A Potpourri of Expressions in Word...

The Gap, Australia

#246 Nov 28, 2012
the morning
from the hills
of green
mid may

the light rain
red ants
mighty cities
and lady-slippers

maple leaves
tell of storm
with time
to get in the laundry

Fresh bread cooling
a rhubarb pie;
and feeding mosquitoes
put off for a
less lightning prone afternoon

in whip-cream nimbleness
it joins

as the first bees fly
over a sleeping fawn;
the last mists fade
at the blossoming sun;
slaps tail
past turtle

The Gap, Australia

#247 Nov 30, 2012
If you are my friend,
Will you be my blue sky?

If you are my friend,
Will you be my silver lining?

If you are my friend,
Will you be my guiding light?

If you are my friend,
Will you walk in the darkness with me?

If you do all of these and expect nothing from me...

Then you are my friend in Jesus and half of my heart
belongs to you till eternity.

The Gap, Australia

#248 Nov 30, 2012
Your beautiful I tell you baby,
Don't worry
Don't fear
They know your "name" not your story.
When I talk to you I forget the words im supposed to say,
Its hard to explain why or how you do this to me
Even though I plan them every night and day
I wonder if that's the effect you have on everyone or is it me?.
You can easily bring a smile to my face
When I talk to you time flys by
When I talk to you my heart begins to race
They know of the rumors not the real story, don't sigh
So honey.. calm down,
Don't pay them any piece of mind
Ignore the whispers and other sounds
They don't matter,
If they don't take the time to know the real you.. They aren't worth a dime !

The Gap, Australia

#249 Nov 30, 2012

The last majority attained,

And shut from its small house of dust,

Into the heritage of air

The spirit goes because it must:

And halts before the multiple plane

To look more ways than left and right,

And weeping walks its father's house

Like something homeless in the night:

For now less largely let abroad,

Though but the world they say is mine,

I shiver as I take the road.

The Gap, Australia

#250 Nov 30, 2012

So far above the world
There is no more crowd.
I am alone with the stars and planets.
I am in the space with no gravity on me;
Tying me to the ground.
I am free! With nothing to hold my body.
In the universe, with love in my heart
And the sense of eternity.
In the quiet blackness of life,
Freedom is on my tongue.
No fear, no hate, no jealousy.
Only the creatures and me.
No words to talk.
No sounds to hear.
And nobody to stop me.
In the abundance,
I am alone together with my soul.
We two are free forever.
With a song in my mind
And a light in my eyes.
I remember the old days
Now seem as dreams.
No turning back;
When there is a future that waits
Billions of more years to live,
After a few years
that passed suddenly.
Nothing left to talk about now.
I cannot be lost in the dreams of past,
While I have a future
With so many dreams to make real.
So far above the world,
There is a soul flying to the eternity.

The Gap, Australia

#251 Nov 30, 2012
Spiritually coming from a place of love and peace
Sheltered from the negative beast
In the wind and the messages I send is never pretend
Arched back
On track
Creative and innovative
Type of abstract
Never willing to conform to empirical knowledge
Sitting here in my hermitage
Sharpening my intellectual verbiage
Idealism realized in spectrum arrays
Tint and brightness only buttons pushed
For a perfect picture
Merely conjecture
As I happily give my wisdom set forth on the pages
Not on stages
No act or roles to be played
But displayed
In a galleria of art
Typically set apart
From the normal
The rest
Abnormality at its best
Don’t understand the wit then its not for you
Complex context strewn about
For tge ones who doubt
They ask
Questionable content for mature audiences only
PG 15
Glossy and pristeen
Smooth and serene
Always programming the channel to support racism
Copyright material
Love is the balance
Balance is the key
Communication and patience
Common sense
High values and morality
Spinning like a top out of control for all to see
Jumped on the train with no destination
Pilot of a plane with no concentration
Criticism out of judgment
On those who find perfection in the mirror
Predilection of beauty
So stagnate and demure
Like the sands of an hourglass
Days of these lives
Counted on one hand how many left
Years, seconds, countdown to none
How your conscience has guided you
Is it second to one?
No matter what you think you don’t have
Mercy is heaven sent
Can’t be given to you by one human
Who doesn’t hear your prayer?
Or know your fears
But as surely as the sun sets and shines
Your tears?
You’ll never find
What you seek in the sand
Better pick yourself up
And extend a hand
Because a path is more likely to be karmic fate
When you have someone you love
And you bury the hate
Walking alone is almost as good as loving alone
Only the mistakes are your
Pay attention
No true r words will ever be spoken
For those who truly appreciate
Floetic Justice

My triumphant state

The Gap, Australia

#252 Dec 1, 2012
He only wanted to be loved by you,
to be touched like satin and silk ,
to hear sweet words whispered deftly,
to share the laughter of the heart,

He only wanted to feel your passion,
to know he meant the world to you,
to see in your eyes, to hear in your voice,
to feel in your touch.

He walks now, head bowed low,
the scarf shields tearfilled eyes,
feet shuffle without rhyme,
another place ,another time.

Now he hears, now he sees,
as someone else feels that touch,
and he never wants
to cry like this again.

The Gap, Australia

#253 Dec 1, 2012
Grass burns with the backward heat
of snow. The street a white flag
unfurled as far as my eye knows.

Surrender, as it comes, comes
zipped in pillow feathers,
in sheepskin. Its animal suit

tracks prints across the lawn.
Beyond the bend all banks are blank,
all blanks are blankets,

which makes a bank of snow
a sort of bed.
All day your boots run down my steps

while sleds ditch kids
and carry on.
My small yard is bloomless

where I haven’t left the house in days,
a perfection I could angel in,
admit to my clothes and lie still

as snow melts the path
your mouth made of my neck
an hour ago.

The Gap, Australia

#254 Dec 1, 2012
The mountain is one speed. The river
is one rush. The hummingbirds’ needles
are one speed. The boulders are one rush.

The nectar in the globe flower is one speed.
The boy throwing the hummingbird mountain
at his father is one speed, the boulder

that crushes his father is one rush, the nectar
that drips on Father’s near dead lips is one speed—
he closes his eyes with one rush.

The Gap, Australia

#255 Dec 2, 2012
Each day I glance at my image
Plunging in the pond,
Diffusing in the pitcher,
and the glass!

Introspecting the reflection
stemming from interiors,

Day after day, I go away
With a sense of detection
of imperfect depiction,

Waiting for the day
When the tossed image
of my visage reveals discretely
The indication of an inner self
Cleansed of tarnish and
germinating innate beauty,
I follow the ponds, the pitcher and the glass
each day
With relentless pursue
and a discarded flaw!

The Gap, Australia

#256 Dec 2, 2012
To be alone and lost
inside yourself, on a rainy Sunday
afternoon. To walk unfocused,
uncaring, for block after nameless
block, your clothes heavy with water,

your heart with something else.
To make your way home, just on dark,
open the door and turn on the light. Find the room
exactly as you’d left it – and to have this fact

somehow astonish you, as if your absence
could never truly be explained
in the first place. To get out of your wet clothes,
take a hot shower with the steam

filling the room like clouds that have
mysteriously infiltrated the building.
Then to sit in the growing silence, thinking
about yesterday, and the day before that,
and the day before that, all the way back

to eternity. Finally to tire of thought
altogether. To long for something more
palpable than the memory of all
these dislocated days.

The Gap, Australia

#257 Dec 2, 2012
I want a life, not a career.
If donkeys were monkeys
and monkeys were pills
if swallows were eagles
the wind would make me ill
I want a life, not a career.
Priests in black robes
footprints in white snow
stolen stars and frowning faces
tired eyes in empty spaces
I want a life, not a career.
Melting candles dripping sadly
drooping breasts and terrible shags
black eyes and shopping bags.

The Gap, Australia

#258 Dec 2, 2012
This existence
obeys a ruleset
we will never understand
or comprehend.
But here we are
like jokers bumbling
about in a maze
trying to make sense of it.

And at least
I could be satisfied
if all this bundled irony
this miserable cruelty
was a joke
to benefit some some god's
grim sense of humour...

but that's just how a joker
would get it all wrong.

The Gap, Australia

#259 Dec 2, 2012
I move through the streets,
Knowing about:

While death hangs a scarlet
Scarf around my neck

And what I feel you can never
Feel this moment

As winter snatches up the good days
I lose the fresh cut of my bravado

It's like someone I love will
Never think what I think
Nor feel what I feel

And I'm sick from it

I tried to pick the lock
But can't figure out
The combination
To the day

I stare at eclipses of uncertainty

Dream this
Dream that


The Gap, Australia

#260 Dec 2, 2012
Sweet love
clichéd love
random love


abandon or
demanding and
damning love
and I’ve been lucky
and unlucky
enough to have
been through
it all. I've
been through
love that holds your
feet to the fire
and I've lived with
love that doesn't
hold you accountable
for anything and
that is the greatest
kind of love;


that looks past
your faults
and stains even
the stains that are tattooed on your soul;
even the skid-mark stains she leaves on my sheets .

The Gap, Australia

#261 Dec 2, 2012
life is a shaky proposition: a
screenplay with a flawed plot

and even more flawed characters
played out by bad actors

with a madness to their method
more often than not, and

the nights are too long, the
clock ticks too loudly, and

morning comes too soon. the
coffee is bitter, the sugar bowl

empty, the ashtray full; the cur-
tain is torn, the shower always

too hot or too cold; the mirror is
spotted, the sink, stained; the

sky is overcast, the road, uneven
the women are shrill, the gods

indifferent; satisfaction is elusive
the enemies are many. friends are

likewise flawed, but they are still
friends, after all: someone to

endure a bad movie with, waiting
for the final credits to roll past.

The Gap, Australia

#262 Dec 2, 2012
I painted flowers in her hair,
pink, with deep violet undertones.
Budding in pure harmony with her
shy glossed, cherry scented smile.


They must have blown away
in the storm of conscience.
As she passed through its mist
and a hundred prying eyes.

The Gap, Australia

#263 Dec 2, 2012
I bloom in the shadows

Of the boulevard.

I bless all the streetlamps.

Watching them fade out

As players on a stage




The lights take their bows

And drift into an eve

Smelling of simplicity

and floral tithing.

Dropping their monies

Into a basket of gold and rum.

The church of the mind

Has opened her doors

this very night...


I walk on smashed blueberries

The pigeons fly away

From my bare feet

I long to be

As they are.

The cool cement beneath me

Becomes the dresser door.

Each step unlocks the drawers of…

of forever more


Praising the skies

For a night as serene as

Ludovico’s Ancora.

The Gap, Australia

#264 Dec 2, 2012
melancholy in all her beauty
she soaks up the rain
pulling it up and into her
calling it her own
it holds in the heart of her
until the moon breaks
through the clouds
and when shes sure no on is watching
she lets down
onto the velvet moss pillow below
and with the full grace of her limbs
she weeps--as the willow

The Gap, Australia

#265 Dec 2, 2012
I don't think poetry,
I don't create poetry.

I don't anything poetic;
life made me poetry.

Poetry doesn't inspire me,
I inspire poetry.

Poetry's Fire doesn't burn in me,
I am the Fire of poetry.

A poetic life I do not live;
it's poetry's life in me I give.

I did not chose poetry,
whether short or it's long;

Poetry chose me
to sing it's sweet song.

Poetry isn't something
I make up in my head;

poetry is from my heart ,
laid open to be read.

Poetry isn't something
that I chose to be;

poetry is something
through Love's Fire - choose me!

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