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Enigma Incarnate
Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness

Risk

We measure ourselves on dark days

Against love of the past

Against the dark rumble of seasons

Lost words on deaf ears

Interrupted seconds that slip

I measure myself against all you love

Or have loved

Or will love

Feeling flat and lifeless against the grid

It's easier to withdrawal

In this measure

To collapse within

Where I am free

Where I am never disappointed

Where I am never accountable

To anyone but myself

16
6
6
67 reads
Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness
Risk
We measure ourselves on dark days
Against love of the past
Against the dark rumble of seasons
Lost words on deaf ears
Interrupted seconds that slip
I measure myself against all you love
Or have loved
Or will love
Feeling flat and lifeless against the grid
It's easier to withdrawal
In this measure
To collapse within
Where I am free
Where I am never disappointed
Where I am never accountable
To anyone but myself
16
6
6
67 reads
Load 6 Comments
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Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness

Alive

A stone white flight of stairs

Fell my weak bones

Cracked my neck

To save my soul

A window five flights up I'm falling

to touch again this wicked death

Elusive breath this broken landing

One leg hung the other anchoring

To your black nothing

Death deficits and surrender

Ghosts speeding past white walls

To whisper witches squander

Tonight tears drench with sweat

Eyes watch life push

Balance between understanding

Supernatural spectator

These moments reveal brevity

Smooth and slick hair is shining

Black and whist full as the moon is rising

Sleep my dark heavy love

Before this night ends us both

Bubbles and bourbon

Blues and humming

Cracking neck by candlelight

We are barely alive now

No space existing between

Broken windows

Beer and collar bones

Blood laid dry upon white stone

15
4
4
66 reads
Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness
Alive
A stone white flight of stairs
Fell my weak bones
Cracked my neck
To save my soul

A window five flights up I'm falling
to touch again this wicked death
Elusive breath this broken landing
One leg hung the other anchoring

To your black nothing

Death deficits and surrender
Ghosts speeding past white walls
To whisper witches squander
Tonight tears drench with sweat

Eyes watch life push
Balance between understanding
Supernatural spectator
These moments reveal brevity

Smooth and slick hair is shining
Black and whist full as the moon is rising
Sleep my dark heavy love
Before this night ends us both

Bubbles and bourbon
Blues and humming
Cracking neck by candlelight
We are barely alive now

No space existing between
Broken windows
Beer and collar bones
Blood laid dry upon white stone
15
4
4
66 reads
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You are a window sign. In three lines, what will your sign say?
Written by Mamba in portal Micropoetry

Liquidation Sale

Going out of business.

Our products were made in the U.S.A.

We refuse to compete with China.

46 years was a good run.

God Bless America.

20
3
3
39 reads
You are a window sign. In three lines, what will your sign say?
Written by Mamba in portal Micropoetry
Liquidation Sale
Going out of business.
Our products were made in the U.S.A.
We refuse to compete with China.
46 years was a good run.
God Bless America.
20
3
3
39 reads
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Written by Mamba in portal Philosophy

Mercury~Mercury

Sun~Gold

Moon~Silver

Venus~Copper

Mars~Iron

Saturn~Lead

Jupiter~Tin

Ashes to ashes it's all been said

Calcination

Vitriol

Sulphur

Salt

GOD speaks

The world is deaf

Secrets dormant

Masters read

Crucified upon reveal

Hidden in caves to break the seal

The world can not handle the truth

The curtain is there for a reason

Too heavy for the masses to lift

The thin red line of time only a season

"Let them eat cake

before the last trumpet

reminds the weak to weep"

********************|||||

15
4
4
77 reads
Written by Mamba in portal Philosophy
Mercury~Mercury
Sun~Gold
Moon~Silver
Venus~Copper
Mars~Iron
Saturn~Lead
Jupiter~Tin

Ashes to ashes it's all been said
Calcination
Vitriol
Sulphur
Salt
GOD speaks
The world is deaf
Secrets dormant
Masters read
Crucified upon reveal
Hidden in caves to break the seal
The world can not handle the truth
The curtain is there for a reason
Too heavy for the masses to lift
The thin red line of time only a season
"Let them eat cake
before the last trumpet
reminds the weak to weep"

********************|||||
15
4
4
77 reads
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Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness

Blank Space

I never knew what you wanted from me.

I just knew that you weren't getting it.

30
5
12
79 reads
Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness
Blank Space
I never knew what you wanted from me.
I just knew that you weren't getting it.
30
5
12
79 reads
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Written by Mamba in portal Journal

Boozing for Tonto

I gave the bass player an old iron nod and knelt down next to him by the fire. He was my type, a rare occurrence. I knew the sex would be hot by that invisible warming tension that floats over wood and flame into skin. I hadn't had sex in 6 months and my body and spirit were craving the intimacy. As he makes small talk, my eyes wander off to the 70 year old drunk lady at the end of the bar. She's wearing too much makeup, her jeans are tight and she is really fucking pathetic. Her nails are those long press on french manicure type. They contrast against her tan, wrinkled skin, the pinky nail has popped off. She has a pack of Winstons on the bar and looks like she is an expert at making blackberry moonshine.

"Is that going to be me someday?" I think to myself.

Again, my mind wanders. I'm drunk.

My steady five year non commitment, turning commitment, just bought a ticket to fly out from Cali. Here comes a knock down, drag out, sex fest extravaganza to test the water, again.

At least that sex will hold me over for another six months. He wants kids, I'm barren.

Hard to get just called me from Colorado saying things like, "buttercup" and "I miss you pussywillow." Baby boy is blowing up my phone with pictures of him making stupid faces on snap chat to make me laugh.

No, no and no.

Then, like a sick twist of fate, I get a call from ex lawyer dude. He's at an airport telling me "I miss you so much, I want to see you." all of it shit, stacking up like old poker chips. He wants to buy me a ticket to Seattle for a Rendezvous.

Again, No.

These stupid reminders are my only reassurance that I am not yet the old lady at the bar.

The bass player is still taking, I haven't heard a word he had said. He buys me a shot of Black Label obviously desperate to seal the deal.

If someone had ignored me for that long, although unintentional. I would have bailed.

I am getting faded, so none of that matters now.

This guy is telling a good story. I shift my focus.

Something to do with a Russian albino. He makes nice hand gestures and has a dimple when he smile's on his right cheek. Sexy.

My eyes scope his skin, tattoos. Predictable.

His eyes are a really gorgeous blue.

Or, maybe it's just the whiskey. "Are you single?" he says in a baritone raspy voice.

I smile at how lame the question is, "Yep!" I say.

"Wow, lucky me." he responds.

I start to feel queasy from his response.

I stand up and quickly head for the door.

He screams "wait!!!" but I am already gone.

"wait?" I say to myself.

"yeah, like an asshole for the real thing."

As I enter the uber I am bombarded by a hail storm of last years men blowing up my phone.

I wonder to myself, "how old was that bass player?"

The avenues start to spin. "I think my shoes are older than he was, good clean escape, lady!!" I remind myself as I tip the driver and shut the door.

Being single is absolutely droll at times like this. I'm drunk, the fire was warm, my shoes were older than him, they look better and have no scuffs. Those deep raspy voices were always my mating call, comparable to some creepy guy with an ass fetish. Deep sexy voices, talent and humor. I am aware of those warning signs by now. There is that but it's not enough as I slip out of my dress.

I think of the famous actor and how my girlfriend from Chicago told me, if she were me, she would let him fuck her like a farm animal.

Apparently he is a 12 on a scale that I don't understand. I have decided there is something

inherently wrong with me.

The principle behind the mathematics has something to do with money, availability, looks, fame and level of commitment. It's some form of trigonometry that women use to gage a mate. Somehow this elusive scale was not built into my DNA. To my own detriment, I follow my gut. This has caused my standards to be set at a level of some Jedi- Yoda- Tibetan Monk- Sixth Sense- I see Dead People meter. It stops me in my tracks from pursuing any of them or from ever getting laid.

I stumble to my front door and forget the fire.

I hit the bed with force.

I will wait.

I know how it is supposed to be.

Somehow.

I think.

My phone is still making that chirp, chirp sound. My eyes are burning from the waterproof mascara.

I put on an old Tom Waits album, stand up and run a bath.

I sink like a stone into the hot bubbles.

"This is cozy." I smile to myself as the record skips. I hope that I don't fall in love with you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you.........

I laugh as I realize it has taken me 6 years to fall in love with myself.

I'm a keeper and the best relationship I will ever have. I have fallen head over heels with being alone and it's getting way too comfortable.

My hair slides under the silky water as I drift away into the certainty and security of my everlasting commitment to myself and these awesome bubbles. My dog dips his nose into the water and puts his paw on my shoulder blade. The record continues to skip. "What is that on my dogs face?"

This is going to be a good year, at least until the whiskey wears off. I look again at my dog. "Oh, fuck." My dog chewed up my fifty dollar Nars red lipstick while I was out.

He's smiling at me with red teeth.

"What is it with dogs and lipstick?"

That's what I get for going out.

I have to work in the morning and I feel like a bad Beyoncé song. I'll figure it all out in the morning.

I think. He brings me a tennis ball, I bounce it perfectly against the record player. The song continues past the skip. I drain the bath and fall asleep in the warm tub. When I wake, I am freezing and naked. I think about what I let slip away that was solid last year. I giggle to myself,

"he used to call me flipper." I know I am such an asshole, damn.

I miss that man.

18
4
13
87 reads
Written by Mamba in portal Journal
Boozing for Tonto
I gave the bass player an old iron nod and knelt down next to him by the fire. He was my type, a rare occurrence. I knew the sex would be hot by that invisible warming tension that floats over wood and flame into skin. I hadn't had sex in 6 months and my body and spirit were craving the intimacy. As he makes small talk, my eyes wander off to the 70 year old drunk lady at the end of the bar. She's wearing too much makeup, her jeans are tight and she is really fucking pathetic. Her nails are those long press on french manicure type. They contrast against her tan, wrinkled skin, the pinky nail has popped off. She has a pack of Winstons on the bar and looks like she is an expert at making blackberry moonshine.
"Is that going to be me someday?" I think to myself.
Again, my mind wanders. I'm drunk.
My steady five year non commitment, turning commitment, just bought a ticket to fly out from Cali. Here comes a knock down, drag out, sex fest extravaganza to test the water, again.
At least that sex will hold me over for another six months. He wants kids, I'm barren.
Hard to get just called me from Colorado saying things like, "buttercup" and "I miss you pussywillow." Baby boy is blowing up my phone with pictures of him making stupid faces on snap chat to make me laugh.
No, no and no.
Then, like a sick twist of fate, I get a call from ex lawyer dude. He's at an airport telling me "I miss you so much, I want to see you." all of it shit, stacking up like old poker chips. He wants to buy me a ticket to Seattle for a Rendezvous.
Again, No.
These stupid reminders are my only reassurance that I am not yet the old lady at the bar.
The bass player is still taking, I haven't heard a word he had said. He buys me a shot of Black Label obviously desperate to seal the deal.
If someone had ignored me for that long, although unintentional. I would have bailed.
I am getting faded, so none of that matters now.
This guy is telling a good story. I shift my focus.
Something to do with a Russian albino. He makes nice hand gestures and has a dimple when he smile's on his right cheek. Sexy.
My eyes scope his skin, tattoos. Predictable.
His eyes are a really gorgeous blue.
Or, maybe it's just the whiskey. "Are you single?" he says in a baritone raspy voice.
I smile at how lame the question is, "Yep!" I say.
"Wow, lucky me." he responds.
I start to feel queasy from his response.
I stand up and quickly head for the door.
He screams "wait!!!" but I am already gone.
"wait?" I say to myself.
"yeah, like an asshole for the real thing."

As I enter the uber I am bombarded by a hail storm of last years men blowing up my phone.
I wonder to myself, "how old was that bass player?"
The avenues start to spin. "I think my shoes are older than he was, good clean escape, lady!!" I remind myself as I tip the driver and shut the door.
Being single is absolutely droll at times like this. I'm drunk, the fire was warm, my shoes were older than him, they look better and have no scuffs. Those deep raspy voices were always my mating call, comparable to some creepy guy with an ass fetish. Deep sexy voices, talent and humor. I am aware of those warning signs by now. There is that but it's not enough as I slip out of my dress.
I think of the famous actor and how my girlfriend from Chicago told me, if she were me, she would let him fuck her like a farm animal.
Apparently he is a 12 on a scale that I don't understand. I have decided there is something
inherently wrong with me.
The principle behind the mathematics has something to do with money, availability, looks, fame and level of commitment. It's some form of trigonometry that women use to gage a mate. Somehow this elusive scale was not built into my DNA. To my own detriment, I follow my gut. This has caused my standards to be set at a level of some Jedi- Yoda- Tibetan Monk- Sixth Sense- I see Dead People meter. It stops me in my tracks from pursuing any of them or from ever getting laid.
I stumble to my front door and forget the fire.
I hit the bed with force.
I will wait.
I know how it is supposed to be.
Somehow.
I think.
My phone is still making that chirp, chirp sound. My eyes are burning from the waterproof mascara.
I put on an old Tom Waits album, stand up and run a bath.
I sink like a stone into the hot bubbles.
"This is cozy." I smile to myself as the record skips. I hope that I don't fall in love with you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you.........
I laugh as I realize it has taken me 6 years to fall in love with myself.
I'm a keeper and the best relationship I will ever have. I have fallen head over heels with being alone and it's getting way too comfortable.
My hair slides under the silky water as I drift away into the certainty and security of my everlasting commitment to myself and these awesome bubbles. My dog dips his nose into the water and puts his paw on my shoulder blade. The record continues to skip. "What is that on my dogs face?"
This is going to be a good year, at least until the whiskey wears off. I look again at my dog. "Oh, fuck." My dog chewed up my fifty dollar Nars red lipstick while I was out.
He's smiling at me with red teeth.
"What is it with dogs and lipstick?"
That's what I get for going out.
I have to work in the morning and I feel like a bad Beyoncé song. I'll figure it all out in the morning.
I think. He brings me a tennis ball, I bounce it perfectly against the record player. The song continues past the skip. I drain the bath and fall asleep in the warm tub. When I wake, I am freezing and naked. I think about what I let slip away that was solid last year. I giggle to myself,
"he used to call me flipper." I know I am such an asshole, damn.
I miss that man.
18
4
13
87 reads
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Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness

Desert Place

Rolling through curves

and ridges reaching upward,

touching lightly the earth below.

Descending upon glimpses of greatness.

The eye deceives what the

spirit knows to be real.

20
4
4
41 reads
Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness
Desert Place
Rolling through curves
and ridges reaching upward,
touching lightly the earth below.
Descending upon glimpses of greatness.
The eye deceives what the
spirit knows to be real.
20
4
4
41 reads
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Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness

Happy New Year Everyone

I want to know YOUR favorite LOVE song.

Comment below. :)

The one in the picture above is mine.

Love and Joy to ALL

Amy

16
4
87
171 reads
Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness
Happy New Year Everyone
I want to know YOUR favorite LOVE song.
Comment below. :)
The one in the picture above is mine.
Love and Joy to ALL

Amy
16
4
87
171 reads
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Written by Mamba in portal Journal

Grand pa pa

When I am tired and ready to give in

I think back to the long gravel road

that lead me home to the ranch house

my grandfather would walk ahead of me

in his old jeans and thick boots

carry his shovel in his right hand

to cut the heads off of rattlesnakes

foolish enough to cross our path

a swift life lesson expressed in silence

My grandmother would wait patiently

on the broken white porch

singing with crickets

always watching

something boiling on the stove

I learned to skin those rattlesnakes

at five years old

caught a bull frog for a pet at age six

stood on the mountain alone

chest pounding against brown bears

and hound dogs

small pistol strapped to my belt

borrowed from grand papa

fear was a hill I always lived to conquer

caves scratched with my initials with arrowheads

found in dry riverbeds

spitfire dreams screamed into vast acres of hope

a thick bloodline stretching across continents

and into the endless universe

my feet solid on hollowed ground

life a journey to be patched into

my front pocket

When I am tired

I remember the red thread

that will forever tie me to them

and the lessons they showed me

of how to be free

17
3
16
66 reads
Written by Mamba in portal Journal
Grand pa pa
When I am tired and ready to give in
I think back to the long gravel road
that lead me home to the ranch house
my grandfather would walk ahead of me
in his old jeans and thick boots
carry his shovel in his right hand
to cut the heads off of rattlesnakes
foolish enough to cross our path
a swift life lesson expressed in silence
My grandmother would wait patiently
on the broken white porch
singing with crickets
always watching
something boiling on the stove
I learned to skin those rattlesnakes
at five years old
caught a bull frog for a pet at age six
stood on the mountain alone
chest pounding against brown bears
and hound dogs
small pistol strapped to my belt
borrowed from grand papa
fear was a hill I always lived to conquer
caves scratched with my initials with arrowheads
found in dry riverbeds
spitfire dreams screamed into vast acres of hope
a thick bloodline stretching across continents
and into the endless universe
my feet solid on hollowed ground
life a journey to be patched into
my front pocket
When I am tired
I remember the red thread
that will forever tie me to them
and the lessons they showed me
of how to be free
17
3
16
66 reads
Load 16 Comments
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Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness

Magnitude

The white horses have all disappeared

Thick calloused hands scratch my forehead

They try to sooth me to sleep as I cringe

Torn from acres of white horned owls

Thrown into sharp shattered windows

Tired and starving I wait in the watchtower

Touching diamonds of yesterday in my palm

There is a storm causing a witch to shift

Tell me where have the horses gone

Trembling I run to your memory

To find that it has slipped away to dust

16
4
8
59 reads
Written by Mamba in portal Stream of Consciousness
Magnitude
The white horses have all disappeared
Thick calloused hands scratch my forehead
They try to sooth me to sleep as I cringe
Torn from acres of white horned owls
Thrown into sharp shattered windows
Tired and starving I wait in the watchtower
Touching diamonds of yesterday in my palm
There is a storm causing a witch to shift
Tell me where have the horses gone
Trembling I run to your memory
To find that it has slipped away to dust
16
4
8
59 reads
Load 8 Comments
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