Seven year old asks me about sitting on the clouds after we die. He is afraid he won’t find me there. I tell him we are family. We will be together. I tuck him in with warm Winter comfort. Happily I take the time to dialogue as his eyelids slowly close. His questions, like thirst, satisfied, as far as a child or for that matter, an adult can be.
in the clouds…
the London fog of eyes…
i can’t see you
It’s not that I believe we will be hanging out in the clouds, but the greater anxiety for him was if and how he would find family there. This was after he said, “When I grow up and move away, will we be able to see each other? How?”
far away
where you disappear —
return by plane or car
Over and over again, i tuck the blanket around his form, under his chin, ask him about school - he’s able to detail his schedule. His earnest eyes find favor with God…his troubles held in Jesus’ palms.
1/5/2022
To be unique
akin to be safe from from an imitation
though is hard
to be such a claimant
but what good can I not
do to save my life
from leaching or leaking
if it is from a prey
mine is a culprit
and now it is like a story
but how and how
can I be blown
though a life of a wishing
but how an imitation
for little or more?.
Awesome the ideas
revealed only to me
Profound their implications
as the deepest of seas
Envisioning an ovation
I focus my eyes
the audience hushed
~ my tongue paralyzed
Nothing But Sorrow
There is no longer any sign of hope,
The truth of reality is to much to bare,
My mangled mind can no longer cope,
As I'm filled with nothing but despair,
I long for the fortune of a normal life,
To bare a babe such is a woman's right,
longing is my womb, but never to hold a life,
To broken to hold the purist of life,
The loneliness of my solo fight,
My life alone no love from my child,
A life to be filled with only pain in sight,
I often wonder just how my child would of smiled,
I questioned myself why bother to carry on,
What bind to i have to this life i say,
All of us lie maybe i could be sly just one,
But my soul will be the one to pay,
Could or would the lord end my anguish,
I guess he's wrath would mark me condemned,
Maybe i could fight but would he simply have me vanquished
Regardless i am damned to reach a bitter end.
Damned to burn in the fire of eternity,
Or would he show pity because of the life he's bestowed on me,
These daily struggles and thoughts i must bottle to save my sanity
Maybe the only way i will see is it i chance it and see.
Implications
wanting
unease
a sense of lack
contentment on hold
until we find..
once found
separation dissolves
and reveals
that lack we held
was all along
already
fulfilled as an
inner treasure..
however..
apparently..as
the journey repeats
and repeats
the contentment
we need and seek
thru failure and pain
must also fuel
the engine of
creation...
Yes...?
Fascinated only by pathological manifestations
Of the subconscious mind
A peculiar mark of unfounded substance
A glaring light upon the hinterland
Perceived as negation
In which perception takes place
The implications of shallow existence
A recourse of ragged indecencies
That intricates the fallacy of life
With so much refuse and slag
In its labyrinth of cohesion
Beneath it all lies constant turmoil
That stands against all vicissitudes
Relativity’s science has its place,
yet surprises us with social rhyme.
For if you say you need your space,
then be prepared to give me time.
For if expanding space for you
then contracts your time with me,
perhaps we'll need to soon undo
our bonds of relativity
yesterday,
i saw the most beautiful sunrise
fireball red circle forcing its way
over that fine line
shadowboxed in its own glow
all while the snow fell fast
and heavy
(is everything complicated this lovely)?
what if every-time we touched
we could forget the past
and live normal
(whatever that is?)
would i still blush
like morning's sky
fresh, just getting dressed
and you still shiver
beneath rippled layers
of this love tight against your own flesh
as if winter was weathering my touch?
(like yesterday's rise)
what if we were like other lovers
without complications of past
lingering into the present
making us long for the future
would our love still be as beautiful
as this?
her friend showed her a picture of
a grieving dog---it’d been roaming
round the net apparently &
when he did, the look on his own
face was sad to begin with,
for the scene of the dog laying on
the floor flat in front of the coffin,
was one that brought about the
propinquity of the possible deaths
of those older than him whom he
loved dearly (for in the moment
looking at the picture, the relation
between the grieving dog created
anxiety regarding the ensuing
months & years of grievance to
come, if as a human, one has ever
loved at all---this is where the
healthy inevitably lose) & when
she saw it she turned her head
quick, as if she’d seen a car accident
in the making, slowly pulling her
head back after a pause to look at
her friend, saying without words
“why did you show me this?”
How many words can you think of
That we call little girls who play ball
Who’re bright and bold and assertive
And know how to take a fall?
How many words can you think of
That we call little boys who like dolls
Who’re bright and shy and thoughtful
And know how to knit a prayer shawl?
How ‘bout promiscuous fellas
Now for promiscuous gals?
What are the implications?
And where’s the rationale?
just a little bit more
quite
a scrawling
of the senses
or a Raven
to come
before the final
rain
gracefully
till the end
did Annabel Lee
stay till the end
there’s no portent here
destiny
or a sign
self-made
it’s till the end
art
truth
without seeing
but the Raven
looked sorrowfully
croaked something
and jumped into my eyes
“Nevermore”
(out of Heaven)
author: Bozhidar Pangelov
------------------------------------
Contest-Among The Dead
"Civil Implications of A Wanting Life"
I want to share with my good neighbors
to be his or her, good friend indeed
bare love and come to arms when a hand is in need
to know that life is civil and defined in good kind
just to be in with other in the same like mind
but, i have no like, of a life to share in great civil kind
there is no one who cares to shout with me along social sides
be me who is alone, that one who has unconsciously broken to unkind
do i move you? do you feel a small quiver of a beat?
from A slow moving phased in heart
could this thing called mind be? revised for the down and environmental discharge
have the gates of life and wealthy lawful possessions
past the under justified
I want a civil life of civil rights!
aka:lyricvixen
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