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The Cycle of PassionNever knowing eyes never did haunt us
’Tis our own ditty which fails to daunt us;
The amorous rose or the lovebird’s lustre
Leaves but two shades for a season’s fluster,
Yet the poet’s pen is perchance guided
With rabid romance, nature unprovided -
For summer songs are bare conversation
Betwixt life and long winter’s predation:
Pale thirst for passion or higher power
Quenches its quaff in the quiet hour,
The soul’s tragedy is in demanding
Liberty lost from body remanding
Creation’s cold woes and callous joys, cannot grace
Vanity’s visage or the selfsame face,
In vain, we swallow the daily smother
To love ourselves, we love another.
Sleep Well, My SoulSleep well, my soul, the light has passed
’Tis dark, this closing hour,
Rest in peace, sweet life, at last
Let your toils awake a flower.
Dream deep, asleep, of each roving wraith
Which sought a home in thee
And sigh a little, for the wasted faith
Which were born of you and me.
And smile beneath the mourning ground
As the world clasps morning’s glory,
For the moon still dotes the earth around
And the sun gilds another story.
And then, in a squall of rain and rue
Lament life’s sole severance;
For god and men, we wept them true,
Slighting our Reverence.
The Fall of EpithilinonI
Let no man speak of wars whence
No answer graced our call,
Let man remember gods thence
Gods, watchful of our fall;
Speak in silenced sighs, men,
Dead men hither sleep,
No flag here flails, amen, amen!
Who can ever beweep
Our brethren in the deep.
Frightened colours breached the sky,
The church bells played a dirge;
The bustling hills and vales so nigh
In crimson rage did merge,
Archers with crescents held high
Keen arrows fell like sin,
The portcullis in sorrow, shy
Interred our fathers in
The last grave of our kin.
Wailed the night in thunder blare;
The mangonels did come,
Lonely trumpets singed the air
When Earth ravished our home;
The eastern tower, wasting wear
For a trebuchet did bow,
Fallen stone and ballista bare
Broke its stony vow,
As the beadle mopped his brow.
Mildly armoured, men at arms
Stormed the brazen fray,
Howled the castle’s cold alarms:
Ladder men up the brae!
Blazed in ire the fields and farms:
The winter’s yield was spent;
A Slice of EntropyLife is not form or symmetry or a stack of hours
on a dustless shelf
falling, hovering, floating, flailing
feeling comfortably numb
in a lover’s grasp
is the autumn of an ancient anarchy
knowing all these affections are temporary
and as they cease, so shall I
from a star to a star
streaks the dye of the unending night
shedding colour on what is alive
basking in the ambivalence of creation
wondering what is the great purpose
of existence, survival, procreation;
Why must life go on?
life goes on
fantasy, excess, poverty
of objective, of reason
naught lasts a season,
gravity is the do all end all
in the cosmos, time rules god.
Wishes and wills, thoughts, sentiments, impulses,
cannot slow that unforgiving arm,
or plug that black hole of impendence,
victory and defeat
will meet at square 1;
the cheers and the jeers will die away
in the violence of that
Life – 0. Death – 0.
Vita incerta, mors certissima.
My Knight in Formal ArmourNobody loves Monday, but she was not Nobody. Monday mornings meant a host of official emails, a swarm of new themes to gossip about and a cup of tea that couldn’t quite wake her from the torpor instilled by the weekend’s laxness. Her boss would come up to her desk and take a progress report of her current projects and by the end of the day she would have to type it out send over once again. She would often order takeaway to brighten the fated day but it did little to change things when you have to be professional while eating your fricassee or your fries. A potpourri of “social synergy” events often took place on Mondays, but to know that that was another excuse to boost employee efficiency conveyed a heart of emptiness.
She worked on seventh grade textbooks, filtering through its content with the keen eye one develops as an editor and looked forward to that first cup of tea that would give her a few minutes to stare at the day’s excited sensex. The cup of
WholeI'm no longer a shrinking victim,
Mild as a lamb and strong as a boar,
My past is in the dust behind me,
I won't look back there anymore!
I'll still struggle and fall short,
But I'll keep soldiering on,
I hear them trying to tear me down,
But I know they're jaded and wrong!
I won't be defined by old mistakes,
Because I know my heart and my soul,
My heart has scars but it's open wide,
The journey has made me whole!
Mary Jane's Metal MandiblesLittle girl, with your tip-top-
-bursting metal eyes.
Rolling tongues onto tabs,
with a cellophane surprise.
Take your lipstick-stain aluminum,
and kiss the face of shame.
Roll your dice upon a carotid-cloud,
for misconstruing fame
And you can sock-hop flip flop-
-for pennies formed to pearls.
Bounce back onto the plastic wrap,
with tinsel trains and curls.
But you can't conceal the label,
'cause the mirrors always sing.
Don't know why you cut your hashtag
out of fundamental things.
So pull your bright-hot slipknot-
-and watch it fall out.
Tarp holes upon your masterpiece,
of moldy clay and grout
Little girl with your down-drop-
-rain and thunder eyes.
Rolling grief onto hearts,
with your tattle-tale lies
You can beat down the pavement,
'till you've gone dark 'round the bend.
But promise, cruel and clockwork heart...
...come back at the end.
The Cheerleader and the Lonely GirlThe Cheerleader and the lonely girl,
You know them both very well.
Preppy, dark, loud and mysterious
Both have a story to tell.
You probably will assume,
Before reading this poem,
That the cheerleader is popular,
While the lonely girl is alone.
But what you don’t know,
About this over used story,
Is that the cheerleader is kind,
She doesn’t bask in her glory.
Did you know that she,
At the young age of five,
Was hit by her mother,
Every time she would cry.
Bruises and scars,
Riddled her skin,
Her large eyes would water,
And tears would stain her chin.
But she didn’t give up,
She remained strong and proud,
So that’s why when she cheers,
She excites the crowd.
She is the cheer captain,
The cream of the crop,
But don’t think without effort,
She made it to the top
And then there’s the lonely girl,
Who has a tight family.
Who has a mother and father,
A good form of stability.
But they don’t understand her,
They talk to her still,
But she ignores them
Your smileOn seeking solace in your smile,
it soothed my troubled heart,
soon hoped that you would stay around
and this would be the start
of something good that happens when
a happy face beguiles,
a love so true
just me and you
all started with your smile.
Now I sit and just remember and
ponder for a while,
on laughing eyes so blue,
on our love so true
and how you made me smile.
by Suzanne Karbach Sept 2014
the fall of the last monarchy (reworked)butterfly promise
weighs the feather wind, no less
than the plight he is.
Forgive MeThey found my lover on the side of the road
With twisted limbs and blood running cold
A car lead askew, burst into flames
Her limp silhouette is all that remains
Memories flash of hours before
Of me shouting, cursing and slamming the door
Of a heated argument leading into a fight
The sound of her engine speeding into the night
I collapsed to my knees in the grass at her side
Where blood painted the scene of her violent goodbye
Her final moments spent in misery’s embrace
Black mascara running down her face
If only I hadn't been so fucking pissed
To let such harsh words escape from my lips
I grasped her hand, pressed it to my cheek
Hoping to feel her soothing heartbeat
But she had already left me behind
To puruse the heaven on earth she couldn’t find
Through pain and remorse, my tears quietly flowed
They found my lover on the side of the road
Basic BehaviorI used to love you
With furious madness
But your desires
Blew me over.
The greed divides
Oceans and hearts
Living in anger.
You leave us
To reach the stars
With useless lungs
Full of holes
Our “perfect” world.
I need you
Right here with me
But you forgot
This lost soul.
Now I won
The wrong mind
I wrote your name
And it’s impossible
Notice me...I remember..
Those cold nights of isolation..
Those nights worrying about being hit or not....
Waking up in a nightmare..
Trusting no man.
I am stronger,
and I am older.
I am no longer under your roof,
I am no longer under your control.
I have no more bruises from your fists,
from your belt,
from your shoes.
I AM stronger.
I am living..
waking up in cold sweats..
worrying that you are near me..
scared that I would wake up with you near me...
terrified of being hit again..
and hoping to be noticed by you..
I am not that into football.
I tend to write about my feelings,
than say them.
I am not your spawn.
This DiwaliIt'll be rather quiet this Diwali,
A dark festival of lights,
And in that darkness I'll reminice
At least light a diya they said,
For this year's Diwali,
But fire alarms hate festivities
And would not let them be.
There will be no family this year
Just pixels on a screen,
And no sweets will sweeten this Diwali,
And no Sherwanis to dry clean.
The clouds will keep their peace tonight,
The skies immune to plea,
Just a lightning bolt? A clap of thunder?
None for my De-wali.
Dear fairy light friend I must admit
I have no diyas for thee,
All I have are stars 'neath the alien sky:
Diyas for you and me.
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More