In a world pregnant with temporary encounters, yet enteral knots, in a world that romanticises and philosophises the abstracts of next lives and alternative universes we dispose in the now.
Every second is some form of a small tomorrow, every passing moment part of the long, long past. The path to the future is paved with repetitions, whether light or dark.
Eternally knotted cyclical patterns betwixt the comedy and tragedy of every breath of air ever taken by souls; likewise every drop of water consumed yet synergised. If only I could take your hand and disseminate to you the Divine plan simultaneously existing in the eternal.
If only … we could samba through the bosom of the storms, cross the space between distance and time, shuck our stranger status, or baptize ourselves in patience’s perfume. Then perhaps we could return to our primordial states, remember the superiority of our ancient nonphysical forms.
In a parallel universe, ancients crouched side by side, chuckling that in some other life they are apart. Ancestral roots, the thread may stretch and tangle, yet never to break with elasticity pinging all order from chaos into being. My lips swerve with the rhythm of your lineage of words flowing through this vessel, the tongue caressing each morsel of wisdom whilst antiquated DNA rides the veins.
I connect to all existences through your umbilical cordage. You are the dawn of entanglements, the prelude to love, the one and only starting point; and I become inseparable from these essences by being enfolded in your spiritual domain.
I had a blast working with this poet! She has so much depth and spirit in her words, and she has a very thought-provoking blog that you can find here: DiosRaw. Make sure you check it out and follow her if you haven’t already done so.
There’s no denying the sweetness When we share the body Of a poem
Your words make my ink blush Our fingers stroking the same lines A teasing exchange of sugared phrases Awakening our entwined imaginations
Every time we devour Each other’s souls Savoring new flavors Created from our intimate flow
When we write like this I need more than just letters There’s something brewing beyond this sweet ink
Let’s put down these pens Write on our bodies instead
Please, make sure you check out her blog by visiting Secret Thoughts Within. I can’t say enough good things about her as poet and a person. Her writing is intelligent, clever, funny, diverse, thoughtful, and passionate. A mixture of depth and pure beauty. Also, she can read a poem like no other. Truly her talent flies off the page and stays with you!
The glacial battle begins in our heads Face pressed to the sun-pierced window pane January snow in recession, the signs of regression Half hidden like an iceberg in the arctic water And where once a soft glow illuminated the surface Only the placement of desolation remains Reverberating silent screams
There is no one way of knowing cold The stages are fluid and transient Its meaning bitterly ambiguous Yet in rare lucid moments, I see husks An empty bed, scarred skin, chattered teeth Spirit-numbed mind, missed meals, vacant smiles
There is no one way of knowing cold Its symptoms appear to have no rhyme or reason Although they move with wintry doom From person to person increasing in aggression Till you understand the meaning of icy Which unbeknownst to us creeps in succession
There is no one way of knowing cold Though maybe it’s always the same Emotional and physical reaction A state of feeling dangerously low Struggling to survive between cold and colder The very same polar opposites: Arctic and Antarctica
(This is part of a collaborative poetic effort between myself and Cassa Bassa. Make sure you check out her blog by visiting Flicker Of Thoughts. She’s always coming up with some exciting words! And often sketches, too.)
Her emerald beauty circled his upright being She stretched her sublime allure to capture the snow He felt the weight in totality It exceeded what he could possibly endure
Most days there was a smokey haze between them And this fog formed uneven walls With tiny openings just wide enough To let toxic fumes leak through
In desperation, she let out her slow poison He turned himself inside out to survive But was never the same man as before Nor she the same woman
They had interwoven like a tree wrapped in vines They wanted to thrive under any conditions That’s what all lovers long to do Tragically they couldn’t harness the moonlight Nor grow within the embers of dying flames
(This is part of a collaborative poetic effort between myself and Cassa Bassa. Make sure you check out her blog by visiting Flicker Of Thoughts. She’s a favorite poetess of mine.)