Blown glass heart slowly expanding.
With every breath they choose to lend you.
Pouring their heaviest selves into you.
You're quickly contracting while they're resting.
Shaping you into a vessel of misuse.
Blown glass heart cooling and cracking.
Timeless masterpiece shattering.
The fillers spilling out, red-faced and laughing.
No blowers left to be found
no lenders of breaths
no fillers of vessels
no more compounding interest
no angel to sweep you from the abyss.
The heart is still there, though in mosaic.
Your beauty was never in how they seesawed you
but how you see, saw you.
Life's beating mosaic in cornflower blue.
Thinking,
Feeling,
Moving,
Breathing fast and slow.
Questioning,
Releasing,
Learning,
"Where will my life go?"
Extending,
Contracting,
Radiating,
Sometimes shrinking when need be.
Remembering,
Experiencing,
Calling,
Who you were always meant to meet.
Shining,
Climbing,
Sinking,
Bouncing off the bottom floor.
Enjoying,
Embracing,
Attempting,
Brave is the one who questions what it's all for.
RESPONDING IDEAS
contracting
symptoms
of
characterised
emblamatic
affinity
in
a
precosiously
attributed
consensus
appropriately
&
expressively
determined
personal
uniformity
of
passive
naive
allusions
Are you angry at that belly of yours again?
The One that held space for life?
The One that still has lightning strikes?
God working at full capacity,
Expanding and contracting it beyond comprehension.
Are you still remembering how it all felt like a fight?
Aren't you holding that belly with gratitude?
A lineage came from there...
Once hidden, never again out of sight.
Hips strong enough to create a village!
A system so strong,
It brought something into the physical plane...
Can't you feel its light?
Are you still angry at that belly of yours?
Lets keep working on making it strong again.
No need for the tension,
Let's rewire its perspective.
It created unconditional love,
Nothing's ever felt so right,
Nothing in this world that is consumable replicates our children...
Let that belly shine bright.
To frolic amongst the daisies and posies is to relish
in the sweet drink of victory over a despicable,
old, and much-sought-after foe.
It is a feeling akin to splashing cold basin water
upon the face after hard work—lips chapped
by sun, sweat, and the long, tired day crowded
amongst them.
Reclaim possession; bring it home.
Long has this expected arrival been awaited;
arrangements have been in accordance with plans
premade for preparations upon this date.
Man dares not tickle the fickle temper of these
sisters of fate. Complaints remain an undertone, and
resentment answers not to “Pardon” on and on again.
In their ever-glow elegance, brilliant
refractions sway off their decadent dress.
Jellyfish patience is slow, a romantic cadence.
Contracting movements make the sway
feel like a swarm in the warmth of the elicit impress.
Oh the many ways I do not want to die
Captured by cannibals and made into stir fry
Maybe getting chased down by a raptor
they're not alive, so that's not a factor
How about if I fell off a cliff
Wasn't watching, while I was smoking a spliff
Most likely would be a car crash
or contracting a deadly rash
A spiders bite?
Definitely a fright
Getting captured at sea
by some pirate wannabee
Stung by a jellyfish
would not be my wish
So what ever gets me hopefully it's fast
Until then I enjoy each day till my last.
Last Friday’s date with Miss Information
Turned out to be wonderful,
She was not what I expected.
Her name is Sophie
And she’s never been woke
Somehow making it all the way through school
Without contracting the post-modernist contagion.
Bright, beautiful, well bred and read
She goes by Ms. not Miss
And if dreams come true
One day will be my Mrs.
(9/24/25)
soft murmurs of the heart concealed
allowed not the soul to be healed
contracting its heart day by day
yet displaying persona steeled
bleeding hearts see blue skies as grey
sit beside them, for a while stay
offer a healing transmission
touch of love, warmth of a sun ray
a heart contracting thought arises
we know it should not but it does
it is delusion of course, we know
because we know truth of Self
yet we are anchored in form
did not Jesus too cry out
when he was crucified
our anguish is lesser
yet it does exist
so we weep
and pray
for light
#Your_Red_Dress!
That red dress, illuminates you, setting all your curves and edges, from bottom to top, on a scale, my reality falling blatalantly to reach, it makes me lick everywhere in my satisfaction realm.
Thought to have met the climax of your gorgeousness, until tonight, Dzamn! lady, have mercy on my intake. for tonight, you braking gauges of my perception, a sigh in my reaction, sending palpitations to my capacitation, got no spaces inbetween my pulse, caught on an unbrakeable chain of one heart beat, its all tap dancing floors everywhere in my body, all surfaces damp with sweat.
My voice catching waves of hic-ups and staggering simulteniously. Its getting hot in here, don't know whether this sudden temparature changes affects me alone but so certain I'm contracting fever of your beauty,
I mean, the simphony your body playing to my focus, sweeping me off my grounds on an infinite routine,
I just wanna hold your hand and bow; Thank you for looking this beautiful tonight.
#Poetic_Ink
Has the new year brought me love,
Or just more solitude and misery?
Can it give a glimpse of happiness,
That's not inclined to a forgery?
I suppose that time will be the monitor,
As days, weeks, and months become the year.
Yet I am left to wonder and inquire,
Towards the pace, fast or slow, that I fear.
Often, there's a fuse to trigger an explosion,
Though it is difficult to know if it's been lit.
So while the seconds tick away in anxiety,
The minutes blow right on by and won't quit.
Such is the nature that time possesses,
Whether expanding or contracting in space.
Not to mention all the bending and gravity,
It's no wonder it can blow up in one's face.
Mona Lisa’s crooked smile
on a half-crushed Campbell’s Soup can
Joe Dimaggio reciting his pronouns uneasily
then lowering his batting hand
into a scalding hot cup
of ‘Mr. Coffee’
Where have you gone, Mrs. Robinson?
Where else? to the bathroom
~ Hemorrhoids again
Barney Fife whittling Andy’s image to
sawdust with a rusty pocket-knife
-- contracting tetanus in the process
Andy Warhol grinning madly as the
word ‘culture’ is finally eliminated
from America’s lexicon
~ All hail to pink, plastic flamingoes! ~
if we be not cursed
why then this strange thirst
contracting our heart
driving souls apart
Back from the desert and loving it
both the visit and the return.
The powerful plane deiced in Chicago.
Brittlebush, difficulty distinguishing acacia from ironwood.
Mesquite, and plenty of paloverde.
A good jazz band in Phoenix, their own style, no apology.
Could you also love your cancer? The vicious attack of a hedgehog
cactus?
The winter storm that kept us on the tarmac three hours
followed us home. Used to be
when weather made the headlines, that was good news.
No more. Those melting icecaps and incoming meteors.
Some pray, some stay still, some keep playing.
Anyway, notwithstanding inexorably expanding or otherwise rapidly
contracting universes
I saw cercocarpus, phainopepla, tomentilla, saguaro, and a great guitarist.
Prayers were answered.
Head
is where
ego dwells,
cajoling soul
to negate silence
and indulge in desire,
that our fickle attention
remains fixated in deep fear,
thereby confining us in darkness,
a triumph of sorts, since we’re living light.
Strange it is, that soul pays ego homage,
trauma bonding with demons conjured,
though but a thought form illusion,
haunts us moment by moment,
contracting consciousness,
veiling light of God,
ever aflame
in the cave
of our
heart.
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