Long Colliding Poems
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Degree work again! With Aberdeen University,
Long distance, so not in strange surroundings,
This time in the subject of my choice and tenacity,
For posterity, so as to keep above the drownings.
It’s Christian Studies, or I say theology or religion,
And psychosomatic is the word to deflect and bat,
Which loudly venerates in the divinity selection,
Where divinity scholars attempt that requested slat.
Psycho-so-matic, or “the mind” “by” “motor action”:
“the mentality” “using” “cognitive brain structures”;
“the mental” “through” “neurological muscular motion”,
The psyche so as to do with events, people and cultures.
But why don't theologians see psychosomatic analysis,
As astronomically colliding with that transcendental verb,
In which god apologises for that divine interference,
When anytime, god changes your clarity into a muddy blurb.
As a disabled child in physio, for sure I truly understood,
The word “psychosomatic”, ‘cos my bible-loving dad,
Thought the word was academic trash, not white nude,
Because it validates contextual sociology as the comrade.
So did my arm and legs movements all depend on god?
Or on psychosomatics - if my parents had sent me out full?
On happiness, psychology, mood, highers and fine kin squad,
On settings, sociology and environment, and not on bull.
Surely the discussion in theology class should entertain,
Really straight, whether the bible fits into the normal tap,
Where you march, join, journey boldly through the terrain,
Of a richly humanly authored character splayed literary trap.
Say I am willing to spill a cup of coffee all over your shirt…, all in the name of oops
Say waking up to the smell of Caffeine is the only competitor worthy to bruise the snooze button of an
alarm clock
Say it, Say I belong
To the darkest shade of your outta skin
Before you can tear it off to match the complexion of the main character in this scene
Of witnessing domineers playing slave to what could have been
Say I am ready to be your submissive
Your muscles without brains
Your black stallion on your most savage moments
Like, like instead of being the runaway bride
You opt to walk away
Say I am ready to be your movie
On my mute days of saying nothing
But you and you alone get to read the subtitles of my untold story…, verbally spoken
Your DSTV explorer when you want to pause live transmission of what is currently going over to you
Rewind and select which language you want to hear it coming from me
French: Je t’aime
Spanish: Te quiero
German: Ich liebe dich
Croatian: Volim te
Italian: Ti amo
Portuguese: Eu te amo
English: I love you
Ke ya o rata, that is in my mother tongue Sesotho
Say my life is in your finger tips
Say yes, you can touch my hair, invade my space and speak life where I left clues of death having a way
with me
The death toll rising like heavy floods colliding with a reservoir but the flow
Being a tar road
Say I want I and I to be your Noah
And you can be my arch
And together the becoming of what is yet to be written about shall happen there and then…
Building you, was already a way out
A piece of hope but only work is the only thing standing between you and becoming true
The agony, filling my soul up
That faith, never shows up nor never does it leave
He moves when you pray, that’s how it has always have been
Say, I will take Bible classes for you
, because I want to get it right
Walk in the footsteps of Jacob
Have an attention to detail like Boath
These men got the chance to do, what they had to do when they were still alive
Sing it
The gospel of our love is ready to be sang
Sing it, out loud
So that those who have not
Every time our bodies meet, the world dissolves—
two souls suspended in time, hovering in golden light.
Your skin brushes mine and lightning blooms beneath the surface,
a wild, sacred fire that sets the air trembling.
We move like rivers rushing into the sea,
electrifying, endless, the sweetest ache I’ve ever known—
your touch a velvet storm, your breath a hymn against my throat.
In those suspended hours, I am alive in ways language fails,
hearts colliding soft as silk and fierce as falling stars,
lost in the heat where nothing else has ever reached me.
You make me whole, trembling, glowing, undone.
Then you leave.
And the suspension shatters.
The door closes like a tomb sealing shut,
and I collapse into ruins, beautiful and broken.
My heart bleeds slow across the sheets we warmed together,
crimson rivers carving canyons through my chest.
I curl into the hollow you left behind,
whispering your name into shadows that swallow sound.
My soul yearns—raw, desperate, clawing at the emptiness—
a wild bird beating against the cage of my ribs,
begging for the spark of your fingers tracing fire on my skin once more.
Oh, how cruel this beauty is.
In your absence, I am a wilted garden under midnight rain,
petals bruised and trembling, roots thirsting for the storm only you bring.
The silence screams where your heartbeat used to echo,
and every breath tastes of salt and longing.
I’d trade eternity for one more suspended moment—
skin to skin, souls entwined outside of time—
even if it means this exquisite wreckage when you go.
Come back to me, my love, though loving you destroys.
I wait here bleeding, yearning, suspended in the dark,
a fragile flame flickering for the touch that makes me burn.
Without you, I am only echoes and embers—
beautiful in my ruin, forever calling your name.
My hourglass shattered somewhere in the Limbo
I found myself swimming towards stones instead of stars,
my heart, fragile & curious began to beat naively, bravely for my soul's sitar,
the flesh of this stage surrounded the nerves of this sapling as roots around rockbed,
I started with limbs erect in love, spine suffused in fluid of affinity's fascination of Godhead,
baby's breath on the cool flame of Future's fortune met with glow from sensation's woe,
sorrow bit my toe,
As my charriot transmutted to a coach wagon
the payload plused, fears pulsed and the price projected,
it seemed sudden that now hurt could hem the forecast of my dreams,
that violence may precipitate from creation,
in wrongs done unto me I saw the scales of satisfaction heave,
debts remitted, and new crimes incurred for salvation,
I battled the spectrum of skeletons and centuries of ceremonious confusion,
colliding with rage, cruel apathy detected,
then, in the hysteria of self inflicted hell,
love burst through denial like a wail in wilderness as I threw self pity a rainbow -
J.A.B.
life
arrives in steady sweetened drops
a slow sauté
slowly turning the face
to
a gilded seam of ivory,
death
comes in pace less buckets,
turns the heart into a raft
(what happened to those concrete friends)
spinning in a whirlpool
of black alley regrets-
in the end
all gather in a stagnant pool
the abomination
the miracle
cherry wood feathers
flecks of concrete
wisdom wearing a fool's tiara...
a collage of Friday crossword puzzles
colliding like rabid marbles
echoing hopeless and hopeful
beneath the rough, rouged eye
of a vagabond god,
flesh and soul
(x and y axis)
hand in hand
atop hurricane island
conch shells to salty lips
blowing slow and silent
Saw it in your eyes, and your pale façade,
the laughter that turned to silence
still left you smiling.
As I listen, you speak my name..
humanity turned back hands,
on a broken clock.
Yet, knew you'd be okay, and
remembered too..
how you loved the summer rain.
Those cattail days, so inviting
a duel of two worlds, and universes colliding
sometimes-
time is such an unexplainable concept
an illusion.
You stand strong as Atlas, tho' twice as lonely,
I'll hold you twice my equal, if there's a need..
though I abashed at your beauty
wished half a moonlit shadow all for me.
Oh my dearest, dear one
French horns peeled their agree
as tree in winter, frozen dawn in dew
hours steeped in September's finest
misery.
Stray away from the past
and the skies you fly in,
pack your bags, wondering if it's your last
pray tell, what's more human than that?
The Construct of an Essence Forming
Collaborative custodians of remuneration for the poor
Commemorative symposiums on humans need for wanting more
Symbols of ancient mystery drawn upon cave walls
Thimbles of fragrant misery born from what a man recalls
A nieche in the marketplace, an advertisement that lies
A piece of someone’s face falling plastic from their eyes
The grief of the replaced calling out for compromise
Attitudes of servitude that call for investigation
Gratitude for the interludes that fall for the relief of compensation
Exactitude that can only conclude to stall the consternation
Platitudes that are borderline rude based on weak configurations
Instantaneous satisfaction born from greed and lust
Sub-cutaneous mathematical fractions that only scientists trust
Spontaneous interactions that are based on sense and must
Contemporaneous fine contractions that are born from the modes of break and bust
An ethical integrity that cannot be mistaken
Umbilical propensity that will not be mis-shapen
Ventriloquist alarmists miming political ideals
Soliloquies, pharmacists, timing hypocritical appeals
Contrite sensibility coming from a place of inherent goodness
Finite possibilities running the race of concurrent couldness
Hematite magnifications of ions colliding for war
Israelite pontifications of lions at the gates of Daniels door
Cocophonies of entropy expanding out through space
Topographies and symphonies sounding with an air of grace
Corroborrees and ancient trees expressing wisdom from a race
Soliloquies and poetry forming from a lifetime of disgrace
The basic convalescence of a soul pure as white
The corrupt adolescence as the whole begins to fight
The abrupt incandescence of a goal reaching the light
The construct of the essence of a mould in pure delight
Copywrite 2023 Elizabeth Morozl
You think I have the capacity to be a casual lover?
You think I can now touch souls and unlink?
Like I'm some meat suit with nothing in it.
You don't know when I abandoned myself,
You don't know how I laid down my cosmic self...
You weren't there when I killed myself for connection.
You think I can even try to be basic in love?
Pay for me and pave my way for me?
As if I'm not here to pump divinity through your veins.
Oh, you do know what it feels like for bodies to touch?
Oh, do you know what it feels like for souls to merge?
Dear friend, Have you ever been inside someone's skin...?
You wonder about the power of everyday physical touch?
Do you wonder about the power of Universes colliding?
Not all have seen stars while staring at skin.
You want to invite me to blasphemy?
You want to remind me of my old self?
God sent me away to return home again.
You think I can look into your past lives and not be a part of one?
You think I can't see into your soul right now?
Touch my skin and feel the ether again.
You think you can have me dear stranger?
You think you can get up in my gift?
I gave it away too easily new friend.
You want to get closer to this body?
You want to glow the next day, everyday?
Honour this soul and the generations of love and pain it took to create it.
You yearn for the everyday siren?
You yearn for your wounds to be caressed?
Lay down your heart and your soul at my feet to rest.
In the realm where dreams collide, is she
the smirk star that appears, glides, then walks?
I grasped you; the otherworldly was in
the vicinity, gazing in awe at the scene of beauty.
As far as I notice where I sit on this earth, I like
your lambent soul, guiding me toward the
glow that beams and leads me into a lucid night.
Oh, buoyant star, you shine and dazzle of
dedication that is bright and cloudless
It hurts my eyes and takes away my inner climes.
To myself, I said, "You are truly a dulcet icon. And
upthrust above the wilderness, looking starry
At night, you shine brighter than the skies
my consolations utterly ignite your soul. And
the world where dreams resist colliding, all
bind and confine, to divulge facts, that's,
even the stars tremble in your presence, best
when twilight falls, for hope to return, of
tactility to grab your light in the dark.
I'm holding on to my emptiness, sorrow, and
I am in awe of the beauty of this star so bright.
Inspired by: Lord Byron – She Walks in Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
my words are like the creeping vine of a bougainvillea
they climb and intertwine
words are shadows on the wall of time- poems the flowers
bougainvillea . . .
with thorny spikes like the struggle of life
a nestled bloom within
with a sweet petal protection
hiding the scars on my soul and I am chained to this vine,
scrambling, struggling, colliding and tumbling down
words flutter for release
dripping from my pen a bougainvillea vine curling
I am fighting . . .
for soon my safe fortress will be vine ravaged
with bougainvillea crawling
vines drape over me like a net
yet words still stir beyond this thick curtain of bougainvillea . . .
____________________________
March 19, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/Bougainvillia
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1126-004-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Bougainvillea
sponsor, Craig Cornish
Twelveth Place