JUST SEX and POETRY
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5236 Dec 27, 2012
For the first time he had felt fear about life, for the first time he had truly understood that when life had sentenced you to suffer, this sentence was neither a pretense nor a threat.

How meaningless it was, empty, empty, empty. This hunting for yourself, slyly observing your own tracks — in a circle, of course; this pretending to throw yourself into the stream of life and then at the same time sitting and angling for your yourself and fishing yourself up in some peculiar disguise! If only it would seize him: life, love, passion — so that he wouldn’t be able to invent it, but so that it would invent *him*…. it was sweet to dream himself so bitterly insignificant.

She would be confused by torment and pain and seek a deadening solace by throwing herself to the floor like an inanimate object, too full of hideous rottenness and dregs, a carcass of herself, too repulsive to be the seat of a soul… gradually a harsh, brutal indifference came over her, and she stopped despairing just as she had stopped hoping........

I too have a hope: a hope for absolute forgetfulness. But is it hope or despair?

I am not proud to be a man, because I know only too well what it is to be a man.

One should not forget that philosophy is the art of masking inner tormets.

Universal category and form become illusory and irrelevant when confronted with the irreversible annihilation of death.

My tears would drown the world, as my inner fire would reduce it to ashes.

Isn’t music the art which best expresses infinity because it dissolves all forms into a charmingly ineffable fluidity?

Men gnerally work too much to be themselves.

Though fully aware that the source of unhappiness is in us, we nevertheless turn a personal defect into a metaphysical deficiency.(!!)

Man has forgotten the meaning of silence.

Whether you suffer or not, nothingness will swallow you forever… nothing created by man will endure.

Man’s very insides– his self– are foreign to him. He doesn’t know who he is, why he was born, what he is doing on the planet, what he is supposed to do, what he can expect.

His own existence is incomprehensible to him, a miracle just like the rest of creation, closer to him, right near his pounding heart, but for that reason all the more strange.

What would the average man do with a full consciousness of absurdity? He has fashioned his character for the precise purpose of putting it between himself and the facts of life; it is his special tour-de-force that allows him to ignore incongruities, to nourish himself on impossibilities, to thrive on blindness.

There is much in being that man cannot master. There is but little that comes to be known. What is known remains inexact, what is mastered insecure.

Today we’ve become destitute by the fact that there is no longer metaphysics or religion. The abyss of the incomprehensible becomes then discovered and open; and it attracts us and gives us vertigo, and transmits that impulse, sometimes irresistible, of diving into it.

To hell with reality! I want to die in music, not in reason or in prose. People don’t deserve the restraint we show by not going into delirium in front of them. To hell with them!

Appearances and all outer and inner phenomena, which arise like diverse reflections in a mirror, are nothing more than radiant manifestations of emptiness which have no instrinsic self-nature, there is nothing one should consider to really exist.

I have no ambitions nor desires.

To be a poet is not my ambition,
It’s simply my way of being alone.

~DeVine.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5237 Dec 27, 2012
find
the springing
color

the neutral
infant that
rests weightless
as light on the
palm

emerge
and glimpse
the impact
between
breakthroughs

ascend
like sexual smoke
into the notion
of emptiness

leap into
an aura of feathers
when the thought
departs

sit between
two naked fires

neither assume
the primitive illusion
of a total universe
nor entertain
the harmony
of its idea

listen for the echo
of the beginning

and the drunken
river of time
that travels
the ancient wrinkle
of being

may shrivel
into a single
drop of stillness.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5238 Dec 27, 2012
I, the dream of a god,

an outcome of invisible hands

at once performance and spectator

this precise instant

this internal precipice

a newfound religion

whose scriptures are written

in every one thing

where the god and the dream are the same

the cloud and the rock are inseparable

the sweet motion of transience

coursing over the stream of eternal action

I, alone and united,

one more spoke of divinity

one more billow of infinity.

Be. Let whatever happens, come to pass.

To be: embraced by a field of happening.

There is nothing imperfect, even contradiction

and desire – let it all come.

Allow motes of dust to float

the heaviest pain to sink

there is nothing at all that does not belong –

let anger and irritation play their part

but release them and go on.

Close your eyes and dig deep.

Study the phenomenology of thoughts

the strange ocean of being

overpowering pain, elusive pleasures

Twilight and morning are now irresistible

they hang above like motherless children

there is no reason to believe in one or the other

all the insects swarm this local abyss

fortunate, for us, all minutes randomly orbit an hour

anywhere is home, or else, unfettered lives would not be possible

reentering again a field of silences

morning or night or true or false

were all excluded

an intimate void

more or less… yours.

Level 1

Since: Mar 12

Location hidden

#5239 Dec 27, 2012
the angels flying
to create a rare lightning
once more
because
even rejoined with Mozart
Bach & Beethoven
I know he must not have
forgotten
how it was.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5240 Dec 27, 2012
This a breeze

a puff of blur

a word too fragile


another troubling gasp




outside, the tender world

a tissue I would caress

but this fear of breaking

what is ready to crumble

stops me, so I climb

the tallest dumpster


and watch these children despair




Every man is an ant

or a walking trapezoid

I can’t keep quiet

the medicine of sound


it comes now as prophesizing twilights




I admit, that licking a wound

is another form of poem

and to walk is to flee a little


and to be alone is to create a river




I don’t write a single word to convince

but to cry

a tear of nothingness


a too-late warning




that we are slowly disappearing

and we never knew why
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5241 Dec 27, 2012
I have to start somewhere

with a simple line, a simple word

with a message parallel to

despair.

From what premise should we start ?

That the world is seriously important

or that it is unimportantly foolish.

Take your stand,

there is no final stance

a long-winded illusion

appearing and disappearing

at times irrefutably real

other hours, come as falling dream’s ash.

I have to end somewhere

with a simple line, a final sigh.

Level 1

Since: Mar 12

Location hidden

#5242 Dec 27, 2012
piss a river of rain over
the angels flying
to create a rare lightning
once more
because
even rejoined with Mozart
Bach & Beethoven
I know he must not have
forgotten
how it was
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5243 Dec 27, 2012
POETRY TO ME…

Poetry has the power to make us aware of what is hidden in the shadows...those places that we seldom see or want to see...the poet's voice scrapes away the facade of an issue and lays bare for all to see what has been denied.

By providing a voice to these mute realities, poets have throughout history altered the course of events by enlightening readers and encouraging them to take action to stop wars, halt injustice, and to reach out to their fellow man.

Like those poets who have proceeded me, I am motivated by the same desire to bring about the social changes necessary to enhance the quality of life for those around me and around the world and to give voice to those who cannot speak for themselves.!

“ROCK ON ROCKERS!!”

Level 8

Since: Mar 11

Rockin' USA ;)

#5244 Dec 27, 2012
DeVINE KNIGHT wrote:
POETRY TO ME…
Poetry has the power to make us aware of what is hidden in the shadows...those places that we seldom see or want to see...the poet's voice scrapes away the facade of an issue and lays bare for all to see what has been denied.
By providing a voice to these mute realities, poets have throughout history altered the course of events by enlightening readers and encouraging them to take action to stop wars, halt injustice, and to reach out to their fellow man.
Like those poets who have proceeded me, I am motivated by the same desire to bring about the social changes necessary to enhance the quality of life for those around me and around the world and to give voice to those who cannot speak for themselves.!
Adrian..once more you have a captivated audience.. YOU are an asset to Topix..thank you..

Since: Dec 12

Location hidden

#5245 Dec 27, 2012
Original
CYP

The piecemeal desultory fashion of this World
Blankets the mind with truths and untruths and all that falls between
Yeah, observation brings many thoughts to the mindless soul that
That rests upon my bosom

Who I am to tackle the universe in its vastness and its wonders
Thoughts only important to me
The words run over and over and over again
Until my lips and mind grow tired

Should I live a thousand years I would still be insignificant
Compared to the Milky Way
The constant of every day horizons and sunsets
The mountain will stand long after my energy is depleted

Thrust into the realm of intricate consciousness
While the unconscious hides behind the sun
The child lost in the chaos
Crying for the mother
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5246 Dec 27, 2012
when time
has
stopped
and
you and I
have begun
to stare
into the night
of existence
will
you
call out
though in vain
for
one
more hour
just
to feel
the warmth
of our embrace
beneath
the comforter
of love
or
merely smile
for all
the kisses
along
your
spine ?
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5247 Dec 27, 2012
Like the breath
of a lover
on a cold winter’s morn
steam rises
from his latte
he reads
the highlight section
of the wall street journal
trying to glean
which articles
to
really read
looking up
from time to time
to watch
the ornately decorated
high school students
approach the bus stop
more asleep
than awake
he recalls
the dress code
he and his friends
had to endure
wondering if
there were
rules
at all these days
but
then
one student
catches his eye
a young woman
carrying a child
with a strong scent
of baby powder
instead of
the heavy perfumes
of her classmates
a child
with
a child
he pauses
before his next
sip
thinks about
pseudo-religious
bible thumpers
wolves clothed
in the lamb’s skin
stares at her
and
her child
and then
reads through
the tear-stained
lines
of the journal.....
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5248 Dec 27, 2012
I see - the same thing:
you - through a different lens
your eyes - blue, oceanic
the way they look - a sea to one
they take in the distance - to another, sky
the center of - the you place
maybe - eyes wide
there aren’t any - hollower places;
starpoints - or pinpricks of light
only you - through a different lens
your - eyes, the way they look
blue gaze - and the way you see.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5249 Dec 27, 2012
"CLEAVAGES."

Is it poetry—or just a game

creating—beautiful cleavages

these elegant—crossword puzzles

three-way—entertaining

Labyrinths—mazes?

de jour

scattered—fragments

not knowing—day to day

tomorrow’s—- menu

split—pea soup

cleave—de jour

I studied—aleatoric poetry

doubling back—seed to source

carefully capitalizing—the key letters

to form the name—diagonally down

a pretty effect—but I got bored

not enough tho—give me estrangement

cleaving is more—narratological

not just two texts—seed and source

but three new texts—folding into one

light-hearted—-- I woke up

in the world of nonchalantly

the magnolias—blooming

stifled me—faint of breath

smothered me—the stench

of more anthology

tell them—diamonds flake

down there—where sapphires

burn, and liquid emeralds fume

rubies red as blood—flow like lava

way on down

deep—down inside me.........

http://youtu.be/NZqs1d-NHXk

Since: Dec 12

Location hidden

#5250 Dec 27, 2012
Original
Wine
CYP

Come to me my precious lover
Allow my lips to brush away the residue of today
Having longed all day to taste you
Let me now I beg

Let me now

I have no patience for these clothes
Let me throw them to the floor
So that I may release the tension
In your Cock

Your warm sweet Manhood

Allow my wet lips to embrace it
My tongue circling then a flick
Yes my darling love
Tangle your fingers in my hair

Shall we make honey from the sweet nectar
Favored drink of the Gods
Let my palate become familiar
With the wine of your seed

But let us not stop there my lover

For I come not merely to sip the wine

My love

I, myself, want to touch the soil from which it was grown
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5252 Dec 27, 2012
Check_ Your_ Pulse wrote:
Original
Wine
CYP
Come to me my precious lover
Allow my lips to brush away the residue of today
Having longed all day to taste you
Let me now I beg
Let me now
I have no patience for these clothes
Let me throw them to the floor
So that I may release the tension
In your Cock
Your warm sweet Manhood
Allow my wet lips to embrace it
My tongue circling then a flick
Yes my darling love
Tangle your fingers in my hair
Shall we make honey from the sweet nectar
Favored drink of the Gods
Let my palate become familiar
With the wine of your seed
But let us not stop there my lover
For I come not merely to sip the wine
My love
I, myself, want to touch the soil from which it was grown
Huddled together these fragments
flung through time
coalesce to form
the spine of a withering frown
a look of sadness
drops like trembling rain
beading the glass
before the unveiling eye
Pretend the violets count
on icicle fingers
crispy with wit
and rings of truth and lies
drawn out the lines
inscribed with frozen thoughts
Their thoughts must sag
bending brittle branches
as skulking shoots unwind
the breath of winter dies
The words shimmer on my skin
new as bright clouds
forming water memories
their shapes indistinct
intermingling hesitantly
with inexperienced longing
I try to hide their meaning:
the peel of shed things
falling, ringing like bells,
curled into fists.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5253 Dec 27, 2012
I could drown in the

colors of your face,

play in the rainbowy fields

of your imagination.

Only the moon

in full bloom,

light the desires

of creation.

Parallel echoes

pulling me,

the narrow streets

makes it hard to navigate.

The moon has almost

turned to ashes,

the sunlight flies

from you heart,

where white fumes and

rose incense

ignite my lungs.

It’s free!
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5254 Dec 27, 2012
It is dark,
The moon betrayed by her own light.
Long nights turn dark.
Weeping are the weepy children
Of dried roses.
Decay.
What remains are habitual tendencies.
Lighted is the candle,
Flame taken for granted.
Our hearts holds a simmering disaster,
Which we allow.
For what ?
Further collective misery?
Lovers in a lover’s amulet
Portraying love as love is defined.
What ground can we hold,
Depths of love truly encounter
When we remain external,
Breathing heredity?
Loves thou not thy neighbor as thyself
Yet?
Bleeds he not enough,
Must his tears turn bloody red?
Prejudices and fantasy.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5255 Dec 27, 2012
The return of life in veins.
Something once dormant.
Spirit awakened.
Too long lingering in shades.
Hidden behind veils upon veils
Of resistance.
Long before you fell into life.

Many had wondered too
Who are we?
Your wild eyes,
Never took into the abyss
And returned
Sane.

Dreams whisper
Secrets.
Bodies on the earth.
Naked.
Still.

Du da di da da da.
Flashes in the night.
Growth of that which grows.
Observant -
No need for gestures
And opinions
Just look and lay.

Be on your way to
Nothingness
And mad laughter.

She sweeps over windows
With frosty lungs.
The purifier.
And amplifier.
Of spirit.

Indeed change.....aahh, yes!
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5256 Dec 27, 2012
She likes to peel off

Labels

Of bottles or cups.

She has a twitch,

Making nervous the eyebrow.

A beautiful suffering.

Ready to unfold.

Balance ~ Imbalance.

Choice.

A familiar situation.

Your choice was then

To be open,

But to receive

No welcome.

The same doors

Of fluid love

Enchants you now,

Its sweet nectar

Jamming your nostrils,

The veil ridden disaster,

Out of reach,

With reason.

It’s black magic?

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