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You are my peace in this tumultuous world.

Katie, 20:30

Song of Discipline
image

You have to cultivate obsession. Read dirt
and decode clouds. You must become detective
of your own mind, and uncover the gruesome secrets
that’ll undermine your empire. Your life can be excavated
from the noise: within the unshapen metal bar
lie the knife, the needle,
and the neuron. But you have to peel yourself,
abase yourself before all, confronting
the only real enemy. You have to
offer your bones as bread,
and donate blood to everyone listening,
squeezing every last drop of juice from your head.
You have to mount the ninety-nine stages
of humiliation,
letting eyeballs slide dripping off your face.
Death will draw closer: you’ll see it smile,
and hear your own real thoughts.
You must dive
into the prismatic waterslide of memories
searching for the weak spot
to break yourself open;
swim back upstream
into the womb of light
to head the past off at the pass,
to catch the last rolling smatterings
of what you did not love in time.
You have to make yourself real.
You have to die for your sins
and not ours.

Tribute for @barbaranestor2

This week a lot of us were saddened to hear from her daughter that @barbaranestor2 had passed away. Barbara was an amazing person: kind, and warm-hearted. Her words always resonated with hope and encouragement. She contributed much to our poetry community here and to honor her memory several of us are writing pieces as tributes to Barbara. We will be publishing them on Friday Dec 13 under the tag #for barbaranestor2 . I will be reblogging  those posts on my page @inspireamuse. If you want to participate in this tribute to Barbara make sure to tag your piece. Hopefully this will help comfort Barbara’s family and be a tribute to the life of this wonderful woman and fellow poet.

Not Entirely Sure

I’m not entirely sure
This is a better
Use of my time

Sitting here
Waiting on answers
From the room
Which offers
None

In its quiet
Turn of phrase
By an awful air
That lingers
As if silence
Shouldn’t furnish
What this dust
Would whisper well

Through old age
And stagnant breath
With such ripe
But telling odor
Speaking cruel
Yet honest wisdoms
Like this sound
Of creaking chairs

Where each ghost
Remained at rest

Though their movements
Echo softly

Among light
Dispersing shadows
Tracing outlines
Now long past

Hearing voices
In my ear
Wish each word
Were somehow faithful
To these moments
Ever fleeting
When all poems
Write themselves

And I never
Lose this line  

Or find meaning
Trailing blindly
Behind verses
Uninspired
While those days
Go rambling on

Since I’d rather
Sit and play

Follow nonsense
Into boredom

Idly worship
Doing nothing

Than approach
My doubting pen.

- J. Pigno

I dreamt of the devil and it proudly wore your face
Your kiss turned to ashes against my lips
Your words tasted like blood and melted like sugar
And I’m still not sure what it means.
I guess I still miss you when I don’t pay attention,
I guess you’re bad for me and I’ve learned my lesson.
—  October nightmares
I am allowed to ask for what I want in all of its complexity.
I want to not be put aside because you’re afraid of what we could be,
I want to be touched and I think I want you to touch me but not if it costs me the thing we have.
I want you to kiss me but I’m scared we’ll get attached. I’m scared we’re already something that’ll never work.
I want someone to love (me) but I’m not sure I want it to be you. We don’t fit. At least, I think we don’t. (Do you think we’d last?)
I want someone who will make me breathe deeper, make me release the control I hold over everything, make me take roots or take flight.
I want easy, I want silly , I want fast and soft and lovely.
I want to be sure, I want to be held, I want to be set free.
I want, and I want, and I want.
—  Tu as le droit d’exprimer ce que tu veux dans toute sa complexité.

strangers dancing on tongue

twirling with delight

beating to devilish drums

sweet to bitter back to sweet, one two one

no in between — no other routine

here, then there, then here

swift, trodding by air

begging for touch to not

burn this time but to

intertwine and find me at

the bottom of the glass or

your throat

As the leaves on the trees are no longer green, and the ruby red roses are no longer in bloom. The coldness of the earth begins to set apon all that is beautiful and mother nature must begin her course again. A new beginnig approches. Open your eyes so i can see the true beauty you posses inside. For the light in your eyes illuminates the soul in your body. And it allows me to see the true beauty your love possess. And your eyes are the most beautiful i have ever seen. They have a beauty all of their own. And your smile can never be duplicated. It is as beautiful as a sunset on the pacific ocean. And when your happiness is true, the incandescence in your eyes tells me a story of happiness , strength and true love. A woman as your self only comes once in a lifetime. Come spend the rest of mine with me. And i promise to love u beyond your wildest dreams.

Dirkumdown

image

My temple offers satisfaction.

image

There’s a black rose

Yet to be found

Promised in the delight of the dawn

Dawn of the very start.

The crescent bulb shines

Like a moon in less starry night

We are almost intertwined

Almost, because it never stays long

Time dances as we collapse hard

It’s too early to call out

The distance goes long and I might walk out

Afterall, I’m a sad lonely town

Past and future mine, I forgive your present

For opening the door where no one stays

Worry for the night I make it my habit

My place here is deliberate.

My temple offers satisfaction

Dipped in mocha

There’s still promises left

There’s a halo that is still to be put

I still have to be worshipped.

You still have to pray to me

You still have to go down on your knees.

His shattered dreams

With her broken pieces

Millions of scattered wishes

Wrapped with shower of kisses

Binding them whole

Gliding like a dew

Along the hollow corridors

Of time

And space

Their footsteps as they pace

A resounding rhyme

Two souls entwined

A mesmerizing chime


-Souls entwined,

Katie, 20:00

In all those years, darling

I wanted to be

Someone

An epitome-

Of dreams fulfilled

So I toiled

Harder than I can afford

Broke my bones

Didn’t care if I crawl

In the end though

All of these

Mean nothing

If you leave

So darling

Instead of

Becoming somebody-

Admired

Can I just be

Someone you’re proud

To call “mine”?


-Someone to call mine,

Katie, 19:45

Dream 28/11/19

It was a large party. At night, outside.
Under trees, perhaps near water. A clear reminiscence of prom
And she was there, beautiful, self-assured, and bad news for me
This girl I’ve never quite known well but always envied and despised
Not because of anything she’d done or deserved
Only she’d had you or rather you’d had her
And I’d once been told we looked somewhat alike
She resembled what I could have been if I were better
So I watched her approach choking on an old unfair hatred.
Tasting of bile and bad faith

She was there, the hazy crowd opening before her
The air heavy with smoke and her perfume and the smell of danger
For somehow, she had understood, discovered, realized
She knew
She joined a conversation with many common friends
And, staring right at me, speaking specifically to me
She announced she’d spent last night with you
And so I had to swallow hard and laugh it off
Look unaffected, like you’d spoken of a stranger
Just oddly but comically overshared
Inside, the world was ending
Not because of jealousy
But because she knew

I broke away from the group as my thoughts started to race
She knew, she knew and she was out to make me pay for it
She was going to tell him, to tell everyone, to tell you
And suddenly I was screaming
Hunched forward, bent in two
Screaming, screaming, screaming
A hoarse roar, something being lacerated
I was being punished for my unjust anger
For the ugly, the foul, the monstrous
What you’d awaken in me and I had kept inside
It was torture all the more because I deserved it

I screamed until my throat would vibrate but make no more sound
A primal cry, a dying whale song
The party lights, the stars, everything flashing red
Blood in the water. Crimson in the night sky
And I, the loudest of the wailing sirens
A fish out of water, writhing breathlessly

Yes, I screamed till I had scorched my lungs
Over you, my deepest, most secret wound
Suddenly ripped open, revealed
My internal workings exposed
Bleeding, bleeding, bleeding
I had sacrificed so much, changed my whole architecture
To keep you hidden, to bury you further
Out of sight but ever in my mind
Attached to my very spine
Made a structural part of me, a bearing wall
It all came crashing down
Undone in an instant. Unmasked and unraveled
I felt I could never stand straight again

I had built myself around the silence surrounding you
Around a hollow pit, a concave core
And so when it happened
Your name spoken out loud, ripped from me
-My own shadow torn away-
I was deafened by the blast, the explosive decompression
My bubble popped. My whole being turned inside out
Sucked out through pursed lips painted red
Displayed for all to see, for all to pick apart and feed on
I woke up, the scream still echoing in me.

The Body DEFINE

Ⅰ.

With the crack of typewriters,
cedar plot branches clasp
the crooning moon.

An entrance like the devoted 
sum singing Luci-Verse
         on Ed Sullivan.
THIS
beguiles the kids to buy
concho belts,
to quit art school,
        O very chameleon—

Ⅱ.

My ankle balls ignition,
close yr eyes & picture
                        (no description

The plinth rocket [our venture]
painted with chrysanthemums 
& gull shit,
poised to ponder the scope
of composition/
                        resting blind

for its aeronauts were named)
Destroyed!
by the Body DEFINE

And after 2020s in the foreign land/

i know that the december winds of my village will still carry the fragrance of my 2019 goodbyes/

i know it’s trees will cherish my carved name/

i know its closed walls will remember my unheard voices of sorrow/

and cheerful screams of happiness will still persist in its air/

i know that its corners have memorised my fears/ my doubts/

i know its broken pavements have witnessed my victorious walk/

i know that glasses of its old shops have felt my fingerprints and its windows will highlight my handwriting in the foggy winter/

and i know that its roads have saved the sound of my footsteps/

my village will still hold my aura/

its light through the trees will still wait for my presence on my empty wooden chair/

the nostalgia of mine will be fresh in these quiet spaces/

and they will speak of my memories to the strangers/

they will tell my stories to the passerby/

because my village doesn’t forget/

it breathes the oxygen of flashbacks/ why will my quiet spaces not speak of my remembrance?

-Arshi @seventhskywords

For @writerscreed Writerscreed Challenge of the Week, December 8 - 14, 2019; prompt- “Quiet Spaces”