seasons lies life’s mystery
This is the moment where I should embrace the wintery-powder snow to come.
We all delight to create snow angels.
So too do the most damaged pimped out hoes
The death of everything I know.
Even one thing for certain.
I blew according to the way the wind doth blow.
until I walked right into the eye of the
shouted them down-
No, I won’t go slow.
Voice ricochets seeking a target
The managers above cloud corporation hear my
Attacks of panic.
I got what I was owed.
Hitch hiked a lift with a passing tornado.
Whirlwind dropped me off in a place with no directions to the Republic of sense-at-ors of common.
I walked along the the uneven, cobbled path — another independent equality free flowing feminist ,
juggling with digits and exchanged words with third eye chakra chemists
All alternate in form — it ends for the same means.
Or is that me unravelling myself from being stitched up — picking away at the seams?
I didn’t mean to lose my way — countryside hikes are not my governing zodiac sign indicating
I’m in my element.
This body contains still waters wrapped in layers of skin.
No teasing trickle or babbling brook
nor a wishing well to reassure my hearts confidence within.
Summertime- the livings never easy
not when you’re a weed on self destruct,
especially when the sun shines on and makes blossoming
a gift without the morning sickness
That sense of queasy.
Dark sunglasses can’t make me incognito to —
I should of clapped my hands
, in breathless awe when the sunset—
lowered gently against the abstract backdrop
Tropical orange salmon, pink sprayed skies.
Pay my respects —
Let it rest when it his time to slip down and fall.
Reap what you sow.
I deal with every blow.
Turbulent Winds commands my flight against common ground
I find myself high up and all alone
the comedown — finds me face down in muddy bog marsh — eyes arrested by a facetious fog —
Not even a bird to sing me an ode of encouragement to aid me back home.
we come into this world alone and we die alone.
Money, stuff — the acquisition of property
— it all gets left behind when we lift the veil to step into the next body of energy-
stagnation left in a cadaver —
this is our vessel —
Our only claim to earth’s throne.
Seasoned Cycles of
it’s contradictory to our nature.
Wearily wallow over wilted, dead plants — tomorrow I’ll throw them away.
Embrace the opaque
the possibility of a welcome winter
undisturbed silence-solace only to be found in untouched fallen snowflakes.
Trigger the cycle to fall — this is autumn.
Death and decay I feel implacably broken.
This idea of pressing flowers, dried
Into bookmarks is a nostalgic notion.
Shouldn’t I let it go and embrace the tremors, the blast of the callous cousins cold and colder
A gift of this perilous season?
I live on an island full of tall trees in treason for being out of season.
Let these words be enough.
Be my reason.
On my knees begging for hands to let go of me-especially those who touch are rough.
Grant me sight to see-
permit my body and soul to feel the spectrum
exhilarating and painful emotion.
Facing forward to a future
smelling the unsullied scent of rebirth
A possible sight spotting of Tigger
ready to uncoil and bounce into spring
For the awakening of the blessed bees, Lilly white lambs and a hereuse holiday closer to the ocean.
Posted on 2017-10-03, in POETRY-FREESTYLE/IN YER FACE/EXPERIMENTAL and tagged Death, Depression, Emotions, In Yer Face poetry, mortality, passion, POWER POETS, spirituality, Stream of consciousness, stream of consciousness poetry, THIS IS LIFE. Bookmark the permalink. 9 Comments.