The Last Night in July
(I think)
by Evelyn Aimarie
It is the last night in July
(I think)
And this pink Moscato tastes like you.
Memories dance to the sound of crickets chirping,
Their legs rubbing bottle brush bristles
against my brain,
Scratching an itch I didn’t know I had.
I think I will call it—
Childhood,
Memory?
Lightning bugs rave in succession,
Primordial neighbor to the procession.
Release.
The wine harmonizes—
Honeysuckle exposed, sunray-damp.
Heat lightning remembrance, relative air.
Even the starlight lingers,
Pressing the mother Sun’s legacy of heat
into the blanket of the night sky.
Pulsing,
Sweat-drop breeze,
Kissing my lips sloppily but with a softness.
Like fingertips across my face,
Frizzing my hair like the hands of lovers—
And I exhale my heartless day
Into the musical
Of the last night in a small town, Southern July—
(I think.)
When I think about you my heart flutters,
A hush like wind through evening shutters—
Soft and sudden, tender-sweet,
The pulse beneath my thoughts and feet.
Beauty and books, how close they lie,
Like stars that lean in to kiss the sky.
Wisdom and knowledge, gently sewn
From seeds the same wild tree has grown.
I’ve seen your gaze in candlelight,
Like dawn that steals the strength of night.
In quiet halls your name appears
Between the lines of ancient words.
Pink oysters bloom within my dreams,
Drifting down soft silver streams—
So strange, so bright, their ghostly hue,
As if the sea were dreaming too.
You are the hush in whispered pages,
The calm that stills the storm of ages.
Your words are dew on morning’s face,
A quiet truth, a kind of grace.
Though time may scatter what we knew,
Each thought of you begins anew.
And in my breast a sparrow sings—
A flutter born on hidden wings.
So when I think of you, I go
Where petals fall and moonlight flows—
Where beauty, books, and dreams combine
To make the fleeting moment mine.
From time to time, I think I'm right about mistakes,
And I dismiss any other speculation, a scattering of thoughts in the wind.
I don't know what anything is, but it's precisely this unknown that frees me,
For freedom comes not from seeking answers, but from living in the question.
On the other hand, there's nothing wrong with me, a reassuring certainty.
I've never doubted anything, for nothing carries burdens.
Soon, I will transition to the absence of the presence of absence, a concept shrouded in mystery,
Meaning being there without obligations, without reasons, just a simple and pure existence.
A silent witness to the world, without goals, without chains of thoughts and desires,
A stream of consciousness unfolding endlessly, like a river of time,
Where each moment is a universe, and each breath is a verse.
And so, I lose myself in contemplation, in a silence that binds the sky to the earth,
In a dance of the mind that no longer seeks, but simply is, without being anything else,
A silent poetry that writes itself in the soul, without asking to be understood,
Only lived, felt, like an echo of a dream that needs no explanations.
I think I’m sinking not in waves
just slowly fading through my days.
No cries for help, no open wounds
just silence sitting in my head.
I smile enough to not alarm
I laugh enough to hide the harm.
But underneath, it’s getting hard
to carry pieces cracked and scarred.
I wake, I go to work, I wear my face
the one that fits in every place.
But something’s slipping out of reach
a peace I barely got to keep.
And when people ask, I still pretend.
They love the strength, not how I bend.
But God, I wish someone could see
I’m not okay. I’m barely me.
I THINK TOO MUCH
I think too much of what has been
I should let my heart rule the day
And treat it as a movie scene
I think too much
I’d let those thoughts just blow away
Nor ever work out what they mean
Keep a settled mind, some might say
A sharp edged blade may be too keen
But still cuts deep, as is its way
Yet can separate fat from lean
I think too much
Oh, if I could see once more
a gumball machine in a grocery store.
Alas, these days, I never do see any,
although, they only cost a penny -
and, then I'd like to take a ride
on a little coin operated car outside.
german chocolate cake with coconut frosting
cherry jello punch cake with whipped cream
champagne cake with seven-minute-icing on my birthday
three-layered lemon cake with almond filling
I salivate as I think about these lovely delights
Those greyed pink strands
That trickle with a crackle
As neurons motor there their weigh
That Brian that named itself
I gave the voices in my head their own costumes
Some synapses may have snap
…………………………..………p
…………………………………..e
…………………………………..d
Some people don’t have an inner voice
I think I got their share
Some just grunt
Not the day to ask how I am
Some whisper tirades of alarms
Some plot within
while chances of escape are slim
They all came from planets
No earthlings
Scarred Wars
Things Han could have responded….
Me and Luke are a thing
Once you go Chewie…
Get your stuff outta of the falcon
You snogged your brother
I am doing this to get away from you, you nutter
My name is Indiana
Something something
this comes way.
Cogito, ergo sum
I think, therefore I am
Rene Descartes
I don’t think~ therefore I am not!
Non puto, non sum
Oliver Mckeithan
Our words hushed within the requiem of dusk
Within sorrowful nights come wistful days
And o'er the saints and their haunting gaze
A shade, one more
A day foretold
My heart at peace, at tender brow
What's dark and bright
Comes day and night
The morning dew mellows
At the barron's implore.
Headlight humanity;
The cherry-red brake lights,
Becoming florid totality with the things your eyes do to them.
You destructive little thing.
You keep your hands noncommittally at five and eight,
But you use your signal like a well-worn saint,
Because your mother worries, and the passenger seat is still warm.
Your radio buzzes like the wasp nest that used to terrify you
On the wall of your childhood home:
They finally found a cure to the human condition.
Isn’t that great?
We’ve thwarted Mother Nature and all of her gifts—
We’ve put highways over her heart and filled her eyes
With LED cataracts,
And doesn’t she look better this way?
You think you saw her skull hanging on a fence post in Louisiana.
Her voice haunts the parking garage behind the airport,
But her infection
Has been culled.
They finally found a cure to the human condition.
Isn’t that great?
i cannot hide that i still think of you
a short romance you felt, but did not understand
you tell everyone what you never told me
ignoring what you did
hearing what you said
in those desperate attempts to wrap it all up into words
you trapped us
writing it off as confusion
forcing a conclusion
but I know it was there
I think I write so avidly,
Aggressively cutting the paper with words,
Because I hope to create a spark
With my force of passion
And I dream that it will become bright enough
That my own poems will form the lantern
That submits my darkness to light.
Poor me
It’s plain to see
My poetry’s flat
flat as can be
I think I’ll go awol
a bit after nightfall
Silence my critics ~
no end to it all
I'm just an innocent kid,
who always got straight A's.
I didn't mean it, what I did.
I'll go to jail one day.
I think I killed Grandma.
We went riding on a sleigh,
made a gingerbread city,
and danced the Nutcracker ballet.
What a dreadful pity -
I think I killed Grandma.
They'll know my identity;
with one day to play it cool,
I'll finish my gingerbread,
then turn myself in at school.
I think I killed Grandma.
Oh, I'm in trouble, deep.
Wait, she's up! Hurray!
She wasn't dead, just asleep.
Hey, Grandma, let's play!
Oops, I think I killed Grandma.
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