The Poetry Marathon

When the womb breaks at midnight beneath the midnight sun,

this mother must run 10 miles north from her sleep into the waters she came from, chanting the midnight song

for if she fails to find her scales and crown well before dawn, she must bleed the riches back to the ones who caused her creation.

So she runs now

toward the north river

to keep her riches

she must sing the midnight song

The sorry camp came happy absent the right sized tent.

Ying yang touch inevitable

Dust kept dust locked sweetly. So amiable

Morning came.

The clouds wept joyfully

as did the ying yang campers.

Circle stones of light encase us

Vibrating pillars of shock light radiate the ethereal breaths of virgin upper consciousness

as we lose earth’s

fine in sync

with spasmodic might melting the center pot

we shift 🔥🧘‍♂️🔥

Familiar combustion of excitement

tickles innate chords of expression

playfully careening outward into the earth from playful souls merrying mischievously as their bubbly disposition glowers with golden kindness

halos of peace

simple expulsion

tender tender bliss

The arrogant mouse; armored in battle uniform, nudges the bull with its pointy nose off of its trail as it races towards the lions, spear in hand, evoking fear from the elephant who starts to run in the opposite direction from the lion’s pride that seems to shrink as the mighty mouse draws nearer.

To feast fair on the wholesome meal of calm

The rapturous convenience of this space away from the peaceless stirs of babbling cities arrests me into violent satisfaction;

un equaled relief from the joyous trouble of this kind that loves her social hand

Calisto speaks the heavy language of transendence in my happy ear

i then scuttle out to find a golden spear

stuck in the chilly white sheets of substance that cools my very soul

Ranea says hello with a smile from the clouds

i reply with a chickle as i scuttle back in to pen a story. And listen some more

As much as humanity be beloved

This anchor of purity, centeredness and still

be more so treasured

It is wise

to find tune and melody yours

tune and melody scores

home away from home

Silver speed in this bottle of unrest
Sweet deceit in sensuous bare skin

Falling for this wild thing brings wicked ease
Solemn confusion
Veiled bliss, enchanting power in secret places

My senses linger long
Desire awakens strong

And we’re birthing escape bruises before they mark our hearts
Birthing lust under this liquid scarlet glow

No exit; only blinding ecstacy
Silver speed in this bottle of unrest

My senses linger long
taking in shape, scent and pull of this bottle
the sin of its instigating poise

Now kill my innocence
show me all the stars.

Hour glass lightening

Quick sand flighting

As we sit here i want to count the colours of the forest before us, and paint with them, the wonder of the sun looking through your eyes as you write me a poem like you always do while we hold two sides of a beautiful vision; one side of a song.

So the hour glass matters naught

the moving sand does not count

A poem and a painting is enough

transcending the vestige of the lie; the seeming momentariness of our song.

A poem and a painting.

Happy Appa,

the plenitude of joyful conundrum that whipple from thy happy soul wonderfully affects my senses with pride

Happy birthday Happy Appa.

I See you my sunflower, knitting new space on the pavement of fine things; crystal wine glass in hand

your scent is bliss

your soul at ease

i see you my dear

I see you