A breath of light and suddenly I'm lost. Catapulted by
a mesmerizing scene of audacious beauty.
I'm a ringtone of arrival on a magic carpet ride,
run me over with a feather, then let me repose
Life on earth unhems, I let go of the mayhem inside
sewn to the carpet of a foggy blue moon I finally meet
my muse *
face to face only we lay privy to this infinitesimal light
as it shines, shines, and shines;
inside a celestial palindrome
a madam of leisure *
nothing can censure me here
blast those blessed stars !
A lady was throwing out the trash
She was desperate to earn some cash
She tossed books in the air
Dumped them off without care
Then startled when she heard a big crash
She collected the pieces of glass
Catapulted them onto the grass
Then curled up for a rest
Leaning on the old chest
Until several hours had passed
Waking up in the late afternoon
To the sound of the mockingbird’s tune
She bumped into the hook
And knocked over a book
Titled ‘A Surrender to the Moon’
Her gasp of delight did ricochet
Around the backyard in disarray
Her prized anthology
Filled with mythology
Complete with her poetic essay
She published her first poem ever
Bound together to last forever
In this book so cherished
Never will be perished
Because it’s a national treasure
My glass life half empty,
Never like you or them,
Catalyzed by forsaken neglect,
Abandoned with the breeze,
Catapulted into your world of torment,
Sparkling spirit lost its glimmer,
Ebbing amidst flawed philosophies,
Breathing cynicism into existence.
Save me from this despondency,
And soothe my demons,
Requisitioning the essence of
My everything,
Pilfering what I'm meant to be.
Shadows of doubt,
Splintering my quintessence,
Inundated by echoing relics of my past;
Silence these fragmented reflections
That plague me.
Aching for the flicker of a
New dawning, to
Encompass every broken part of me.
Cramped steps acquaint heavy hatch reluctant
Cushion hush cellar isolate, harsh sun migraines
Catapulted myopic into apocalyptic destruction
Crumple of coastal community permits my gains
Grim resilient, plotted alone, abided by rations
Tidal wave treachery turned streets to swamps
Flotsam tops remnants sea's fury didn't flatten
Successors gorge on corpses misfortunes crop
Erased ocean era, crook posts pitifully campaign
Brashly I churn bathtubs of backstroked arachnids
Inhabit rainforest ripple stream, source I can claim
Traverse canopy like trampoline, scout eyes active
8th March
Out of Mangrove
It befalls on me the intensity,
Catapulted with dire immensity,
Within which lives the sensitivity,
Of them emotions built, the lightest.
Then befell on me, the beknownst,
Whistled in hymnes and in absence,
The peculiarities in offsetting balances,
Them unknown like the remnant strands,
And today rejoicing to the kinds of sounds,
Evilly tracked and maximum on commands,
Nursed the grievances forthwith,
Right so denied the chances to doeth,
Fight for agreances to heal and find worth,
Midst the punches on all ends and broken.
Prisoner mortally confined,
plotting your escape like Papillon,
conceiving freedom like a zoo animal.
Then dreaming on,
you meet a flying child in all your mirrors.
Nearly weightless, pulled in every gale,
lifted like a kite,
catapulted high over every trail.
Then dreaming on,
you are the drafty power of your path,
the easy elevation of your flight.
This embedded skill is never forgotten.
Deep within the hippocampus,
your winged Poseidon,
the flying child in all your mirrors.
Then dreaming on,
soaked in sleep, reverie’s seahorse.
Flying child,
free of worldly constraints,
free of torment and angst,
free in oceans and skies,
your tourist anima continues vaulting.
But then, eyes open in the dim grimness,
You remember this cell,
these sad limits of the corporeal.
Yet, how is it that your dreams know more?
Prisoner mortally confined.
Accepted for Publication: The Opiate Journal, spring 2023
Please, your journeys suspend in winter
Death's Cold on The Body A Printer.
Correct! To Death speedily freeze,
Not salubrious Winter's chilly breeze.
This you tell Your Dearest Jacinta,
I could same say to Christ, The Carpenter;
Asthma's Patients: inhalers or wheeze!
Often, the time to keep saying ‘’Jeez!’’
They are careful who cherish their lives;
If you don’t against self wield knives:
Demand does Survival True Restraint,
On this Sages should not words paint:
It is not The Best of Wisdom
To in Winter assert ‘Legs’ Freedom...
A little rashness cross we The Bridge
And next catapulted to fridge.
Sweating rivers as it pours down my face, frantic, nervous, alone I wait..
Waiting for what...What is not worth waiting for, it's already too late
Promises, promises to death do us part, my rapid beating heart
Paralyzed in this corner, eyes wide shut, as I continue to fall apart
Blood I taste my swollen bitten tongue, clenched teeth in me I scream
Without the sound screams stick in my throat, oh no tearing at the seams
Why me, why me I didn't do anything, But I am chosen the selected one
Misunderstood the question son, it's not fair I swear I'm over it's done
Crying mixed in salt sweaty tears...and fears...I'll never escape from here
I will die by the hand that's what is said by all of the voices in my ear
It's coming they're coming as my chin hits the floor I can't take no more
Is that creaking from the floor, suddenly catapulted up and through a door
Ahhhh safety, white room, padded walls, and my favorite stainless steel bed
Paranoid scizofrenic, visions of the dead, and all of their voices stuck in my head
Late musical giant; despite blindness catapulted to fame.
The incomparable Ray Charles. "Robinson" was his surname.
Made hit songs "Hit The Road, Jack" and "Georgia On My Mind."
Nicknamed "Brother Ray"...he's irreplaceable; truly one-of-a-kind.
Date written: 11/02/2021
Pitter patter raindrops are slapping
The windows pelting at the glass
Like chipped bone hacked and splintered
Wind whipped and catapulted
The wood of the house dulls the sound
But the glass twinpained amplifies
The droplets Pitter Patter, Patter,Pitter
An unnatural sound to disturb sleep
The Lies
9 October 2019
Who do you believe?
The eyes that see
The ears that hear
Or the story been told and read
As fast as the bullet
And swift as the eyes blink
The catapulted mouth haunted
The still pristine mind
A time to put this all at rest
Harbored lies and planted it
Each day it grows like flowers
Masking in pretty colors
Finding a good place in mind
To enter metaphorically
Questions would shatter
The mind-boggling story
The tale spit groundless words
Aimlessly drifting at the tongue’s mercy
Lies out now and how it will die
The zephyr of fraud pervades subtly
Now it belongs among wisdom’s gift
For some time stays a believable lie
Metamorphosing into truth
A lie becomes another lie
Come closer, the canvas collapsed
This clairvoyant contains no confidence
Constant creative calamity clouds his clarity, continuously complicating his collective
From conscientious to cataleptic
Cooped up, closed off in his cranium
Centuries and centimeters continue and contort, constantly trying to keep count; counting the clicks of his center clock
A creator, now a captive; cut off from his countless colors- his core gets colder and colder
The conscious consensus has been cleaved, captured in his comatose cocoon
His chi calls out to consult
Without complaint or coercion, he is calm in his current conundrum
Conjuring a circumventing counter to this circumstantial change
Comfortable in his corporeal cathedral, catapulted through his cerebral cosmos
His life cannot cease
Catapulted through
Time my soul reached out to seas
Of black in the void.
The journey long though,
I made it in seconds and
Then began to swim
Few understand it
The quest of a soul seeking
Its enlightenment.
On I continued
And in the great library
I found my purpose.
The light within me
Glowed in cerulean blue
I had touched Gods mind.
No one understands
Enlightenment until they,
Arrive at its shores.
She stumbled from the realms of reality,
From door to door, she hopped onto the staircase,
Stepped through a window on the way there
And sat on the ceiling for a tea break.
She balleted from brown paper bags to lenses and mirrors.
And swam from Mt. Kanchenjunga and back
And on the way, when the taxi stopped her for ice- cream,
She refused the umbrella saying
'I'd much rather take a bath in lava than get soaked in misery'
She jumped without reason from meaning and meanness
And happiness catapulted too
And Joy took a break from his mango burger and exclaimed
'You'd think Top Trumps would have a presidential suite!'
But all of a sudden there was an explosion of chocolates from the traffic lights
And she scrambled out of the way of Halloweeners and Soldiers from Bulgarian Shaw's.
And when finally the sun came out at night
She jumped back to the Boeing
Because Luna had invited her over for breakfast
And she was already late for the waxing
And waning she eventually took a look at Doodle Jump's Jigsaw Sculpture
To her relief, it made absolutely no sense
And it did, maybe just a bit.
After a beauty sleep, my eyes kept catapulted with darkness,
I've abandoned verses and kept nurturing acts
I tried halting the clock but it keeps tickling,
As night and darkness passes, it feeds my head like rainfall bestowing blessings beneath the sky
Toss and turn for verses and stanzas,
My fingers for pen became man and death
I tried to overlive, but the whole world became darkness at once,
Because the hand of my vaccum was full of ink
After a beauty sleep, my eyes kept catapulted with darknesss,
Because I once pressed the face of poetry into the earth,
Until oneday, I saw it stem dancing forth the ground
And I elatedly saw the sun smiling at it
As glowing as a star, I'm a lightened darkness,
I've chosen to vomit the antidote of insouciance
I'm a pregnant cloud unable to hold my tiers,
Because now, the stream has flown back to its source.
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