I keep standing
Farther and farther back
Trying to push the waves back
That roll ever in upon the sand
Only to crash as wind
Is displaced within
The hydro-active arc
The words within me seem to grow ever fonder of themselves,
So I start to speak in abstract.
Then
Some of a sudden
All that exists is somewhat
More purely expressed through
The apparatus of thought’s body
Verbally as well as fluidly
Dance-esque in appearance
I somewhat fully attempt
To understand the feeling
Of all that exists
Simultaneously
Upon which I am thoroughly compelled
To react to the immensity of it all
In such a manner as to suggest
That no other possible action should suffice
To artistically, interpretively,
Demonstrate the transcendental state
Of cosmic consciousness,
Were such an experience even possible
Which I highly doubt
Due to the fact that
The energy of the whole universe combined
Would overload your capacity
To remain organized matter,
And thus you
As you presently know yourself
Would cease to exist.
As I stopped speaking in abstract
I noticed not a single wave
Had even been minutely moved back
By my standing farther and farther back
About the Creator
Conjury
Poetry, reveries, and streams of consciousness. Musings, revelries, and free dreams of consonance. Metaphysics, philosophy, and magick cognizance. Writing things that make me high and do a dance.
Ra
Introduction You learn something new every day and today I learned that my Muse was enthralled by Egypt, its history and mythology. I had been listening to "Ra" by Todd Rundgren's Utopia and thought this would be a great subject for a villanelle.
By Mike Singleton - Mikeydredabout 12 hours ago in Poets
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley7 days ago in Fiction
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