David Redpath
Down to sleep
their souls to keep
Vulnerable
innocent and meek
Shaken … in shock
Grim trauma that seeps
out from the gutter
to reap
Below life’s glitter
where mothers weep
for innocence shattered
beyond all hope
Watch out now
Take care
Beware
Given enough rope
all things dark
and fearful
… into the deep
View original post 218 more words
Yesterday, burglars attacked me
snuck in through my navel
slithered through the gaps under the door of my mind
tromped over and intruded my body
a heist of calm state and innocence
captured my breath, tamed my soul
ruptured my walls and windows,
cracks turned into sinkholes
aggressively pulling out my innards
my hefty veins
intermittently becoming violet and blue and violent
my heart was in a drag race,
in synch with my fingers
trembling of turbulence
but my brain is out of place
creeping in a fast-paced city
and I hear the world blowing their horns at me
when I’m at a march towards an imminent doom
deliverance comes in tiptoe
growing frail,
I gave birth to torment and fright
expelled the daze, exhaled the haze
my soul escaped, my breath smothered them
tomorrow is never an assurance
but I made it today
–
First published on Moonlit Pieces by Eli Kyoko, a peaceful yet chaotic creature who once hid behind the night sky’s moonlight— She’s out now.
Is she
a love refugee?
From behind a veil
upon a prevailing trail
that has led her to me
My very being
captivated
With me
will she be
… satiated?
Is she soul free?
Is she emancipated
from that old man
… of slavery?
As some men
are driven
striven upon the winds
of blind confusion
to take and to break
the fruits of creation
Leaving only
a tide high
of destruction
Upon the ocean
of love’s perfection
a lonesome wake
For heaven’s sake
take care … beware
Naked and exposed
That’s the risk
she should never take
As for me …
is she to be
my conscience
of compassion
My soul companion
clear through
to eternity?
Across the sea
of unbridled passion
with a love
you just can’t forsake
My lucky star of destiny
is this predestination?
A burning fusion
you just can’t fake
This deal must be real
above and beyond
all the best of the rest
How much more
can a poor boy take?
Yet the very memory
of her first touch
Her chill to thrill
with time to spill
it thrills me still
Her private intensity
kept behind a lock
dissolving my key
Will she forever be
the unraveling of mystery
Seizing and freezing
my uncertainty
Is she …
just too much for me?
Is she …
mine to take?
I’m too far gone
It’s way too late
Under the glare
of a falling star
Heaven can wait
–
Words & PhotoArt:
© David Redpath 2018
–
I am currently a volunteer worker
for Bloggers Without Borders (BWB).
A free range anthropologist
by trade, absconding from,
after being seconded to,
the World Trade Federation (WTF)
I have transversed, in verse,
this cosmos, Monitoring the
background static, emanating
from the ‘Big Creation’.
Statement of Mission;
To submit, and submit again,
to the will of the Great Spirit
And as light through a prism,
paint a picture, and pen a poem.
We’re all on a road somewhere
David R. – Highway Bloggery
Welcome to the funfair where anyone can go through. This is the mirthful side of the world that haunts me in vivid and vibrant colors. Sugar and spice, taste them inside!
They can see me as a horse in the carousel, the ferris wheel or the roller coaster ride. Thrilling and electrifying. Where they go round and round, up and down, until eruptions arise in their downtown.
They want me to lick their lollipops and pop the elastic balloons with my tongue and teeth. Their heads contain nothing but helium. Swallow or spit.
Try it. Then tell me how fun it is.
I’m the tin cans on where they throw their balls at, or the punching bag on a boxing machine game.
One hit = one bubble gum flavored pride.
They drop a coin in the toy machine where they see me as stuffed, aggressive to get inside.
Oh, how they love to play such games!
Their knees are darts pinning me down, until I spill blood like these words. But sometimes it’s also feathery darts from their peacocks, aiming for the bull’s-eye between my thighs. It’s their target instead of my heart.
Try it. Then tell me how fun it is.
When they want to relax, they sit on the bench in immorality park like starving brutes, they whistle and bark.
They want their hotdogs on sticks so they’re eyeing us as chunks of meat for feasts. Butts are buns that they want to bite and suck the juices of every cantaloupe breasts.
I know it’s not about my dress, they still got their filthy hands in my pocket inside my pants.
I’m the Pirate ship that carries them all. I sail back and forth, and I won’t break nor fall.
For I am the ghost inside the haunted house, too. Whom they scream at and run away from. They won’t let me out. But whether they see me or not, Karma will haunt them as an endless knot.
This isn’t a fun game between genders.
This is a foul game between humans and monsters.
The funfair is open anytime, everyday. It doesn’t stop operating. The entrance is free, like dignity.
Try it, then tell me how fucked up it is.
Eli Kyoko is a moon inside of a human body. She hides between the lines and spaces, and swims through the never-ending waves. She’s a wanderer in the world of art, and an artist at heart. Sometimes she’s black & bloody, other times glittery & golden, or something else that’s complicated. Dissect and descry more of her phases within her writings engraved here, and on her personal blog: Moonlit Pieces.
Basilike’s Choice: Ryan Dowling
Because no one writes about a flower like he does.
Wolfsbane (Aconitum)
On our stroll back from the estuary,
we rested beside a riverbank
and tugged these hooded flowers
from the edge of the foam.
I told you that they were violets,
but—what did I know?—
I couldn’t tell a lily from a lilac.
I wove them into your curls
until your hair was as heavy with purple
as dusk upon the rollicking waters,
slow-motion in the quickening breeze.
When I leaned my lips into yours,
yours had begun to quiver and sweat.
You grew rigid
and heavy
as petrified wood.
At first I was embarrassed
I’d overstepped
the boundaries that boys often risk
when faced with beautiful girls.
But later, I learned that the stems
of those flowers
had leaked into your scalp—
though it was hardly anything,
hardly anything at all—
this I learned
only after the paramedics
gave up on you.
by Ryan Dowling
MORALITY PARK 