Archival Review

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Ago Again
by Wanton Vixxxen ©

Never do they ebb; these tides of my love’s deepest yearning
crashing on bleak shores of lonely everydays now
Wanting all of you though none of you is what I’m deserving
Remembering us not long ago; the us we shouldn’t again allow

Lying in the dark, I hear hollow sounds of my heart beating
Emptiness consumes me as do the moments we once shared
Cold and vacant is my soul now since we’ve promised to stop meeting
When nighttime offers shadows, its pity cloaks my feelings bared

Desolation’s mate, I’m companion to oft time sorrow
Eternal sadness with little hope; overwhelmed by all despair
We’re each alone in barren solace with faintest chance for our tomorrow;
grasping morsels of this love from crumbs of time we find too rare

Clinging onto faith, the one strong thread that shows no fraying
Believing in our past that’s ours to cherish; dreams then and when
Our future’s not been reached in spite our present’s day- to- daying
As we loved in times of our ago, you knew we’d love ago...again.

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I haven't even finished posting the A's, while I finished running through the B's last night.

Instead of another poem from the A's, here's one from the B's that jumped up and grabbed me last night and I knew I just had to post it immediately.

Brooms are for Cobwebs
by tungtied2u ©

Brooms are for Cobwebs

Words black with venom
hissed through serpent lips,
spiteful
biting
hurtful

Poison sinking in
you’re worthless
you’re unlovable

Cracks wrack your back
the broom handle breaks
relentless
insistent
unceasing

Driving home the point
you’re not wanted
die, damn you!

NO

Busted ribs don’t bate your breath
Words and whippings
won’t squelch your spirit
They harden your resolve
to survive

Morning arrives, bag packed
goodbyes whispered with pleas for silence
and a clean escape
but no tears
in eyes clear with intent and understanding
the unknown awaits
but even death would be better than this


How many solitary miles must be logged
and cold sweat soaked beds laid in
before this toxin is purged
How many lovers will you enfold
in efforts to exorcize these demons
just to leave an empty space
able to accept fulfillment

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Okay, back to the A's with this goody from Liar. And though I'm guessing it should have been spelled in the traditional way of Bethlehem, I was fascinated by the results on Google when I searched for betlehem.



A Chance Encounter
by Liar ©

and so this is Christmas
wrapped up in cinnamon dreams
under Rioja haze

and an eiderdown cocoon
red ribbon kimono belt sealed
and signed with a promise
of tomorrows

and so

this is Christmas
and what have we really done
other than reach out and brush by
another set
of trembling fingertips
when we lingered tipsy

just outside the circle
of the others' homely fire

and sang a carol of our own instead
gazed upwards
to see no betlehem's star
but indeed a million milky others

that others try as they might
to plaster plastic to their
indoor universe

there are stars
in the lines of her palm

they landed when she beckoned
and gently closed her fist

now scattered across the room
with the rest of the

gift
wrapping

glowing in the corners
they keep us company
and wait for the sun

and so this
is Christmas

on idle breath
in candle lit air
blood red lips
raven black hair
and under those lids
glacier twin embers
almost cyan
hibernate

sleep now
questions too basic to utter
will linger unspoken
to be collected and released
with the scattered stars
we captured
come morning

so this is Christmas I guess
one like never before
a gift bestowed
a riddle yet
to solve

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So, from a middleaged poet we get a revealing look at how quickly things have changed. I'm sure the kids today are busily text messaging each other, at the very least, rather than passing anything as incriminating as an actual note.


Albert's Occiput
by Middleagepoet ©

Albert's Occiput

It was there, we all knew it:
the bleached white shined
as if waxed, the black sutures
dividing it excited us even more,
like shadowy passages into gray.

The skull reeked with obnoxious possibility,
silently facing the back wall,
a testament to some ancient genius,
honored out of shear brilliance
to spend eternity on a dusty shelf

surrounded by cartons of rubber gloves
beakers of odd chemicals, test tubes
and a discarded text book or two.
Each year we gave it a name
Descartes, Shakespeare, most often, Albert.

We never considered the possible mediocrity
that a janitor's skull would ever grace
the dusty shelf in the Chemistry Lab
of Stroudsburg Junior High School.
The thought just never occurred to us.

So this year Albert's occiput glares
though locked glass, quietly observing us
observing him as we chew gum, pass notes
and whisper just beyond our teacher's view,
confident Albert won't speak a word.


Originally published in Eclectia Magazine (April - May Vol. 8 No.2) www.eclectica.org

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LeBroz said:

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Since Tess brings up the subject about bees...


A bumblebee of poetry
by Icingsugar ©

vocal
velvet wings
too small
to lift above
the page

grammar weak
and cliché built
too small
too trite
for screening
scholars

but you're
a bumblebee
of poetry

so you don't care

and soar

because
that is you
and all you know

I watch you rise
defying
common sense
and gravity

and fly
with other
bumblebees

to make love to
the reading roses


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Click to expand...

This one grabbed me ... Mmmmmm. Very erotic read here Icingsugar.
Very creative wording and feel. Just sayin' ~

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This one just never quite clicked with me until I looked up the meaning of leveret.


An Offering For The Milk Lady
by KittenishJane ©

[...]

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Another Deer Path
by annaswirls ©

I want to feel the scratch
from the burrs and brambles of your journey,
the sting of antiseptic that leaves
a trail of cleanliness through dust
and mud.

Have you discovered
the other half to my truth?
We stub toes on the Rosetta stone,
we bleed in Greek.

It means everything, everything.
Step aside, let me stomp down
the sticker bushes until we reach
the cloven mud prints
and a path of bent grass that leads us
to the moss covered sleeping grounds.


for T.

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angle and view, deja vu
by ghost_girl ©

Sit back and watch
the grass grow shaggy,
it’s not a sin to let it grow
into ankle deep infuse of green
highlights and deep sun shadows.

Long past morning
and depending upon degree of tilt
of Earth’s axis to face of the Sun,
this movement reminds me of laughter.

Will there ever be a day
an identical twin of this one?

Same thoughts, same clouds
same coulds and wishes
same now?

Remember this day, inscribed
as genetic, a pre-planned
yet somewhat insignificant,
sibling of mitochondrial DNA.

I have to say, it’s been a pleasure
my Father, my buddy,
companion deja vu,

But you’re just another yesterday
on hysterical brink of tomorrow
and I’m no longer afraid
of you.



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A bit of romance, perhaps?


Arctic Skies
by quietpoly ©

Pink light
The sky is as you said it would be
The paint melting into a swirl of clouds
Plains rolling into one another
as far as the eye can see.


Look!
Wind blows
carrying Arctic winds south.
Frolicking with the water.
Throwing it in the air.


Through my hair
like the chill of your breath
I tremble as I walk
lonely again.


You brought me here once before
and we walked here on the beaches
in our minds
holding hands
dreaming.


Overcame the oceans,
the seven continents,
the infinite sky -
two doves in flight
in this perpetual daylight.


It's late.
And yet,
I dare not leave
touch with my feet as I must
every grain of sand
before I go.


One last circle
one wade in the freezing water
One last kiss
as the wind plays with the mist.
One last time.


I look for those ghosts in the mist
those figures that melt
into the morning haze
The woman, child, man
your painted trace.


The pink sky
your brush paint of love
on my heart
everlasting
- You.





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Here's a piece that slowly wraps itself around you and seems to have no beginning or end; just a seductive call to keep reading.


another dream deferred
by RisiaSkye ©

I keep hoping that it will change
not because there's no beauty in now
or because resolution looms large--
a lion's head
(if only in the rear-view mirror)--
but because in my dreams
you do not suffer
under your own hand
or the crushing weight
of dreams kept at bay.

And slowly the pressure builds
and I cannot help you
except to hold you. I can
only watch and wish and
lick salty tears from your
troubled face.

And I can see the wheels
turning behind
your furrowed brow as the
ache grows and the days
slow and the desire to be free
wrestles with the need to
be chained to the familiar
comforting earth. The hollow
silence of the heart's home
rings throughout this castle
ticking a practiced metronome
for the chorus of demons
just awaiting their chance
to bleed melody
from this misery.
I can accept that.
What I cannot accept is
to resign you to
the fate of your design
without a fight, rather
than try to hold back
the nights alone
until hours grow elastic,
stretched thin but sweet
and we must be pulled apart
reaching for each other
like taffy made on the beaches
of our ocean.

And this is my struggle
one I choose every day
and nobody wants me here
in the twilight of your fears
but me. That isn't the irony.
But heaven is a door
without a key, but at
the other side
you'll find there's always a place
to lay your head
and someone will always love you
even--especially--
when you don't feel strong
enough to
deserve it.

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Autumnal Equinox
by Lauren Hynde ©

A day faded but not cold
at the end of summer
a day as if
without the patience to sustain day
and only on an outburst
or an impetus
void
of duty, but full of irony
brings light to a day, in the end
like me
or like my heart
at the end of summer
a heart that's void
not of impetus
but of seeking, in the end
a heart faded but not cold

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With that huge load of poems out today, here's a little something of note from today's reviewer of record.

Anew III
by Angeline ©

The day broke over your eyes, fluttered near
thick lashed, the iris leaf circled in bark.
I smiled upon your mouth full laughing, dear,
kissing the blood of lips against the spark
of dawn. This is how we wake, and thus begin
anew the path leading away from then
and how it was and what will be to win
nothing from her or him but start again,
believe that something pure can be exchanged
within the breath of hope awakened now
in battered souls that here are rearranged
from what once was, reshaped by questions. How
love do we know which way to go or be?
It matters not; our world is rich. Wait. See.

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It isn't that everything by Liar makes it to this list, it just seems that way.

aspiring to dream
by Liar ©

tossing turning
early morning
dreams dreamt
cars, cats and cotton wool
floating in an endless sea

inquiring minds
want to know
how a dream dreamt me

waking up is easy
just accept and let go
but no
if only
hang on...

a minute longer
concentrate
on not concentrating
don't think the thought
not those words


It's only a...

no! shhh!
look, waves, pretty, see?
distraction, delusion

maybe maybe
saved from sanity
to this time
one time only
maybe see

if impact impacts
in the no man's land
of not quite real

when I hit surface
at whatever counts
as terminal velocity
around here
will I feel?

will imaginary
surface scorched skin
ever heal?

and when lungs breathe
ghosts of water
and I slide
into the numb

maybe maybe
dreams dreamt
will become real

because
who knows what happens
when dreamers believe
there is nothing else

to wake up to


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Here's something else by her, while we wait on Boo ~~

(you always make me laugh!)
by BooMerengue ©

You told me you wanted me
and I laughed!
(you always make me laugh!)

What is it you think you want?
My vocabulary? oh, hon...
My font? my color changes?

My words? You have those
whenever you want!
(you always make me laugh!)

Don’t you know it’s all just
words? And some poor typing skills!
When I stroke and kiss and lick

and say “Oh yessss” its words?
What else could it be?
Point And Speak?

Do you really think I live for orgasms?
With babies crawling under my feet?
And lunches to be made?

Oh Baby! You say you want me?
Ok sweety! You got me!
(you always make me laugh!)



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Now here's a classic illustrated poem from May 2003.


1 Image 7 Voices
by The Poets ©


image by WickedEve ©




damn space
by 03sp ©


curse and blessing embrace
at the warehouse of wholesale
seduction

jump on this
slide down against that
come to the rear
way deep in the back
where lighting hangs from
bare, charged wires
like stars against
limitless ceiling

here are boxes of joy
awaiting the novelty
trade, untested




Tomorrow Is Today's Truth...
by Dirt Man ©


I nestled in that place
between asleep, and awake
an erotic fairytale in the making
as moons, and stars danced
in onyx sable, and blue thoughts.
~
Listening to the silence
of each moment
I breathed in eternity
and closed my eyes
to yesterday.




night ripening
by honeysucklerose ©


tension
a web ebbing
across
the abdomen
blind night
anesthesia
fulcrum
of sight
timeless
blackness
conscious
slackness
together
melded
as a head
molded
peaked
disparaged
morning light
musters courage
swollen belly
readied
earthen feet
steadied
black moon magic
the light within




Requiem
by Lauren.Hynde ©


revolve blood 'til your tongue's a weapon
reveal the sky in time-delayed photograms
reel in the undergrowth of stellar requiem
rise with the moon in rapine enhancement
resolve creation in the rite of dying

repeat remake reunite restart
(remorse was not to love too much) reverberate--




the x-ray boy and the cat
by Senna Jawa ©





volcano's smoke
by Senna Jawa ©






The birth of an idea
by stargirl32 ©


Fluttering soft wings
like butterflies.
It announced its presence
fed off my blood
grew stronger.

Developed dreams
and thoughts.
Slept as
limbs of steel
grew to
distort my body


Splitting me
open, in waves
of earthquake
pain, volcanic
forces pushed
it forth
A new idea.




A Mellow Monday in Meadowville
by WickedEve ©


A spry chase wound through the valley
as spindly gents, with caps set for Penelope,
courted disaster in black chiffon illusion.

Leaping from Purgatory Peak,
with trailing tail of beaus behind,
woo-able gal skipped away
from splatter of splintered suitors.

Penelope now awaits another day
of adoration for the sinister spinster.

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In view of Britney's difficulties with panties, perhaps Mom has every right at being concerned.

A Mother's Nightmare
by Svenskaflicka ©

My darling daughter Hanna turned 5 the other day.
She asked if she could dress as a big girl now, and I told her it was OK.
But as I put the frosting upon her birthday cake,
she came out from the bathroom; and I cried: "for goodness' sake!"

She'd stuffed my bra wth rolled-up socks,
and used plenty of spray to tame her locks.
She staggered around in my high-heeled shoes;
a thong revealed a non-existant caboose.

Her tummy was bare, and with the warpaint one almost mistook her
for a 4 feet tall, skinny, little hooker.
Then she opened her mouth and summoned my fears:
-"Look, mum! I look just like Britney Spears!"




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With snow that refuses to melt because of these damn cold temperatures, here's a piece to warm you just a bit. And if the termperatures where you are are too warm for snow, count yourself lucky.


Aurora's Child
by JUDO ©

Gentle halls of air caress my face
Sending perfect signals of ease to my soul

Rising amidst parted sunbeams,
I witness grapes of wisteria climbing
After morning's dew drops.
Do they hunger after the long fast?

I breathe
Expanding to limits' tingle
Ripples of goosebumps run down my skin.

Exaltation

Silk twirls, bends and flows in the sky past my face
As I step lively o'er the bursting buds
Skipping, dancing, playing…

And I wonder what the fairies next door
Must think of me.

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Asaba
by Kaishaku ©



Asaba

Tasting her
cardamom-spiced kiss
I felt a tremble
as I removed her asaba
and ran my fingers
through her long
black hair.



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At The Show
by smithpeter ©

Don't make a scene
Because, I am about to place my hand on your shoulder
Here at the fashion show
Surrounded by upper crust
In Sunday suits

You are startled, my hand is cold
Your bare shoulder flexed in such a lovely
Freakish way
Here, sip from this cup
It was sold to me by an adolescent
In the lobby
So it must be wholesome

I won't tell you about the
Conversation I had in the men's room
With the husband of that sexpot
Five seats to our left
He was not friendly
When I told him about my fantasy
To have his spouse in the parking lot
In your car

I could put my hands in my pockets
They will warm
Will that make you happy?

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So begins Lauren Hynde week. Starting today and on each of the following six days I'll start with a piece from Lauren's illustrated series.

Al·Gharb·1
by Lauren Hynde ©





1.

I speak of shorelines joined
by traces of sun across the page
of sea I speak

of mountains vigilant expectant
where memories draft themselves
in barren sub aqua undergrowth I speak

of stone illogical resonant vegetable
metaphor of caravels polished in shadow
by the inexorable pulse of time



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I may be a serious person, but that doesn't make me a somber person. That having been said, here's a piece with a bit of wit I enjoyed.

Baby Chihuahua's Mommy
by JUDO ©

inspired by LickMyBoots' Rearview Mirror Theatre

Shiny purple glasses --
More like goggles,
Distracts the stray gray.
A Silk scarf hides the neck.

High-booted walking geometry
Covering sidewalks
Like a queen watches a parade.

Chin held high,
Perfect hair,
Beverly Hills nose,
And the the nostrils held - even higher

A Gucci bag
Dangles from the Gucci dress
Which covers the Gucci body
holding up the Gucci soul.

Her projection of
Pretention personified frowns
As my black car makes
The crosswalk

In front of her.


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Okay, not only is there to be no chicken noodle soup tonight, but not even any damn chicken! Sticking with something safe like Broccoli and Beef in Rice. What are you eating?

A Different Kind Of Love
by Preta ©

Unrequited love poems
always struck me as the equivalent
of plucking out your eye
and hiding it
in your paramour's chicken soup.

It's sudden and ugly,
all noodles and veins where just a moment ago
there was just normalcy,
and the eye winks and says
" Still watching you,bitch"

Nothing says lovin'...

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Al·Gharb·2
by Lauren Hynde ©





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far away eyes decipher
the profile of ships the grammar
at times sumptuous at times
dry
of light
while pages of granite concentrate
in memory knives
un-edged symbols
of night

desperately white



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Here you go ~ a quick pick me up...



Aperitif
by Barushko ©

APERITIF 771030/ CAPE COD

By BARUSHKO © 2004


Gannet plunge
water and wild
‘Ploosh’

Another way to punctuate a kiss

here on a bleak
tidal twilight is the last
minute
before dinner

October 30, 1977 Cape Cod

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another kind of plunge
by Liar ©

lost
in a sonic cobweb
morphing conceptual chatter
falls, swirls, bounces off my head
containing all that's too passed by
too passe cliché

goodbye I wave
to comprehension
farewell to focus
now when zeitgeist
sweet-talks the unweary
to just let go
step out
plunge

as if the multitude
of attitude and amplitude
will welcome us all
and somehow make sense
instead of just
tear us apart
in all directions
at once

which it will be
I cannot know
nor care

because know
while the others
scream in roller coaster
random revelations

that a silent rock
in the shade of an old tree
and a clear view
of blue horizon
awaits me

and know
that if you wish
there is room for
yet another
seeker

who breathes
quietly


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