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Journal Entry: Tue Nov 11, 2014, 9:59 PM
Seal Point by firouz222Troubled Relations by fhelalrThe Sunset Solution by Dorothy-of-Oz FlightTo the gallows
My traitor
Blind dreamer
Deserter
Tongs on the lips
Utter the truth
For once
At last
Set me free
Don't paint walls black
Paint the future
Not blood red
But pulsing crimson
There's no going back
Nor is stagnation a choice
Death first to you
Incinerated fool
Ash on ash will melt
Stirring for rebirth
Swing fiery wings
Soar above purgatory
patriotic works of firemercenaries
become alert
to dead canaries - felled
in global corporate mineshafts of greed
[calling it need]
they eagerly take action
they're paid well
they die well
in far flung gun-fun CIA lores of war
[calling it peacekeeping]
thus quench for a bit
our hawkish thirst
but only for a bit
llp - dA - nov2014

letting goit means a series of tiny knots untied
from the long fingers of memory—fingers slender
as moonlight, as blue fishing lines hooking your heart
to the heavens. it means your mouth, your teeth,
no longer sinking your wrists like ships,
like an anchor dropped
to the bottom of thought.
it means watching the world
become the world again. like the body
before sleep, undressing itself
of metaphor; becoming itself, roadless map
of flesh. (for the first time,
you hear a train whistle, and it doesn’t mean
what it did.)
the moment when remembering
becomes larger
than what is remembered. the moment
you feel yourself more
than a scar you pronounce
into everyone you touch, more
than an abandoned train station
named future
that never was
, more
than a vessel of language
on loan from grief--
memory hands you a glass, and you drink.
watch time suture
like a wound.
the moon
is a pulley, the ocean
a black cord, and god
is a tired fisherman sitting on the banks
of eternity--
reeling us in
Ana by aninurLondon Eye by Mizu-chan-x3A Mermaid's Love... by mj-magic
I protect what's mine by Katarina-ZirineLilith s Promise by vampirekingdom BinaryAll man's gold, dug
and his art, crafted
in vain effort.
They will find her next to him.
God's eighth day.
Buddah's inner peace.
Nature's climax.
An unworthy traveler has crossed shifted ground, high water and stumbled into the holiest grace.
He will kiss the earth at the foot of the morning sun,
and dance around its roaring flame
because she is next to him.
EclipseThere are lapses on lips--
passionate fractions of moral eclipse--
tipping like a light projected--
shaking fragile and
mentally un-
protected;
great lapses of time--
rhyming a thousand ideas sublime,
packed into a second--
but the lips trip
as is (or was not)
expected.
Such is a trap as you.
Laughs last into the future
far too soon.
You are Time
and at times a strange rose:
a red and violet shifting bloom
back and forth,
then and far too soon
crooning now and always
the solvent to our fears,
whetstone to our tears;
and, sure, the solution to what stays.
You play for days in ways of layers;
in Mays and Octobers, too,
you beg for me to ascend the stares.
Full of danger,
but who really cares?
~
I will buy the groceries,
and you will cook,
and I will wash and you will dry:
far from now
this is how the days
ought to--
                   oh,
                   how I forget myself
 
Gracerelease the troubled memories that hold you in their bonds,
liberation for our pain and stain for what our merge responds.
grace.  a trace of sweetness.  musky, like dusk, jasmine and saffron.
the thermodynamics of an ancient, urgent heat, action and reaction
as the parabola of kisses misses nothing worth mention, intention
sown and reaped, moistures seep and weep and keep the tension
barely bearable.  I communicate a wordless poetry in surrender,
tender as a sacrifice to a price for bartered beauty, defender
of that which has already been given in chaste clarity and charity,
a gift to the magi who imagined us as spirits of inescapable verity.
hold nothing back not even the blackness and I will not slack
in my prescient tense of what you desire and require, no lack
of ardour and all my amomancies have become apprenticings
to your escape from the grey to lay claim to all your whims and wings.
William F. DeVault.  all rights reserved.

BreakawayMy friend, the sea is not a poet.
He forgets tendrils of foam on the tideline,
it's not verses, the strings of pebbles and seaweed on the sand.
He's a mute god,
and he never writes anything, at all.
At night, when it sounds like he's singing,
ebb after flow, he only just pins for the moon.
And when little skulls and shells wash up,
the hieroglyphs they form have no meaning.
He carries life in its waves, and when life is gone,
he carries death, and it's the same to him.
My friend, don't be sad.
The stars always rise and reflect on the shore as the tide pulls back,
and you may see the universe,
and the universe is a whole mirror to our Earth,
and it's bursting with stories.
Jahnaci IV by myusernameistaken2 Creole FireDig your hands in the Mississippi mud, dear;
stain those pretty fingers like my skin, my heritage, darling.
Feel what it's like to be kicked down like a dog on the ground,
like the lowest form of life; gasping
as stale October clogs your lungs,
the stench of burning leaves,
burning cakes left behind on the stovetop, burning flesh.
Oh you made my mother feel inferior,
you made my sister feel like killing herself and
now you're looking up at me, begging for mercy..
Well, you should have known better;
it can't hurt you if you don't believe.
Voodoo forest, Bible-belt;
light 'em up, hang 'em up high above the Georgia pine.
Nestled deep in the Old South;
your house was grand and fine,
decorated with lace-trimming,
flowers pouring over balconies,
carriages in the courtyard lawn;
waiting to be filled with the best of the worst,
aristocratic narcissists on their way to another
Bloody Mary-stained jazz-swingin cocktail party.
You left us alone to pray,
drape our beads over windowsills,
call upon
.: Blooming Star :. by retro2kQueen Ravenna by IreneNorthern
Gettysburg by Cinnamoncandy Cadenceit was the softest idea that occurred to me,
while tracing the fresh memory of
your fingers on my skin,
calming me, like the sun going down on the wet, green earth;
this was the tenderness in your face as my tired tears
wet the cushions.
I was wholly encased in your warmth.
there I was slowly suspended, embryonic;
not still, but in a state of cadence,
returning to myself - harmonic
and returning.
you've seen me,
I arrive back to you every morning at the end of my long journeys,
the night still fresh in my cold hair
and the smell of quiet lingering between my fingers;
all the stars still clinging to my clothes and
I arrive at your body. then I fade into the realisation
of deep, sleepy solace
for the truth of your eyes has made
every colour in me, open!
like the sun creeping into the pale blue sky,
you open your summer eyes and my veins hum
with happiness.
you are the root, my state of cadence
my repose returning - harmonic
and returning.
Snapshot: A Closer LookSnapshot: Ragtime Piano
Play me a tune of
Barroom echoes
When the nights smelled of whiskey
And roses
Snapshot: Old Hickory Tree
Cornerstone of the field
Long before my granddad knew
His own name
Snapshot: Circus
Sunfaded tents smelling of the ocean
As old canvas dies
Snapshot: Pipe Organ
Vocal chords of the strength
We left in Eden
Snapshot: Dog
The puppy knows the womb
He hears the throb of God's heart
As he licks your face
Snapshot: Cat
Warm embrace of affection:
Intelligence to know better;
Stubborn enough not to care
Snapshot: Mother
Saevus Amor in Veritate:
Fierce Love in Truth
Snapshot: January Woodpile
Ice encrusted brutes of
Reddish-black
Who live to burn
Laughing in the flames
Snapshot: Dirt Road in Summer
Rooster tails of dust
Fan out behind my truck
As I race beneath the glittering green
Snapshot: Homemade Ice Cream
Paradigm of daguerrotype summers
Snapshot: Plains
I hopped a rusty freight
Toward a
Past Royalty by Tigles1Artistry Avalanche TrioletDisasters follow in my wake
in waves that rise then fall again
like panes of glass that deign to break —
disasters follow in my wake.
The mountain giants roar and quake
on broken-hearted twilights when
disasters follow in my wake
in waves that rise then fall again.

FLY INTO THE NIGHT by MADmoiselleMeliAutumn Woods by PrincessMagicalSpectrum by pompafunebrisThe Art of Making Love by creativemikey Marlboro WishesI watch pebbles send ripples dancing
across the half-congealed sludge
of a gas puddle left behind
by a nondescript driver
in a badly painted pickup
picking cigarette butts out of the ashtrays
in this abandoned parking lot.
You study me with steady eyes
over horn-rimmed glasses
and lips lined a working-girl red;
in a fit of inspiration,
I let the puddle settle
and tell you
I've been skipping wishes
across the aurora borealis
hoping for a break.
Before you drive away,
taillights red beneath a red light,
you strike a match across the dash
and hold it to your Marlboro Red.
Take a drag, working girl,
and leave it still-smoking for me.

(Last Night I Dreamed of) SnowFields of snow, vast expanse
Hard-packed, baled and stacked for delivery
Like cold sparkling cotton
Beatrice e Vortice Del Cielo by LenteScuraMood by BrookeGilletteAnother autumn shot by XDRdanielEl Hada de la Luna by maiarcita
plum blossomI am not asking for a life of flowers
but maybe one with less screaming.
like half a bottle gone
or an empty wallet
or something less than your woman
with himalayan conviction
saying you won't
treat her
right
or can't.
I have seen the great wall
of china, but only in pictures
including one of the edge
in a sad attempt to
bisect the pacific.
here the only boundary
is the edge of the photo.
if I were a flower I would
be a plum blossom
blooming in winter
and never having to think.
even the pictures of them
look pretty.
can you feel all the ocean
crash against a wall of stone?
I can't
not here.
not this one a.m. carving
rectangles on my screen
tracing boundaries with
one finger
as the other hand
slides down my scalp
and over my eyes.
The Last Fly by pedroaugustSouimanga de Mariqua by KlaraDrielleSupplicating air of the Robin by Momotte2 Telephone chords and dissapointmentsSniff the newsflashes at midday:
-Hung by his ankles from a tree
because he stole a dollar bill,
some boy in some lost town
in some unknown country
in this unknown world.
Yet she considers you a dissapointment
because you hesitate to open up your nearly
imaginary
wallet- she wants her daily coffee, notwithstanding her bloodpressure-
Twitch not your eyelids, fellow:
a ten year old girl, tied to a telephone post:
policemen still see the hugs of the telephone chords
the embrace of the wires
around her thighs, her arms, her feet
her neck like a hanged one after the knot has been cut off,
read it while you sip your lunch,
your lunch you bought without
hearing your parents your wife your husband
lamenting their families their neighbors their friends,
anyone,
you.
Harden up your wallet,
payday is too too far away,
yet she wants a birthday
brighter
than all the cities of the world
shining in the colorless space
-hates you for your hesitating face-
Believes you a junkie, junk, junky trash:
dail

MichelleMy mother is black cherry candles and Pepsi
She is a thin face and knees pulled to chest,
Cigarettes hanging from yellowed fingers
and teeth that are not her own.
She is a crackling laugh
that bursts sharp and forceful,
with a humor that is as petty as it is cruel.
She is hair, wisp thin and faded;
Unskilled hands clutching paperbacks
and Valium.
She is teenager in a woman's body,
more absence than person,
Never fully grown
and clinging stubbornly to the girl she was,
Before my sister first kicked in her womb.
Dear Parents:Strike the soft skin of your children; leave marks.
   Go on: show them how hard they must become
      to be like you.
Mold them to be mindless: coach them to react
   with fists; make them believe that words have
      little worth.
Shape them into an almighty monster: modern man.
Destroy their purity and imagination by damning them
   with absurd words of a god who previous men
      imagined.
Teach children to follow a leader, and to not ever
   break the circle they belong to, so society never
      moves forward.
Above all: train them to question love, even your own.
BabaYaga by wjh3Dark Hollow Falls - exclusive hdr stock by somadjinn LibraryI want to get lost in a world of my own
Surrounded and untouched
Where I can run my fingers over book bindings
And worn pages
Falling in love with language that pulses in its articulation
I want to open doorways to worlds that burn through the imagination
Bringing histories to life
Emanating sounds
Color
And light
I want a world of my own
Where I can do nothing but lose myself in others.

Night Observation by EndlessFighterAutumn Magic by Nelleke November 2ndIt smells like winter
under the half-moon,
where my breath
becomes the sky
and gather the stars
to my chest.
Watershed road by NorbertKocsisAnother Dream_08 by caddman
a morning in reeds by StargazerLZ upon seeing blue polesand quickly, hessian bags were introduced
anatomically,
rescued by
some form of provocation
seen through priceless, fluky paintings
of blue poles.
***
Lets get personal,
lets overreach our own nostalgia
triumph -
- garment cloaked
at vespers,
draped in donated jewellery
even as a grey pox
marks our lucre skin.
No that's not right either.
How to strip this vibration of it's blue poles?
how to say we have not lived
but only pretended
staggered - surprised
as rock ripped flesh?
Perhaps like this...
(i)
our memories are wide mouths,
vaults we once placed in front of us
well before birth
to swallow the dying wood and love
from the land
all at once
(ii)
like those blue poles
you stabbed me into recognition
swirled around me - like a curve of time
carving scars
upon the weary pages  
of our crumbling atlas
across the surface of our half-dreamed earth.
Revenge of the Witch by frenchfox Waiting, Watching Just beyond my back door,
from a tightly bound cloak of summer green  
peeks delicate sea shell pink.
One brave November tea rose
challenges the reds, golds and russets of autumn. 
I hope it blooms before the killing frost. 
 
 
 
© L. L. Kelly 2014  
HOOK by juhoham

  • Mood: Neutral
  • Watching: Forensic Files

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Scarlettletters
Brendan
Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
Current Residence: Cape Hatteras and New York
Favourite genre of music: All of it
Favourite style of art: All of it
Favourite cartoon character: Bill the Cat, Oor Wullie, Snoopy
Personal Quote: They're taking them out in little green bottles again, and they all look like you.
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EligoDesign:iconeligodesign:
thank you so much for the fave
Tue Nov 18, 2014, 6:02 AM
xlntwtch:iconxlntwtch:
Thanks for the :+fav: for 'About the Blues'
Thu Oct 30, 2014, 8:44 AM
Alexpintor:iconalexpintor:
gracias por el watch
Wed Oct 29, 2014, 8:23 AM
Alexpintor:iconalexpintor:
gracias poe el fav :)
Wed Oct 29, 2014, 8:23 AM
eqlrytes:iconeqlrytes:
Thank you for faving my 'Hot Mess'. :)
Tue Oct 28, 2014, 10:23 AM
Blacksand459:iconblacksand459:
Just wanted to say a BIG THANKS for collecting and featuring my poems!!!! B-)
Sat Oct 25, 2014, 8:30 PM
xlntwtch:iconxlntwtch:
:pumpkin:
Wed Oct 22, 2014, 9:41 PM
copper9lives:iconcopper9lives:
Darling, thank you SO MUCH for your donation of points!!! Love you! :heart::love:
Mon Oct 20, 2014, 6:57 PM
xlntwtch:iconxlntwtch:
:la:
Thu Oct 16, 2014, 7:38 PM
nofxmike06:iconnofxmike06:
Thank you for your support!
Wed Oct 15, 2014, 1:02 PM
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:iconcaddman:
caddman Featured By Owner 10 hours ago  Professional General Artist
Brendan

.....:iconthanksforthefavplz:SS my friend...cheers ...:lolly:
Reply
:iconirrevocablefate:
IrrevocableFate Featured By Owner 12 hours ago   Writer
:huggle:
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:iconblackbowfin:
BlackBowfin Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Hey Brendan.  Thank you kindly for da fave. 
Reply
:iconjimfleming:
jimfleming Featured By Owner 2 days ago
Thanks, old bean :) The poetry is coming few and far between...
My muse is guiding me toward essay writing....Trying to stay centered
and at peace with myself...How are you?
Reply
:iconivanvladik:
IvanVladik Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks very much for the fave, my friend! :-)
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:iconbark:
Bark Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Professional Writer
Thanks, Brendan!
Reply
:icontinalouiseuk:
TinaLouiseUk Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Daisy Png By Tinalouiseuk-d7rmfjq by TinaLouiseUk thank you +fav 
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:iconbeautifuladmiration:
BeautifulAdmiration Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much for all the faves!  It's a good feeling to have my work admired by a fellow artist who produces such beautiful things. :)
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:iconaninur:
aninur Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you :TipOfTheHat: 
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:iconvetchvespers:
VetchVespers Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Student General Artist
The strong silent type.  Never comment when you :+fav:.  ;P  

But thank you, sir.  It's much appreciated.  
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