Sky’s Breathing
Stars painting masterpieces
In the night sky.
10,000 angels watching now.
You’re not alone.
Night sky’s breathing.
Inhale,
Exhale.
Life is breath
And breath is life.
Breathe it in,
Awake, alive,
Happy Toes
In a world without shoes
My toes are happiest submerged in coastal sand
Tickled by sea foam.
Abiding
I shall bide
Beneath the earth
And yes,
I’m well aware of
How that sounds
Then he opened his eyes
Well then….
What are we waiting for?
So that the blunt monster
Will give us all
A crock of gold
And three wishes
His open eyes close
We all know
The three wishes
Never work
Go back to sleep
Dark one
(xvi)
You are dazzlingly beautiful
these scintilla of your beauty
could in tumescence light up the heavens each night
….and if you smiled,
a thousand universe would be set aglow with an actinic light!!
Poem 17
I was born scar on my face
I was made fun of for it
Everybody would laugh
Except for one boy
He looked mad
He made me feel less freakish
I want to thank him
He made me think people could be good
#17, August 24th.
Your birthday just turned into someone else’s. Someone I dont know yet. My best friends sister just went into labor. The child is picking a good day to come into this world. I hope she has a wonderful life. Just like you did. Beautiful baby girl. Welcome to our spinning ball of chaos. Stake your claim. Dont be a sheep. Dont let them ruin your spirit. Dont let them tether you down and clip your wings. She never did. Live up to August 24th.
Temptation
Three hundred eighty seven steps
circle up the Notre Dame bell tower,
each ascending revolution a private penance
counted silently by gargoyles standing guard,
until finally the entire city unfolds below.
Ancient demons flick your ear, beg you to cast yourself down.
And you wonder…
If buttresses can fly, why can’t I?
Will He give his angels charge over me?
Ce que j’aime Paris?
Clinging mind
Thunderstorm cascade
From unending darkness
Irrational fear clasps
The clinging mind..
Seema Sahoo – ©
The Raging and Consuming War of The Poetics
Part XVII
In another dream,
blood soaked rags are holding
my brain inside my head
and my own gravy is running down my elbows,
pouring onto a dusty ground
that bounces up when the moisture hits;
No doctor can suture the damage done by
life and it’s brutality;
for a few moments,
the music that used to beat me up,
returns – and I am so weak and again…
alone.
– Michellia D. Wilson 8/24/14 Midnight
1am
I hate the compete, I hate it as much as I hate her, I don’t hate her though, I hate what I allowed her to do to my emotions, was I weak, or honestly hurt, what happens to us when we are hurt, it’s like everything we were ever taught makes no sense, or keeps no memory, she hurt me, I want to yell it at the top of my lungs, this pen can’t do that, maybe that’s why I put it down during those years, there was nothing it could leak to the degree of how I felt, I just kept screaming, all along my ink was left out…