The Sophist
2016-04-27 12:00 am
Lamenting the loss of colour Youths clamor at discomfort Accosted, encumbered All my life A series of numbers Fumbling afterthoughts of others Dudes stammering and sunburnt Call lost in the dark wood Flames alight A series of numbers Defining the cost of squalor Tomes hammer where mallets weren't None fumbled, nothing learned Say it right A serious slumber Prevented from dreaming color
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Gord
2016-04-21 12:00 am
She cries to me able, Drying the the river fate, Dangling the carrot, An I to blame for position? Managing to hear it, I feel. Tragic for her stable condition. Merely I write transitions, Love letters of insinuation, Lasting forever, Boxed beneath a house of chatham.
Gord
2016-04-15 12:00 am
Oil as he lays his hands, Welts as he removes, He understands. Feeding the toll booth to greet the man as he arrives naked, Telling him to hide his shamefulness. He wins.
Justan Mitchell
2016-04-13 12:00 am
The Near Perfect Gift In the former days of boyish ways, I walked in a maze and talked on then plains, of my humanness. And of this list my name was skipped, like a gone astray wish of a dreamscape in which, I could only reminisce. But now that I've awakened my love has been accepted by you, the near perfect gift. So this time words and I try to rhyme, hoping to duplicate the magnified vibe that transmitted from your eyes, but when I over intellectualize, a development of nearsightedness takes me by surprise. So in the name of the most high my refuge and supply I've been blessed with a divine, and through that intervention the spirit translates my earthly dimensions, developing gateways to elevate toward worthy extensions of which I've never transcended, and I should mention that proverbs 31 represents a flair of dimness next to the rare exquisiteness of you the near perfect gift. A.V. A.M.
Justan Mitchell
2016-04-13 12:00 am
Mother Mother of Style and Grace the load carrier of the race Mother, our comforter of shade in mid summer. Mother, our near perfector, the rare refresher of constant blessings from the fair blesser, from He who blessed Her. Mother, desiring to bring up the multitudes, after a long nine months of serving two Mother, responsible being for all of humanity, and all the other creatures we see. Motherhood, to the single fathers doing what you are supposed to do, raising the levels of consious understanding, this one's for you, mothers too. My Mother, One with a Queen's eye and high esteemed Pride, blessed with a natural high, off life she flies. I Love, Honor and Adore this Mother of mine. Mother of Style and Grace, she can light up a room with her smiling face! But be careful, don't let a woman scorned takeover a loving Mother's place! Mother will discipline when pushed the wrong way, now it's the grands who better fast and pray! Teacher of many lessons, Mother of Style and Grace. For my Mother. C.L.M
Justan Mitchell
2016-04-09 12:00 am
Home Sweet Home I want to go to a place where wrongs become rights, spontaneously systematic like tax hikes. A place where fights are the last resort when handling plights. I want to go! I want to go to natural zone of flight where mental spikes reach spiritual heights. A place where the featured attraction are children as they play, where play is an unexpected lesson to be perfected. I want to go! I want to go to a place where action and reaction have a common turn toward our collective burn. A place where death and dying don't exist, where notions of creation are an ocean of manifestations that embraces the vastness of what is. I want to go! I want to go to a place where joy swells over anger, where the smell of hell is a distant stranger. A place to look deeply into hard aches and grief, a meditative island designated for relief....... I want to go!
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