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In my opinion, there is nothing more beautiful or tragic than an artist's mind.
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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Publishing

conversations with my muse

Her eyes dropped with the weight of her thoughts. Marbles shifting and darkening with her insight, "I used to always write dialogue."

"Really?" He half grunted masking the comedy in his voice. He was either surprised or humored. And as he winked at her with his empathetic blues and signature half-smile, he picked a piece of tobacco from the tip of his tongue, "How so, darlin?"

 

"When I was a kid. Those stories I used to write. Actually, they were more like books." She laughed like a shy child: embarrassed, but willingly baring her soul. There was something about him that allowed her to be who she once was. Someone she thought would never resurrect.  

"I didn't know that, darlin. Well, you'll have no problem. Just write the conversations as you hear 'em. I mean, writing dialogue doesn't usually come natural to anyone, hun."

She looked at him and she saw God. Not God as in the paperdoll image she cut along the lines as a child, but God as a metaphor.

She smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth to taste his dip. Then, slowly, she licked the remnants of him from her lips.

Savoring all of him.

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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Publishing
conversations with my muse
Her eyes dropped with the weight of her thoughts. Marbles shifting and darkening with her insight, "I used to always write dialogue."

"Really?" He half grunted masking the comedy in his voice. He was either surprised or humored. And as he winked at her with his empathetic blues and signature half-smile, he picked a piece of tobacco from the tip of his tongue, "How so, darlin?"
 
"When I was a kid. Those stories I used to write. Actually, they were more like books." She laughed like a shy child: embarrassed, but willingly baring her soul. There was something about him that allowed her to be who she once was. Someone she thought would never resurrect.  

"I didn't know that, darlin. Well, you'll have no problem. Just write the conversations as you hear 'em. I mean, writing dialogue doesn't usually come natural to anyone, hun."

She looked at him and she saw God. Not God as in the paperdoll image she cut along the lines as a child, but God as a metaphor.

She smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth to taste his dip. Then, slowly, she licked the remnants of him from her lips.

Savoring all of him.
#nonfiction  #romance  #poetry  #philosophy  #spirituality  #amwriting 
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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Poetry & Free Verse

An Open Embrace

I am tracing your shadow

Outlined by

The sandy white rocks

Wet and unappreciated 

And beaten by

The waves of indifference  

Walk with me

I will show you the Way --

His encrusted tomb

Sealed his eyes

Blinded by darkness

But awakened by Light 

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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Poetry & Free Verse
An Open Embrace
I am tracing your shadow
Outlined by
The sandy white rocks
Wet and unappreciated 
And beaten by
The waves of indifference  
Walk with me
I will show you the Way --

His encrusted tomb
Sealed his eyes
Blinded by darkness
But awakened by Light 
#poetry  #philosophy  #spirituality  #culture  #humancondition 
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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Poetry & Free Verse

a moment of your time, por favor?

I Am

Stopping by

In a hiccup of time

Where yesterday rests

In tomorrow's folds

Over a rainbow

And in a snap

Where time elapsed

The memories danced

In their fleshless skeletons

They howled to the moon

Expired and yellow

And they offered a fork

Indecent and manic

With pleads for more

But nothing was left

Because it never started

Creation's prophesy

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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Poetry & Free Verse
a moment of your time, por favor?
I Am
Stopping by
In a hiccup of time
Where yesterday rests
In tomorrow's folds
Over a rainbow
And in a snap
Where time elapsed
The memories danced
In their fleshless skeletons
They howled to the moon
Expired and yellow
And they offered a fork
Indecent and manic
With pleads for more
But nothing was left
Because it never started
Creation's prophesy
#poetry  #philosophy  #mystery  #spirituality  #culture  #upisdown 
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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Stream of Consciousness

A repost for those babies in Yemen

The moonless night Unfolded Into tunnels across the extinguished Sky Smeared with Madness Life was concealed With dying Hope And tears that flooded It rained white acid from fallen angels And Embers Burned the dirty caskets With despondency rising from its lava core The Earth shattered for Whore desire The Blood-orange fire smelled like death and It exhaled heavy over barren land The last star dropped and was lost to oblivion And as I sit here trembling My poison grows and I drink my brown rust to dull my pain And birthed from you my Sorrow weeps

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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Stream of Consciousness
A repost for those babies in Yemen
The moonless night Unfolded Into tunnels across the extinguished Sky Smeared with Madness Life was concealed With dying Hope And tears that flooded It rained white acid from fallen angels And Embers Burned the dirty caskets With despondency rising from its lava core The Earth shattered for Whore desire The Blood-orange fire smelled like death and It exhaled heavy over barren land The last star dropped and was lost to oblivion And as I sit here trembling My poison grows and I drink my brown rust to dull my pain And birthed from you my Sorrow weeps
#poetry  #spirituality  #news  #culture  #peace  #humancondition 
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Written by ALifeWitArt

october untitled

The moon is absent tonight and

Darkness fills the valley with silk

Was it all an illusion?

My heartache is mapped to 

Footsteps walking on water

And the broken rocks are bleeding 

Filling the despondency of my soul 

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Written by ALifeWitArt
october untitled
The moon is absent tonight and
Darkness fills the valley with silk
Was it all an illusion?
My heartache is mapped to 
Footsteps walking on water

And the broken rocks are bleeding 
Filling the despondency of my soul 
#poetry  #philosophy  #spirituality  #society 
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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Poetry & Free Verse

illustrations traced on a windshield

He was deep in thought

Eyelids bowing to

An audience of stars

In a sporadic distribution

Of light shining

Through a sky darkened

By nightfall smeared

With an abandoned storm

As the silhouette

Of his perfect nose

Lined the footsteps

Of a candescent moon

As it caught flight

With eternity somersaulting

On his muffled words

Escaped from lips

Barely parted and

I watched in slow motion

As sentiments landed

Before and after

Everything immortal

"Darlin, I love you."

And we disappeared on the wind.

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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Poetry & Free Verse
illustrations traced on a windshield
He was deep in thought
Eyelids bowing to
An audience of stars
In a sporadic distribution
Of light shining
Through a sky darkened
By nightfall smeared
With an abandoned storm
As the silhouette
Of his perfect nose
Lined the footsteps
Of a candescent moon
As it caught flight
With eternity somersaulting
On his muffled words
Escaped from lips
Barely parted and
I watched in slow motion
As sentiments landed
Before and after
Everything immortal
"Darlin, I love you."
And we disappeared on the wind.
#romance  #poetry  #philosophy  #love  #spirituality 
16
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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Poetry & Free Verse

the angels balanced on the waxed horsetail of her bow, and the violin cried 

My crooked spine is

An untuned organ 

Knotted fibers of

Ivory tusks 

Keys blackened by ash and

The light that unveils them 

They, hidden in the shadows and

Kneeling under Jacob's eye

A ladder cast

Ascending for forgiveness 

And bent by

My scoliosis weight

My prayer curved by 

Shoulder blades

Erupting with

Wings tattered and yellow

Stained feathers plucked and

Spanning too wide 

For my set heavy'd

By befallen steps 

The weight of charisma 

In a dogmatic seance 

Unearthed and lurking

With its iridescent flesh

Ricocheting the echo

Of a bird's last call

And sleep eludes me 

As I pace back to the beginning

To the edge of the shore

Picking at their eyes

Sealed shut with sand 

And my unkempt nails

Are dirtied by the truth 

But cleansed

By the same 

  In glory. 

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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Poetry & Free Verse
the angels balanced on the waxed horsetail of her bow, and the violin cried 
My crooked spine is
An untuned organ 
Knotted fibers of
Ivory tusks 
Keys blackened by ash and
The light that unveils them 
They, hidden in the shadows and
Kneeling under Jacob's eye
A ladder cast
Ascending for forgiveness 
And bent by
My scoliosis weight
My prayer curved by 
Shoulder blades
Erupting with
Wings tattered and yellow
Stained feathers plucked and
Spanning too wide 
For my set heavy'd
By befallen steps 
The weight of charisma 
In a dogmatic seance 
Unearthed and lurking
With its iridescent flesh
Ricocheting the echo
Of a bird's last call
And sleep eludes me 
As I pace back to the beginning
To the edge of the shore
Picking at their eyes
Sealed shut with sand 
And my unkempt nails
Are dirtied by the truth 
But cleansed
By the same 

  In glory. 
#poetry  #philosophy  #streamofconsciousness  #spirituality  #random 
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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Torn Thoughts of Fleshy Remnants

A pulmonary artery of

Mouths wide open

With phosphorus steam

Erupting with suffocation

And gaping like fish 

Washed ashore and beaten

And rinsed by God's tears

Humanity fossilizing

For tomorrow's history

With boney fragments of hope

Left forgotten and behind

On Earth's battered path 

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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Torn Thoughts of Fleshy Remnants
A pulmonary artery of
Mouths wide open
With phosphorus steam
Erupting with suffocation
And gaping like fish 
Washed ashore and beaten
And rinsed by God's tears
Humanity fossilizing
For tomorrow's history
With boney fragments of hope
Left forgotten and behind
On Earth's battered path 

#philosophy  #spirituality  #culture 
9
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Juice
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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Haiku

Darkness

The wind carries it

A long face draped in the plague 

Stand strong against it 

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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Haiku
Darkness
The wind carries it
A long face draped in the plague 
Stand strong against it 
#poetry  #philosophy  #spirituality 
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Juice
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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Stream of Consciousness

notes from the couch

The first thing I heard this morning were birds chirping. A lyrically deceiving sound on the first day of January. But, in the middle of winter, it was as though a nest of eggs hatched prematurely--but ready. Perhaps they possess an aviary sense for doom, like a canary in a mine when the gas rises. And perhaps knowing that Spring isn't guaranteed this year, the baby birds chose to live while they still have time, and they reached through their shell towards the light.

And they sang with glory upon their first --and perhaps final-- breath.

And that sky grew morose today. It is early afternoon, and the sun has yet to make an appearance. The sky is a heavy grey like smoke rising slowly after an air strike. And the aftermath settled, just below the horizon of where one would assume the sun rests.

I can see human bodies reflecting reversely above and against the grey glare, and they are scattered in mind and spirit. It appears that their souls were removed or altogether disintegrated, and now all that is visible are the empty casks of flesh shuttering in slow motion upon these long cement tongues of cold intersections and heckling crossroads.

And in pursuit of a proper burial, the people here open doors leading to rooms without windows. They seal envelopes without addresses. And make phone calls from serviceless phone booths. And these white rooms are sterile: they are kept at just above freezing and contain no furniture. Without choice, the people climb into the scorched light sockets to escape the unnerving silence that echoes in the vast claustrophobia of their own minds.

And following that maze through an underground paradise, the walls are papered in foil. Metallic images of unclaimed dreams are drawn in marker by children.

And the melancholy ache of a desire to return to a place for which you've never been ascends.

As the people struggle along the narrowing corridor of this new Hell, they smear the drawings with their broken shoulders, and the colors seep into a brown smudge of forgotten hope.

And that is where it all ends.

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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Stream of Consciousness
notes from the couch
The first thing I heard this morning were birds chirping. A lyrically deceiving sound on the first day of January. But, in the middle of winter, it was as though a nest of eggs hatched prematurely--but ready. Perhaps they possess an aviary sense for doom, like a canary in a mine when the gas rises. And perhaps knowing that Spring isn't guaranteed this year, the baby birds chose to live while they still have time, and they reached through their shell towards the light.

And they sang with glory upon their first --and perhaps final-- breath.

And that sky grew morose today. It is early afternoon, and the sun has yet to make an appearance. The sky is a heavy grey like smoke rising slowly after an air strike. And the aftermath settled, just below the horizon of where one would assume the sun rests.

I can see human bodies reflecting reversely above and against the grey glare, and they are scattered in mind and spirit. It appears that their souls were removed or altogether disintegrated, and now all that is visible are the empty casks of flesh shuttering in slow motion upon these long cement tongues of cold intersections and heckling crossroads.

And in pursuit of a proper burial, the people here open doors leading to rooms without windows. They seal envelopes without addresses. And make phone calls from serviceless phone booths. And these white rooms are sterile: they are kept at just above freezing and contain no furniture. Without choice, the people climb into the scorched light sockets to escape the unnerving silence that echoes in the vast claustrophobia of their own minds.

And following that maze through an underground paradise, the walls are papered in foil. Metallic images of unclaimed dreams are drawn in marker by children.

And the melancholy ache of a desire to return to a place for which you've never been ascends.

As the people struggle along the narrowing corridor of this new Hell, they smear the drawings with their broken shoulders, and the colors seep into a brown smudge of forgotten hope.

And that is where it all ends.
#poetry  #philosophy  #spirituality  #culture 
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