Closer
The air breaks heavy with want,
your body arched against mine,
our breaths tangled like fire and smoke.
Every inch of you is mine tonight.
Your wrists straining against my hold,
your back curving beneath my grip,
your cries breaking every sound before it escapes.
And still, I feel every shiver, every quiver,
your skin alive beneath my hands,
your body responding to my relentless
weight,
I press into you, harder and harder,
and your moans spill like fire into my
mouth.
Your legs wrap around me, tight and
unrelenting,
your skin slick with heat and need,
I drag you deeper, mark you where I want,
and the sound you make is mine to take.
I take the parts of you
that no one else will ever know,
and I brand them with my heat.
Even your silence is mine to command,
and still I want more
I pull you harder into me,
your body trembling beneath my hands,
every gasp a surrender I claim.
Every inch of you belongs to me.
somewhere between taking and giving,
between your breath and mine,
the night remakes us both-
not yours, not mine,
but something neither of us can escape.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the spider remakes
her torn web in silence~
wind teaches no haste
A faceless clock without numbers
traces past, present, recycled.
Nothing is created; nothing is lost.
It's all transformation.
Fallen leaves cradle new flowers.
As sun rises, sweeps the ground,
lifting up the dying to spring new shoots,
each unfolding rebirth.
The river's flow remakes the land.
Reshaping with unerring hand.
A moving sinuous flow, to and fro,
in endless state of flux.
Nature has no need for numbers.
Not bound by birth, life stage and death.
It's driven to become, improve, evolve,
when the fittest prevail.
Humans, adrift in yearning, trace
each hour that bleeds slow on clock's face.
To reach beyond the birth of their children.
To wrest more from their fate.
Not all beauty soothes
some arrives with grasping claws
with shock confronting
terror raging like a storm—
you're made uncomfortable
This beauty inspires
It's never decoration
but revelation—
that comforts what is broken
in the shards you once thought safe.
It asks for patience—
for the dark-veined root in soil
for the fragile shoot
to climb, to break, to flourish
in the weave of time and thought
Familiar made strange
the quirk and odd become kin
cracks let the light in
quakes rock the inner being
tremors shatter the spirit—
the hidden stands bare, revealed
True beauty endures—
it transforms, changes, remakes
what we love and fear
compels us to face the core
to see what our soul requires
Dawn is rekindled
with shadow's memory taints
first light touches last-
the clock repeats each moment
time unbroken, circles whole
Insight can break walls
fences splinter; borders fade
voices burn with flame-
yet listening inclusive
re-shapes the field of conflict
What the hour discards
may conceal its tender core
child in bath water-
awareness rescues essence
past reborn in present tense
Memory reborn
old clocks glimmer in dawn's glow,
echoes in their place-
the past is not left behind
unfolded to becoming
Imagine waking-
to an endless horizon
future without bars
renewal becomes the seed
as daybreak remakes the sky
The animal trap
The artist the athlete the strength of the human condition
The leaders still fight
Those inner demons
Dance death into extinction
Loves only threat
Humans were a joke
Then they reached Olympus
Take the waves thrashing the ships
Be the conquerer
The life that takes
The world remakes
The feeling so hard and dark
At Attention stands the demon man
We can walk in the footsteps of tortured and striped bare
If you can show you care
We never support
A gun
A good reason
A promise to kill us
This is a complexly simple piece,
It's a creation's toil to put into words thoughts about His creator, who made the world with the words of His mouth, without precedent.
Olodumare
The infatomable mystery above human existence.
The Lord of all lordship
The most creative creator who created creations with the capacity to create.
Olodumare
Ogbánì tó n gbá ni lówó alagbara
Alagbara àrà tí òsè fò jù dì
The one whose power is unlimited to the limitations of mortal discoveries and imaginations.
Olodumare
You are faithfulness, even when my mess makes me a fool.
You are meticulously detailed in the expression of Your love for the one who goes astray.
Olodumare
You still the waters before leading me beside still waters
God is what You are, regardless of human experience.
Olodumare
It is You who makes, mars, and remakes.
And Your dominion is dominance over every dominating human philosophy.
And to Your Majesty, I have come to say 'thank you'.
A brain is a search engine
seeking itself.
It has glass eyes
to look upon a world it makes and remakes
this phenomenon is often called: thinking,
but it's not as simple as thoughts
it has got good seeds and bad seeds
and it plants them into its host body
like landmines.
People
(that’s what we call everyone else
with softly ticking brains),
People
want answers
but all the brains in the world,
only know how to feed
the shrinking flesh,
and their glass eyes
are easily dazzled by light.
You begin to see yourself
as being shaped by oceanic-waves.
Dressed in the muscle and fiber of restless storms.
A swish of a garment,
the high hem of a skirt pulls you into her flesh.
Sex remakes you into something you do not recognize.
A storm propels you,
a womb once pushed you,
into a tabular rasa, just so all the elements
of fire, air and earth could produce this creature-self
you now are.
Even mere words can madden your mind.
You wonder where and when you will set,
when you will be only the mold and not the molded,
suspect even, that you are but a sail for the wind.
Meanwhile a hermit crab leaves its shell once more
seeking the hunting cries of tempestuous seagulls.
We must remove ourselves from this
selfish appointed darkness of ego
and move to a light of eternal
truth, love and compassion,
that remakes us into beings
of unconditional everything.
Hey Babe, it's Me here!
The day's on the run!
The remakes
And half takes
Are for the boss
And the bum!
Hey Babe, it's Me here!
The chase is for the bit!
The truck is not
A train yet
The heart will see
The hit!
Hey Babe, It's Me here!
The tug is for the noun!
The "Who" is just
A verb for the foot
And the found!
Hey Babe, It's Me here!
The best is for
The part!
The deal's just
A steal with
A take back
The start!
Hey Babe, let stay here
The world is
A fall apart!
The tug's not
A rug for a trip
But the heart!
The retakes
The stand stills
The long gone for
The found
The half tracks in
The way back
Are for a real
And an around!
Hey Babe!
It's me Here!
élan vital
David J walker
Everything is hungry
Every single thing alive
Shall survive at the expense of
Some poor enhungered something else
That has learned to thrive in it’s
Own peculiar environment
The élan vital has turned even the
Blades of grass into clever predators and hunters
Capturing sunlight and rain that will sustain it
For another day
The forest records its own language spreading
Branch to branch Tree to tree
As the sea sings its ancient songs between the
Salty soliloquy of tidal waves
Even the mountains standing majestically
Will be spread softly along the beach
As the Earth remakes itself
Patiently
Day
by day
by day
Something broke me into god damn flim flam
Seen enough to know the game is up, shut up
Drown down to the gravel level bottom shakes
Silence damaged COVID lungs like old movie remakes
I have come to realize
IQ and Intelligence
do not always occupy
the same space…
sort of like, one can make
a great film
and yet be a failure at
production…
as one can pass
a myriad of laws
but, unlike elsewhere,
strength is not always
in numbers…
and when man
remakes God
in his own image,
image is not necessarily
a truthful reflection.
Here lies Les in his new dug grave
All dressed up like an atheist in suit and tie
With nowhere special to go at this time
A liar by trade when he was alive
On his tombstone are words he wrote
If you are reading this I must be dead
Don't step on the grass
It was freshly planted
Leave the same way you came
No one lives forever or so they say
So join me when you can
Here lies Les still not alive
So he must be dead already
No Les no more could be surmised
When you are dead and gone and buried
Authors note: At the beginning of one of the many remakes of the movie Tombstone, a headstone depicts a cute etching, "RIP...Here lies Les...Put here by a 44... No Les No More." Short and sweet in my estimation.
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