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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse

~the direction ink fades

I wonder if he'll search 

for me

the way he does himself

 

turn pockets inside

out

for a lost identity

lift the curve of my 

shadow from the mattress

and discover that

emptiness finds itself

deep in creases

 

spent in dark rooms

 

 

 

he won't see me there

 

I'm wrapped up

buried 

inside a word

that he can't pronounce 

but if he dissects it

spreads it out

in front of him

 

maybe he would realize

how every letter

spells his name

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

lah  5.23.12. ©®

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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse
~the direction ink fades
I wonder if he'll search 
for me
the way he does himself
 
turn pockets inside
out
for a lost identity
lift the curve of my 
shadow from the mattress
and discover that
emptiness finds itself
deep in creases
 
spent in dark rooms
 
 
 
he won't see me there
 
I'm wrapped up
buried 
inside a word
that he can't pronounce 
but if he dissects it
spreads it out
in front of him
 
maybe he would realize
how every letter
spells his name
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
lah  5.23.12. ©®
#poetry  #reflection  #relationships  #thoughts  #personal  #pain  #sadness  #alcoholism  #emotional  #selfishasshole 
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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse

~wait

take this hour

a prelude to dawn

the coming day dressed

in white lab coats & pale blue

masks

I imagine your rememberings

spinning counterclockwise

as you count backwards

into this deepest 

sleep

as if passing through

your own darkness

to where the pomegranate

has burst

at the base of your brain

a cold room of metal

echoes

& red ink blots

how your veins will sting

before they light the wick

lah  3.14.17 ©®

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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse
~wait





take this hour
a prelude to dawn

the coming day dressed
in white lab coats & pale blue
masks

I imagine your rememberings
spinning counterclockwise
as you count backwards
into this deepest 
sleep

as if passing through
your own darkness
to where the pomegranate
has burst
at the base of your brain

a cold room of metal
echoes
& red ink blots

how your veins will sting
before they light the wick









lah  3.14.17 ©®
#poetry  #reflection  #thoughts  #personal  #pain  #sadness  #emotional  #brainsurgery  #mydaddy  #stroke 
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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse

~internal baptism

 

 

 

 

 

I am pale air

 

 

perhaps I have fallen into

the bone-white ghost

of my own reflection

as it ripples

the distance of

dark blue

 

 

call me alice as I slip

through the hole -

through the whole

of me

& find that my lungs

can hear things

see things

feel things

 

 

like cold radiance

or

an enticing warmth

in the deep below

 

 

& when I resurface

I'll write of swallowing

the river

& my discovery

of holy water

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  lah  6.27.12 ©®

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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse
~internal baptism
 
 
 
 
 
I am pale air
 
 
perhaps I have fallen into
the bone-white ghost
of my own reflection
as it ripples
the distance of
dark blue
 
 
call me alice as I slip
through the hole -
through the whole
of me
& find that my lungs
can hear things
see things
feel things
 
 
like cold radiance
or
an enticing warmth
in the deep below
 
 
& when I resurface
I'll write of swallowing
the river
& my discovery
of holy water
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  lah  6.27.12 ©®
#poetry  #reflection  #thoughts  #personal  #change 
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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse

~in the periphery

 

 

 

       the deeper the darkness

       the holier shall be the water

 

 

 

 

snowflowers have since melted

 

pale petals, fallen away in absence

as absinthe to all that is green

 

the summerbirds now arrive in anticipation

       fluently lyrical

their feathered throats trill a blossoming song

 

& just as the sunday before

an undisturbed mauve rush of clouds

       quiet as breath

swells the ungated sky

 

an almost mournful reminder that

within inevitable change

some things must remain unnoticed

 

like two lost wings

navigating the pentecostal wind

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

lah  3.25.16 ©®

 

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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse
~in the periphery
 
 
 
       the deeper the darkness
       the holier shall be the water
 
 
 
 
snowflowers have since melted
 
pale petals, fallen away in absence
as absinthe to all that is green
 
the summerbirds now arrive in anticipation
       fluently lyrical
their feathered throats trill a blossoming song
 
& just as the sunday before
an undisturbed mauve rush of clouds
       quiet as breath
swells the ungated sky
 
an almost mournful reminder that
within inevitable change
some things must remain unnoticed
 
like two lost wings
navigating the pentecostal wind
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
lah  3.25.16 ©®
 
#poetry  #reflection  #thoughts  #personal  #change  #enlightenment 
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Written by LadyOfBirds in portal Poetry & Free Verse

The Space Surrounding

It's odd when the things you

knew all your life suddenly

become unrecognizable...

Words become product

of unfamiliar faces

attitudes, the same

and memories, separate from

the person you once were

It's sad sometimes, to feel this way

but I guess that's life

and in some cases, this helps you live...

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Written by LadyOfBirds in portal Poetry & Free Verse
The Space Surrounding
It's odd when the things you
knew all your life suddenly
become unrecognizable...

Words become product
of unfamiliar faces
attitudes, the same
and memories, separate from
the person you once were

It's sad sometimes, to feel this way
but I guess that's life
and in some cases, this helps you live...



#poetry  #life  #reflection 
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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse

~calculating who I am

I am one alone

the sum of two

divided

the subtraction of

together

a fraction of a

whole

I am the remainder

lah  5.20.11 ©®

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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse
~calculating who I am
I am one alone


the sum of two
divided


the subtraction of
together


a fraction of a
whole



I am the remainder
















lah  5.20.11 ©®
#poetry  #reflection  #relationships  #thoughts  #personal  #marriage  #micropoetry  #sadness  #goodbyes  #divorce  #mathmaticalequation 
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Written by MEsolushospes in portal Stream of Consciousness

A Bead

A series of forgotten data all jumbled together

physical, but absent the conscious observer;

my startstuff sticks together but I feel

disconnected from myself,

for my own protection

against notions I cannot see,

feel, taste, smell, or hear-

an electron at home in the cloud

existing as energy

not defined by positioning,

but the forces binding

perceived nothing and perceived everything.

I am a stranger to myself and I fear

there is no one left to remind me

I believe in the impossible

I strive for world peace

I am no one and nothing

but I cannot stop from trying

and in the end I cry myself to sleep

then get woken up too often

to even remember my dreams

wake up tired and repeat.

I’m a scale without a balance,

a sword without a hilt,

an arrow without feathers-

I’m a landmark that hasn’t been built;

past, present, and future

just shadows cast from the same clock.

I walk in place

and time passes by in a linear line,

but stand still

and that line becomes a complicated knot,

with the substance of a raindrop,

and the surface tension of a newborn bubble-

Starstuff rubble

parading around in charade as human,

pretending to be disconnected

not from self, but all the rest

attesting to the quantum conscious string

we’re strung upon like beads,

as if a bead cannot also be more when connected.

-M.E.

201703171928

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Written by MEsolushospes in portal Stream of Consciousness
A Bead
A series of forgotten data all jumbled together
physical, but absent the conscious observer;
my startstuff sticks together but I feel
disconnected from myself,
for my own protection
against notions I cannot see,
feel, taste, smell, or hear-
an electron at home in the cloud
existing as energy
not defined by positioning,
but the forces binding
perceived nothing and perceived everything.

I am a stranger to myself and I fear
there is no one left to remind me
I believe in the impossible
I strive for world peace
I am no one and nothing
but I cannot stop from trying
and in the end I cry myself to sleep
then get woken up too often
to even remember my dreams
wake up tired and repeat.

I’m a scale without a balance,
a sword without a hilt,
an arrow without feathers-
I’m a landmark that hasn’t been built;
past, present, and future
just shadows cast from the same clock.

I walk in place
and time passes by in a linear line,
but stand still
and that line becomes a complicated knot,
with the substance of a raindrop,
and the surface tension of a newborn bubble-
Starstuff rubble
parading around in charade as human,
pretending to be disconnected
not from self, but all the rest
attesting to the quantum conscious string
we’re strung upon like beads,
as if a bead cannot also be more when connected.

-M.E.
201703171928
#nonfiction  #poetry  #reflection  #spirituality  #culture 
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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse

~the seasons of me

 

 

 

 

x. autumn

 

 

maybe I have an illness

a disease

 

the falling away of

my flesh

 

too many bright colors

of ache

 

& bones stripped

by vultures

until all that remains is

the marrow

 

 

 

x. winter

 

 

consider it a method

of exposure

a glimpse of me

naked

 

bare

 

sleeves of ice

but living like a winter

without snow

 

the cold distance

between breaths

fogs the view

 

to warm myself

with whiskey

doesn't melt the

core

 

it only sweats against

the glass shell

& puddles beneath

 

 

 

x. spring

 

 

perhaps I'm delightful ruins

in a dark room

 

or the intimacy of

thin clouds as they come

together

 

our intercourse of rain

pounds the ground

to plant seeds of indifference

among peonies

 

& how the friction

of ghosts emerge

from the trees

 

 

 

x. summer

 

 

maybe my hands have become

the tremble of a butterfly

searching for a safe

spot to land

 

one still perfect flower

 

an invitation to drink

sweet nectar

 

to become intoxicated

to quiver for a moment

 

& soar on alone

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

lah  6.8.12 ©®

Header overlay image is me. :)

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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse
~the seasons of me
 
 
 
 
x. autumn
 
 
maybe I have an illness
a disease
 
the falling away of
my flesh
 
too many bright colors
of ache
 
& bones stripped
by vultures
until all that remains is
the marrow
 
 
 
x. winter
 
 
consider it a method
of exposure
a glimpse of me
naked
 
bare
 
sleeves of ice
but living like a winter
without snow
 
the cold distance
between breaths
fogs the view
 
to warm myself
with whiskey
doesn't melt the
core
 
it only sweats against
the glass shell
& puddles beneath
 
 
 
x. spring
 
 
perhaps I'm delightful ruins
in a dark room
 
or the intimacy of
thin clouds as they come
together
 
our intercourse of rain
pounds the ground
to plant seeds of indifference
among peonies
 
& how the friction
of ghosts emerge
from the trees
 
 
 
x. summer
 
 
maybe my hands have become
the tremble of a butterfly
searching for a safe
spot to land
 
one still perfect flower
 
an invitation to drink
sweet nectar
 
to become intoxicated
to quiver for a moment
 
& soar on alone
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
lah  6.8.12 ©®

Header overlay image is me. :)
#poetry  #reflection  #thoughts  #personal  #change  #introspection  #pain  #sadness  #emotional  #retrospection  #vignettes 
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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse

~furtherance

 

 

 

 

february is hardly new

     its weakened sky

the changing pitch of clouds

 

winter gauzing trees to cotton

the swells

still a killdeer's nest of nerves

 

sufferance, thy name is wind

squeezing an afternoon

mute with regard to its empty bowl

 

footsteps away, hard light

scatters from a variegated sun

 

it's a quarter to march

told the faded clockface

& I'm distracted to places

in old photographs

     my hands plead pale keepsakes

like night in empty depths

 

putty these versed scars

with necessity

bend stoic through the hold

those small sounds behind breath

that wait the dead

 

broad fields of cloth

    sounding of flags

 

you are only air now

& I own your ghost

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

lah  2.21.14 ©®

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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse
~furtherance
 
 
 
 
february is hardly new
     its weakened sky
the changing pitch of clouds
 
winter gauzing trees to cotton

the swells
still a killdeer's nest of nerves
 
sufferance, thy name is wind
squeezing an afternoon
mute with regard to its empty bowl
 
footsteps away, hard light
scatters from a variegated sun
 
it's a quarter to march
told the faded clockface
& I'm distracted to places
in old photographs
     my hands plead pale keepsakes
like night in empty depths
 
putty these versed scars
with necessity
bend stoic through the hold
those small sounds behind breath
that wait the dead
 
broad fields of cloth
    sounding of flags
 
you are only air now
& I own your ghost
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
lah  2.21.14 ©®
#poetry  #reflection  #thoughts  #personal  #seasons  #introspection  #winter  #sadness  #emotional  #retrospection 
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Written by InkArtist in portal Stream of Consciousness

~drowning in the backwater

touch is a ritual

not a metaphor

it's a drunken migration

through my backyard

where the groundwater burns

where the air surrounding us

is mouthless & borrowing time

like circles of voices

bending echoes in the

unrelenting black

but as an aging mirror listens with

the trees

there is nothing more to hear

because the wind that was here

is gone

because hours long

night is dead verbs in an

uncrowded room

made of rain, made of breath

as we archive the scents of our ghosts

& I curl into a comma

my fingers are wet-knots of ink

with the burden of words

my body remembering when your body

was like summer & I was

an iris, unfolding

but now this bed shakes thunder

from a chimera sky

this bed is

heavy with bruised plums

heavy with you

lah  2.27.17 ©®

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Written by InkArtist in portal Stream of Consciousness
~drowning in the backwater
touch is a ritual
not a metaphor
it's a drunken migration
through my backyard
where the groundwater burns
where the air surrounding us
is mouthless & borrowing time
like circles of voices
bending echoes in the
unrelenting black
but as an aging mirror listens with
the trees
there is nothing more to hear
because the wind that was here
is gone
because hours long
night is dead verbs in an
uncrowded room
made of rain, made of breath
as we archive the scents of our ghosts
& I curl into a comma
my fingers are wet-knots of ink
with the burden of words
my body remembering when your body
was like summer & I was
an iris, unfolding
but now this bed shakes thunder
from a chimera sky
this bed is
heavy with bruised plums
heavy with you









lah  2.27.17 ©®
#poetry  #reflection  #relationships  #thoughts  #personal  #marriage  #introspection  #sadness  #streamofconciousness  #divorce  #separation  #retrospection 
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