There's no sleepy bird
The morning has flown away
The bird does not break
The memories are falling down
Broken heart has become loved ones
Trying to close gap breakage
There's so much time to compensate
Waking up early like birds
To catches many worms on prey
Before attention breaking of day
Life catches many morning train
Working hard, going home the last train.
Here It Comes
You never thought it would be like this;
The blaring horror,
The Apocalypse.
Where is reason.
Where is rhyme?
Where now the metronome of Time?
Where now the sense of what is true?
Where the distinction, Black or Blue?
Your shattered senses fall its Force
You seek to draw Best from Worst;
But in the end there is no
Final sense, nor truth -
No distinction between the cares of Age,
The follies of Youth.
This is how it falls apart.
This the breakage of your heart.
This the end of all you knew;
Thus separates the False from True.
This is Chaos,
This the throbbing end -
This the final Truth
My friend.
I can feel my tendons contort
The sickening crunch of bones breakage
The skin across my face pulling to a snout
My lips ripping apart as razored enamel
adorns a snap
Can’t stand
Beneath me legs bevel lowering me earthward
I can taste it’s iron on the back of my tongue
My stomach grimaces in tongues of twisters
Left need so far back
My ears ripping into points
Every rustle edible on the nights hum
My screams no longer have a trace of humanity
Snarling spits and swirls of froth
Just highlights in the slit eyed shape I must become
What do you do when duct tape won’t fix it?
Y’know, when that “I got this” attitude is shattered
When it’s not things, or stuff, or “errors”
That require the questionable solutions of the “fixer”.
Souls are hard to comprehend and come without service manuals
No graphics or guidelines, no “call this number” bailout.
And yet they fail, suffer breakage, weaken with time
Outlive their expiration dates, idly linger.
Daybreak’s sun rises dimmer and fades to futility
As darkness intrudes into a vacant emptiness.
My tool box is useless, its contents befuddled
By an invisible break, an un-noticed fissure,
The silent slide into a dreaded abyss
Of distance, doubt, disconnection.
I am the duct tape and I cannot fix it
Save to cover my eyes and deny its presence.
Doership
Seems the mainstay
Of civilization..
The heroes of history
And of fiction..
A solid word
For the performers
With names featured
In breaking news..
The persistence of
The breakage of
Doership...
The clouds were quacking in the sea of sky
While the raindrops were fluttering to touch the earth.
The buttery soil was ready to get flooded
Amidst the shower of the sizzling season.
The earthly legs were swishing towards their households,
Vrooming their breaths against the wind;
The trees were banging against each other
With fears of unfortunate breakage.
The twinkling droplets of water were trembling veins and brains
Against the crashing ideas of disastrous dangers.
Finally, our Mother earth shooed away the flood
After zipping the thirst of her planet.
Contest name:Onomatopoeia
Conducted by:Emile Pinet
I have weight on, due to a moan
Those who labour under, Striving hope
Citizen breathes with recluse
See the country's ruller, gone to be rebel
Wondering those, illusion ail
The country gone to be breakage
Seek the history, we made it fiction
Whither see the route you are, trying to fly sole.
Union wons, being a garland
Accept those man, shares drawn the ail
Explorer are unknown, about the sage
Lash out the raze, agent of rebel
Be a union of garland
Let on, make of, right drawn
Recourse the grief, for an expect
To make regin drawn, with an terminate.....
She is so primitive, someone whispered.
I smirked, knowing they meant me.
Odd for sure, another agreed. Someone who never met me.
But of course had heard the rumors.
I am primal, I told them, telepathically.
But they were too advanced to pick up on it.
Too far evolved from their aboriginal ancestors to understand.
I loved the knowledge that they would have to live many more lifetimes
to obtain the primitive they thought they recognized in me.
One ventured closer, and kept her eye on me.
She watched my every movement, so I because entertaining.
Picked things up and examined them, as if I knew what I was doing.
Then plunked them back with a sigh, breaking two of them.
Her best china apparently.
Does she not know the disvalue of material things?
“She is primitive,” she reported back to her little gang.
I did not apologize for the aftermath of the breakage.
That would have confused them even more.
Heavy ink-tinged clouds drop
dew splattered attacks across my visage.
Drifting arms splayed in surrender, I
embrace the crush of brokenness
that envelops an armored heart.
A hollowness drills in dull drumbeats
in the pitter-patter of beaded drops.
It's a welcome retreat, stinging of sacrifice,
though annums have expired, behind guises of healing,
I harbor the chills of loss without outward censure.
Numb epigrams, spoken multi-fold to my ear,
bear breakage behind closed doors.
Planning to assuage the bruise
and restrain myself, a burden of knowledge
that you still left, and the falling rain caught on...
SUTAIH
H * H
I * I
A * A
T * T
U * U
S * S
And then it unfolded like a zipper that opened
teeth gaping through hollows worse for wear
top stop loosened dichotomy schisms exposed
slider with no way to go crying out for the past
time for perspective and to turn over the page
S * S
U * U
T * T
A * A
I * I
H * H
Am I missing something the aperture?
Should I weigh in with an anagram or
break the interruption suspend the breach
mind the gap right there at the interval?
DEPARTURE
ENRAPTURE
RECAPTURE
CLOSURES
JUNCTURE
HARMONY
Not everything broken needs to be mended
paradigms shift chasm is there for a reason
an open wise person searches new meaning
when things fall apart and repairs breakage
who needs a zipper when needle and thread
play with buttons and rearranges their needs
06th February 2021
For one's time to be taken for granted,
theories will arise.
Within them,
confusion is awaken.
As for the truth being taken from the stretch of ones speculation,
then leaving a dent in his or her concentration,
pausing the breakage soon expected in his or her mind.
Email: [email protected]
Address: 6323 brooklyn ave NE seattle, washington.
Sunrise
today
and each early day
heralds recognition
of faulty beliefs
of imagined breakage..
dawn breaks
erasing misconception
of the emptiness
of what dies
and what does not..
Indeed...!
Had I not seen you closely I would have missed the truth
You and I share the cup teeming in the pink of the youth
The waiting nostrils inhale the flavour of the black coffee
Both of us look into the mirror and look for the poppy
When the stars arrive at the red and green study window
We though oceans apart form the flame to melt the snow
The fun and wisdom that play out in the owl's circling eye
In our poem we incorporate them in a way they never die
You excel in painting the vampire and the luncheon guest
I widen my eyes with wonder and rue at my hollow chest
We've the same wavelength as we raise the standing wave
Our wine glasses cheers as the keen ocean kisses the cave
With the fragrance of the foliage we love to fill our lungs
We love the lurching moonlight as on our lips it comes
Isn't the lamp more eloquent as we walk the same passage
Leading to the poetry of the bonding and the grey breakage
____________________________________________________
May 9, 2018 // Art
How can we match along in the sea?
Can I be identified among your mannered colours?
Written in my palms are your routes,
When the tide shines on your skin
My mind is taken back to mother’s face.
Can our friendship be explained to the moon?
Even if your abode is salty to my tongue-
Can I be free to keep in touch with you?
You have robbed me of humanity love
And gives me nature’s future tale.
Are you the star in the ocean or the satellite?
How possible can I swim with you without
Being robbed of my sanity here?
Does jungle justice exist in the oceans like here?
Does your mother really care about your wellbeing?
Do you also think about the future?
When in trouble, how do you react? Calm or furious?
Tell me dear jelly fish< I care to know more of you?
Our lives hold together a thin cord which is fragile
And thick but never can tell of its breakage
When death emerge from our subconscious mind.
© John Vincent Artistry
For: Film Republic Pictures
As of a chrysalis
the beneficent breakage
exfoliation
emergence from
isolationism
into a mosaic of group dynamics
a centring of regard
a new diagnosis
a lissom beginning
departing an empty goblet
full of peppermint concern
sbaquie 2000
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