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Left beyond the taste of sight
far from this dawn of meddling tripe;
where leaves do swirl in eyes of blue
drawing hazel worlds through rainbow dew -
Ink lines drawn into a well
Pools of black linger to core
Spine from eye and wings from wind
A leaded stair crawls to our door
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Deadwood (Part VI / 7,080 words) : Chapter 31: Pride and the Right Hand of Kyre (1,385 words) by AkimboEyes so dry, like knots of wood
lifeless limbs, bloodless and dim;
vacant stares tear everywhere
and there lies no heart within—
the lie of no heart within...
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A recusant fattened in all his ways;
Deviant in each mile of face,
Shameless he forced roadways to path,
Forgetting webbed toes lie first to last.
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I am shape scraped to your easel and the breath of paint to skin;
I am red tied up in yellow, shedding orange peel veins of sin.
I am beauty to all that’s graphic— as far as eyes can see;
I’m a contour in your pocket and you’re a still frame missing me -
Knuckles ridden to the chore;
Schematics lost to powers that be
And I bow, ever lower—
Losing sight of all that’s me
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Wings outstretched,
Broad strokes of death
Vanquish air before its fetched;
Legs that run eight times as fast
To chase and claim that final gasp -
Mortar— marrow— pestle
Essence of a heart
Beating bleeding blindness
A bridge to realms apart
Pestle nestles mortar
Bones ground silken unto ash
The runes of winter mortals
Draw the weight of each eyelash
Keeper of the Caduceus
Winged serpents intertwined
Seer of the second sight;
A touch of fate to mind
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If I drew a thick lined circle would you step inside with me?
Could we orbit there forever or would you need to be set free?
If I took your last breath in and held it as my own
Could I asphyxiate on angels? Would my soul fall free of bone -
Labyrinth of black air quandary,
You aren’t so absolute or free;
Neither invisible nor invincible
— I can see through you to me.
Brought before the Alter Havens,
Sold to all that’s swift and dark;
Stealing flight from wingless ravens,
(Mocking breath of meadowlark)
Lacking every veil of morning;
My back bends against the harp... -
Still in sight, full moons eclipse
Beyond the clouds, yet in the ‘midst
Of mist and all that does exist
In moments fair Lxndra kissed -
When words fall akimbo
And no one seems to hear;
Shadows stretch in wistfulness
And opaque eyes cry tears -
There is no quit that leaves as me
For once as pollen I roamed free.
Within this bark I can not hide,
I fall to areth— with boughs stretched wide. -
If my skin was thin as paper and my beauty half as deep?
Would you crumple all my waking dreams to leave me in my sleep?
If I wrote of ink lines dancing, would your feet follow in good time?
Would your pen waltz along beside me? Could I trace your curves with mine? -
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Sing a song of recompense; eight legs outran the rhyme,
The drums of autumn pound their way through mirthless webs of time.
A pocket full of plunder— in venom will they rust;
Trample every Firstborn until they linger dust.
Destroy Elentria’s settlements, bring Ossimer to me,
Follow now this Chorus; let none of them walk free! -
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Slowly, slowly everything stops;
Time is erased and all is forgot
All aware, yet breathes not still,
Etching descriptions of when-until
For all to perceive and then to be
If left untamed to dream so free -
Silence spills from paper cups
Just ask the trees that grow too much
Silence glides upon the air
On the wings of birds no longer there
Silence laps against our shores
Bleeding languished pools of black ink moors
Silence lies with every touch
Of hateful thoughts, greed, war and such
Silence chained this pen to time
Erasing breath with glossy rhyme
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Chapter 9: The Naming Of .... and The Last Words of Cyren (3,063 words) by Of the borrowed poetry: All proper credits are acknowledged in footnotes which were too much trouble to transfer, from Akimbo -
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You touched a baby and time lay deep;
Deep in the coals of a sighing fire
Where the naked memoirs of lost sleep
Were doused to scatter all desire
With blinking eyes and small bare feet
The dreams are trampled as perspired
From a trickling forehead 'midst the heat
Of a thousand dreams lost uninspired;
—A thousand kings crowned and retired -
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Inspired by:
http://allpoetry.com/contest/2378220
which made me think of
In The Flesh (lyrics by Roger Waters)
from Pink Floyd's The Wall
So ya
Thought ya
Might like to
Go to the show.
To feel that warm thrill of confusion,
That space cadet glow.
I've got some bad news for you sunshine,
Pink isn't well, he stayed back at the hotel
And they sent us along as a surrogate band
We're gonna find out where you folks really stand.
Are there any queers in the theater tonight?
Get them up against the wall!
There's one in the spotlight, he don't look right to me,
Get him up against the wall!
That one looks Jewish!
And that one's a coon!
Who let all of this riff-raff into the room?
There's one smoking a joint,
And another with spots!
If I had my way,
I'd have all of you shot!
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...the Phelo Flies, Craglon and Skyke had been living in a small, waterless fishbowl for a number of days when...
“The boy is dreaming. I can tell by his eyes,” said Skyke.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Craglon, “—but how?”
“I know. Let’s climb up these air straws. Quick, think of something very small— I’ll race you!”
Skyke eyes immediately close and a moment later he transforms into a Slitherleech, a slimy, worm-like creature with an eye at both ends. Sliding his long gooey body up to the end of the straw he begins trying to squeeze himself inside. From the top end of the straw all that can be seen is a huge eyeball inching its way down the tube. His voice echoes as he shouts to Craglon excitedly.
“Hurry up Crag, I’m going to beat you.”
Craglon is sitting in front of the second straw with his eyes closed.
“Hagminfrog— no, too big; Pootopike— too slow; what about a Bilesnaggler— too messy.”
“And stinky!” added Skyke in his echoing voice though Craglon never heard. He stared up at Craglon with his one eyeball that was yet to be pulled into the tube. His eye was propped up by folds of flimsy skin which gave an impression not unlike a head being supported by one's hands. He looked backwards, rolling his big eyeball with obvious impatience.
“Anytime now— this is a race you know,” he said and at that very moment he was lurched into the tube like a slinky. He blinked repeatedly trying to see through the guck that had oozed from him in the process.
“Something long and slick and… I got it a Troobanose!” said Craglon as he quickly pressed his face up against the straw in an effort to make up for loss time. He thought hard.
“No, not a Troobanose they’re much too—.” Crash, flying glass flew in all directions.
“Big,” finished Skyke as he rolled back and forth upon the desktop in which he landed. His big tube eye stared out at Craglon from the straw with a look of reprimand that somehow still managed to be all too apparent.
Craglon looked ridiculous with his enormous hippopotamus sized body jiggling and the small red-striped straw stuck over the trooba nostril that dangled below his deep set eyes. He blew it and the straw shot off like a dart. He smiled sheepishly which made Skyke laugh, his concentration broken, he quickly reverted back into the shape of a fly.
“Oh no!” he echoed; “now I’m really stuck.”
“Not for long,” said Craglon as he quickly set the straw upon his wispy-looking trooba and blew hard.
“Noooooooooo,” cried Skyke his voice getting louder and louder as he flew down the tube and shot from the end. His face plastered itself against the window where he hung for a moment before sliding down the glass in a great slimy streak of goo. Craglon changed back quickly. He flew over to Skyke trying to act as if nothing had happened.
“So, should we scoot on over and find ourselves some dreams?” he asked as he discreetly tried to shuffle a piece of broken glass behind him and out of sight with his foot. Skyke buzzed his wings letting slime fly in all directions and especially towards Craglon.
“I guess a Slitherleech wasn’t the perfect choice either,” he said smiling.
“Let's go get ourselves some dreams,” said Craglon, “that’ll fix us up.”
“Ok, but don’t forget the boy has been good to us.”
“Very good.”
“I wonder,” said Skyke obviously thinking hard which made Craglon move back a little way.
“What if we gave him some of our dreams?”
“You mean like that ‘pay it forward’ type idea that we’ve been hearing so much about?”
“Exactly!” chirped Skyke which he quickly repeated in his normal voice, “exactly.”
“I’m game. I got some dreams I wouldn’t mind losing; there never gonna come true anyways,” he said with a tear, “not for me anyways— I never get the girl.”
“Me too,” said Skyke, “but remember nothing too powerful— after all he’s just a boy.”
“We all started somewhere though,” offered Craglon.
“True,” said Skyke, “very true.”
- May you take the world by storm.
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