Liquid Jade

Stephen Fuller/Pointed Home

Pointed Home

The ocean runs like liquid jade
Poured between fingers, pure and clean
Empty like I wish to be long enough
To settle between ears that heard too much.

God poured his glass of water here
So that I could see the bottom
A reminder of spots that can be touched
But many more that remain to dive for.

Should I take a break from these poems –
Lyrics to songs I sing alone –
Try to dance to a song everyone knows?
Not to give the night to conformity

Just to break the darkness
With a light from wax,
Words melted with a flame,
A spark that smells familiar, if foul.

Did the child wonder,
That darkness would not scare him?
Did the chid wonder
What darkness would inspire?

Image: Ivan Konstantinovich Aivazovsky
https://www.boredpanda.com/mesmerizing-translucent-waves-19th-century-painting-ivan-konstantinovich-aivazovsky/

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Therapy

Kristiana Reed/My Screaming Twenties

My Screaming Twenties

On our first date

I told you I’d dated

two before you.

The first, Liza

was blonde, stern

but held stories

in her eyes, yours, mine

and every fortnight

we sat before her fireplace.

I often cried and she held me

at arms length,

preferring emails

to the confines of a room;

room I took up with my mess.

My unopened boxes,

my sellotape bandaged boxes,

my squished boxes.

With time we grew distant,

the tears stopped

and she had conversations

with my inbox.

The second, Mary,

we never met.

She knew I had a lonely heart

so we talked;

about grief and change

whilst I watched birds

flutter and settle in trees

across the street,

her dulcet tones

soothing my sorrow.

We talked about blessings

and curses, what it means

to grow.

We never met, but I loved her;

for the time she spent,

an hour in my car

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shine

Oldepunk/RamJet Poetry

RamJet Poetry

shine

we’re all blind in the beginning

Some say life

it is a river

but I say fuck that

it’s a flame

you and me, we’re proper bandits

off of our rockers in full-throated harmony

I once heard your name come across

in some forgotten tune on the Wurlitzer

and it sounded like LSD

we take what we need to

if we deign to designate

your filth, this disease

will paint your front door

a scarlet red A

go Big or go home is the answer

to the question about to fall out

of your stupid mouth

so keep it shut

we don’t need no education

we front the cold side with

a pimp stroke slide

drop a rhyme like Chuck D

drop a dime on that lazy greed

that is coursing through the outsiders

we bleed mercury and crows’ feet

tie chains to my insides and pull

at the heart…

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A Town in Some West

Basilike Pappa/Silent Hour

Silent Hour

Arta gravure 1854

 

If I were a town in some west,

I’d be in love with a river

who’d wrap his arm around my waist

forever.

We’d have all the gold,

and a plain to call our own,

and a sea to want

together.

If I were a town in some west,

I’d drizzle grief and rain my worst till I felt better,

and my river would drink with his arm around my waist

so tender.

But I’m no town in some west,

I’ve no gold on my breast,

or the power to mess with the weather,

and there’s no one to wrap a true arm around my waist

forever.

***

© Basilike Pappa, 2018

(Image: Pinterest)

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Think Again

Aurora Phoenix/Insights from ‘Inside’

Insights from "Inside"

so you want to poach me

turn my guts runny

on the burn of your well blown

hot air

crack my shell and

drizzle my acquiescence

over the callous crusts

of your self-satisfaction?

I decline, sir

your nauseating offer

despite mottled past

I exude no sulfurous odors

and my shell is impervious

to narcissistic fumblings

 

you think you can peel me away

denude my autonomy

as you bake puffed up

pastries

decorated with the fruits

of others’ labors

while you fancy yourself

a suave modern day Khan?

I am fruit

no more than fowl

and I hear the four and twenty

blackbirds singing

lo! to your base perfidy

 

you have conjured yourself king

bishop and knave

manipulating pawns

in your checkered rivalry

imagine me

accommodating accoutrement

on your phantom battlefield

I have fought for my place

stomach no puppet master

win your twisted game

as I deign not

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Objectification

Christine Ray/Brave & Reckless

Brave & Reckless

Objectification

You sharpen your words
into knives
lovingly caressing blade
with whetting stone
until it can split hairs
your goal
to dismember
into assorted parts
a skilled and enthusiastic butcher
you long to reduce women to
arms
legs
feet
hands
breasts
pelvis
head
mouth taped firmly shut
blindfolded
to hide reproach
judgement
in our eyes
to diminish
disempower
silence

How terrified
you must be
of our wombs
our truths
our rage
to think that complete
objectification
nothing short of carving us like
Thanksgiving turkey
can protect you

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

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