[x]

NautilusI

the rest of my life should be early
mornings; when God is still sleeping.
I should wake up curled in a corner of the sofa,
pearlescent, like the primordial ammonites.

II

I follow you every night-
the hunter shooting at the celestial bull,
shimmering crusts of bread through the dimmest lands of passage.
Suggesting a way home.

Home, or across the ocean,
or everywhere under the moon if,
early mornings, when God still sleeps,
I wake up warm in the corner of the sofa,
and you are not an idea anymore.

III

the rest of my life should be early
mornings; when God is still sleeping.
I should wake up curled in a corner of the sofa,
pearlescent, l

place-names for outer spacei had to get
the extra letters taken out
of our last name. i couldn't wait
and be systematic

about it. you expected me to act
with infinite civility,
like you had only
just met me. it's hard to take you seriously

when you're the mess of brightly-
colored hair and broken tree limbs
blindly stumbling onto my floor and
slumping over the back of my chair,

but i tried, and i will
keep trying because you're
my one true razorcliff.
it might not work like we thought it would,

it might be bleak, intangible,
like the laughs we scattered in shredded vapors
across the night: this being
in a domestic mudslide with you. and you

keep saying that you kn

To LondonGypsy hopefuls once told me,
there are flights leaving for
any destination
at any given instant

Upon sizing up our town with
a fingernail
did you realise how little
our frustrations were?

I spoke about this ineffable feeling
of stepping out of one tub
and into new water.

The hotel was done up nicely,
chandeliers and polished English accents.
Labels aside they still mixed
milk into their coffee
and had toast with jam and butter.

I was living under the impression
that most of the Internet
came from my same slice of city pie,
conveniently forgetting about
the undersea cables.

I loathed the lack of vernacular
sentence s

everyone dies"breathe,"

he tells her, because
her lips are bluer
than her eyes
that is all he can
think to say-

their hands stem
into each other
like cross-stitches,

lily-white and
puckered with veins

and

"breathe, you
have to breathe."

{she can't
hear him
over her
own
singing}

"mm," she hums
and it comes out
like broken song,
melodies stripped
of their warmth,
thin and hopeless-
like a piano
of bones.

"okay." he says,
tracing her skin.

time is running
on weeping
heels,
and its
like he's
looking
at her
from behind
a wall
of
glass

all he
can do is
watch as she

d
i
s
a
p
p
e
a
r
s

"there's rain
in yo

The MermenAt night we go down to the sea,
And drown ourselves.
Peel away our skins to reveal the
Wet, gelatinous mess of our muscle and fat and fin.

At night we go down, down to the ocean,
At night we shed our flesh,
And wear the shards of
Moonlight, sand and spray like shivering, nascent scales.

At night we go down, inexorably to the ocean,
Fold and hide our skins
In the rockpools, in the cold
Salt-water steppe. We play at being, just for a while.

At night we go down to the sea bed,
Curl up on the patterned
Sand, the ridges of our bodies,
Entwine and lose ourselves, in doing so find each other.

At night we go down to the ocean,
And

another fix, pleasethat feeling of relief
in darkened days –

remembering once
with hollow eyes and broken gazes,
floods my skin like taut stares,
uncomfortable –
the key snapping blurry worlds
into focus.

I dissolve, scars upon scars,
building tales of months
forgotten and
pain bleeding outside borders –
only blissful addiction.

[ breathing monitored,
as watched as I am – ]
confusion, hazy like counting
backwards

for that feeling in freedom,
for waiting.

perfection comes in blood
and agony, for searching
out hungry addiction.

watch –

addiction, hungry,
out searching for agony
and blood.

in comes perfection,
w

summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?
i. summergirl,
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
surefooted smile.
ii. you have grown
so fast.
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
perched treetop,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
summergirl, th

EmperorEmperor
-----------
Alec Maynard

Consuming passion: hands gesture -
guilt-leaf golden patterns, grandeur -
condemning from his regal throne;
etched with kamon. His standard flown,

iron rule impressed a dynasty -
false traitors tortured, tyranny.
Whose fertile nature bore a sire,
who rests at peace upon a pyre.

Cinders remember reigns run through;
Chrysanthemums emerge anew.

mountain-womanmountain woman, mountain woman,
won't you come down to the river?

where bears sing falsetto groans and wolves stripe their fur in cranberry;
you are bare-footed climbing the grandfather trees, wild-bird paint in your
eyes, prickles under your toenails, and thunder drowns in water below.

raccoon-children with their mischief-hands sleep in your hair and crawl
down your slate-rock nose; skeleton-men along your gorge beneath your
upper lip where sirens would ride their horses along your jawline,

and grey is your wisdom with empty caverns. mountain-man paws his
gravels, sits against the lightning where war-husbands eagle themselves.

yo

A Textual AnnealingA thousand thousand generations
misinterpreting the lightning,

A tumult of attempts, many
mumblings while we burn - each time
most is lost, some survives.

At the whistle of illusion that awakens,
day drops dream on me. I am
thick with swerve: If there are giants
there is a world they walk on.

And for the final faith
to be an inversion: We are
the electricity lunging toward the sky.

RiverdrumMany things have been handed to me over years:
a drum full of water, once. I threw it away,
of course, but it returned, again, again,
until I took it under my arms
and called it mine.

My riverdrum is full of water that is full of light,
but it cannot scoop up a brook of stars.

I have two children. They have made
a game of watching the cows below that
walk towards me and never reach me. The first
one to spot the cow closest to me calls out 'Cowherd!'

I have a wife. I lose her like one loses grey hairs –
achingly, and with sadness. Perhaps these hairs
float over the river of oil and water that keeps us
away. Perhaps she l

AfforestLast darkness will fall like autumn leaves
(wandering)
Dusky ground covered with many coloured twilights
(do you see all the lovely greys?)
Underneath which ghosten happiness lays buried
(spring was too far away. Alas)

Last darkness is falling like autumn leaves
(wondering)
Dusky ground covered with beaten light's corpse
(do you see all the dimmed colours?)
Underneath which darkened May Day lays buried
(spring is too far away. Alas)

Last darkness has fallen like autumn leaves
(withering)
Dusky ground covered with still-frozen time
(do you see all the solemn blacks?)
Underneath which deadened Freya lays buried
(spring will be

Memory1.
I will take one flower a day.
I do not know their names
but they are brighter than anything

else I found under the sheets
of conifers. The clotted colours
sit dubious, dew collecting on stems

I hate to fracture. I love
the tenuous ease, an entire plant
ascending from thin soil. An excavation

uncovers roots like fishbones
with their message, an infinitesimal
howl. In frantic pulse of tattoo they plea:

"Remembering is destroying"
But still,
I wallow.

2
One quiescent shriek of warning before
the compulsion of alveolar
collapse [my lungs, my thorax,
undone and tightening]
My breath is a bomb.

I am e

Three-way road of desperate strugglesi-)
The flame tastes ever so sweet this subtle time of sundown;
watch its poetry burn a new azure for the summersong of tomorrow.
Moonlit magma awaits my presence and I shall not deny
her wishes, strike a flame and let it rage (never end, my sweet...)
Infernal symmetry blackens the lustful essence of my being

i saw god leaving the shoreLast night I dreamed of blue-grey shores
Of miserable black rocks
that pushed back a tide that crawled with the dull wind
And how I moved so quickly,
Towards the salty edge of the earth;
She told me to run,
To kick back the sand as hard as I could
until something appeared.
And I suddenly saw haunting, stone walls
Gleaming in their symmetry
Made of pale, sturdy nostalgia
with deja vu dripping down
Slipping like liquid mercury
I ran towards it eagerly, and chased my own reflection -
But whenever I caught a glimpse of myself
The drops would dribble and scatter away.
She told me to run further
And my heart ached and my spine arched
against the stinging, salty wind
Yet before I knew it, the ocean floor moved
And I ran down shores
at every turn-
each perpendicular to the previous one.
Everywhere, identical blackened stone barriers
They are all the same, she said
Their crashing waves make the

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More from ~chapaV

experminent 24a list for understanding freedom:

symmetry open area taller trees

musical genre

aging bliss conviction

memory
spoken true forever
publicly
anywhere easy happiness.

equally
totally
fulfilled.

gathering
destiny
pursuit.

artistic union.

vocation

creation

illumination. under god

for which we stand.

the one about a windowYour window is a bastard of the sky,
it makes me angry. I should break it with a song.

A stone of truth
shooting at the crystal
where you see yourself transparent.
A stone of lies
to set you free.

Your window is a bastard of the sky
but you could be a falcon if you wanted.

on things i heard outsideUnderstanding poetry
you must look upwards
in search of the satellite that has gone array
in twilights of blue and green
and maybe
grey,

the moon should fall from its high bed
like a silver boy with fever.
Close your eyes to see this lightning:
pumping veins of god when she's excited.

Breath inwards
and exhale nothing,
keep every word and every tune;
tinfoil harmonicas
dancing in the western desert
lullaby these wounds of simple sound,

there is no meaning.

Understanding poetry
you bend your knees, renounce your name and become ushered
into the melting mouth of beauty.

I am here, I have been here and will be here
namel

experiment 771

and i am going to the temple of Vesta
understanding slideshows,
blue
gray
light dusting an iris.

and I am going to the temple of Vesta,
farming the wasteland seeding the soil,
diggin' a grave(mourning
is day).

with my way your way
is intertwined;
summer shivers winter,
light lives in a shadow,

dust blue from the corners of the mind
and snows now like a whisper: dust blew.

tired won a ruin:
ashtray understanding, over the top ignition
of arabesque impossible.

wind
owns
everything,
it blows my mind away
and I am going to the temple of Vesta.

2

The virgin vestal is untouchable
and I'm somehow get

on commuting with no hurrythere you go
lighting matches in the rain,
walking with two feet
that the gods gave you
because they cannot walk,

heading home as if with news
of some miraculous disaster,

counting the steps between yourself
and the clouds that disappeared
behind the grey veil of October.

thunder and lightning unfold
so close above

and you dream of a destination
somewhere in the south

where birds and stormy weather coexist.

behind you there is nothing,
running water will erase
every footprint you have left
on the dark sand of this metropolis.

before you there is distance,
enough to live your life
in a constant state of travel,

but not n

Pajaros de Polvora 2III

Uno no escribe.

Despierta en la boca de un instante

que olvidó morir,

señala

los cuerpos mutilados del silencio.

Uno corrige

los errores de etiqueta,

besa el asfalto

para fundir sus labios al cielo.

Encuentra

las sombras de una muchacha,

cuyo nombre escapó de la memoria

en el primer tren de los cuerpos.

Uno no escribe

apunta las voces de la vida.

V

Uno a uno

pedazos de mí

cayeron como ángeles

al suelo.

Mis manos se prensaron:

perros a la silla.

Mientras la agonía

de los cuchillos continuaba.

No odio a la gente,

a nadie en realidad,

sólo al peluquero.

VI

Mañana será

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Vishnu Dreams of Marilyn Monroe

by ~chapaV, Sep 20, 2012, 4:01:15 PM
Literature / Poetry / Spiritual / Free Verse

In cities of ashen shine you pucker lips
too lush to be anything but bridges.

Winding through windows
the wind chimes slowly,
mingles the threads of your brown hair
with the voice of horses wild, unseen,

brought from the steppes of common place heaven
to the machination of light that surrounds you,
city dwelling fox of the fiery tome
of unreason.

In this catastrophic miracle that is my dream,
in this cosmic clutter of symbols
and names

where the histories are meaningless
and bones turn to stone
and stones fly,
launched from the small hands of children;
in this reckless melody first heard
so many dreams ago, this composition
of burning wolves and howling jellyfish,

random shapes unexpectedly take form,
the nonsense
is all laid out
and spoken with measure. Jungles cease to be
a water paint haze
and become jungles, teaming of song's true form

when from the moistures of a shower
you emerge, deciphering.

Vishnu Dreams of Marilyn Monroeby ~chapaV

Literature / Poetry / Spiritual / Free Verse

For the Inner Divinity Contest [link] hosted by the Wordsmiths Guild, of which I am a member![link]

I chose Vishnu, the supreme god of Hinduism, because of the basic premise in his (or her) mythology: that Vishnu, sleeping in the cosmos, dreams, and that his dream is all existence.

For a nice article by Joseph Campbell, detailing the spiritual symbolism of Hindu mythology and Vishnu, visit: [link]

*Angel-Tsuki Feb 1, 2013 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

wow! Wonderful piece! I'd like to let you know, as i myself am a Hindu, That Vishnu is a main Vedic God who is a male but can take female avatar(forms) also, who is 'Mohini'. His mythologies are a pleasure to read

And thank you for this piece!

=AzizrianDaoXrak Dec 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This is just a little note to let you know this gorgeous piece has been featured!: [link]

I'd appreciate it if you took a peek at the other features and faved the article to help support the other artists!

~pomohippie7 Dec 7, 2012 Writer

Your wonderful work has been showcased here: [link]

=DailyLitDeviations Nov 20, 2012

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by =DailyLitDeviations and has been selected as our "Pick of the Day". It is featured in a news article here: [link] and on our main page.

Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by

ing the News Article. Keep writing and keep creating.

~chapaV Nov 20, 2012 Professional Writer

~randomphilosopher Oct 22, 2012 Writer

These lines -
random shapes unexpectedly take form,
the nonsense
is all laid out
and spoken with measure.
<3

~chapaV Oct 23, 2012 Professional Writer

I'm glad you enjoy.

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Vishnu Dreams of Marilyn Monroe

Vishnu Dreams of Marilyn Monroeby ~chapaV

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