*Please note:
I'm not in the throes of sadness. Just a write for another poetry site.
~~~~~~~~~~
My eyes are half closed for I fear to see
what worry and anxiety have made of me.
All day I've been twisted out of shape,
wincing at my disheveled appearance.
Life has taken a toll with its interference.
My mirrored face is a prism, a color spectrum,
reflections that indicate the paths I've traveled.
It's no wonder I look completely unraveled
and seem to be moving in opposite directions.
I'm an abstract work of art, hastily brushed
with my own hand when I'm feeling rushed.
Blue when sadness tears my world in two,
Cadmium yellow on days when I feel mellow.
When heated anger tints my soul, my cheeks
flush with shades of red and buff. It's been weeks
since I've felt bold enough to paint with oils.
Misfortune leaves me feeling like used tin foil.
I must pull myself back together and gather
my thoughts. Untwist the ropes that tether me.
Too many worries have crisscrossed my face
and spying eyes I've come to intensely despise.
compelling
dreamlike
captivates
&unfolds
infuses
with
the dynamic
hybrid
interpretation
expressiveness
in
a mixed
narrative
upon
a
canvas
of
the
atmospheric
recesses
of
the subconscious
where
inspiration
transcend
the ordinary
&
delves
into
the symbolic
prompts imaginative
&collective
meaning
evoking
narrative
emotions
in a
lexicon
of
eniched
intensity
I dread thee soul.
The bold it rows,
Perchance, A mistake.
I see yee soul.
The form it takes,
It appears to be...of a lake.
A lake to all, that i endow,
To all of which, that i do wish.
Maybe you are...indeed,
For me the lake.
For i know yee soul,
The woo's it gives,
Its epistemology,
Knitting me,
Making me, myself...
Eyes of fire and steel
A heart full
The rhythm going numb
A boy cries a year younger
Beside me
And a year younger
Than I was -
Except me,
It is cruel for any body
To feel the longing
Or the falling -
Down - the rabbit hole
Into a field of prairie smoke
I'm in a field of prairie smoke -
And it's velvet, it's lavender sweet
In my dreams,
Your teeth are made of rubber
And when we kiss, they dissolve
Like jelly onto hot - my tongue is hot
It’s ok for me to feel it
Because I am made of fire
And steel and all the stardust
That was taken by the void
Too early
Sucked into a void
Too early
automated
processes
slotches
of colour
intensity
with
minimum
means
brimming
with
symbols
awakened
breathing
charged
with context
affinity
to openess
hovering
with musicality
in
playful variants
profoundly.
Impressed
blurred
surfaces
in
miniature
figurations
emphasised
translations
of
pervasiveness
break forth
impulsively
in
pictorial
polophony
THIS AN OPEN(organic) VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretation unique to the moment
ASTRACTION
unpredictable
intersecting lines
swaths of colour
added
by a chance
autonomous
process
reflexive
echoing
intensive
to coincide
in response
ABSTRACTION OF NATURE
absurdity
becomes enticing
rejoicing in symmetry
imitated
by the conspicuous
&novel
enshrined
in mystery
with a freshness
liberated
by the
profound
an influence
in balanced sensuality
decadent even
in a
relaxed stance
akin
to a sentimental
ethereal figure
an
acquaintance
outside of self
&
appreciation
out of need
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
colour
enlivened concepts
an inner necessity
of geometrics
minimalised
paraphrased
visualisations
to captivate
in
sparse curves
&circles
of
emancipated
abstractions
idyllised
simplicity
in sparse
wonderlands
permeable
layers
brown&grey
white light
lineages
in the
infinite
moving
creation
leitmotiv
uncontaminated
ahistorical
intermittent
tensions
twixt
reality
&
enlightenment
Pastel
Burnt sienna
Tinged the golden flame-
Reflecting raw umbery on the
Red earth
Unseen
A bluish buff
Grizzled a silver grain
Into lavender scented
Shadows
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
He left his favorite asset with me to calm down the silent pain.
February 2nd, 2020
Woman with spineless dresses
And men with sleeveless shirts,
Boys with Scary custom's
And girls with gentle toys,
Crying babies, and singing cats
Dogs born from the dark:
So they bark to be heard,
No bones and whistles for wolves,
No man's best friend?
Just howls at the moon,
Venus upon the eastern sphere's
Standing naked on water and stared by everyone,
A selfie: flash! as she gets captured
Lighting strikes and all get's purged
Be, will be
the memories of a galaxy
an impossible subtraction
from an abstraction of reality
Divide, split, separate
isolationisms dependent
breaks every concept
of whole
Evolutionary individuality
fractal conscious of
minds universality
divine focus of
The eternities
precipitations of life
Singularity, will
will be
the footprints of you
standing beside
an infinite sea
The abstractions of God
from reality
Only one foot upon
the beach of creation
your wings dipped within
the singular pulse of life
Will be, be, who
you
me
the mirrors of eternity
The memories of Galaxies
living
breathing
cosmic identity
be
will be
Separation is the
impossibility
the day has come to an end
thedayhascometoanen
the day has come to an E
the day has come to an
thge day has come to A
the day has come to
the day has comeT
the day has come
THE DAY HAS COm
the day has co
the day has C
theday HAS
the day HA
the day H
THE DAY
the DA
the D
the
th
E
I crept cautiously down the stairs, I looked at my watch, it was almost 6:30, dinnertime. My heart began to beat quickly, my chest filled with dread. I tiptoed to my place at the table. I kept my eyes down, looking at my hands, not saying a word. My dad entered the dining room; he sat down hard in his chair, his battle face on. My mother slammed a pot of food on the table, daggers in her eyes directed at dad. In some home meal times are called dinner; in my home it means war.
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