Is a photograph more than just light
briefly persuaded into form?
Is it perhaps a small remainder~
a breath held in brightness,
a trace of being
still alive in the frame?
Is what remains more than image,
more than chemistry or code.
Is it perhaps the quiet vibration
of someone once present,
their energy lingering
in the captured glow.
Do old photographs
hold the faint radiance
of a life leaning forward~
a soft intention,
a body of light,
still reaching across time.
Perhaps a photograph
is a thin place of presence,
where the living and the once-living
meet for a moment
in the framed interior of light.
This body of bones
The flesh
The wet cells
It disappears in the mirror
Until there's just a grey impression
A remainder of vapour
It doesn't exist
What im touching is not there
The real just Unreality
Why did I ever believe
The body was there, was me
Can't you see..it's nothing
A ghost of what had been
A dream awoken
The truth dissolved
Touch the ether
Fingers grasping for a hold
But there is none
Oh, an epitome of creativity, eccentric yet pure
Hair shaped like the bowls I snuck into my room
That way I could eat and listen to each new song
My life went on, yet his was burnt to ashes
Hadn't outgrow the younger me who needed an idol
My life will go on, I will grow to have more euphoric moments
Yet the remainder life is in hands of dear old Rio
Will I ignite the flames which hold the memories?
Or will the youthful version of me frown in the back of my head?
She sits in the marrow of the
quiet house,
stirring cappuccino coffee unit it
grows cold under her
thumb.
His closet door stands wide,
an open throat
exhaling the faint, stolen
scent of cedar and old wool,
while across town, his keys
clink on a different kitchen
counter.
She watches the dust motes
drift through the heavy
shafts of afternoon light,
each one a tiny, forgotten
universe slowing down to
die,
trapped inside the stillness
he left behind when he
chose a younger woman.
The telegraph has forgotten
how to ring, so she speaks
only to the walls,
her voice a thin scraping of
dry leaves against the
floorboards.
She does not wash the
mirror because her own
eyes look back like
strangers,
hollowed out by the shadow
of the woman who took her
place.
When darkness falls, she
wraps herself in the heavy
quilt of her own grief,
listening to the house creak
and settle into its permanent
isolation.
She closes her eyes not to
sleep, but disappear,
wishing the night would
swallow the remainder of her name.
Soothing smooth introductory
Mello tender rhythm
Accompaniment with the cello
Suddenly a Dramatic ivory rose in tempo sensory
Portraying days becoming harder to live
Nights offering promise and purpose
Hope rose to cope
Stars twinkle for tomorrow
Embrace and live for today
Struggles can be hard to bear
The Piano and cello captivated together in their own message of life with care
It was beyond compare
Today became a new day
Yesterday being a preparation
Lessons learned through the Piano and Cello
Have no more tears and fears
Step out among the skies
Understanding being wise
Finale with an honor
Upbeat appreciation
Every footstep easy to walk on
Horizon that seemed far was now close
Piano and Cell bringing compelling courage to stand fulfilling the remainder
Formation of Heaven’s watch.
They tally the dead in columns of light,
but no ledger holds the weight of a child’s last breath~
the way it lingers, unspent, in the air,
like a kite cut loose from its string.
War has no pockets deep enough
to carry all the excuses we stitch
into its uniform. Every bullet
that misses its mark
finds a name anyway.
And what of the hands that never held a gun,
only bread, only the hem of a mother’s dress?
They become the subtraction
no one speaks aloud~
the hollow where laughter once lived.
And what’s left?
A remainder called guilt,
sticky as jam on a rifle stock,
thick as the lies they stamp onto medals.
War doesn’t solve.
War is the long division
that never ends.
One way or the other
These things sort themselves out
Or do they
Seeded
Nurtured
Or left to fester and burn
Until the smoke becomes the air we breathe
Solved or unresolved
A blemish for some
A scar for the remainder
The kind that throbs
Long after the wound is gone
Silent walls
Ridiculously linger
Towering stubborn
Built from nothing
But the words withheld and the truths avoided
All of it
Every bruise
Every burn
So easily undone
By simple communication
You and i had
Sipped away
To enjoy the remainder
Of that long day
Gasped at the cold
Of the icy sheet
Then at the shock
As two bodies meet
And at long last
We start to feed
The hunger of that
Long suppressed need.
Each feeling the beat
Of the other’s heart
Until at last
We slip apart
To fall into
The arms of deep
And much needed
Satisfying sleep
When i awake
And you’re still there
I realise that
I just don’t care
Of the problems
That may lie ahead
Of your unused room
And empty bed.
At last you and i
Had slipped away
To enjoy the remains
Of that special day.
A mile away in my bedroom,
Lies a bookshelf awake.
The sturdy, fine wood endures,
The weight—heavier than its own breast.
Compactly occupied,
Enough to choke on breath,
It holds the books I cannot escape,
An identity of a loser, preserved in its intact array.
The remainder is unbearable,
Cutting sharp, deep in streaks.
No blood flows, yet I stand still.
Bright, dazzling spines prick my eyes straight.
A wave of guilt fills the room,
And still, I cannot set it ablaze.
It pierces the moments as I lie aware,
A wish to die haunts me as it stands there.
Yet, it stays like a grave I cannot burn,
Waiting for me each time I return.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I reached into the river of my mind,
palm upturned like a beggar,
and pulled out~
not a coin, but a rusted key
that fit no lock I owned.
What was I thinking?
Perhaps the same thought
that turns a moth to flame~
not light, but burning.
The arithmetic of longing
always carries forward a remainder.
What was I thinking?
Maybe it was the way the train
whispered destinations
I’d never reach,
or how the moon, that night,
hung like an unpaid bill.
What was I thinking?
The answer curled at the edges,
a photograph left in rain~
half desire, half shadow,
all of it dissolving
into the ink of hindsight.
After she died…when he thought his world was coming to an end
he looked for solace and support…in the comfort of a friend.
He worried he was lost in a cloud of sorrow…
he wondered how…or where or when…
he would discover a way out…
If he would ever laugh again.
His friend, who understood his pain…
who’d been down a similar path
who knew of his own sorrow and suffering
felt his own anger…his own wrath…
Said…
“You never get over losing someone you love
there will always be a bit of sorrow in your heart
and your mind too…
but one day you will ask yourself…
what would she want you to do?”
“Would she want you be engulfed in sorrow
for the remainder of your days…
or would she want you to exit your cloud of sadness
and somehow find a way.”
“To live, to laugh, to love again…
and even though you are unsure….
the sadness lifts when you decide…
to do all these things for her”
“And do not worry my friend.” he said
“Take if from someone who was once lost within that cloud…
I have no doubt you will laugh again…
you’ll just never laugh as loud.”
In the space a forgotten person is left to entertain
The remainder of civilization has been acquired
The unfinished civilized area per "your" affront, complaint, insult
Inflammatory remarks is creation of code
Creating colony
Demanding colonization by war
The financial crimes which capture attention are all in time.
Havings leavings
Feelings frustrated
Poor troddings while wasting into the poor shallows?
Allowed to do so.
Beneficial beginning from behind.
Avoid all affronts
Immediate rights?
Separation from extreme exposure
The writers block of monetary syndrome survivors
The elements for one
The news arriving on earth
In the way the news was arriving
No obstacles?
Really?
Greetings!
Thank you so much for submitting your letter to The Washington Post.
Portion control included, have fun?
History allows one the Japanese quartermaster position
The dilapidated building wavers the hindsight
In a single city
Hidden conformity owns?
A previous creation of economy
Current currency in ink creates no mad article
One must adhere in the thick heat while justice witnesses change
The current volume of water "allowed" from water station
From station to station the ear is clipped in interest if reported earnings.
In this fashion panic has created itself a source of retired journal timing.
Cycle of labor markets itself
Not a new nor another
Speak easy
Speak easiest
Differing reason in seasonal appearance
In the space a forgotten person is left to entertain
The remainder of civilization has been acquired
The unfinished civilized area per "your" affront, complaint, insult
Inflammatory remarks is creation of code
Creating colony
Demanding colonization by war
More Info for Email Admins
Status code: 550 5.7.1_ETR
Codified routing policy organization chart
Competent exam
Only the proper computer
May Justice true logic ensure
Proper for whom is proper
How true logic basis you're sure
There is no precedent for the cyber
There is precedent for the lies
Decisions their what is driving
Routine of the process despise
There exist laws of physics
There exist laws of math
Equipment you buy for skiing
You chose shortest forward path
Is that purpose true for computing
Delusions you choose or the sense
I like flying saucers shooting
For this neither penny nor pence
Entitleness of humans is factor
For ruining planet surface
You sure cyber crime this actor
Your life path is subject to phase
Entropy of unrequired
Entropy of the content
There shouldn't exist this remainder
None of them are really saint
Those not valid are for Mankind
It's neither the dense nor the tense
Gram is the unit for rinds
Existence of yours is offense
Her Eyes
Her eyes could always
See his soul
Which are eyes
That notice everything.
He always dreamed of
Touching her.
She would know how
To soothe his loneliness—
How to smile at his eyes
And read the energy
That silhouettes his body
Like a soft blanket of love.
When she is worried,
She laughs to warn him
As he can be unrestrained
And deny anyone’s pain.
She always breathes deeply
Mixing passion with need,
Everyone likes her
But nobody has any idea
How much he wants to
Kiss her lips
And get lost in her
Cool laughter
For the remainder
Of his tranquil life.
6.7,25
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