Miny marshmallow minds, are minding the store.
Their heads are on fire, still they come back for S'more.
In the heat of it all, they can't find the door.
Till their milk chocolate membranes, ooze out on the floor.
They cough up graham crackers all over our shoes.
Their breath reeks of cigars and cheap homemade booze.
With heads still on fire, they can't follow the clues.
Just keep marching side by side, and two by twos.
S'more the merrier? Well, I know that's what they say.
But, how many more marshmallow minds are melting today.
Maybe we should put out the camp fire, be on our way.
Before all we can taste, are muck, sand, and clay.
Flames swallow oxygen,
duplicitous in their deeds,
circumventing steel barriers—
steel barriers doubling over.
Ashen soot cakes the walls;
walls crumble, interlacing with soot.
Pyres of fire lick the night sky;
crimson smoke suffuses the air.
Breathing in microparticles,
microparticles sticking
to fibrous membranes—
breathing collapses.
Lit match—ignition,
cinders glow.
Nose
Once a year my
long ears and long snout, exhausting to
tolerate, disconcerting, are lined with
mother-of-pearl.
I can convert my
long nostrils into
wafer.
I reprimand painfully my
very plain features.
Adorable, lovable, they aren’t so
that must mean
I aren’t!
I can with my
big nostrils squeaks cause
very hard circumstances to
the possums, and the one or
two bats who think
my attic is
their home.
I sneezed the other day and from
my left nostril ejected a
neon-blue statement made under oath about
the misuse of
placenta and foetal membranes.
Aesthetic expectations, quomodocunquize,
An exasperating farrago of marketing lies,
Conning client desires,
While promising celestial skies.
In the "Selfie Era," so condescending,
Filters sculpting phantasmagoria, never-ending—
Painting a majestic illusion,
Regality of beauty, a fleeting delusion.
"Ageless," a dream that transcends all streams,
Flustering the mind’s membranes, it seems;
Cajoling artists, ripping through pockets,
A glamour tornado that ceaselessly rockets.
Embrace imperfections with pride,
Challenging the conventional tide.
Luminance flows from deep within,
"Mirror, Mirror, let self reflection begin".
Given that existence is a seamless whole,
separated by invisible membranes,
each packet of consciousness in its life role,
to expand awareness, against this veil strains
and thus we may recognise space too as such,
cognised in staid stillness by single eye’s touch,
amazed to behold light piercing through its pores,
mirrored at our core, on opening truth’s doors.
Bilocation – 2-11-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bilocation
Love
Slips through labyrinths of tangled spirits
Complexities and conundrums of misdirection
Released by prophecy,
Like clairvoyant fingers of misty sunshine
in two planes
sharing one minute.
Love reaches beyond boundaries of fluttering flesh -
A bridge point of lyric pointillism
With the rhythmic respirations of one breath
Inhaled,
Exhaled,
In poetic unison.
Love exists
Beyond mortality of bone and sinew,
Not begging for crumbs
At the prophesied banquet
The festival
That rains clear jubilees
On every exuberant heart
Reveling in its ecumenical caress
Wrapping cells, bound in time,
With never aging,
Time released,
Pulsing plasmas.
Love dissolves membranes
In transdermal hands of blessing
Showering polka dots of zest
On the skin of souls
Transfusing showers of tenderness,
Ardor
And affection
Into ever borning present – never past –
Seeds
Planted like ephemeral timeless sunlight
Without minutes
Or astral lines
Love
Leaves permanent footprints
All at once
And
Everywhere.
Medic medic
Amoeba down
Hurry hurry
Before it drowns
Step step
From there to here
Medic medic
Has no fear
Dividing dividing
The nucleus splits
Membranes membranes
All have slits
Fix it fix it
Cytoplasm’s spilling
Rushes and gushes
The scene is chilling
Stitch stitch
The vacuole
Medic medic
Has a micro-tool
Amoeba amoeba
Will survive
For now for now
On a micro slide
But wait wait
Paramecium
Medic medic
Can you see him
There there
In a morass
Sliding sliding
Off the glass
Drat drat
Coz really a
Medic medic
Can’t fix cilia
Panic panic
Cells are dying
Flagella flagella’s
No longer flying
Sorry sorry
Some protozoa
Die die
Bye sporozoa
Medic medic
Always on call
But but
Can’t win them all
The way to the moon is through space but the only way to you is through the heart, which is why I have come all the way to find my way to your heart breaking all the impermeable membranes that might seem to barricade my way.
With a new dawn comes upon a chance to see your eyes sparkle, your skin glow and the smell of your scent just wafting on my nostrils.
My heart is a souvenir of love and a jackpot of surprises. The legends introduced and left the legacy, but I want to replenish and ignite every bit of the legacy. As for me and my heart, HAPPY VALENTINE’S.
Best, not to arouse those shades from their fragile sleep that lie in thy hallow ground the realms of
fragile sleep in lands of lost imagery cast away cracked things, springs, and mechanical deities
flying on strings of installer membranes the skin of creation the in-between and unseen the known and
unknown the lands of dreams racing leagues of nightmares across a vison-scape of darkness n
fractured dreams, where lost things lie as derelicts in purgatory best not to arouse these shades from
their fragile sleep in dreams of Plutonian night splinters the eyes of Morpheus the bringer
of sleep best not to arouse those shades from their fragile sleep that lie in hollow ground
the realm of fragile sleep in lands of lost imagery n cast away cracked things, springs, and mechanical deities…
SHAPES
wrought objects
large
heavy
membranes
shaped
by hands
charred
energy
in
tone
prompt a thought
of
structured
evolution
in particular
with reflected
lights
yet shadowy
to evoke
weighty
& resonant
circles
to
cast
a
fragile
homage
in making
something
elemental
furthering
simplicity
a
plain
place
of gathering
a place
of
flights of fancy
of
density of thought
&intent
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
I just realized, that
most of my poems
are about love – Albeit,
not the physical aspects
of love – I mean, how often
we need to feel one another
up? For the different aspects
of love may be infinite: starting
with the Touchy-feely, sinking us
deeper, beyond – penetrating
membranes of surface moisture
to far vaster
thermal seas –
it comes at work week’s end
when the mind feels carefree
and frivolous
comes that desire
to be reckless with words
a want to mix abstract metaphors
some smelling like pine
burning in an open fire
on a starlit night
under a lofty canopy of leaves
or a fancy to throw thoughts into the air
and catch them again
as feather light words
that tickle fingertips
while writing patterns on a page
enjoying time knocking around ideas
concepts that excite the senses
like the aroma of sautéing garlic
or scorching mucous membranes
with a fry pan full of chilli
its seeking solace beyond disciplined thoughts
high on a boundless breeze
catching fleeting fantastical images
this exhilarating rush to corral
these haphazardous words
The body-personal will be achieving little today.
Today is a too tight T-shirt.
Bloat and insomnia
have measured and found soft round toads
croaking in the swamp of being.
There are squawky
oral articulations in dry joints.
A fate has made its presence known
revealing pre-set mousetraps
strewn upon the path of well laid plans;
it warns obliquely of dentures mechanically
nibbling on stale cheese.
Knowing the hours will belch
and empty-out air that could have
breathed new life into words,
Perceiving that chattering mind-children
will cross the distracted mind
without a crossing guard,
be bowled over, squashed, spread
over neural highways,
their scant electric membranes
dissolving and denuded
leaving a sticky residue
over the body personal...
then that body
must retire and regroup
into a proto-cognizance,
a glow of phosphorescence
too primal to be snared,
yet able to predict
when it can get out of itself -
hopefully.
COVID
A cocoon starts. Thick membranes of tissue encompass yourself. Gathering and condensing molecules and listening to life.
This skin, its filled with strains of a virus and craves the crevice of familial caves. A barrier. The host of your new pupae calling itself quarantine. Quarantine. This thick mucous seeps and creeps around the home and tries! It tries to wound all life into one. It fails. A pupae is one. You are. You are the life form that contracts a shell of collective consciousness. This shell that reaches for more, it is yours! You cant breathe. You want to share this cacoon with everyone, ANYONE. Then! Feelers. You have sprouted not only antennae, but music! The melody of change gathers atoms and sings the song of wings! You! The cacoon was meant for you. You hear yourself for the first time and when you emerge they see your beauty but cannot hear your song. Suddenly! The membranes close in on them. And through your newfound body and song, you console them through their own metamorphosis and together you sing the song of the butterfly.
The Spirit behind the thought
that encourages the Word…
It is the motive-substance – not
always our responding vocabulary;
not the echo, but a deep, abiding ring
shattering man-made crystal, releasing back
its finer light–
reverberation, tuning and timing
internal cords, tautly stretched
outside the joys of eternity...
Truth that eases pain
before the apparent illness –
Lasting cure that comes only with Presence –
Divine Stillness, when God can visually,
and verbally pierce through the Earth-membranes
separating our worlds from His Universe of Perfected
Miracles --
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