Level 6

Since: Apr 12

Location hidden

#6629 Apr 21, 2013
Simply Devine, very well written.76

Level 6

Since: Apr 12

Location hidden

#6639 Apr 22, 2013
You will be a millionaire if you were in India, because they love poetry. Your concerts
Will be sold out. God has given you the gift.

Brisbane, Australia

#6643 Apr 23, 2013
Adrian DeVine.




Brisbane, Australia

#6644 Apr 23, 2013
Men are fools begotten by the lure of darkness,

They visualise often a false perception.

Yet communicate through mind the advent of realism,

Whichsoever it would be the choices of individuals.

We as humans, we are the knowledge thereto,

Everything from birth to death we absorb profoundly.

But in the global design we're overly insignificant,

Like with unmeaning, fractional let's say to be tenuous.

However, at the same time we are prodigious,

The only beasts to least accept just to be.

Self-awareness is then what's made us consequential,

An appreciable rise it's thus given the human race.

And the world we ultimately belong to

A revolving sphere of hope it is that's our violent home.

Tragic, explosive, mysterious and beautiful,

Thereof god doesn't even come into the equation.

For billions of years he didn't exist at all,

Then through the evolution of man we saw his arrival.

But why was he not there previously?

Surely the creator of us paid heed to all life-forms afore.

Well, the truth of who we are is easily explained,

Just look into the image and seek its birth.

Though find it you will not for you were never there,

Your reality so is the whole of something abstract.

It's the idea that the world is round you acknowledge,

For you're told and believe without seeking proof.

It's the idea that Jesus is alive inside you to guide you,

For you're told it's the truth and you don't question it.

But we are so universally small how can it be so?

For there exist all the animals ignorant of self.

That's how it is, the immediacy of life they don't perceive,

Yet the living specimen maintains its assured balance.

And there it all goes on, life and death combined,

Where then its perception we must question.

But why I do say? Why not just accept that it just is?

Or perhaps humans truly need a greater truth.

Ah the fools we are, afraid to embrace ourselves,

Insecure and too terrified even to be insensible.

But what if life held no real meaning to give us purpose?

Like we just were, an abstraction leading to nothing.

“Sitting Pretty”

Level 6

Since: Jan 13

I ain't Misbehavin'

#6645 Apr 23, 2013
Adrian DeVine.
You can't hold a good man down@

Brisbane, Australia

#6646 Apr 23, 2013
Swirling tapestry of colors, liquid vortex tempest hues,

My wild imagination, whirling crimson, violet, scarlett, bluest blues....

Flowering in and around a circle, breathing fire through your eyes,

Rorschach figures on the canvas.....Sharman's dream where worlds collide...

Picture bursts of soft white clouds and sepia shadows,

Blazing light and purpled skies...

Leap to life in ancient caverns, darkly lit where dreams unfold...

Feathered serpents on the temple, brilliant, bright and blazing gold,

Sears throug my mind, a silent scream of wild desire,

And fans the flame of the night, seething....out of control,

The world explodes everywhere inside,

As I turn, so slowly,.........to meet my soul !


Brisbane, Australia

#6647 Apr 23, 2013
Roxie Darling wrote:
<quoted text>
You can't hold a good man down@
Well not this one.....although a few have tried with little success.....

Hi Roxie, thanks for dropping by...

Let my poem come to you,
floating its way freely,
through the big fake world,
wild scented holy,
when it arrives,
as an ache....
embrace the hole in you,
like a hawk in the air,
sensing that it can't be caught,
feed my poem,
where spring blossoms a cherry tree,
make it a fat wombat,
contemplating life, if you like,
let it bend in the breeze,
let it leave as it came,
maybe it will open its wings to the sun,
maybe the poem and I will
just disapear in the fog ?


Brisbane, Australia

#6648 Apr 24, 2013
They do it, the ones who love
without making love, by dancing with words
that reach out to each other, falling short
over the glass, fingers pressed
against monitor screens, curved
over keyboard bodies, faces
red as the sun, one setting the other rising
at the other end of the world, wet as the
oceans that come between their need to
come to, come to come to God come to
each other. They do it without kissing
the love that gave birth to their poetry, whispers
spreading steady like warmth from heated
laptops. These are the true romantics,
the dreamers, the mystics, the ones who
have accepted the logic of distance,
the mathematics of bridges and yet
don’t turn back at the sight of the gap, for
they are the greatest gymnasts: ones who
arch their backs over the globe, flipping
electrical switches to cross the synapses
of their bodies, neurons shuddering
in rhyme—these factors, like the bed
never been to, is the solution, to the
problem of souls divided by two, reaching
over the universe defying
their lack of owned time.

Brisbane, Australia

#6649 Apr 24, 2013
She said divorce
was her idea and that
they'd been together
twenty years
she said she wanted
a new life
now she's online
chatting to guys like me
who want to know
what she's wearing
how big her titties are
does she swallow
has she got any 'pictures'
is it still tight
and after
short conversations
following a few texts
she'll be meeting guys
maybe married guys
just strangers
who have wooed her
with lies
who only want
to fuck her
in an inexpensive
hotel room
and then leave
as soon
as they can
the memory of
her happiness
on her wedding day
as she starts her
new life

Brisbane, Australia

#6650 Apr 24, 2013
The cutting body slicing through the air,
The breeze moves past my ears, and whispers your name to me,
The room is suddenly filled with this pink hue,
The music slows down to a distance tinkle in the background.
There you wereJust standing there.
All the madness just stopped!
Some silly part of me filled with joy,
Some non sense thought took over me,
Some nervous twitch moved my heart.
Your bright eyes take me over every time,
The tone of your warm soft skin,
The pink of your lips launch me into day dreams,
The deep breathe inside me still waits to leave.
My heart is so weak so much damage,
Dreams that never came true,
Love that turned to hate,
Feet that are now used to run.
Nothing makes sense?
How can everything be such a mess,
But yet there is you!
With all that is going on forgive me for practicing caution.
Forgive me for the elusive behaviour,
For the bearing boldness of my nerves,
Forgive me for this mess.
Closer, closer.
The heart draws to you,
Nothing I can do,
Coming home to nothing burns my souls.
I sometimes wonder where you came from?
The moment you gone the space next to me will be felt.
The photographs and memories we share will never be forgotten.
In the end it was worth it all,
In the end it was two souls meeting and falling.

Brisbane, Australia

#6651 Apr 24, 2013

Whether lapping wave band foam bath,
thunder clap, tsunami tall,
weather warm or glacier calf,
matters little, if at all.

Blood, pain and sorrow find dread reaper
works walks deathwards in the cards,
slight consolation for the weeper
a-wake in sombre sable shards.

Whether old one passes over,
young unsung, berth premature,
silver spoon and four leaf clover,
or homeless, wan, naught can endure.

Laments unheeded, red rims beaded
with emotions on the fly,
strangers never know they needed,
nor regrets, nor passing sigh.

Who with motives honed for getting,
never letting go of aim,
last laugh's left with time, forgetting,
fame's flame, game's name, wild or tame.

All's the same, what clock recording
second thoughts docked, time-lock knocked,
self-centeredness proves vain, affording
little leeway when boat's rocked.

Palm tree dates' anticipation
appetites encourage though
few know what matters, grief, elation
equal prove when fast moves slow.

Template telomeres with aging
evolution's leaps ensures,
one mutation disengaging
from another - naught endures.

Whether bright illusion shatters,
big head shed when will walks small,
ermine, mink, or patchwork tatters,
little matters if at all.

Ghost of Charontus present, past or
future perfect spun or spurned,
shepherd, wolf in pastor's pasture,
mess is earned, world less concerned.

Aeons long or echo fleeting,
naught completing, mocking glass,
mirage little else repeating
besides 'I thought I thought I passed !'

High and mighty host unpleasant,
guest of unguessed worth, to earth
soon consigned, resigned, peer, peasant
give redemption widest girth.

Polished pebble tide toned, rounded,
priceless gem, physique homespun,
each as sand ends, bright dreams grounded
in oblivion undone.

At weathered monumental gravings
Time jeers, grime sneers, climb hastes fall,
joyless jaded, constant cravings,
lust's treat dust meets, swallows all.

Seldom sense in destination
is revealed, within the way
purpose lies peregrination
in, of, through itself holds sway.

Whether generations flourished,
shared, bore brunt of grunt or gall,
prospered hale, failed, wailed ill-nourished,
matters little, if at all.

Here today and gone tomorrow

foregone conclusion for grief, glad,

leave leaf laughter, shore leave sorrow,

income. Outcome ?

naught to add.


Brisbane, Australia

#6652 Apr 24, 2013
One wonders if coincidence can claim,
to substitute itself for Fate,- why pick
THAT flash point splash which lit love’s candle wick
or inflight insight felt, spelt feelings’ flame ?

Are these just fantasies [h]our needs inflame ?
What’s in a memory that seems to stick
to instincts, thoughts, remains through thin and thick,
alters the rules which score more mundane game,
tinting glasses to transform eye’s aim
Present, Past, the same. Here second sight can t[r]ick,
repeat, replay fey meeting ~ double click.

Threading maid man, man maid, from screen to frame
‘imagOnation’s’ writs two wits re[s]t[r]ain
within shared motions no emotions feign.

Coincidence is seen when into place
life slips its puzzle pieces for a time.
Awareness grows. Beneath another clime -
which still seems hidden - we met face to face.

Can dreams thread unseen signals, interlace
existence past and present, future, climb
consciousness’s barriers to rhyme
light and laughter, bright hereafter trace,
and karmic correspondance interface ?

Unique potential ? Human pantomime,
denies the base that smothers in its slime ~
Eternity awaits shared choice unchased.
‘Chance’ can catalyze twin hearts to grow
together, perfect symbiosis know.

Coincidence as catalyst
leading into a karmic dance
evolving patterns - ambiance
calls bluff, wins all, masks fall, dismissed.

Consciousness disperses mist,
encouraging, as, at a glance,
fresh vistas thread entente’s advance,
discover no need to resist.

Empathy, by Chance is kissed,
neither through insouciance
nor focus finds renaissance
spurred as joys enhanced minds’ tryst.

Osmosis, ever optimist,-
though ’Know thyself’- mind fer de lance
incisive, spurning nonchalance,
expands, through ego would persist.

But harmony the egotist
overcomes, and yearns to rise
exploring daily fresh surprise,
emotions Chance’s catalyst.

Level 6

Since: Dec 12

Location hidden

#6653 Apr 24, 2013

Brisbane, Australia

#6654 Apr 24, 2013
LupyLu wrote:
Nothing can so pierce the soul as the uttermost <sigh> of the body.

True hearts have eyes and ears, no tongues to speak;
they hear and see, and <sigh>, and then they break.

Level 6

Since: Dec 12

Location hidden

#6655 Apr 24, 2013
<quoted text>
Nothing can so pierce the soul as the uttermost <sigh> of the body.
True hearts have eyes and ears, no tongues to speak;
they hear and see, and <sigh>, and then they break.
Nothing can break a pure heart so true.
Bruises fade away.

Brisbane, Australia

#6656 Apr 24, 2013
is a long aqueduct

with no water in it,

a line on a graph

that moves an inch a minute,

a twenty-brick load

sagging in the middle,

on good days, a violin

to play second fiddle,

or a shifting of lines,

a breath of recycled air,

a subtle promotion

from here to there.

Brisbane, Australia

#6658 Apr 24, 2013
double use

window looking in window looking out

win win view

world wide wagon

window a square a circle

all around the world

double you-s

P.S. Copying from a dream had several mornings ago # pragmatological

Brisbane, Australia

#6660 Apr 24, 2013
If you’d win the game of life never sign as trophy wife,

Kiss meet bliss is lovers three:

one to cook, clean, fire for you,

one to sire four children too,

one to warm you now and then when you feel free.

If you’d win the game of life avoiding stress, frustration, strife,

plumb plum mystery:

make poppet do as told by you,

let others bend to fresher view,

Goddess with wings, pull puppet’s strings, sting as Queen Bee.

If you’d win the game of life and avoid Time’s jealous knife,

thank the rule of three:

one with rings new, one with few,

one guaranteed to watch those two,

years of false fears you’ll change for countless tears of glee!

If the game of life you’d win never take a husband in

for bed and board you’ll soon be bored

with football, beer, words sharp as sword,

with cooking when he’s elsewhere looking,

or travel with assistant booking.

If family to build is billed, be both self-willed, self-confident, fulfilled.

If life's game you’d win begin!

Outlaw all inlaws' kit[sc]h and kin

At times adored at times bear mawed,

it's difficult to bear accord

when one plays lord or can’t afford

all you deserve as just reward,

when you discover you mistook

bald cheek, beer reek, for strong good look,

for compromising beauty, brains,

when you yourself should hold the reins.

If family full blown, home grown,

you’d own dethrone male chauvinists' drone groan.

Send 'preconceptions' in tailspin,

banish guilty conscience, sin,

end male control of sex and soul,

compete to self-complete, stay whole.

You need, seed sown, one mantra only e'er intone:

Free, clone alone !

Brisbane, Australia

#6661 Apr 24, 2013
In other Worlds where conscience lies
A paradox: who questions why
Time, a phenomenon where constructs thrive

In search for truth and knowledge
Overcrowded with infectious foliage
material mass overshadows
no moral compass

Socrates, Plato, Aristotle
Questioned worldly ways
Etymology, answers fraught
What's left? Is times remains...

Enchanting enlightenment is what I am seeking
The desire for possessions only serves to weaken
Maybe, just maybe Doxa was right

Human revolution...
Creation. Compassion. Evolution.
Transcendental, existential

In a Worldly fashion

Brisbane, Australia

#6662 Apr 24, 2013
THE SUNNY rounds of Earth contain
An obverse to its Day,
Our fertile Vagrancy's domain,
Wan Proletaria.

From pole to pole of Poverty
We stumble through the years,
With hazy-lanterned Memory
And Hope that never nears.

Wherever Plenty's crop invites
Our pitiful brigades,
Lurk cannoneers of Vested Rights,
Juristic ambuscades;

And here hangs Rent, that squalid cage
Within which Mammon thrusts,
Bound with the fetter of a wage,
The helots of his lusts.

With palsied Doubt as guide, we wind
Among the lanes of Need,
Where meagre Hungers scouting find
But slavered baits of Greed.

The wet-lipped Lamias of Caste,
Awaiting our advance,
Our choicest squadrons' fealty blast
With magic smile and glance:

Delilah-limbed temptations flit
Among our drowsy rows,
And on our willing captains fit
The badges of our foes.

What wonder sometimes if in stealth
Our starker outposts wait,
And, in the prowling eyes of Wealth,
Dash vitriol of Hate;

Or if our Samsons, ere too late,
Their treasons should make good
By whelming in the temple's fate
Their viper owners' brood!

Our polyandrous dam has borne
To Satan and to God
The hordes of Night, the clans of Morn,
That through our valleys plod.

Ah, motherhood of misery
For Christ-child as for pest!
The greater her fertility
The drier grows her breast!

Too many linger on the track;
A few outstrip the time:
Some, God has tattooed yellow, black,
And some disguised with crime.

Art's living archives here abound,
Carraras of Despair,
And those weird masks of Sight and Sound
The Tragic Muses wear.

Tho' blind and dull,'tis we supply
The Painter's dazzling dreams;
The rolling flood of Poetry
From our dumb chaos streams.

Nay, when your world is over-tired,
And Genius comatose,
Our race, by Nemesis inspired,
Old Order overthrows:

With earthquake-life we thrill your land,
Refill the cruse of Art,
Revitalize spent Wisdom, and-
Resume our weary part.

The palace of successful Guilt
Is mortared with our shame;
On hecatombs of Us are built
The soaring towers of Fame.

We are the gnomes of Titan works
Whose throbbings never cease;
Our unregarded signet lurks
On every masterpiece.

The floating isles, that shuttling tie
All peoples into one
By adept steermen's sorcery
Of magnet, steam, and sun;

Religion's dolmens, Sphinxes, spires,
Her Biblic armouries;
The helot lightning of the wires
That mesh your lands and seas;

The viaducts 'tween Near and Far,
Whereon, o'er range and mead,
Bacchantic Trade's triumphant car
And iron tigers speed;

The modern steely crops that rise
Where technic Jasons sow:
-All these but feebly symbolize
The largesse we bestow.

And our reward? In this wan land,
In clientage of Greed,
Despised, polluted, maimed and banned,
To wander and-to breed

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