A Soul in Exile

I am looking forward to various interpretations and incarnations of this theme. Good luck!

[font=Courier New][size=2]
         < weather buoy 46035 >
     
     at 56.91 degrees north latitude
     and 177.81 degrees west longitude
     weather buoy 46035 has served faithfully for 17 years
     reporting each hour to a weather satellite
     (itself in a vacuum subject only to solar storms)
     just what the cold waters of the Bering sea
     (and the mirror sea of air above it) are up to
     all 19 hours of summer days and winter nights
     through gales and calms and passing whales
     through the sea ice as it scrapes
     the yellow paint from its sides
     17 years to meditate
     in the circle of horizon
     in the heartbeat of waves
     in the perfect point
     where all else
     falls away
     
                - - -


p.s. National Data Buoy Center: http://www.ndbc.noaa.gov/

Left For Dead

Reminiscing of the times
when the pen would dance with me
have a beautiful and illicit romance with me
Crave my fingers to hold her hard and sleek body
So close and comfortable in our outpours
Each letter trailing on the page
Like a silken strand of hair
Falling so perfectly into place
Upon a bed of pinstriped fibers

Looking back upon those sheets
I see where this affair has left its mark upon me
Searching for that eidolon of beauty,
That Muse that once would sing to me
I find only an echo in the lovely, supple bodies
of our Prose and Poetry

My eyes grace the curves of their words
My mouth rekindles their taste
The subtle heat that emanates as our fire fades
It is not her but I am far too cold to complain
Or refuse
So I must put these beauties to use
In the place of my Muse
While I eye their curves and savor their tastes
and remember my fingers upon her form
Tracing words and paths and patterns
Craving just a touch returned
From that high-and-mighty slattern

That Goddess Jezebel
Who turned and left me blind and searching
Across the empty landscapes of this artless Hell
How dare she desert me?
Her partner in the sacred dance of creation
Spilling fluids upon these sheets
Consummated
Procreation leaving me with an empty harem of our daughters,
Our lovely, Prose and Poetry

But I shall not go wanting
For they understand my haunting
Of these niches, folds and folders
And they too need a glance to live
So, as I search for you in them,
They will, once again,
Find life and live off these sheets
Freed from their bed-ridden Fate of fading
From our hearts and minds and memories
 
I take them in my hands and give them full attention
Finding myself in them
From concept to conception
10 or 20 at a time
Pushing deeper while I am trying
To remind myself of exactly where it is I felt you last

Heart-rate quickening
Starting over at the beginning
Almost swearing I could feel you again
Dilating eyes and heavy reading
As the fluid from my pen is
Once more forming works that bear repeating

Oh!
There you are, my love,
I remember
The heat from our deed
Kindling the taste of glowing embers
Rapt, writhing in this post-coital embrace
I see you helped me fill these pages
And I pull you all the closer
As warmth begins to fade into the fear
You will again abandon me here
With but another daughter
To pad my maddened, incestuous searches for your touch

My eidolon of beauty,
My ember of inspiration,
My Muse of malediction
My Queen of consternation

Not bleeding but bled
Not fleeting but fled
Not dying just dead
And you have left me here

No one really cares
I am a social outcast
I would be better off dead
Then always coming in last
I feel so alone
I always feel this way
No one loves me
No one would cry if I passed away
Not one single tear
I'd be the only person at my funeral
This life is of pain
It is time for a renewal
A soul in exile
That explains it all
No one will be there to catch me
When I jump fall

Cast Those Stones:

Erosion belittles
Washing upon heaven
Pearly gates become bleached
Forgiveness is a sinful thirst indeed

Doubt rains
Flooding free will
This diabolical dam bursts
Drowning myself in sacrilege…

Cast those stones
Judge your aim
Then hear my faith
Echo beyond the well

Cracks scatter
Fractures reach hell
Releasing man made fluid
While birthed into a sinful river

Atonement pours
Demons drift down
This vessel remains damned
Sinking myself in blasphemy…

Cast those stones
Misguide your aim
Then silence my unfaithfulness
Echoing deep inside the well…

Charismatic entries so far!

born thinking
bright lights, loud sounds
quiet cynical child
born like this

scoffing puerile elders
who carelessly lead astray
according to their delusions
those gray-haired children
are laughable

friends, brothers, lovers
selfish, reckless, expecting
grins, lies, feeling smothered
to know IM the fool for trusting...
for wanting people to care
like i care
love like i love

i was born this way, gaze piercing through debilitating fog. quietly feeling your thoughts, reading your soul. doubting you from a cold distance, wishing to touch you.

a ghost in the machine, solitary feast with lights out.

Hopscotch falls silent
He walks through, painted in glares
Followed by shouts, names
He meets no glance directly
Just takes his usual playground seat
In the corner
The far corner
Where eyes don't follow
The teacher doesn't walk
And he can resume his awkward stance
Pretending to be
invisible.

Miscued on ettiquette
The gentle giant stumbles
Overweight and out of style
out of time with social music
he bides his time
sitting in chairs on the side
because he's afraid
of what will be said
if he truly ever
decides to dance

his diagnosis doesn't cover it
"autism.."
kids call him
"some kind of retard"
and in his blurry vision
the world around him is right
he's the wrong puzzle piece
to fit in the playground puzzle
and as he sits in his recessed corner
it isn't the first time
it won't be the last time
he considers running out
so the puzzle won't be ruined
by any more renegade pieces

I am loving the different styles and points of view!

riddle me this

if there is a son of god
where the hell was he
when i needed him most
i really don't care for that
footsteps in the sand story
it's too damn convenient
sounds like a cunning cop-out
it's always the same story
if you ask you will receive
well i asked,i begged,i pleaded
and all i got was loud silence
and i saw no footsteps near

Passion Away

This activity seems like it’s all I’ve known all along.
Memories have been resurrected through the listening of this song.
A week can seem like months away from what you love all so long.
Being away in every way makes me feel wrong.

I’ll be back at full mental strength soon enough before my time dies.
Telling and talking to others of passions seems without doing lies.
Stuck is the man who can’t figure out how to return inside only he cries.

People are judged only by some who want reality.
Life if quiet enough sometimes could be a cinematic movie.

Stronger in the return I’ve had time to heal.
Victory in a comeback is as rewarding as a starving man’s first real meal.
This is more than just how I feel.
Away from passions it will form distractions and excuses are always real.

Do you see your reflection          
when you look at some one else
do you see
all the little things
that separate
you
from your self