Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#366 Jan 1, 2013
Summertime veneered in honeyed words "
the heritage left by him on her pyre

Every now and then she admired those impressions
sowed with some exquisite Monet-like flavor,
hoping to discover the absolute mastery
that had led to that explosion of colors
she was currently enjoying within herself…

But ‘he’, the perfect artist,
had left no clues about that,
just the scent of a tired smile
coming back to her every evening…
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#367 Jan 1, 2013
‘the lost should remain lost’,
your eyes whisper to me
in a painfully scented aura.

I touch the dying light
with a bitter smile
and focus on the shadow
my ignis fatuus casts across the words.

my lips,
once ordained for your pleasures,
now stay stubbornly sealed,
obeying no more that pitiful desperation
of screaming.

and my core, now adorned with some
efflorescence of dignity
is finally letting you
go
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#368 Jan 1, 2013
dust
doesn't need
the blessing of oblivion
in order to
birth it....

one
doesn’t heal from
eternity…

one
can only hide under
its shadow…
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#369 Jan 1, 2013
we were both watching in silence

that unfolding drama

of the two of us co-existing

in the same fraction of the same time-line…

but not with the same coordinates…

both of us with our hands on the latch,

none of us actually willing to close that door…

each of us ruling over a different half of this earth,

and both of us meant to never see

the same stars in the same sky in the same time together…

same sweet sorrow sheltered in our souls,

same words dwelling on our lips,

same silence shrouding the unhappened…

half-hearted we touched our share of pain

and told no one about it,

for fear of staining it with others’ thoughts…

but maybe next life, my love…



…those living sands had finally worked their magic…

she looked at the hourglass

as the sand flow was slowly coming to an end,

knowing that her penitence was soon to be over…

there…

one more grain of sand…

falling almost in slow-motion…

and it was done…

she grabbed impatiently the hourglass,

turning it, to see with her own eyes

the birth of her future…



and then she smiled bitterly,

while turning the small time machine upside down…

for what she actually saw in the sand flowing again,

returning to where it had flown from previously,

was not future unfolding inside her soul,

but the past coming back to life,

and her returning to the point of origin…


and one more night will go by

as I surrender my dreams to seconds

flowing from me towards you…

the sound of your name

carefully hidden inside the shadow of my longing…

the unleashed spark of almost pagan-like passion

touching my very core

as if some divine will guiding it

through the maze of my being…

the need for your touch

masterfully disguised under words

melting within them the perfume of my bed-sheets,

silent witnesses of my sleepless nights…

come to me…

Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#370 Jan 1, 2013
…she kept watching,

with an almost ecstatic joy,

the gentle unfolding

of the requiem of seconds

over withered hopes…

time had already ripped off

its toll of pain from her soul,

and now the wounds were asking

for absolution…

so she covered them, slowly,

with oblivion’s cerement,

knowing that anyway

the scars would forever hurt,

though others won’t see them…


I will not call your name…
it wouldn’t match my tired voice now,
as i paint the sky with memories of storms…..

I’m barely the echo of the lightning these days,
as fall takes its’ place inside my soul
and the light of the sun becomes a game of shadows
for the eyes of hungry crows…
each breath becomes an open maze
of withered scents and orphan dust…...

And a deaf pain cradles my soul…
and I walk silent among thistles,
not daring to scratch with my voice
the sound of your name…

Let my dreams lay

on your fingertips…the fragrance of

the black air flowing over

the aura of a falling star melts within

the smoke of that last candle

lit, while praying for a long night…

let my voice caress

the shadow of words meant

just for you…seconds slow down

while heartbeats race…

grant me shelter in your soul…

Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#371 Jan 1, 2013
…and then the shackles were suddenly broken…

she looked at those shreds of mist that had been chaining her soul,

now lying inert at her feet,

the sweetness of that curse removed,

voices screaming ‘freedom at last!’ within her head,

and for a moment fear dwelled within her heart…

now she had to learn the steps of a new life,

but she could barely stand on her feet…



…then her gaze moved upon him –

he had asked her something…now what was that?...



her name!...



she shook her head slowly, not remembering it,

but she wanted to give him a name…

and letters began to form on her lips…

a…

n…

and sound by sound a new being was born within her…

d…

r…

her soul changing its color…

o…

m…

and then the shape shifting was complete…

e…

d…

and he became hers…

a…



I honestly, truly,

have absolutely no idea of how the hell you ended up stuck in that chamber of mine –

I don’t even know if it’s an atrium or a ventricle –

but there you are…...

together with the addiction,

the pain, the sometimes joy,

the shadow of always promised

and never gotten happiness,

the fear, the ecstasy, the dreaming,

the sorrow and any possible other thing

that could transform my heart

into some sort of Pandora’s box,

except precisely for hope…....

you came and then you vanished,

leaving that stupid box in my care,

as if some sort of dark treasure,

draining me of all will of life…...

so one day I made the courageous decision

to amputate those chambers, one by one,

until I got rid of that box –

and of you…....and it hurt like hell,

and I bled inside, for day and night,

but I stood up, hoping that at the end

of the bleeding you’d be gone…....

but you know what happened?

after I cut out all my heart,

I found out about the curse of any amputation –

and that is, that even if your part

of the body is gone,

you still feel the itch

in its remaining ghost….....

Dreamland paved with moonstones, reflecting
within themselves the dark light of
my nightmares, shelters in
its core the essence of
fear, sweetened only
by some amber-

Like glow of the passing of
a summer storm…....you see,
lightning isn’t meant
to live forever…and while
i endow the sky with the
ashes left behind by the
touch of your soul on mine,

Summoning for a phoenix seems
to be the darkest magic my words
ever did…


Behold, bleeding dreams

reflecting the shards of sunlight

broken against the adamantine surface

of my fallen dying now tears…

sorrow unfolding at my feet

is no new path to my soul,

still bearing all over it

the scent of my footsteps from another life…

so step into the light, keymaster…

and allow me a glance inside your orb of smoke

so that i would find under that tallith

the exit of my maze…

and the entrance of my tomb…...

Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#372 Jan 2, 2013
Handsome, like those foam-topped tidal waves breaking high, in little crystal globes.

Handsome, like the breeze that lifts a little tuft of tulle. If tulle were life.

Handsome, like a frozen face, tear-tracked, when the sun hammers down.

Handsome. Like my fire.

Handsome, like the bottomless sky, with that one proud penetrating star.

But handsome, too, like a sky that’s an arching ocean, and an earth prone as an ocean’s floor.

Handsome ocean-sky, and earth-sea floor.

The big question is: where’s the man in a scene like this?

Handsome: the man is I, AND I'm asleep.

And the night sky swarms, tropic and wide.

Handsome, in some ornamental, muggy midnight caught between cat’s paws. Sharp-nailed:
they prick.

Handsome: the firefly swarms around you.

Handsome, like a soap bubble grazing a little black dress......one I've never seen

Like a soap-bubble pricked with a pin.

Handsomeness a rainbow, a rainbow an arrow, an arrow in my chest.

Handsome, like shadows slow-rolling on a Japanese screen.

Handsome motion.

Handsome as life and poison.

Sun-blood handsome.

and Bleeding sun.

Since: Dec 12

Location hidden

#373 Jan 3, 2013
Original
CYP

I am here my sweet love in this moment with you

Allow this heart of a woman to sooth your injury

Lay thine head upon my bosom

Let me hold your broken arms

You mustn’t hide your tears

In all their vulnerability

For they beckon the Love of this Woman

Yes, love you are beautiful in this moment

Your eyes painted by the great Picasso

I am here

Always here

Let my arms blanket you from the cold damp day

So that they may warm your bones

From the ache of you holding up the World
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#374 Jan 3, 2013
They just can’t seem to…
They should try harder to…
They ought to be more…
We all wish they weren’t so…
They never…
They always…
Sometimes they…
Once in a while they…
However it is obvious that they…
Their overall tendency has been…
The consequences of which have been…
They don’t appear to understand that…
If only they would make an effort to…
But we know how difficult it is for them to…
Many of them remain unaware of…
Some who should know better simply refuse to…
Of course, their perspective has been limited by…On the other hand, they obviously feel entitled to…Certainly we can’t forget that they…
Nor can it be denied that they…
We know that this has had an enormous impact on their…
Nevertheless their behavior strikes us as…
Our interactions unfortunately have been…
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#375 Jan 3, 2013
Check_ Your_ Pulse wrote:
Original
CYP
I am here my sweet love in this moment with you
Allow this heart of a woman to sooth your injury
Lay thine head upon my bosom
Let me hold your broken arms
You mustn’t hide your tears
In all their vulnerability
For they beckon the Love of this Woman
Yes, love you are beautiful in this moment
Your eyes painted by the great Picasso
I am here
Always here
Let my arms blanket you from the cold damp day
So that they may warm your bones
From the ache of you holding up the World
You are like a pale purple flower
In the blue spring dusk

You are like a yellow star
Budding and blowing
In an apricot sky
You are like the beauty
Of a voice
Remembered after death

You are like thin, white petals
Falling
And
Floating
Down
Upon the white stilled hushing
Of my soul.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#376 Jan 4, 2013
In him
my twin likeness
all flesh a mirror
pentimento
palimpsest
all traces
seeds pressed
in flower beds
a diary of enchantment
his hands hold mine
keep me standing firm
ground my heart
the angel eye of love
stands guard
protects our union
we are too much one
too much each other
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#377 Jan 4, 2013
When you read this poem
let her break open your heart
she’ll plant seedlings under your aorta
pump soil through your right ventricle
inhale her breath as your lungs expand
burst open with rose satin hibiscus
when she tickles your left ventricle
a kaleidoscope of petals will stain
let her nectar saturate you
when you read this poem....
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#378 Jan 4, 2013
The little birches
haunt the hills
In silent,
silver masses,
Their violet velvet
shadow robes
Beside them
on the grasses.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#379 Jan 4, 2013
It wasn’t working.

Didn’t look back.

Needed something else.

So I went out.

After lunch I saw it in a different light, like a thing emerging from behind a fever bush, something reaching the senses with the smell of seaweed boiling, and as visible as yellow snowdrops on black earth.

Tasted it too, on the tongue Jamaica pepper.

To the touch, a velvet flower.

Dragging and scumming, I gave myself to it, stroke after stroke.

It kept coming in bits and fits, fragments and snags.

I even heard it singing but in the wrong key
like a deranged bird in wild cherries, having the time of its life.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#380 Jan 4, 2013
Here is the little earthworm eater,
she-kiwi.

She’s in her frenzy of lust.
There she goes in her flightless

night journey, in mating season,
warm in her fur-feathers

poking her long bill, beaker,
with nostrils at the tip

sniffing and drilling
scratching and uprooting

with her powerful feet
pausing, maybe, to let

herself be mounted
furiously and briefly

by a he-kiwi whose
odor is to her liking.

Then there she goes again —
through the underbrush

(followed by her
faithful seducer)

back to her querencia
to burrow down

and wait and sometime
later she stands up

suddenly, and hatches
a big egg

nearly half the size
of her little body.

Finished, she steps away
and the father-to-be

steps in and sits
on the egg

warming it,
sits and sits warmly,

for three months
while she-kiwi, lustful still,

goes out looking
to get laid again
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#381 Jan 4, 2013
From a distance, I watch
a man digging a hole with a machine.
I go closer.
The hole is deep and narrow.
At the bottom is a bird.

I ask the ditchdigger if I may climb down
and ask the bird a question.
He says, why sure.

It’s nice and cool in the ditch.
The bird and I talk about singing
Very little about technique.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#382 Jan 4, 2013
Your world is as big as you make it
I know, for I used to abide
In the narrowest nest in a corner
My wings pressing close to my side

But I sighted the distant horizon
Where the sky-line encircled the sea
And I throbbed with a burning desire
To travel this immensity.

I battered the cordons around me
And cradled my wings on the breeze
Then soared to the uttermost reaches
with rapture, with power, with ease!
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#383 Jan 5, 2013
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.

Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.

Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.

A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,--- but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, they are gone.

They have gone to feed the roses.

Elegant and curled is the blossom.

Fragrant is the blossom.

I know. But I do not approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#384 Jan 6, 2013
You’re so quiet and soft that I
so quiet that I so soft and that
you’re like me sometimes suddenly
and that from colouring the whole night
and that quietly a softer I
than you suddenly laughs reticently
because you’re a quiet soft
smiling reticence and that you
that you too and that you too can
open up and close a bit again too
even tighter than me more or less
more or less like me.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#385 Jan 6, 2013
Now I dreamt of you sleeping and dreaming,
beside me, in my bed, and of how it all was,
nothing happened except you sleeping and dreaming,
beside me, in my bed, and my looking at you,
and seeing how inexorably and all-pervasively
beautiful you were, how you were:

all sleep and dream and time, which gave itself ample time, and how I knew that this immaculate waking needs no kisses of shushing nostalgia,
when we think we’re dreaming of dreams
and religiously do the work, unseen by anyone.

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