Trapped in an empty space I wait,
Did I get the day straight,
I don't like being late,
So here I wait,
Feeling like bait,
Awaiting my fate,
Their eyes propagate,
As thoughts accumulate,
My unidentified state,
relating to some others' view,
What do they think I'm here to do?
While i sit waiting for you,
My emotions begin to stew,
Through the attention I drew.
My true intent in the moment,
And the reason I've been sent.
This unseen event important,
I'm your entertainment,
A form of enslavement.
I cant change the engagement,
Representing my best reflection,
Hoping you get a good impression.
Entwined in Divine Intervention,
Waiting alone in this session.
The perfect lesson,
Life is in constant progression.
Time I leave my position,
And continue on my mission,
Fishing for a reason you didn't show,
Finding a light in the shadow.
"How beautiful you are, so vast and deep; how vital to us all: Magellan’s Mar Pacífico, the 'Peaceful Sea,' so magical to me." by poet
I was named for my peacefulness
though at times I batter shores with angry typhoons.
So large am I that I cover a third of the globe!
No other ocean compares to me in
volume or in number of islands and atolls
whose various beaches I touch upon.
Thirty-thousand islands claim me as their waters,
and my barrier reefs shield people from storms.
Encompassing vast regions north, south, east and west -
such as my basin's volcanic “Ring of Fire”
and the Challenge Deep of my Mariana Trench,
I am home to most of the world’s sea creatures,
but please keep me clean. Protect me!
Your plastics accumulate in the “Garbage Patch”
off San Francisco’s coast, extending to Japan.
Precious fish are dying from the mess humans make.
Generally warm, I welcome you to my shores.
Surf my waves, ride my currents, and explore my depths.
Just remember; without me and my sister seas,
your vital ecosystems cannot be sustained.
Memories dwell
within low spirits over-
whelmed by suppressed
feelings and unspoken
thoughts that accumulate
into a small ounce
poison juice.
My father craved it,
My mother hates it,
My older brother became
lost in it.
I for one nor hate, craved, or felt lost,
I followed the smell and it lured
me with its delicate scent
and harmless manner.
a sip of its warm
flavor coated
my drained throat,
the taste is somewhat
bittersweet, but
its flames bursts
as it hits
my stomach,
its fragrance strengthens
its resolve causing
my head to spin
in illusive traction,
my body burns
to a hundred degrees,
the intensity latches
onto my lungs
like a bloodsucking
parasite rejuvenating
what's left.
While gasping for air,
I lose consciousness,
blurred vision,
echoes strum
against the walls,
I fall barely holding on,
while whispers travel
along my ears,
as its voice ascends
slowly,
I catch a glimpse
at the shot glass filled
with barrenness,
a once detailed portrait
is now the remains
of a youthful shadow.
Shadow Waters
The water-bearer leans his urn silently,
pours starlight over forsaken streets
where neon lights flash their final confessions
and shattered promises accumulate like rain.
Here in the reverse trickle of time,
where advancement is lost in its own reflection,
the era turns in, searching for explanations
in dregs of what we believed we'd gained.
Electric prophets air hollow gospels
while the crowds scroll through ghost lives,
each contact another strand that entwines us
to this tapestry of lovely despair.
The constellation turns above, unchanging
those very stars that once held out liberty
now witness us tumble into the labyrinth
we built from our own radiant ideals.
In tower suites and lower-level clubs,
the children of the future sell their souls
to algorithms who recognize their secret names
and dole them out in morsels, afterwards.
Yet, still, the water flows, unceasing,
carrying seeds of something not yet born
perhaps redemption sleeps in darkness
of this shattered, brilliant age.
The carrier's face away from us,
sloshing the future drop by drop
while we stand dry in the flood,
suffocating in our own lighted shadows.
When trying to grasp thoughts through our mind’s haze,
It’s like trying to escape a thought maze.
As the bits and pieces accumulate,
How will they connect, how will they relate?
We try to relate them to things we know.
Each thought should be placed right where it should go.
So many topics to assimilate,
We constantly add and have to update.
Without clear focus they may lose their flow,
By first burning to bright then losing their glow.
Without definition, they will not last,
Some good ideas will drift to the past.
Give each thought it’s time, make sure it’s defined,
It will be its best when finely refined.
Dragons don't cry, nor laugh-- not that they can't!
It's just exhausting, to accumulate
Years, wisdom, and gold: emotion they slant.
For all their beating wings, their heart runs cold.
To love, fiery? No. To mourn unto tears?
Again, no, they don't. And having lost love,
Laughter too is gone. Have you heard echoes,
Arumble in the canyons? Fierce laughter?
Dragons do not cry. They are too old, tired.
So let the ocean salt the wounds you bear,
And let your madness mount the dragon, ere
You see the dawn and dusk, the cloudy draw.
Soar, winged emotion, drown sorrow in tears.
But be not dragon, for whom the cold heart
Beats without laughter, tears of joy, nor grief,
Lives uncounted eons, born nether shadow,
Without connection, regret, love, nor loss.
No.
Laugh with the spring rain, Sorrow over loss,
And most of all, love. Love with tempest tears
Grieve with your short years, and be not dragon.
Jolly good time
Under the railroad tracks
Never know what you might find
Kalidescope of possibilities
You accumulate a pile of goodies
Alchemists would be jealous
Relishing my variety of dubious choices
Delightful place to find treasure, car parts, used gum
180 barrels
A trendy couple fled a tourist resort and left behind 180 barrels of human waste; one wonders how they could accumulate that much ; the pair fled to Guatemala, farms cocoa plants and lives on a diet of bananas. A woman called Meghan, makes it clear that she is also a Sussex, whatever that means, has a podcast, and tells us she is thrilled with her success interviewing other privileged women. We are pleased to read these inanities and think if the 180 barrels of crap have sprung a leakage
The local news is, a Ukrainian who fled when the Russian army came knocking on the door looks askance at me since my view is different from the other people in the building. He came to Portugal with two new and big Mercedes, enough said!
Doesn't money feel like slavery,
Delegating where you need to be.
Acquiring desires that are temporary,
Keeping you distracted so you can't see,
Because it's needed to feed the family.
As taxes accumulate rampantly,
The Rich ask the Poor for charity.
As they're selling life by the hour,
Devouring all our precious power.
Waiting to bloom like a flower,
Hour by hour Lives grind down.
Payday is owed to the town,
So there's never enough around.
The sound of new trends come around,
Throwing whats left to the ground.
Enjoying the new trend they found,
Cries of hunger all around.
Not a care in the world,
As they move toward alone.
It's time to cut the chord,
Tying us to money.
So we can see,
The power is in harmony.
Money was a fallacy,
Only gaining what was temporary.
Doing anything necessary just to carry,
Taking the power from you and me,
Stealing eternity,
You'll repeat it till you see.
My demons terrorize my ghosts.
With cannabis, I treat the aftermath of my chaotic choices.
Irrevocable truths engraved on the indelible scars of my impure soul.
I'm still trapped in the same nightmare since my divine spark drifted closer to the flames of hell.
I sing the symphonies of my miserable life into the microphones of the bearer of light.
I stopped whining before the universal force.
One day, I will bathe in Lucifer’s furnaces to taste the delights of eternal life.
I accumulate transgressions and blasphemies since I discovered the grim nature of humanity.
I celebrate my failures so my victories remain taciturn, like the melodies of silence.
I still cannot chase after the fleeting vanities that humans sanctify.
Still not a hypocrite, so truthful that solitude has become my ally.
Still allergic to injustice and forked tongues.
Still alive to never imprison my dignity in a dungeon of victimhood lamentations.
Oh, lovely snowflakes,
from billowy clouds,
plump with expectation,
you break free and come tip toeing lightly
on tiny feet, gliding and dancing,
through the air in crisp December.
You travel through ether
uncaged and free and drop down
littering the earth’s expanse.
you keep falling and collapsing
one on another, and lie huddled
as a white massive heap-
sometimes landing thick as round balls
sometimes as the light dusting
of talcum, soft and pulverized.
The earth wears your white mantle with pride.
Those of you come first,
get vanquished instantly.
but when the real exodus begins,
you accumulate and heap,
inch by inch and foot by foot,
becoming a formidable force,
covering the earth in a thick white blanket.
In day light, you wink like twinkling stars.
at night what delight it is to watch you,
gleaming in moonlight, with your white hair,
grizzled into grey and ivory.
Folded in your dazzling beauty,
and enjoying the silent lullaby,
the world wrapped in cold stillness,
goes to sweet slumber.
Success is like a pot of soup:
Think about making a pot of soup
You put the ingredients in
Boil them for a long time
It seemed like nothing was happening
Suddenly the sweet smell came up
That's where one may wear its smile
Success takes time to accumulate and grow.
I have always envisioned hope as feathers,
thanks to a favorite poet, but as time goes on
and life flies by
I realize that for me, hope has tendrils
As layers of life accumulate,
tendrils of hope climb and grow
when a layer of pain develops
a tendril will sprout
When a loved one spirals and
scars accumulate,
a tendril appears and will
reach for the sky
When a loved one dies
and leaves you to sort
through the ashes of life,
a tendril will shoot forth
When a heart cries out
to the one who created it,
a tendril will reach all the way
to the heart
Gold and silver are real money
Fiat currency are sophisticated
Form of theft
Gold and silver money
Are source of royalty and power
Fiat money are source of corruption
Our souls teaches us:
Don't accumulate wealth
Spent it now
Or send it ahead before your death
Rich people's wealth
Are in the graveyard.
We're born innocent, naively alive;
from babe to toddler; we know only love.
But things start to change as we approach five:
Santa isn't real, and push turns to shove.
We learn by example or pay the cost:
peer pressure can dissolve the strongest bonds.
By asking questions, we're already lost:
buck the system, and see how it responds.
Like fading photographs, memories blur
as the years accumulate over time.
We'd like to believe miracles occur:
but life has always been an uphill climb.
And at the end, through faded photographs:
we peruse the memories of our laughs.
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