Long Outside Poems
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DAY DREAM
How can it be so true
Breaking through the golden rule
As you evade with my heart
Setting the whole of me apart
Now the conforming pieces of me
Just wander around like a bee
I stare outside my window
As my starry eyes poisoned by my pillow
And became pregnant with your thought
Resurrecting the aged memoirs that was lost
My nights are long and days stone cold
The keys to your heart I can't decode
Though you fill up your cup till it spill
But leave the door open just for the thrill
That covers me in sweat while am chill
That is the effect of a lover Man's pill
Hey, say no more! As my bathing-day-dre
am
Plays a fool of me even to the extreme
Awake from the weary watery hallucination
Hit the road in my vain vexation
Driving around thought I sight you pass me by
Until my rearview mirror tricks my eye
As you fade away like a smoke
Swept off by the wind in one simple stroke
As in a transition from one scene to another
My trance is halted and set asunder.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2013.
Our time has come
to turn from dance
with Owl's night-wise Medicine
Deep sultry listening
for wide empathic languages
whispering iconic myths
of syntax flowing paradigms
Reaching across Full Moon shadow
to inside passion die for outside pleasure
in contented ego/eco-flying Presence
within soaring without
Free of struggling
with letting go of anger
for AnthroCapitalized ignorance.
Frustration with our own slow to learn sense
that our best colonizing years are behind us,
if only because we prefer
to die in wealth of Full Moon's bodhisattva rebirth.
To struggle through this narrow breach
of polypathic pilgrimage
this dark MidWay Eve,
to relinquish all fear of fear
of folding
and refolding Earth's timeless synergy,
eternally felt Being Present
reconnecting regenerative tisssue
of progenitor's FullMoon Medicine issues
HumaneSelf reconceiving DivineOther
co-empathic eve of solsticing
wise dicing esteem,
Prime Ego/Eco-Elational CoIdentity.
Silent nights of peacefully resonant laughter
are not most Holy Nights,
purgation's Advent darkly waiting
opens sublime ego/eco- bipartisan therapy
of Earth Rights and Wrongs
are also Me,
WE Wide Web of Earth Tribes,
emerging from FullMoon wondrous Heaven
and NewMoon Earth
awesomely co-present
AnthroHours
and co-enlightening days
and EarthAnimated seasons
regenerating bicameral laughter
with deep co-respect
and widely Peaking Presence
Silent smiling
coherently inclusive rememory
of warm waving
co-gravitating humor
in love as life
spreading wild as moonlight
on this wise CoElational Eve.
Still you sit, in the recesses of my dreams.
Tugging at the cracks, pulling on the seams.
You’d have though, that after all the sand that passed,
You’d have faded now. I’d stop looking back.
But eyes roam, haunting still the castle of dreams.
Tip-tapping down stone, barely touched. Unclean.
Your face beams. Guiding moonlight of wayward heart,
It’s quite dark now dear, my castle cracks apart.
You’re not here, I project your phantom resin.
Not you, I’m in love with a harsh lesson.
Something long since lost, at greatest of costs.
I lost me, somewhere outside the castle walls.
Yet still I wonder, these silent stone halls.
Can’t even destroy. I’m the architect.
Can’t move on, trapped in my own made monolith.
The worst gaol is this, labyrinth of time.
Castle stands, as shifting sands bow down to glass.
Obsidian walls, decked the halls with ass.
Lost color, the trail of the phantom Pixie.
Orpheus screams out, Zeus knows what about.
Hades laughs, that fairy-free world fades to grey.
You were never here. Alone here I lay.
Were we real? Or are these crimson hands of mine,
The death of a dream? Or the death of a lie?
Painted in, the fevered ramblings of a fool.
I built this tomb, crawl back into womb.
Gestate me, placate my tenacious memory.
A new me will crawl, through viscera and all.
Pixie’s dead. Blood born an amaygdala moo.
He lets out a scream, raging fire abyss.
Had to die, to let your phantom form mist.
The little clay tablets have been unearthed,
Their cuneiform secrets quite deciphered.
I sensed a poem of our century lay revealed,
with men waiting eager in the cradle's wings
for this Sumerian development.
Some five thousand years have passed by now,
yet in a deep sense the moment has never died.
Ancient poet,
juggle words for me.
Write only of a man called Enmerkar,
not that he ruled in Uruk and was born of gods.
For I would wish.........
Nor describe how he ordered Aratta,
( a city-state outside Sumer's domain),
to submit and bring precious stones,
lapis lazuli, silver, gold;
for shrines.
Or that when his demands were met with a bluff,
like a nuclear scientist he threatened,
destruction and dust.
Because having read such things a thousand times....
When she was a very young girl…she imagines from the moment she was born
with her parents help she believed in all kinds things…like mermaids and unicorns.
She believed lightning bugs were born in a campfires…
that every Cinderella would find her prince and they would wed.
She believed rubbing a lamp could produce a genie
and there were houses made from gingerbread.
She believed she could ride on the back of a dragon…
that there were castles in the sky
She believed if she spread her arms out far enough
one day she’d learn to fly.
She believed in the power of Mother Nature and the patience of Father Time
She believed if she grew her hair long enough
it would be easy for someone to climb.
Even now she loves to sit back and blissfully reminisce…
about believing in Santa Claus, the Easter bunny and the magic of a kiss.
how she use to play outside for hours then come in hungry with scraped knees
believing she could see the entire world from the top of the tallest trees.
She taught these lessons to her daughter who came to her one day and asked,
“Momma, can you tell me please…
Will there ever come a time I stop believing in fairy tales and fantasies”
“Stop believing in fairy tales!” Her mother said.
“and in the messages they’e sending?”
“Stop believing in the wonders of these stories…
in the beauty of happy endings?”
“Ever get to the point in our lives
where our imagination doesn’t cause a thrill!
And as her daughter climbed onto her back
and spread her wings she said,
“If we’re lucky…neither of us ever will.”
Will my life always be full of despair?
I always took chances in life
I get judged on the choices I make because I think outside the box
I always had to fight for everything I ever wanted
Always had others jealous of me because of charisma my perky ways
But it completes me
Why people let despair weary their heart
Always had to defend my name in this cold world
But this cold world will put you in shape
Now I’m free in this world no longer living in the box
Society has placed me in
I’m now free from the box now I’m the egotistical girl
That moved to the country to fulfill her dreams and goals
Society is now annoyed with this young lady that what was once lost in the wilderness
She found her magic herself love herself confidence
She can care less about about being in despair.
What will we do with the poems we’ve written
pampered and teased like a fluff ball fur kitten
ironed them out to conform to a form
a mystical mystery outside of the norm?
Where will we go for a question, a thought
insightful lessons, relearned and retaught
Who will we ask for a hint, for a clue
a debt for the muse that will never come due.
How will we fill those scribbles of time
doodles on paper with no sense of rhyme
answer the question in voice or in phrase
prepare for an eloquent end of these days?
It has been said “we take mentors for granted
Until we see bloom the seeds that they planted."
John G. Lawless
8/27/2021
Please open the door, it’s dark in here. “Go to your room,” the
The command hangs heavily.
Can I come downstairs now? The question met with silence, a
hollow echo.
Hungry, a plea lost in the suffocating air.
Be quiet! A hiss that chills deeper than the winter wind. Be still, a
demand that binds like rusted chains.
Wrapped eyes and hands, a sightless, touchless world. Can’t see,
can’t feel, adrift in a sea of fear.
The peel of a skinny branch, a cruel reminder. It bounces back, a
mockery of the sting it leaves.
Cold baths, the bite of water on chilled skin. Hand-me-down
clothes, a constant reminder of what’s missing.
Winter outside, a mirrored coldness within. The memories are
pushed to the back of the mind, but remains.
The needles from childhood are sharp and ever-present.
The door opens, and a sliver of light pierces the darkness.
But will it be enough to chase away the shadows?
somewhere,
along an intersection of a mystical dance,
I have climbed, levitated and roamed
into a pathway of seasonless space,
where my fluid, heightened breath
circles along veils of astral light
sun eclipsing moon: dark-toned, half-streaked...
one flick of a star nestled on my blown hair
while another winked softly combing a fiery sky,
somewhere: a tunnel shapeless and lucent
enters inside the skin, refilling the airiness
of being flown into a time reborn: ethereal,
radiant , fed by something unbidden in my life...
I was outside of my body as if some god
poured angel tincture on my head…
there and then, the noisiness of a kinetic
earth-world suddenly stopped while
a halo of tranquillity releases
all the pride ( ego) dissolving like evening’s ash,
somewhere
*
7/4/2017
John Lawless' And Then It Stopped Contest
I appreciate some time spent alone
To allow my mind to wander
I love the peace and quiet
While on happier times, I ponder
There is no outside world
Only I exist
Bathing in the solitude
In a calm, ethereal mist
I have no need for wine
Or drugs of any sort
I just want to drift
Without a single thought
In my head of anything
Like a wooden marionette
Who has removed all its strings
We all need space to breathe
In this troubled world
Solitude can help to ease
The traumas that unfurl
I have faith we will be able
To soon have peace of mind
And things will get more stable
For the whole of mankind