The sense of calmness you get from watching the clouds pass by can be eerie. You feel small. Almost meaningless. As if there’s something greater than yourself beyond your reach. Something not possible to obtain. A sense of there being too much of life to handle, creating the illusion of a purpose to life. Cloud A purpose to death. A purpose to clouds. After all, to the eye they look like simple gobs of smoke, resting in stillness. They revolve around you, endlessly through the planes of space and time. Seemingly following a cycle endlessly, mirroring the process of life. For life never ends. Life is consciousness, not what we see around us. Everything we see is simply illusion. Why is this hard to believe, when something simple as clouds could create an illusion of purpose? Clouds may disappear. They die, in a sense. But they always return. Always in different form, but always of the same essence. Resting on the same plane of space and time our consciousness is skewered upon. There are many clouds, but they are all made of the same substance. How similar to the creatures of Earth, all made of skin and bones, yet the mind seems to overpower our purpose of seeing through the illusions. Everyone and everything is equal, for we are all created equal. So why would we think different? Science of the water cycle aside, it seems that clouds serve a purpose of guidance, as well as a beautiful sight to enjoy during life. Well, at least the illusion of life.
Fairy Tale Goddess (NOT MY IMAGE) Breathing life into this world A fairytale goddess of all heaven and earth. Beauty and peace her desire. Creating all creatures we hold dear mystical fairies and babies and cats with wings. Shroom spiritis, the path to insight. She rules with a gentle touch, kindness and love and light, and would not let her creatures hurt, they live in castles in the skies. Wouldn't it be grand? If she breathed life into me, And I emerged anew, a beautiful butterfly, joyful and free.
This is one that I wrote about a year ago. Civilized We once road horses into battle We fought hard and died proud Now we ride electronic scooters Through mega-marts, dying slowly We once settled differences in the dirt Our blood spilling with our foes to the ground Now we go to court and sue those who offends us Our honor is gone, our battles settled by others We once hunted our food as part of the food chain We kept what we killed and gave thanks to their spirit Now we waddle through the aisles of the market Thankful that we are warm and without hunger We used to live, truly live as part of nature We fought, we killed, we hunted, and we were killed Our deaths were with honor, our deeds sung about Our legacy was bloody and full of adventures Now our lives are full of disease and disability We are weak because we have made ourselves weak Our legacies will be empty pill bottles and hospital beds Our legacy will be one of weakness and false comforts We ride scooters to stalk our food We walk a mile and talk of our great deed We die slowly, having truly never lived We have become civilized
A snapshot moment Ragdoll on a gravestone Forlorn upon the grass Seems you've made a home Amongst these bodies of our past Whose silent watchful ways Divides the worlds between us so Into you the one that stays And me who has to go, Are you watching too I wonder And what is it you see Just a man in his late Summer In this churchyard cemetery. -fleamailman-
("...think of high flight..." suggested the goblin now) Modern day witches Ah but I too, have slipped beyond this Earth And formed those things that reason brings Onward I've typed and joined a tumbling mirth Of cascading codes -- and made a hundred things You have not dreamed of -- revealed and stored and strung Ever on this black screen. Typing here, I've raced my thoughts along, and flung My heart at goals where others pier Of birth, these children of a coded .bat Who, if they could, would laugh and say: "Well thanks but isn't it funny that Man has his maths where God has clay" -fleamailman-
. O to be a pirate O to be a pirate and sail the seventy keys To coast around that fate and those authorities Who tag our every habit while visiting a site, Me, a pirate then, to slip beneath their sight. I know that there's bounty just as there is bait But is it really up to me to differentiate Between a subversive cooperate hype That kills this sea with copyright And a question for the road: "Do they know what you download?"
("...thanks, and I like it here too..." replied the goblin who decided to repost this one here to keep them together then) do not feed sprinkle sprinkle lowly troll how I wonder at your goal down below that bridge so high like a duck to passers by -fleamailman-
. My childhood A poem to a ghost a memory nothing more a boy upon the coast a wind upon the shore a promise upon that gust as if the two of us could swap (what we saw) - fleamailman -
. Ex-girlfriend If I had known what I know now I would not have asked Nor grown somehow Into that person in your past Who remembers you still. If I had better hidden what I hide today I would not have shown you Nor given away The me that remains out of view That l have to kill. If I could hate you like I hated then I would not have come today Nor dashed again These passions lovers pay when all comes to nill. -fleamailman-
I am bent backward a weed in the wind lotus center suspended midair belly crawling in the silver dusk curled into the earth a soft machine a dust-swaddled bed of bones
I like who I am, But I liked me with you even better I don’t mind being alone, But I liked you and me together I can still dream, But it doesn’t mean a thing, Without you saying, We’ll last forever.
When hearts that have no sorrow ache Like earth's old harrowed bones, The evening fires will not quake, Without a tear alone. Empathy born from sea-shorn songs, echo beyond the norm. Thunder, wind and lightning form, yet we walk into the storm. Curious to perceive what images are formed. I wrote this poem from a chant in a weird dream I had. I have it and other stuff posted herehttp://ladydragonsbard.deviantart.com/?tab=gallery&id=230701&offset=0
a Seattle spring morning, long long ago.. we awoke & gazed through bucolic window panes, dressed only in whispers and disdain. i scan the contusion of low clotted clouds filling the sky with an unbearable umbregeousness... watching the underbelly of the overcast scuds passing by, allowing the sun a brief split & spilling of citrine and heliotrope gashes , in hopes of slicing the gloom. in vain. what a bruised-looking sky, he says. i decipher the pernicious horizon..scanning clouds of aluminum & ice which hang heavy with pain that soon brings forth rain, like cold, hammered silver coins falling from a vaulted ceiling. & i sigh. realizing another sullen eastern front will soon slash the honey-pines and whip the tired sea grasses into a frenzy. & i don't want to try again. he says take your umbrella. i just smile, as i leave seattle. forever. & he sighs.
growing old what now, do you still want your past and how would you, if I may ask, still believe then those lies of innocence now dispelled through your own experience delicately masked not to betray your age so do you still wish to turn back this page, and are you really so shallow and cheap that some youthful need is all you seek, amongst the blind who now share this pain and as if the past could be relived again while forgetting that old age has a goal to seek within to find one's soul and if not a “soul” a simpler wealth to reach within to find “oneself” -fleamailman-
From a different time: Innocent days when I at least Resembled not so much the beast Recede from me like memory, Like most of you, like most of me . . .
"Shall I dare," whispers the little mouse and then posts this poem of her own. goosebumps raise on skin fear unheard, never seen nightmare’s awake terror stricken a mere thought of it: fear in the mind all’s real a voice scream, terror no more a sigh silence _Luckyme_
