Words on Fire V2E1.2

Words On Fire
Imagineers of Pyrotechnic Poetics
Volume 2 Edition 1.2
( for January 4 – February 14, 2015)

We Didn't Start the Fire

featuring

  • K. Leigh Thoma
  • Robert Horton
  • David Kernohan
  • Jean Billheimer
  • Loretta Leslie
  • José Coelho
  • Qalbi Qaali
  • Denise Baxter Yoder
  • Mel-Mel
  • Teresa Mayville
  • Michael Veloff
  • Portia Burton
  • Allene Angelica
  • Sankalan Parajuli
  • Mickey Draca
  • Kristy Rulebreaker
  • Mac Dre
  • Ashley Bateson
  • Michael French
  • Frank Ramon
  • Fergus Martin
  • Niamh Serendipity
  • Matt Cox
  • Tonscher 01
  • Daseph Edwards
  • Le Hornet
  • Late Night Mike
  • Seraphime Angelis
  • & featured moderator, Mary Macharia

SarahVaughn by Will Enns

Thinking Of by K. Leigh Thoma

I’m thinking of all the times
You didn’t see me
All of the times
I sat alone

I’m thinking of the days
That seemed so empty
Lost and forgetten
All of the days
I cried alone

I’m thinking of all the tries
I wasted on you
Looking blindly right into a stare
Staring so open right into a blind eye
All of the tries
I tried alone

What does it matter
Why should I care
About the days
The days that didn’t matter
Even back then
The days that shouldn’t matter
Even today

thoughts

A Cup Of Tea by Robert Horton

Sometimes it’s a blur,
Like eyes through gauze,
Like views across the ripples
Of a cup of tea,
Steamy,
Smoky,
Burning,
Scalding random images
Of ghostly friends
And forgotten lovers
Onto the photographs
That form the tears
In my eyes.

The album is closed
Yet I can still make out
The grimaces,
The knowing winks,
The nods
To strangers in the hall,
A corridor of mirrors
Within mirrors
Within a mirror,
Reflecting nothing,
Distorting nothing
But the twisted,
Vengeful faces
Of my peers.

Sometimes it’s a blur,
Like a dream
Within a dream,
In a world of memories
Where my life
Is forgotten,
Clinking against the sides
As it sinks to the bottom
Of another glass,
Intoxicated
And without pity
I would gladly pour
Another tear.

Yet I am there
In every picture,
Taunting my future self
With smiles and waves,
I don’t know why,
Maybe the past
Was too obscure
For anyone to see
The real me
Behind the mask.
In the morning
I will be sober,
A cup of tea
And all will become clear,
If not for me
Then for the woman
Who tries to love me.

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Endings by David Kernohan

The ending was more
A fizzle
Champagne, long
Gone flat
In fact, for me
This bottled togetherness
Wrapped in colourful disguise
Had never been uncorked

Love expired
Under the weight
Of its astigmatism
Fantasies refracted
Imploded
With a neural pop
In the unbearable lightness
Of reality

Still,
It was an ending
Traces of my presence
Gone with a vigorous clean
My scent removed
With a squirt of
Fresh after-shave
And it was over

Do I grieve the ending?
Oh, yes there’s pain
But grief?
I have grieved for faith
For his final breath
For promises I could not keep
But this?
Shall I grieve for this?No
Don’t think me hard,
It’s just I’ve learnt
With pain
And now with more
Equanimity
The endings
Of love
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Beauty and Despair by Jean Billheimer

Traveling the road of beauty and despair
a convoluted journey, truth be told
That two such vastly different means
of sight and heart
should blend so seamlessly seems
hardly possible
Yet, hand in hand through bitter life they go
At times inseparable, if truth be told

For there is a fair beauty found in despair
A tantalizing anguish found in shattered dreams
The tormenting destruction of our
sweetest hopes
The remnants swirling broken at our feet
Hold fascination for us in the sweet despair
and beauty in the tatters of our dreams

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hue and cry by Loretta Leslie

a grain of sand
a single word
separate
billions upon billions
a beach of words
squeaking
underfoot
clamouring to
be heard
grasp a handful
throw it to the wind
let its voice be
carried
a tumult of
sound
falling back
to its brethren
it lies
waiting
to be scooped up
shaped
sculptured
into sonorous form

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The Problem With Definitions by José Coelho
Up to some slam?
Download and get ready:“Poetry
seeks the essence
of language
Language is a collection
of signs
communication is the art
of choosing the right signs, the ones that will produce the same
meaning both in source and
target Poetry questions the use and value
of each sign in
language Removes all language
stereotypes
formulates thoughts with words, before signs
To read
poetry, is to relearn
language
To write
poetry is to forget
language”Get acquainted with a new app
everyone wants
The Bordello of Signs

New Year’s Resolutions by José Coelho

It was a circular area, surrounded by white, beautiful walls. Above, nothing paled the blue sky, whatsoever…

the signs, no signs of you, though I could look beyond those regular abstractions, limiting, almost touching the idea that you could, would be there

you were in fact, there. The noise, the words, the meanings I keep forgetting and then the landscape of you opens inside of me as the noise alights on the space holding the dream I call me

before any reason, the ground subsides slowly or the walls I believed so firmly edified, bind their wings together and reach higher

this white caveat had me locked, but I felt no fear, nothing. Observing the smoothness of the surface, is just what it is, the lack of any rung, just a certainty of no escape…

it’s still a circular area. Someone – I think it’s me – is still there, inside. I listen to the noise as it crackles between moments of deafness – maybe I should switch it off.

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            Blue
My heart is hidden in my pocket, protected from sorrow
I wonder why the ocean is blue?
Is it reflecting me?
                             by Qalbi Qaali
15 - 2

quote from Tupac Shakur

Burrow Deep by Denise Baxter Yoder

It’s the time of year
I’d like to flit
My way into a flower
Or swing my wings
Beside a bee
Buzzling nuzzling
Happily for hours
But here I sit
As cold nips bit by bit
I find  inclement weather wearing
With pen in hand I sketch a plan
To avoid a deep despairing
Winter blues might burrow deep
But underneath it all
I know the dreams of spring
Will come when I begin to draw

15 - 5

Like a child I am good
At hide and go seek.
I tried to find myself
While walking asleep.
This life is full of wonder
But the judgement of people
Can make the strongest
Feel cheap.
I found myself in purpose
Therefore I am posed to
Take a quantum leap.
Close to the edge but
Despair and destruction
Are too deep.
Yeah this life is full of wonder
But the judgements of people
Can make even the strongest
Feel cheap.
With vices and lust it will rock
You to sleep.
I woke up in a Haze of smoke
To my own downfall and the
Sound of my heartbeat.
I met the fork in the road where
Victory and failure overcome
Or cheat.
If you are reading these words
Then you know I press on
In the face of defeat.
I press on because my journey
Is far from Over and my purpose
Is no where near complete.
                        by Mel-Mel
15 - 13

Colder, Deeper Sea by Teresa Mayville

Dare I live?
Dare I choose to live
Now that I have nothing to live for?
It is a fool’s thought while drowning
In a shallow pool with me.
It is a child’s thought while swimming
Out to colder, deeper sea.

Vast, sandy shores wave farewell on the eve
With splashing melody,
With warmth and open arms
Held out in eager form
They strain to reach the breathless child.
They offer shelter from the storm.

Still the child inside collides
With icy grips of truth
That a thousand lovely tides
She visioned from the shore,
Were hours slipping from her youth.
And tears were rolling in… and out…
While sand in hourglass did weigh,
Between her toes,
Her every day.
It was a happy lie to keep her in one place.
The illusion we call Time and Space.

So swim, sweet child, and dare to live!

15 - 6

Impromptu for January 4 2015 by Michael Veloff

then keep on dreaming, son
i still cannot taste
your pie in the sky

i wish you well
but i must act

so that
I
can taste
the fruit of my labor

Kofi-Annan-We-may-have-different-religions-different-languages-different-colored-skin-but-we-all-belong-to-one-human-race

THE FULL MOON  NIGHT by Portia Burton

How the full moon smiles at the world!
She softens even the rugged trees  tonight,
By Kissing their foliage with her light,
And see how the ‘Milky Way’ is unfurled!

There is a subdued silence in the air,
The stars in muted tone exchange pleasantries,
Their light ripples  through the tranquil trees,
The breeze breathes gently into my hair.

The night puts its lips upon my brow,
Like a wave caressing the sandy sea-shore,
Soothing me gently to my very core,
Oh,I feel in The arms of divinity now!

quote from the movie, Dead Poet's Society

quote from the movie, Dead Poet’s Society

Indigo Blues by Allene Angelica

Laying here
Spread eagled
Under an
Acidic sky
I close myself
To the rhythm
Of lavender hues
While salmon tinged sand
Ride high
Slinking their way
Where skin meets
The ruffles
Of unmentionables
Tickling me to no end
The surf’s shades
Match my toes
I giggle
I glance at my fingers
Pruned
Why am I here?
No answer
I inhale the sunset
And exhale
My indigo blues

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For Her…. by Sankalan Parajuli

You are not the moon
The moon has imperfections
You are the glow decorating the skies

You are not a star
They are seen in the past
You are the twinkle that’s not hidden

You neither are the clouds
They are blown away and disintegrate
You are the moisture that falls as rain

Nor the wind you are
Restless near and far
You are the gentle breeze that carries me

You are not the fire
The fire burns and hurts
You are the warmth

You are not my deity
Deities are worshiped and praised
You can never be mine
Because mine is selfish
Make me a part of you
And then shall I celebrate

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untitled by Mickey Draca
My soul is an iceberg
Of cotton coated tarantula web
Melting into Mercury
It breathes nightThe last snowflake did not fall
And i am dead thirsty

For my soul is melting

Into another soul

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Not Underground by Kristy Rulebreaker

The hell is not
living underground
nor in undefined space
It is right here
on the Earth’s surface
among desperate songs
among activated weapons
on the stones
on the grass
on the soil
where the blood is spilled
where the days are humid
and the nights
where the hearts are terrified
of the elder and the child

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Pass by Andre M. Thomas

Seen so much but I’m still here, my Granny said it was planned, from every touch to every tear, see it all made me a man, took some time to clear my eyes, ambition blocking my scope, took some time now I realize, why half my block smoking coke, deeper than illuminati, cops do hits like Sopranos, Ferguson said no more bodies, got shotties, went off the handle, where I’m from ain’t no cocoons, you born and know that it’s real, I need a room to bless the womb, tomb, where my futures concealed, my Pops he gave me all he had, one day I’ll pass it along, my Pops, I pray to make him glad before the day I pass on.

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Sunday Afternoon by David Kernohan
I remember it well
Though I could never find it now
It stood, somewhere
Out the back of Kerang
Down some corrugated road
Grown insignificant by
Time and neglectA road much like life
Going on, but who knows where?
We find out when we get there
It stood off this road
Weather board, weather beaten
Foundations gripping the drifting grit
With arthritic tenacity

The faithful gathered, more
From repetition than any great desire
Prayers soggy from sweat
Trickle between the floor boards
At home in dust
Than rising to
Heaven’s vault

I am a bad piano player
It is not a good piano
Ours is a brief succinct affair
Bashing out off key hymns
As if by noise alone
We can bring
The resurrection

But weariness from the week
And Sunday lunch
Anaesthetise the faithful
And wrapped in heat
They sit, warm cadavers’
Unresuscitated
By my fathers fervour

Released
By a benediction
They drift away
Through heat and dust
We take that road again
The corrugated road
That goes, who knows where

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Beautiful Dreamer via G+

hopes and dreams by Loretta Leslie

she sighs as she opens the book
the rose lay between the pages
its petals as papery as her skin
its colour as faded as her eyes
its fragrance but a memory
time lay on this treasure
just as the burden of years
had bowed her back
yet her heart is as fresh
as the day it was given
love undiminished
she hears the words
clear in her mindyou are my rose
your skin is as
the velvet of its petals
your cheeks blushed
as the bloom
your eyes as clear
as the dew drops
hanging from its tip
your fragrance lingers
in my breathe
i give you this bloom
in its perfection
this is my love for you
keep it until my return

she looks at the date
may 1943
she closes the book
of her dreams

15 - 1

Weeds by Ashley Bateson

Through a crack in the pavement
upwards grow a weed
hated for not belonging
we don’t let life grow free

we rip it up or we cut it down
lest anybody see
the power in the message
the beauty in adversity

Its an honest attempt to grow here
its a struggle to be free
that is the wrong lesson
when we want conformity

we just want a simple life
smooth concrete all around
nothing growing between the cracks
no differences to be found

anything odd will be removed
nothings allowed to grow
the struggle for life’s forgotten
because we never let it show.

Cat Reading Book
Supper At The Ritz by Robert Horton

These fine things
Are not for me sir;
Fish? Chips?
Salt and vinegar?
Made with real potatoes,
Fresh catch of the day,
Wrapped in newspaper
You say?

You think I’m cold and hungry,
Oh no sir, not me,
There’s a fire in the alley,
Come, come and see,
We light old wooden boxes
And huddle round the glow,
Ignore the drunks and beggars
The streets is all they know.

I don’t need money sir
Nor clothes from Savile Row,
La-di-da’s too busy
To see me come and go,
I’m nobility in these gutters,
Lucky, it’s been said,
The grandest place in London
Is where I lay my head.

Behind that posh hotel sir,
I sleep between the skips,
Lots of posh nosh there
Not just fish and chips,
Caviar and smoked salmon
And decadent tidbits,
You see sir, I’m not hungry
I had supper at the Ritz.

 Don’t mess with me. I’m a cat

Last Transgression by José Coelho

Tonight, I swear, I will
sin. Not
with my weakish
body, no.
With my heart!
I will unchain its vessels
allow the blood
or whatever fluid they say
runs inside, to spill over
the edge
infecting whoever comes near
with passion
poisoned
fruit

and you, my dear
will open
your mouth
and drink
drink
drink
till the last drip slips
down
your
chin

Then, I will rest
in peace.

Flexibility

note to self II by Michael French

Just start
No matter what
Don’t think about rhythm
And it doesn’t have to play big
Simple stuff brought out into the open
People don’t take time to think about it at all
When it gets written down, something happens
What was unnoticed comes to life
Change how it gets looked at
Change all of it
Just start

“The heart is a strange beast and not ruled by logic.” 
― Maria V. Snyder

Spider Cat
No dualities can exist without an axis
let us write then of the center point
where all views merge
realizing that all orbs have centers and
all opposing points on a globe
radiate from that axis
and all though I might feel outcast
I also must feel in cast..
In that breath going in and out
I will remain in the center.
2 arms 2 legs 2 eyes 2 hands
one body one heart one mind.
To say hey
come to the center with me
I weigh now this day in your direction
I love all of you
Frank Ramon
Antelope CA
Northern. Hemisphere
Third stone from the star SOL
in the calendar of the current civilization January 30 2015
by Frank Ramon
2015 - 1

Sailing Into Life by Loretta Leslie

Floating
Days of calm
Mirror still
Shafts of light
penetrate aqua
Gentle lap on hullRunning before the wind
Gliding smoothly
Easy action
Rocking motion
Lulled
False sense of security

Jibe
Boom slams
Boat lurches
Leap across
Grab the sheet
Panic over

Reaching
Rigging hums
Hull quivers
Spray flies
Powering forward
Surge of life

Beating
into head wind
Come about
Change directions
Tacking hard
Hold on

Dig in a hull
Catapult through air
Boat capsizes
Swim for safety
Clamber up
Salvage situation

Gale force
Luff up
Sail beats
Rigging strains
Hold her steady
against the elements

Break the mast
Damage done
Time off water
Repair, recoup
As good as new
But not the same

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Prayer of the Hypocrite by David Kernohan
Forgive me for intruding
I know I don’t believe
It’s more reaction
Than reflection
Habituation than beliefYet still
I catch myself
Casting prayer
Into the cosmos
Hoping,

For what I’m not sure
Answered prayers?
Quaint relic of past beliefs
God knows they were
Few and far between

God and I
Arrived long ago
At an understanding
He maintained his silence
And I my disbelief

Yet still
Now and then
I’ll twitter
I’ve accepted
He doesn’t tweet me back

Perhaps I am a hypocrite
Though labels often hide the truth
I think God knows the truth of that
Having often been
Labelled God

1
The Sad Sunny Town By Kristy Rulebreaker (spoken word)
5unvA

At The Muddy Bay (Ler Wick) by Fergus Martin

Winter night comes with vengeance
Sharp, biting cold, slicing through the body
Daggers of tempered ice chill bones to zero
Fragile bone china shattering to the touch
Collar turned high against the biting wind
Body creaking like old rusted joints
Shaking like leaves dancing in the wind
Traveller sighs and shudders once again

The glass framed shelter bounces in the gale
Wind whistling through the structure’s gaps
Viking descendants with ice in their blood
Heads bowed in silent unspoken words
Impervious to the cold they are accustomed
They merely nod in calm acceptance
As the traveller’s winter weariness continues

Sleet battered walk to the waterside café
Local fare provides an inner glow of comfort
Temporary respite from the gales that rage outside
Traveller’s inner warmth fights back against the cold
White horses gallop on the cold winter tides
White topped cliffs rise up proud from the swell
Bressay’s fields disappear in the swirling mist
Muddy Bay of old throws out a winter welcome

13 - 31
Tonight I eat clouds
That move up
That join together
That give rain
That call my soulTo turn into smoke
And linger together

by Mickey Draca
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~ tanka ~ by Niamh Serendipity

a gown like a rose
of scarlet satin woven
the shape of the bud
femininity mirrored
nature’s design a sweet form

WinterInAmerica [peggy harris]

Winter in America by Peggy Harris

A Valentine by Michael French(She is not impressed by flowery poetry)

So…
We went to dinner
Soft light and quiet talk
Nothing new in this
We have been as one now
for three decades

Yet…
There are still moments
when I realize there are layers
I have yet to experience
Oceans of Love
Undiscovered

And…
Like an explorer
I stand a bit amazed
at the lands I have found
A place that expands it seems
as required

Now…
I think about the future
Changes will and must come
One thing however, I do know
Over that horizon
Is a whole new world

1813
40-all that i am

Two Hands by Matt Cox

Two hands
to feel the sand
of the path
that rests before

Two hands
to block the sun
of the sky
that hangs above

Two hands
to touch the face
of the love
that falls away

Two hands
to wipe the tears
of the eyes
that look behind

Two hands
to clutch the heart
of the traveler
who trudges onward

3300
28.OUR LOVE
untitled tanka by Tonscher 01
friday the thirteenth
laced with old superstition
beware your own mind
self fulfilling prophecy
voodoo of your creditors
we mean you no harm...unless by kreet

we mean you no harm…unless by kreet

Philanderer by Robert Horton

Calamitous plunderer
Of all things beautiful
With strutting nods and winks,
His plumage shades
Inglorious intentions
Understated in shocking pinks.

His nocturnal prowess
Tempts lovelorn eyes
With a million romantic moons.
Bamboozled by his flutter
And flattering innuendos
She comes, she goes, she swoons.

Sideshow philanderer
Dances his fickle pirouettes
On the mirrors of lonely hearts,
Reflecting the graceful dreams
Of an aged ballerina
With a kiss, with a twirl, then departs.

foolish street by zzen

foolish street by zzen

“Song” by Daseph Edwards

We met in the spring
Were offered a key or chain:
I took the key and
With open heart played a song,
While you took the chain
And tied yourself in old tears.
I loved you so—
But with iron you moved it
Turning water into fire.

I once sang for you
But your chains twisted the song—
Now I am confused:
Why did I chose to love you?
Why did I sing? I don’t know.

Street Art in Paris by C215 aka Christian Guémy

Street Art in Paris by C215 aka Christian Guémy

 Mangata by Loretta Leslie

Velvet gentles the night
Ship of stars
Gossamer sails
Traverses the silvery mangata
Of my dreams
Across inky blue abstrusity
Sapient illusions
Ascending the heavens
Diaphanous sentiment
Adrift, lost
between evenfall and dayspring
Never to solidify into meaning

LOOK MUM
Build Beyond This Day, With More To Say by Le Hornet
Roses are red…
without you
I will go blue!!!
please take me now,
MAN I LOVE YOU…Na sounds like a
suicide love note.

Will you be my valentines

“AHH.. to cliche…”

Your lips taste like watermelon bubblegum,
I could chew them for hours…

“Man I sound like a zombie…”

“Hmmm… How to start this message?
so many ways to say it,
but wanna write it one time
so she can get it in one minute”

I KNOW…

Lets start off with sorry,
because at this exact time
I am broke,
but knowing you,
you don’t care about such problems,
you happy chilling on the sofa
watching a movie with
my home made popcorn,
forget Champaign,
Malibu and coke.

I Remember sitting
on the grass in richmond park,
red ant’s went down your pants,
who knew kissing
me would be a pain in your ass.

HA HA HA HA HA
HA HA HA HA HA

I remember the first
valentines card I made,
Argos magazine cut outs
a cheesy message
and
a double dutch cinema date;

Even then you had my back,
when parents and peers were
repeating that “get a job” track,
I was working on you,
missed my first
two weeks of A levels,
chilling at yours
playing games,
completing zelda temples,
getting to know yours at the
same time enjoying the new
relationship fundamentals.

I liked that you liked me,
at that time most girls
thought I was crazy,
looking at it, it’s because
of you they think I’m
now a worthy man,
I guess you can say you
created that image
as well as
two physical images,
we got some cute babies;

One born on the eve of valentines,
he is a forever gift, my seed which
crawled up your vines, his conception
a concoction of young love and many wines,
SON…
You were made out of
DRUNKEN LOVE.

You were my Beyonce…
Na more like my Mya,
but she’s an air sign,
MY A..hem… (Cough..) opposite,
but no doubt you were cool,
my Maya indian
I was riding your water,
on a lunar night,
we even conceived a daughter,
the same sign as you,
looks like you,
this is gonna to be fun
for me when she get’s older;

Princess… you will have many cards
and
may have to break many hearts,
you have mummies looks
and
you have daddies arts,
and
you have a big brother that’s smart,

Sorry back to MY VALENTINES…
because it is your day,
I will give you a gift through my gift
in my most expressive way,
if I don’t write you a message next year,
hopefully we will be flying next year on a plane;

AND…
if I cannot afford an air trip,
i’ll take you around the local grounds,
as long as you happy to be by my hip,

sincerely and your forever,
LE hOrNet

Street art in Sao Paulo, Brazil, by Eduardo Kobra

Street Art in Sao Paulo, Brazil, by Eduardo Kobra

 “FaireE” by Late Night Mike

I have been pulling my own teeth out.
Just to lure you in.
You in that skin.
It’s 9pm
Dead of summer and I can smell her hair
Reeking of the ocean.

She fills my bedroom with torment and desire.
Spiral eyes guiding me
Into ginger fires.
While an orange hollowed out sun
Starts to expire.
It’s at dusk.
I bait her.
With my incisors.

Art by Banksy

Art by Banksy

If not Sant’Ignazio, then who?, an excerpt from Ιερά Γράμματα από τη Μεσόγειο: A Catalogue of Spells by Seraphime Angelis

March 3, 1705
9:48 p.m.
Constantinople, Turkey

My ever heedful Gidiane,

~~~If not Sant’Ignazio, then who?~~~

Disfigured, rouged cheek troubled asudden below carmine upholstery. Arsenical bloodstone cuff links, espousal to the sunken oculus of an undercroft, Il Gesù, aroused in cream and ebon funerary, perturb of an undulate woe, coagulated into baroque ornamentation, disgorged of listless balustrades of quiescence, necrosis.

And there, amid the threshold of arcane, vaulted patronage, whence copper frescoes embellished one cadaver torturously stirred among the heretics and cornices, clamoring estranged in the alabaster night — a gulping famish lurched — tarnished of fealty, subterranean coffers; the last jade requiem of curvature and courante —

For absorbed entirely within the gangrenous carcass of this nameless man, was someone contrarily purported, who, anywise, fell into disrepair over the fetid breath within him.

Suitably,

Birol

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The Grass Is Greener On The Inside by Ashley Bateson

I like to think it is a trick I use
to make up for a lack of skill
I can pretend to be someone else
and entertain at will

In truth I’m always nervous
I am never good enough
but I do have imagination
and can act like one who’s tough

A person who has confidence
who could make people laugh
would never get embarrassed
and do nothing by half

Perhaps I’m wrong about it all
in the end its still just me
so why then am I so jealous
of this guy I pretend to be.

1818

Kollage2 by MDSHall

Grow by Andre M. Thomas

I’m not a piece see I’m that part, each man can bring about change, transfer my heart, through words and art, so never doubt I’ll maintain, last night I dreamed about this Queen, was sad with tears in her eyes, done seen some things, that’s quite obscene, the fear done caused her to lie, growing up is kind of tough, the rules I break as I go, growing up was somewhat rough, but each mistake helped me grow.

Kollage3 by MDSHall

Kollage3 by MDSHall

Perhaps by K. Leigh Thoma

The ink has run dry
In the poet’s pen
Perhaps there are no words
Perhaps there never have been

The feeble scratches
Making its mark
Perhaps there’s no reason
Perhaps they’re empty and stark

The creased edges
Etched in the eyes
Perhaps there’s no purpose
Perhaps they’re meaningless tries

The twisted phrases
Transcribed with tears
Perhaps there’s no point
Perhaps they’re just wasted years
tumblr_makp20xful1r57f52o1_500

3 poems by featured moderator, Mary Macharia

Father of My Father 

I’m like Neptune, fluid; I adapt to transgressions
beleaguered as I am by my micromanager
after his death.

Here, I attest:

Father of my father, your tribe is an aberration, holding no respect;
scraping surgical knives against young women’s flesh.

I’m a conceptual storm accruing outrage against your son –
the practitioner of your distorted will.

Watch me break free from the box you shaped into clay around me.
Acknowledge this:
I’m more formidable than the puppet you hoped I’d morph into.

My spectacular dance plays on and on;
my essence, a storm acting up. I careen
as if drunk from the froth of brazen booze.

Your will is an aberration to metropolitan worlds.
I’m like Neptune: unbuckling the belt of your bossy attempt to make me docile.

Bold is my demeanor, stepping over the abyss of your tribe’s compromised secrecy.
The heel of my stiletto crushes decorum like a collection of tainted suppositories.

Zora Neale Hurston
Inspired by Miles Davis’ “Solea”
I’ve had
enough of untrustworthy stitch patterns
locking my tongue
against walls of silence,making my eyes sting,
held inside
the tight seams of pride.

I want this cup of life
to continually overflow
around the curve of its own rim.

I want to thrive within
the lessons it pours
over the earth,
nourishing seedlings of inner growth

allowing cherry blossoms to shape themselves
into the words:
I Love You

self-portrait of Miles

self-portrait of Miles

The Dampening of Grief

Dearest,
it’s my belief
bittersweet
grief will fade.

Let me kiss,
smooth away
every sadness
festooned
on your face.

I’m yours
to hold,
speak to,
inhale,
and view.

Your courage –
forged
like a sword.

Your steps –
absorbed
by strength.

You will rise
like the sun,
triumphant
and buoyant.

charles_00010 3648
EndNotes
The Magnificent Seven [Moderators/Co-Owners/Co-Editors]:
RC deWinter
Chris Flegel
Uma Venkatraman
Mary Macharia
Arthur Turfa
Frederick Andrew
Michael David Saunders Hall (aka the 21st Century Griot)
BigUps & Much To All Contributors. Remember: the poet tree will be streamed…so, let’s forever indulge in the balance of delicious agony and suite ecstasy of our everlasting leaves, always writing what the moment recommends to infinity and beyond. Till next time, Write On/;-)
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 ©2015 Words on Fire (in association with AfroDamus & the Conscious Matter Collective).
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