thy name; crossed thresholds and profaned,

Like a petal about to fall from security’s hold,
I await the fall from grace into that which is soil’d,
Respite and reanimation is granted during the fleeting interlude,
Incarnate absolution from the transgression to which I allude,

Notes sung on high offer a thunderous conclusion,
Seemingly at an end–

a shocking illusion,

Persisting and prolonging the moment we ache,
For that is the inglorious instant we break.

Awaiting your mouth to wrap around mine,
Anticipating sustained moments of the divine,
Bacchus draining his decanter in a dubious crescendo,
Recognizing the delusion, but loving you even so,

Passing into oblivion as the days come to an end,
Like a river whose path meanders and wends,
Moving in motion with memory’s laps,
Always disappearing, but in form, I am trapped.

~ fin

Antidotal Anecdotal; Medicinal Maternal

When I need it most, the words escape tangentially,
Sanguineous emotion yearning to surge expressively,
Trapped in eternal damnations, buckling under shame,
Ravenous lamb astounding the lion you’ve tamed.

Excreting words without meaning, and meaning without purpose,
Trembling troves of buzzing elocution secreted by the nervous,
Nightmarish apprehensiveness colludes with the power of fear,
Making it impossible, improbable for my words to hear.

URGH! What message is there hidden by this muting potion,
Rapidity of death as sharks prey upon me in this unending ocean,
Tender organ racing as I am beaten by life’s brutish, bloodthirsty fate,
Deluge of alarm as I succumb to this foreboding sensuous spate.

Riddled with meaningless intent, puzzled by intentioned meaning,
Anxious that the absurdity has taken away life’s silver gleaming,
Up and down; down and up–broken but mended by verse,
Ceaseless, unscrupulous unsleeping are the tell-tales of this curse.

The antidote is the poison by which I am drugged,
Rendering me engorged with polluted yet cleansed blood,
The sweet scented day-dreams are filled with passions aplenty,
But the same mind’s eye desiccates the heart, leaving it empty

[whispered from afar]

Remember, my dear, sweet-tempered child,
All my love and joy is within you and riled,
For when I first looked upon you I was beguiled,
All you ever have ever done, angel, I always smiled,

The skies are but filled with efflorescing long-lost souls,
Awaiting the moment when they’ll become again whole,

Glittering stars that sacrifice existence and give tranquil respite,
As if only for you they dance and twinkle all through the night.

Fluttering worries begone from this sacred ground,
For upon this face a jubilant cherubs’s smile is crowned,
My angel, you are strong and beautiful and powerful yet,
Because of your vivacious vitality, I will always be in your debt,

No, do not think these are just words to fill a page,
Or actors carousing upon an imagined pantomime stage,
My love is a storm that changes the face of this earth,
I’ve felt that since the moment of your birth.

While life feels difficult and so very severe,
I have every faith that your goodness will persevere,
So smile, my sweetest delight,
And show the world your brave might.

~fin

A Hand at Love

And when I kissed your lips gently still,
Tilting my head back, drinking my fill,
Ruffling my hands through your downy hair,
Not breaking for a moment, our deep-passioned stare.

Cold air pressed over our shy skin; chattering bones,
Punctuated moments coloured with sky’s changing tones,
Hand in hand, my fingers still rigidly cold,
Can we stay like this until we’re older than old?

Wretched bodies entwined and entangled sinew by sinew,
Etched outlines of life lines as lady history continues,
To stretch and breathe anew the ache of love’s first kiss,
Halted by fear; curious by design; lastingly engendered bliss.

Warmth that begins from deep down inside; burgeoning with joy,
Reposed but electrified by this creative power that destroys,
Gentle moments that impact a lifetime of meaning,
Taking the air from my soul, you keep me breathing.

Blossoms have yet to be kissed so gently by the morning sun,
Young lovers have not learned to conceal the love they’ve begun,
Drinking in passion’s ambrosia, the sweet nectar of youth’s fires,
Tranquility in stolen moments whilst cupid and venus conspire,

Lovers lost in the deepest maze of tender enrapture,
Safe in the lands of love’s perplexing and phantasmic allure,
Hand in hand, our love makes us courageously bold,
Let’s stay! Stay like this until we’re older than old!

~fin

Storm’d Heat

Scratching the graphite into the page.  Stomping your soul into the earth.  Dreaming your essence unto an universe of an unravelling infinite expansion of a helical dance.  Driving your soul downwards and your essence upwards and outwards.  Feeling energy surging from your fingers and into the day-dreams that soothe your wayward mind.

Lapping oceans clammer to hug the shore, “just one more inch,” she cries as she forcefully reaches to hug the earth she so desperately loves.  Mother Earth crumbles unto the ocean floor circumventing her waves.  Rains fall and mists away from broiled earth.  Falling and rising; cooling and heating.

Purposeful desire aches in his soul as he holds tight to fortune’s cruel wheel, over which he has little control, but he still holds onto it desperately.  Fortune spoke, one, two, three, four, five, six.  Fortune speaks, but her voice is graveled from having, for so long, been engaged to the earth as she rolls onwards:

The body and mind and essence all unravel into different territories.  Connected to the earth as she walks; sway, sway, sway, sway.  His eyes draw her being into his being.  Her love is hidden, far beneath six feet down, but much higher than heaven’s highest mount.  When her heart is stirred, she feels her heart race from all its hidden places, and her head becomes light as euphoria overtakes her.  Still carefully treading the road, wary of fortune’s lines, she closes her eyes as she breathes in hot, wet air.  Her lungs are filled with heavy air, but she is not made bloated by it; instead, her lungs release breath by breath through her nose, ears, mouth, and eyes.  Her lips give long-lasting kisses to dreams as thoughts pass by.  Her eyes gently hug each vision as they hop away like young puppies in a field of daisies.  Her own world is filled with feeling and heat and emotion and dreams, ever surrounding her being, ever clinging to her as burrs bite wild hair.  The world shuts off, but remains.  The world is her.

He cannot see what she sees, for it is the unseen.  He cannot hear what she hears, for it is the unheard.  But he breathes what she breathes as they breathe life into each other.  He feels what she feels as they meet in space and time.

Words into being.  Words blend thoughts and worlds as the graphite nestles into curves and lines of life and death.   the muse breathes.  the muse thinks.  the muse be-mused.  the muse is power.  the muse is statuette.  the muse blinks.

the muse sways as her body sings the melodic delirium she was lauded to whisper once more.

 she is unto a world of her own.  she feels the vibrations of the world below her and the sensation of the heavens and stars above.  she feels the clouds of emotion and wonder and imagination and curiosity.

he knows not what to do.

she knows not of it.

whilst she regards the stars, and her mind amongst the stars; ad infinitum.

Dream a little dream for me.

So I am about to share the weird story of my dream.  It is just such an incredibly random moment in my life, that it even includes Zack Efron.  zac efron? Apparently. Someone I don’t even ever think about, but for some hilarious subconscious reason (i.e., he should be paying the internet a lot of money for landing him in my subconscious) he was there.  He is the main ‘character,’ but it feels to weird to name him constantly, so just keep that nugget of information in mind.

I was in a long and cavernous hall.  The walls shone black and were lighted by long modish lights that did not really permit one to see; their sole purpose was to glaze the walls with streaks of light.  The illusionistic wallpaper wrapped the hollows of the caved walls, being subtle enough not to draw attention away from the eye-popping party itself.  Chandeliers danced as music charged through the hall.  Alcohol flowed into glasses that clinked in amorous celebration throughout the vast complex of celebrities at the party.  The visual centre-piece was a large Louis XIV-style fountain, made of the darkest glowing black stones that it looked as if sapphire caves had been opened for one night only.  Walking throughout the hallway celebrities popped in and out of view; a few younger, less known ones, sat on chairs like museum docents trying to herd the party along.  The party roared along side the contented participants, but their participation seemed serene instead of rowdy as the scene was set in such a fantastical place.

Seth Rogan walked past as though setting claim to the joyous hilarity of the comical styles of Will Farrell and Zach Galifianakis.  Seth’s comedic pantomime invited people to listen and interact infectiously for a short while, and then he carried on; he was the hour-hand that informed people of passing time as he circulated the party.  Unlike Sisyphus, Seth was dressed in a tuxedo and wayfarer sunglasses, pushing out gags and honking one-liners was not tiresome, but, indeed, a whimsical play on words, a merry-go-round.  This world seemed enchanting, like the first time Nick went to a Gatsby party.  I wished to know the host, since everyone else seemed connected by fame, and I passed through, welcomed, but not feeling the same.  So, I found a cavernous corridor to the side of the godly fountain, like a small church chapel, I knelt there and lay my purse and my coat.  Unafraid, I boldly left my possessions and decided to mingle throughout the party.

Walking along, I met a woman my age sitting on the museum-styled chairs, and we talked in passing as I hurried by.  I passed the fountain, drinking in its mist and delectable glory, I walked through the crowds of fashion and celebrity story, and I walked to the end of the long cavernous hall only to see, hanging starkly, a glowing exit sign on the wall.  His hand caught my arm, and I looked abruptly to my right.  He smiled with charm, and I looked on in casual fright.  He smiled, releasing my fear, and said, “that’s as far as the party goes.”  I looked all around, interested in the party around, smiling and cheery, I turned to leave.  But he looked at me and said,

“This is my house.  I am the host.”  I looked at him skeptically, but it was, indeed, the truth.  He looked through the party with wonder in his eye, and sat back lazily drinking and smiling wide.

“Such a lovely hall, I wonder at its beauty.  The lights, the fountain, the–”

“Let’s go!” He grabbed my hand, and I nodded in agreement.  “Adventure!  Let’s get out from here and explore the town.  This room is beautiful, but let’s go elsewhere.”  So, he held my hand and we ran towards the exit sign.  Remembering, I cried,

“My coat and purse!  We must turn back.”  I was afraid he would give up the dream, but his eyes assured me that he wouldn’t leave me.  He turned around, and we ran.  We made a game of the hunt.  Running through the stage of actors and actresses playing their roles, and occasionally he’d cry out,

“Look, a Megan Fox…  Did you see that fashion?”  Our celebrity safari-hunt dressed the cast as different wild animals gathering at the water to gossip, live, love, and survive.  We raced through the guests, holding hands and laughing the entire time.  I felt like Peter and Wendy, racing though the scenes of adult life and only stopping a moment to mock and question.  Holding tight to each other, our youth was reaffirmed through the ceaseless contact. We passed, at last, through the exit sign into the crisp air, but we were not cold.

Still hand-in-hand, we walked through the streets, the lights smiling down on us, and the stars fighting the light pollution to say “hello” too.  We approached a rather large intersection, and in a daze I did not even notice we had started to cross.  We were not paying attention to the traffic racing by; cars rang their horns at us as they swerved to avoid collision.  We moved to the island; he pulled me into his protection and we laughed.  We did not need real stars or real islands to feel free or to be in love.  We had each other.  I looked back over my shoulder and we kissed.  Still laughing, and this time, with the right of passage, we continued along to the other side of the road, no longer playing chicken with the cars.

“Food!” He exclaimed, “I’m starving, what about you?”  I was not, but I agreed it would be a good idea.  So we walked with the hope of a final destination now.  No longer flâneurs at a whim, we followed a distinct path towards food.  The magic had not left us, no, we were still lovers making amour as we walked along, but the magic of our setting dissipated.  The streets were dirty, the street lights too bright, and the traffic was smothering.  Love seemed to protect us from the encroaching decay, and we continued to fight the tragedy of modernity like Peter fought the onset of age.  Wendy travelled in lieu; straddling both worlds, loving both, and being loved in both.

We entered a restaurant, and he ordered for me.  As we waited for our orders, we talked, smiled, and laughed.  A cloud of rosy affection surrounded us; polluting the air with a healthy glow of love and kindness.  We held hands over the table, smiling into each other’s eyes.

Our food arrived and our worlds parted upon fracture lines.  Cheese; cheese everywhere.  I knew I could not eat it.  Somehow his attention was diverted into technology, and I pulled out a book.  Neither of us were really carrying out our act; he was not actually on his phone, nor was I actually reading.  I looked up at him, and he was staring.  He had a look of sadness upon his face.

“Oh!  I was just distracted,” I smiled.  “I wasn’t trying to be rude, I was just looking at the form.”  He nodded towards his phone to offer an similar explanation, which was lost as Seth walked past the window.  His comical time-marking was on cue.  He was still dressed in tuxedo and sunglasses, but now he carried an oversize book that entitled, THINGS TO DO IN TOWN.  I laughed and looked across the table, “He didn’t have that at your house did he?”

And then the magic left us, Seth had struck midnight.

“Wow, you said that rather loudly,” Zac exclaimed.  “You don’t need to tell everyone you were at my house.”  My rose-coloured glasses unglazed and I stared at Zac, there was someone beside him.  I couldn’t think when this new person had got there.  Who was he?  As my eyes focused people around me cried out,

“You were at Zac Efron’s house?”

“You were?  How do you know him?”

“What, Zac Efron’s house?!”

Torn from the phantasm, as I passed through time and space away from my dinner guest, I awoke to the sound of Seth walking by again, an alarming merry-setter, reminding the guest that even the fantastical has an expiry date.

~fin.

Trebbled Thoughts

Violins echo in my ear and silent whispers cry,

Harmonic perfection glistens tears in mine eye,

Euphonic love affairs etch love upon my mind,

Grasping senses crave the honeyed-sounds refined.

Among the tree-leaves, a harvest moon lights the sky,

Leaves awaiting the cold breath that will let their souls fly,

I look down unto the wet grass⎯sombre with dew,

Aching hearts have sat here before, never quite anew.

Sweetly singing fairies have called a justice-court,

Where love will be defined for the lovers’ comport,

Harmonic perfection⎯Euphonic love⎯Violins echo in my ear,

Grasping senses⎯Upon my mind⎯Glisten into softly falling tears.

Souls have come to self-actualize a duality of being,

From monistic I to coupled We⎯singular reasoning,

That two souls shall combine and unite into one,

While minds remaining solidly where they had begun.

Listen, do you hear? the harmonic strings sigh,

As delicate and peaceful as the lapping sea-tides,

Hush, my dearest, my soul has yet to sing tunes,

Of our honeyed sweetness and softly shifting dunes.