She walks amongst the Stars
and fuses, catching particles of woven energy,
in calmness and serenity
through porous, seeping, vein filaments
what looks like, frozen reflecting ice ferns.
Is it the activity of sensory
Spiritual depth ?
Is it electric current ?
Dressed in atmospheric lights
flowing through transparent tiny droplets
its lightening rivers, seen in the iris of the eye.
Volts, like the nervous system
and tattoo's permanently, of an image
in ones mind
an invisible face,
hidden by a visible veil
of Blue
The departure is all I know.
Its familiarity is embedded in the sadistic comedy of my consciousness.
Its affection is engraved in the intimate deception of my own searing flesh.
Its practice plays on a loop in the fond erraticism of my haste.
The malice kisses my tears as it spits salt into my sores.
The isolation tends to my methodical mourn of a mockery.
The reassurance of my ruin strokes my hair; a reminder of my rational wreckage.
The impulsive denial of my fate lingers in the darkness of my preordained doom.
The doom of my dread.
The doom of my denial.
The doom of my destiny.
The deliberate descent into the dusk holds me hostage.
The eerie malevolent vines of its malign wrap around my vindictive matter.
It squeezes until I drip with the decay of my own skin-swallowing dejection.
The white of its teeth gleam at me, gasping in my reluctant pleas of sojourn.
The rot fuses with the warmth of my blood and the salt of my sweat.
This is the end I yearned for.
This is the termination I yearned for.
This is the finale I yearned for.
Calculated.
Segregated.
Anticipated.
The doom of my departure.
when lightning struck all fuses melted in the fire
no more circuit breakers to interrupt the inevitable
stillness loneliness darkness and necessary change
reflections without light can be very illuminating
at first the images showed shattered past and emptiness
fear of whether a mosaic of joy could ever reemerge
doubts and resentments clouded sound judgement
while emotions played inner tunes of havoc and angst
and yet as introspection reached out to a future
tentative sounds of happiness crept in once again
only he himself would shed the load of the past
and loosen the weight in his body mind and spirit
Great blessing with faith, God fuses,
Grace in my heart, He infuses,
Thanks and praises, soul profuses,
As His vessel, me He uses,
His love, He never refuses,
Turn from sin, it sure confuses,
Leave away all your excuses,
He will save from all abuses,
Goodness to all, He diffuses,
God's light through heaven suffuses.
Together, with or within proximity to people or a person. Community, unity. The invisible thread that attaches from you to me. Wherever you may be, recently I’m manifesting that place is next to me. Where our forever dialogue exchanged releases a type of ecstasy. Our bodies attach like magnets whose attraction unapologetically fuses our souls together into one spirits sleeve. Forever sewing a line of cosmic communication between soul notes, that play tunes of elevation on a bar everlasting. A connection of love chords created outside a wish or prayer. No human power can birth this communion; soul-traction love affair. Joyful flutes sound off when one another draws near. Ten strings play hypnotic music. A melodic heavenly tune our bond conceives when the holy unity of two flesh bodies connecting destined to meet. Pulled from his rib I am his missing connecting piece. Designed to link everything, creating our Unity.
I murmur like a rivulet through the
hitch of your hands, where the canyons
carve their parched longing into your fingers—
where silences sublimate like cera,
pooling beneath your glissando touch.
Your tremolo breath convulses rough and low
like sibilant submersion in water—
spilling, sinking, staining everything it meets.
I watch the estuary of your gaze split my horizon—
watch you hush abysmal eyes into
celestially arched surrender.
There is no stillness between starlight,
only the pull of mighty magnitudes,
fuses lit beneath the ribs,
pulses and throbs teaching the air
how to cleave—how to…
sforzando!
Love, here, is neither reserved nor reticent—
it is lightning bottled in glass—
hellfire burning beneath the tide—
language that deconstructs
even as it is uttered.
I step forward—some faltering cadence,
some submitting ascension—placing my hands into your fire,
not to be consumed, but to remember
how stars revel and rain.
In the maze of forsaken wasteland the tired traveler,
breathless, can’t respond to the summon of unseen caller,
stepping out silently at the fringe of the hazy horizon unclear.
In the twilight hours the distant bell tolls,
he can’t perceive where, but knows who calls,
waits deadened before the ebony curtain finally falls.
The candle has melted fast to the end mark,
the shredded shadows of the frozen feelings lurk
in the inert mind getting starkly petrified in the dark.
Glacial senses feel God’s aura in warmth bestowed,
as He paves within terminal quietude the benevolent road,
and walks providence alongside death to the heavenly abode.
The sound of warm footsteps destiny doesn’t miss,
as the soul is released from the clutch of unfeeling abyss
and fuses with the supreme in the embrace of eternal bliss.
would I want to if I could
Jesus think of the heart ache
the life lived
I guess that's why I read it
in the end I just would rather
read it than have to live it
better to have loved and lost but
after sands melt away and those
embers smolder so too (if only
in a way to
steel away what turned out to be
tarnished silver) though all you end up
longing for
is peace with it and say when
that I cant only do what can be done.
It is done regardless
so now they say a survival tripped
hard wired faulty from their
somewhere a circuit breaker
too blown the fuses all failed
not even civil engineering…
isn't that nice
or good as they say in
‘the good life’ or so I’m
told never had much time
for dime store sci fi but
good I’ll take the short and high notes
wishing it played out like a jazz piano in the streets
slow moonlight swirls like mercury in the puddles on the ground
your one black boot
splashes into me
Some people need to find help for their short fuses
Not the wisping grasp against the parchment
That licking click of writer as he tpyes
The cold inanimates touch of skin on screen
Memories only shorter I eye aye the Scottish yes
Scrapes and scrawls on cave dwelt walls
Truncated truck trimmed in intricate trestles
Who was the first message in a bottle for
Bobbles of sheerest ink like Scottish lochs
as.morning mists turn solid for a movement
I enjoy being wrong
Keeping pictures of the dead to the soon to be
Words the unleashed an atom
Words that end wars
illlusions putting fuses to the con
My muse has left
So I better be …….gon
Not the wisping grasp against the parchment
That licking click of writer as he tpyes
The cold inanimates touch of skin on screen
Memories only shorter I eye aye the Scottish yes
Scrapes and scrawls on cave dwelt walls
Truncated truck trimmed in intricate trestles
Who was the first message in a bottle for
Bobbles of sheerest ink like Scottish lochs
as.morning mists turn solid for a movement
I enjoy being wrong
Keeping pictures of the dead to the soon to be
Words the unleashed an atom
Words that end wars
illlusions putting fuses to the con
My muse has left
So I better be …….gon
They've been talking about the end times
since the beginning of time.
The will of fear is to keep us in line.
Will I be cherry-picked for heaven
or tossed to the pigsty.
I have an opaque flavor of faith.
Never fully believing in divine things.
That I've never really felt or seen.
So, I'll probably be going down fast.
When all the carnage and $hit hits the fan.
but for now, I'm riding dorsal fin waves.
Lighting the fuses and having a blast.
They wrote this play to target
folk like us to be together.
Anyone who share these types of interest
would find this worthy of paying
money to see.
It's a neither lacks excitement or meaning
instead it combines them both
with the popular detail that makes
something entertaining and great.
The play set it self uses a three room set
and a laboratory set where
the actors engage into the exciting skits
of know thingness
that fuses a storyline
which creates villans and heroes
allowing the folky people create
the narritive which
might instruct the audiences
sense of what's happening.
The guy wears a mask and stands
to distance him slef
while another man who knows whats going on
and he knows why it's going on so he
engages into foolishness with no purpose.
He dawns the same mask and stay's in the distance
too. The badguy mask wearer is looking for
the secret formula: he knows who has it
and he know's where it is. He must get close enough to
retreive the formula which he beleives to be his.
Goodluck Production company in collaberation with
Break a leg Drama Inc.
and VerbArea Music Company. Border and Cuclorama
Direction and Staff.
On summer nights
Nostalgia's muse revives
Scent of jasmine
Fig tree fragrance fuses
Memories meander
Minty ice cream flavours
Add sweetness to hungry kisses
Star gazing to cricket symphony
Roof top whispers of love's infinity
Days drenched with salty waves
Sun flared skin soothed
In joint showery sprinkles
Summer days, summer nights
Surges of joy, exquisite delight
Looking back, I sigh, I cry
You entwined with my summer high
And now...
Autumn in here and you are not
The nagging rain will not stop
Yet I take a walk, soaking up this misery
The smell of dead leaves turned to rot
Instead of those forget-me-nots
Fills the air
How can I not care?
What happened? How? When? Where?
A memory sleuth, I search every moment
Empty... no clue of love's demise
Rain tears flow from my eyes
Your sensual summer vows
Forgotten somehow
And now....
I wait a brutal winter blight
with no promise of spring
Eileen Manassian
Our ceiling fan went up in smoke
But didn’t catch on fire.
It seemed okay before it broke;
The culprit was a wire.
It happened fast and we got scared;
My husband flipped the fuses.
I guess we’re never quite prepared
When we’re whom bad luck chooses.
The burning smell took hours to fade;
A new fan will replace it
With safer bulbs, yet I’m afraid
I might not quite embrace it.
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