After the paint
has dried
all they're left with
are false pictures
Internal fixtures
externalized
masquerading
as truth
The truth is
their mask hides
the lies but exposes
what's true regardless
They're artist of
a different kind
Kind words for those
conning their way
with heartless acts
Me?
I rhyme with facts
not looking to sway
you or any other
I pour from a cup
that runneth over
& spill only what
I intend to tithe
When my cascade
aligns and falls
there's no running
for cover nor packs
in which to hide
What befalls you
is as liquid as the paint
used to tar & feather
I'm transparently lucid
whether you're far
or near sighted
I could never
feel slighted by
eyes in dire need
of glasses
I inspire you
to see without eyes
to counteract it
Those cataracts
insofar as I can see
has blinded them
with fake glee
Slowly but surely
they're starting to see
what it is & isn't
cracked up to be
Why can't my blind spot see?
it’s shadowing me in the eye's periphery
edgily creeping sideways like a crab,
watching me, it’s stalking me,
deceiving me with popped eyes
propped up on stilts, curling away when I look.
You live within my every gaze, yet evade my searching blaze.
Why my dear spot do you hide and blind me in so many ways?
Is your evasive spot futile, furtive, or a fugitive in the clear?
Are you black, white, brindle or transparently clear.
Do you suck, poke, protrude, grind
or cut, with a laser sear to blind.
Why can't I see you,
my blind spot hole?
I know you’re there
unseen on the edge!
I’ll shut my eyes now
and hope that you’ll
will be gone when
I awake and stare
to see you clearly there with me,
scene sharing two-eyed
In binocular vision.
It's the time since feeling sandy grit scratch between my toes
Transparently do I remember, although the years have flown
Chilling memories sitting here, Ice cold and nervously alone
Once a place was my escape, to flee a troubled home
I never liked the water, even now that I am grown
Only would I climb the rocks and carve my name in stone
The sharp edges of a tortoiseshell, engraving with its bone
Despite a life so undeserving, forgiveness I have shown
But I shall never forget their malice, nor their actions will I condone
AnthroPoids
standing tall
on both unlikely hind feet
Are a great aped longing
to belong
Without getting down
on all four transportive limbs
Stretching down
and dusking in
ReImagining
another dawning day
empowering
and enlightening
mind's embodied sacred life
In and out
for and of
vulnerably wise
and transparently healthy
communion circles
EarthPassioned AnthroPoids
dancing in tall circles
singing up and out
from both hind feet.
When he speaks
transparently
he feels co-passionate
as long as s/he appears
to vulnerably listen
Without Me v We risks
of retributive judgment,
body shaming
and mind blaming,
when he aims
to restore healthy cultures
and wealthy climates of peace
through win/win reassessment
Which may be why
music feels safer to sing
resonantly
when compassionate audiences dance
engaging pleasure's peak resilience
Co-empathic brilliance
of CommonSensed communion rituals
Wealth-enlightened minds
empowering health-embodied love stories
NaturalRoot/SpiritualCrown
wisdom recirculations
as old as
universal salvation
Anthro-passion cultures
unfolding/refolding
unitarian co-redemptive
Earth-pleasured body climates,
wealthy mindful singing
performance Now
within healthy bodies dancing
co-engagement Here
Receiving in
light's notations
while thrusting out
power's most sacred
invocations.
ACRYLISTA orozco daniels
fast
drying
polymer
permanence
water
soluable
emulsated
transparently
thin
yet
impasto
thickened
&inert
A world-being; a creature of flesh
When not otherwise engrossed!
Of which vision sends me, a soul
A quiver-flame, into
Ecstatic heights; Love's true!
Earthly beauty, to whom hath eyes.
But so transparently fair
Sparkles in all its refinements.
Fairy favours; each one!
Of this blessed mortal won!
I’ve never been to Sicily, and yet
it’s always felt a part of me. Who knows?
Another life, another alphabet?
Alongside Archimedes, jotting prose
in Agrigentum I, with each vignette,
imbibing wine, as bitter as regret,
harangued the hellene farmers, stoning crows.
That Greek me – did I tend (as now) to get
frustrated when my verse was ‘on the nose’,
all too transparently in Homer’s debt?
But Italy’s a credible coquette,
more winning in her ways than we suppose.
Like Rhapsody in Blue’s smooth clarinet,
she captures us. We victims, in love’s throes,
admire her steely claws, as black as jet.
Written October 11, 2022
I found in myself substructures of understanding and they see more than my eyes, they predict a future under the shade of trees in the huge patio behind the house, the light coming from the sunny roof of the world, gills of few fish quivering in the pond of tiles, chairs and sitting on them the dead of my life that talk and disappear replaced by the dead that we will be, the fish bubble up confidences about everyone, the wall is uneven because the roots of the plane trees have lifted part of the ground, I feel ecumenical this moment but my hands burned making the coffee, you in the dream help me politely with damp cloths, transparently cross the empty rooms of the rest of humanity swept by the moving air, the dust circulates through the children who mature, I see very well through the periscope of this oneiric nautilus, I see that the coast is being bombed, the fragments of the offices are paper sentences and each one of them condemns us, days that will still come, because March never comes for a February so expanded by the memories.
Gaia is radically interdependent Earth,
CoCreator of paradise
and pandemics,
of safe drinking water
and healthy fertile soil,
S/He does not faint
or grow weary;
His Yang Heaven raining
manna understanding
is also wellness watering
Her Yintegral Earth
rebirthing
inscrutably dense compassionate soil.
S/He gives cooperatively owned power
to those poor
in humane natural Spirit,
and transparently enlightened strength
to those uncompetitively powerless
Victims immigrating
in this Great UnRaveling Exodus
from high risk inhumane enslavement
to royal profits,
Prophets now trending toward traumatic
right wing rabid distortion,
trumpeting EarthTribe overtures
to understated extinction.
I’ll hold myself; I’ll be my own refuge in the night, I’ll wipe my own tears as they fall from my sad eyes
I’ll wear a disguise to mask the pain that once showed so transparently, and I will pretend to be someone else that is nothing at all like me
I can do anything for myself that I once thought you could do for me; I can be the love in my heart that I so desperately need
I can tell myself the beautiful things that I wish for you to say, and I can convince myself that I don’t need you anymore, not now, not ever, not any day
I can miss myself; I don’t need for you to; I can miss the me I once knew before there ever was you
I can long for the person that I used to be, and not long for someone that inevitably doesn’t care about me
I can make myself happy, I don’t need you for that, I can smile just for me and know that it won’t be taken back
I can always be there for myself when I need for someone to be, because through loving and losing you I found what it was that I was missing all along, it was me.
Dear Donald,
Your emperor's nakedness
is transparently showing
in increasingly risky
vulnerable political ways.
Thought I should remind you,
"Counter Culture"
is short
for Anti-Multicultural Health Care
politically giving
and economically receiving,
sacredly empowering
and secularly enlightening
cooperative co-investments
in global health
of compassionate wealth.
Other than your handful of retweets,
you could teach yourself to un-narcissistically see
and hear,
kindly touch
and responsibly feel,
millions of silent
resistant
non-retweets
From those feeling not too safe
about our healthy futures
as individuals
and as residents of a living planet.
Your neglected ecotherapist,
MultiCulturing MotherEarth
I feel stuck in a web of moving on
to leave home behind.
I want to be free of safe turtle shells,
to commune with naked nature
including human,
divine,
humane,
wombmain
not excluding any egostrong stability,
identity,
fragility
as if intolerable
to civil integrity.
I need to grow free,
to feel communion
within
without
above
below
for and of all nature/spirit souls,
timelessly copresent in- and ex-carnations
explicitly remembered
and vaguely
curiously
transparently
vulnerably forgotten
fuels of felt fame
exhausted and ingested,
sober and jested.
I am asking
invoking,
exhaling and inhaling,
possibly provoking
Earth
and all Her Tribes
all Her Eternal Times,
all Her Sacred Spaces
impressed
and suppressed
and depressed
wombmain neural regenerative Places:
When I must at last choose home
between secular wise purpose
and sacred integral meaning,
Remind me,
Mother's birthing nature,
of all our polypathic indigenous ways,
of all organic truths
indicating this ego identity could not be all trusted home
within one compassionate EarthLove.
Hindsight 20/20
Writer's block
My glass is empty!
Creative process
Transparently fragile
Must find my muse!
Must be mentally agile!
Struggling through
But no inspiration
Need some relief
From brain constipation
Finally!
Oh, what a thrill!
My muse returns
My glass starts to fill!
From immovable object
To unstoppable force
Manipulate physics?
My muse can of course!
My glass is now full
I've just posted my poem
Alas, glass is empty
My muse loves to roam!
Veneer of ebon rancor time had spread on my life
Even more opaque it was made by smear of strife
Rinsed by the edifying shower of divine grace
Year on year, I restored my heart’s crystal face.
Pristine humane emotions now transparently flow
Under pellucid layer of my mind radiant ethos glows
Rays reach you all the glimmer of love at nightfall
Embark on the last journey at sated soul’s blissful call.
January 21, 2020
Contest : What's In A Name
Sponsor : Juliet Ligon
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