Bantering with Octagons

[eyer]

breasts but barely
nipples yet hardly
sensuously protruding tummy
shadow of womanhood
makes a tongue drip

all alone
against a wall
vulnerable
defenseless
red
longing for
the tongue

waiting like a succulent peach
for lips and teeth and tongue

waiting and waiting and waiting
oh where is that tongue

 

[sigh]

mystic tongues
red walls
old love
uncluttered

 

[sigh]

where go the ages of mystic development?
has an aura no need of fulfillment?

cling to the heart outrageous
for in nothing there is attribute
and in glory there is stone

walk through an avenue of clandestine angels
they gossip
and smell a little
like their cage needs cleaning

 

[drown]

oh...
yes.

the cages reek;

for their complacence
now passes
for an
'active life'.

they mistook the farwall's
mirror
for a new video
of a gahgah.

so pretty:
so petty...

my pet,
look!
it's you!

they lied as they lie...
without meeting a sweat.

nice trick
while they offer it;

half a generation, perhaps.






pay your dime.
come see it.

 

[drown]

she teetered in a corner
as if

someone were
at the two way mirror
taking copious notes...

her gravity.

but newton had been schooled so by einstein
and she
was plainly
...just nuts.

although....
the strange angle
she could achieve
brought gaggles of staff
throughout the day;
the local paper, more than once...
and
a dark suited gentleman from it-lee...
who never spoke
and left kerfluffled several days later.

others, with gravity,
had come and gone too.

she could float.

and since no one was there now to steal it from her...
she did...
for several moments...
then cackled gleefully
back to a tendril toe...
​

they'd see...
even if they never share her flights...

oh yes,
they'd see.

and they'd see that the two way mirror had always been
the
other way.

 

[sigh]

kerfluffled eyetalian
all garliced up, no doubt

mirroring back
or forward can do too
who would know?

swimming nekkid
rare
treat

Newton was Einsteined
but so were we all

 

[drown]

the time machine
creaked to a semi-stop;
a fullstop had been promised...

but light bent,
was not light stopped

nor slowed-down
for a relative
or friend.

your naked silhouette
haunts throughout time;

as a great treat,
yes...

and wet,
like the perennial pretender...

far more treat
than the tired that

and
buoyant...
not processed.

 

[rubymystic]

where go the ages of mystic development?
has an aura no need of fulfillment?

cling to the heart outrageous
for in nothing there is attribute
and in glory there is stone

walk through an avenue of clandestine angels
they gossip
and smell a little
like their cage needs cleaning

Behold the aura
Set in glowing emptiness
In the waking world
you must, I suppose, take care,
If I had known I dreamed,
I would not have awakened.

 

[sigh]

nor would I
for it's foolish to dream without hope of reality
and that
I fear
(I know)
is really what it was all about

lost opportunity
reeling in the myst

 

[rubymystic]

Dreams are
not bliss...
nightmare
where alone,
unknown,
without control
you stand
before the Unknown
who knows it all

Do not let the soothsayers
comfort you in vain
with tunnells of light,
immortal gain
of transcendent hue.

(gawd this is an awful un)

 

[Debbie]

Dreadful dreams
Deep despair
Despondent depths
Damn depressed
Distant disdain
Deplorable desires

Spiralling downward
down
down
down

Deeper
Rock bottom
Out of control ...


lost

but not forgotten (this thread lives!!!)

 

[drown]

oh yes,
the repository...

where the redacted comes to re-breathe.

'i know all that you have done'
sung the weathered crone...
'i bear witness.
it is my cross.'


the effort to ignore her was a strong one;
and though unmentioned,
like a leaked foul odor amongst the righteous,
all knew that what she stated was true;

her truth was borne heavily, silently
and equally.


they arrived in livery and finery.
they were exotically scented.

the erasers had done their work.

they danced with one another
and lied to one another
and befouled each other's loved ones...
with a gaiety reserved only for such pretense.

salad followed soup
as if by rote.

she eyed them as they left
as each averted hers;
knowing full-well
the meal she'd just been fed.


they'd return again
as if salad.

 

[Debbie]

Tick tock

My mind is like a clock
Sometimes if overwound
With springs stretched
A screeching "cuckoo"
As the hour is reached

Laughter echoes through the chambers of my mind
Realising I'm the cuckoo shouting at the hands of time
Rewind, crazy springs are uptight, screws loosen
Let time flee, fast as it can go, spinning hands, many hours struck

Tick tock.

We all hear it. Even when we are not listening.
Unravelling minds, sifting sands of time
Fast forward or reverse the arrowlike hands
Manipulate time but it can't be stopped

Tick tock till there's a grave silence.

Remembrance.

 

[foxinsox]

I used to love this thread.

Amazing the things one finds at 3AM on a sleepless night.

Heh.

 

[sigh]

thread love
its stoic repository found
in the light of an acerbic sun, I see
tick tock

 

[Debbie]

sometimes it's loud

other times barely audible


yet


so much can be put into that almost silence





bliss

anger

melancholy

love

relaxation ...

or just because

it's the human reset button





sigh

 

[sigh]

reboot
reset
log on again

s
si
sig
sigh.........ahhh, back again

 

[rubymystic]

Sighs of
Ecstacy
Pain
Frustration
Oh Bliss!!!

Good to be back ( or is it front)

Hey Sigh- I am moving to NZ next week!!

 

[sigh]

land of hobbits
and the xxx girl
fare well, friend

 

[drown]

it eats itself, you know?

there's on and off
and
in and out

there's plugged,
there's pinged
and there's blind.

she was none of those
even when she wasn't really anywhere.

transcends geo-lines
and olde definitions

so!
she's moved.

used to be
it was hard to be found.

now, it's hell not to be.

 

[sigh]

eating oneself
wet faced
in a corner

ruby moved
sway slowly girl

 

[drown]

these are more delicate,
aren't they?

more chisel than sledge

more sway than than strut
more slow sway than show business.

clumsy hands
doggedly drive deft pitons

to climb octogons​

when all the while,
the object is a box
and it is precious.

it travels with her, yes?
where home becomes home?

 

[neci]

fuck

too late

sex and insomnia

the drink coats my throat

tingling heat trickling down

my body is sweating

fan on high

finish off the high of the last o

mine

prescribed for sleep

 

[sigh]

endless

darkness engulfs the bees of inquiry
no more questions

sex

is it a wonder i can't sleep?

 

[drown]

in the darkness of forever
a thousand
questions linger, unguarded and uncared for.

she soaked her fringers again in the honey...
or so she liked to believe.

nascent hatred,
undiminished by desire,
she could no longer bear to taste them.

how - oh how?
or what, more painfully,
would willingly choose to partake of this her?

the cringe of an off-keyed siren tore at the edges of her soothe...
demanding that bit more than
that which was needed to carry her into nether...

fringers, useless now as would be an axe;
a clumsy last few strokes to certain the known...

she lay,
not wasted nor satisfied
nor educated nor clean...

not knowing
nor feeling
nor anyway away.

at some point,
the siren would come for her;
none too soon to this otherwise quiet
it would seem.

may the someone who hears it
break free.