Uninterrupted

August 30, 2013

By summers end, I kissed his lids beneath a tiered willow tree.

Sweeping in the wind, it’s lazy arms enlivened us with each touch.
And while I lay upon his beloved chest, his hand in mine we clutched.

 A perfect day.

Crickets swallowed silence with infectious songs, while
bees and crimson roses embosomed all night long.
Further, in the afternoon, like kings we partook;

Sliced oranges tangled in white lace, webbed buttered croissants, delicate and warm. And a medley, of green, purple, red
and yellow leaves, an ode to a summers passing.
Upon the suns genuflection we built our nest bellow twinkling eyes and in the graces of a smiling moon.
We were the makers of dreams and the bearers of empyrean possibilities; a love uninterrupted.

 

July 16.13′ 1:14am

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Fools & Kings

August 19, 2013

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By: Magnolia

Their love was the cause of levitation and crying leaves.

Upon first sight, he beheld blue dust; speckled inside the iris of her reflective mirror,

They lingered, spellbound & bogart.

While gold and pink light, soft and incandescent, spied between the fissures of his fluttered heart.

Their interlocking dewy eyes, congealed in-time.

The musings of tomorrow and yesterday, evaporated outside the bloom of detangled vines.

And with the zest of a king and the heart of a fool;

Mouths unraveled so rapturously, that as they stood,

From form to dust and water to a paphian musk,

They became every form of life, rising and sinking, from dawn to dusk.

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They lingered, spellbound & bogart.

Their love was the cause of levitation and crying leaves

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The musings of tomorrow and yesterday, evaporated outside the bloom of detangled vines.

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Upon first sight, he beheld blue dust; speckled inside the iris of her reflective mirror

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Their interlocking eyes, congealed in-time

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c1b17 Brilliant Levitation Photography

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From form to dust and water to a paphian musk

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And with the zest of a king and the heart of a fool

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While gold and pink light, soft and incandescent, spied between the fissures of his fluttered heart

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Mouths unraveled so rapturously, that as they stood

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They became every form of life, rising and sinking, from dawn to dusk.

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The Rarefied & Colorful

August 4, 2013

 

Albeit barely born, by the time he hit one, he had already seen and created the world.

And while letters had not made sail into his unfurnished mind or wrangled between the columns inside his vacant mouth, his heart spilt of stories in far away lands, undiscovered pastures, roaring seas and of a friend in whom no journey was improbable.

It was upon the back of a pictoric baby elephant, the young boy would fall asleep.

Bobbing inside of sequestered thoughts, his head lay warmed by the sloppy and playful movements of the babes frank and floppy ear.
The sun pressed heavy against his lids, securing a passageway for careless dreams.
Smirking in the golden light, with eyes shut, the boy saw the earth extended and rising; the very form of natures ample bosom evaporating into the mirth that exists inside of a formless habitat.

Illusive was the rushing wind sliding betwixt the window seals of journeying butterflies dipped in ink.
Surrounded they were by birds thrashing about in a performance with grand sonority aimed at pleasing a slumbering prince.

Connected to his dear friend, his hands became prismatically interwoven, holding the very same print.

Sprinkles of mustard dust swirled with black night, flushed into scarlet curves that drowned inside the reflective skin of emerald leaves.

They were one and the same.

Together they journeyed to the ocean, where, through keen magnification, they observed the condensation of a violet sunset cavorting, in blustered fervor, with thawed foliage and sunken clouds of white.

They wondered past caramel mushroom abodes, deers trapped in necking, phosphorescent trees and hospitable vines.
A world built upon the back of the collected musings of  the an emblazoned mind.

And as he grew, in him the elephant remained; a token of remembrance of all uncharted dreams and to the prodigious mastery that rests inside the thirsting veins of  not merely a Walter-Mitty, but a conjurer of immeasurable possibilities.

Be Happy!!!

July 7, 2013


2 THINGS: If it makes you happy, do it. If it doesn’t, then don’t.

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Shut Eyes Kept Breath

July 5, 2013

That’s where she existed best.

In the dark, in the light, high upon the rafters,

Perched above the clamor of civilization.

Where fog embraces light in the form of bulbous clouds.

Where the pangs of sorrow are dulled by the atmospheric civility that only floating can offer.

Where tears find home in rain,

Calmness in the breath of nothing,

and stillness in the charm of fluttered roses.

And just the mere possibility of all this, that desire to break free from skin,

It cruised beneath her heart and pushed against limp veins.

Like leather tightly wound against screaming bones,

She felt the itch of wanting to escape;

To melt past rattling walls and bursting bubbles.

But only with shut eyes and kept breath could she find the courage to leap.

And spinning in the solitary moment of her first step was truth flashing upon somber lids.

It was in the rain,

It was in the wind,

It was in the beat of the sun

and in every crater of the moon.

She was interwoven in the bliss of this deserted place.

Every night bathing in the light of the stars

And every morning dancing with a flock of wings.

In her despair she had surrendered to the dream and found triumph in the crux of her soul.

Pirouetted in the divinity of absolute mirth, alas she was home.

What Is Bliss?

May 28, 2013

Press ME

But to have ones heart saturated with all the best ingredients.

Chocolate powder, swirled into crystal cubed, brown sugar bumps.

Mixed with chilled white milk and

Stirred inside endless clarity;

Only to be baked into a soft edible fever.

Coated with crying, frothed cream,

just happy to be apart of something.

Half-done, half- raw, half-baked, all-together.

Dreaming of filling in the space  of unsealed lips.

If for nothing else, isn’t this why we exist?

 

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Facing Up

April 24, 2013

PRESS ME!

By: Magnolia

Punch-drunk in a persuasive sea

I am caught in a bottle bound for beleaguered shores.
And around me dizzy trees and mountains roar.

Clouds shock themselves into tears

While I stare, facing up, thinking of you my dear

 

Tip-toeing inside the black, you gently waltz across evening shadows
And suddenly whizzz across the sky like an eager arrow


And all the while inside this noisy night
Pondering is swallowed by the twinkling of lights.

Etched between the moon and stars
are the arches of your smile and your lips, the hue of Mars.

And while I want to crash inside your heavens dust,
You cannot hear me above the oceans rust.

And though the sky has not offered its hand

I sit watchful with each breath ready to compress then expand;

Until the dusk peels back its skin

And I am kissed by dawns begin.

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crescentmoon66:Romantic Shadows by *andreasrocha

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Between the Gap

April 17, 2013

By Magnolia

 

It’s that small whisper in-between the fog

Wounds hushed by plush snow

and woeful hearts melted through tepid strokes.

Light, right before the fade of dark.

An abandoned desert first touched by the print of man.

Or fire seduced by adjacent streams.

It’s that closing of the gap as I near you.

Can you feel it?

The swaying hairs reaching from my arm.

Can you see it?

My swollen iris, lids double fluttering.

Or can you hear the wings of butterflies

pounding against captured air.

Long, rolling, syllables,

thinly spread upon a bed of silence;

begging to fill the space where you begin and I end.

And why is that as far as I’m allowed to get,

beside the respite of breath billowing between our lips?

I want to subsist inside the gap.

The difference of the two?

  A slight of hand,

a slit between being alive and merely breathing.

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Her Speech

April 4, 2013

By: Magnolia

Her lethargic breath was rooted in the cave of a cumbersome heart.

Standing a foot the blank podium, tethered by opportunistic strings,

was the birth of a whisper

ascended into what became, a cataclysmic thought.

Like spiraling stairs with no beginning nor end, she spoke.

“Ejected from the gorge of emotional destitution,

I have realized that I have ascribed form to an existence that is but a shadow,

if not a dream.

And while I’ve remained fixed upon my daily deeds

I have abandoned my internal needs;

Misguiding shapes inside a living tomb.

I call upon the earth to fissure beneath my brain,

To thwart an arrow into the chasm of my heart,

and to pardon this lump of clay’s weary ways.

Soil and ice, no longer will you replace permutable fog.

For truth, a concept whose doors are not open for interpretation,

alas,  has made the journey through pore and rushing blood and found its home

upon electrical wires  breathing life into a paralyzed heart.

I say, empty handed and fragmented from a self-induced illusion,

that, that which is, is not a at all, and that which is to be, is to exists inside of me.

Compelled to create prickled shapes that would garner me the world, while gazing upon a blank wall, all at the expense of my heart beat.

Fair exchange it was not.

For I have spent most of my clock devouring the irrelevant, in hopes of quenching a parched soul,

and merely numbing it in the process.

But now with exhumed vision and  frail valves,

I have but one thing I want to do, and nothing else.

With the elegance of life’s exoskeleton bewildering my eyes,

And with the seed of creation rousing a previously unemployed  heart

Through inspired skin and  resurrected possibility 

from below me and above,

my only purpose here,

is to love.

 

I can’t help but think storms are beautiful.

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“Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.”

Plato

“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love, every man becomes a poet.”

Plato

“According to Plato, we don’t learn anything. Our soul has lived so many lives that we know everything. Teachers and education can only remind us of what we already know.”

Misty – Diary by Chuck Palahniuk

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Through inspired skin and  resurrected possibility 

from below me and above,

my only purpose here,

is to love.

Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost,
No birth, identity, form–no object of the world.
Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing;
Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain.
Ample are time and space–ample the fields of Nature.
The body, sluggish, aged, cold–the embers left from earlier fires,
The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again;
The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons continual;
To frozen clods ever the spring’s invisible law returns,
With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn.

I caught a cab from 1st and everywhere,

drove around the city, head out the window, wind in my hair.

I was looking for you.

Lips pouting in  ready rouge and black sheer.

*

How many ways do I need to tell you,

or better yet no,

 I’ll show you.

*

You’ve awoken the lioness.

I was sleeping,

panting heavy,

slow and rolling;

ready to be waked.

*

And then,

I was upside down.

Feeling the red leak, one drip drop to the tip of my brain

pushing against eyes, as I smiled and pretended to be sane.

*

It’s like being shot in the heart and loving, no needing the taste.

It’s walking alone in the dark while twisting and winding your waist.

And all I see,

are visions,

of you.

*

How about,

I’ll show you,

I’ll tell you,

no matter how.

*

I’ll show you,

I’ll tell you,

right now.

*

I bought a pair of silk stalkings

hoping they would speak to you;

it was black lace, see-through.

I slid um up my leg and well,

the rest was in my head.

I took the candles to bed and let the wax tilt and play

and my skin, well, it was red and warm the next day.

*

In all my millenniums, if there’s any time to look into my eyes

it’s right now.

No coy, only candid.

Can you see yourself in them?

 Splendid.

A sculptor slaving over swallow happy skin.

And me, holding all my giggles in the corners of my grin.

*

And note,

that this omission,

is  for you,

and only you.

*

I only want to open my arms to

the one who can truly grasp

 the point,

to all,

of this.

But do tell me,

do you wonder how I kiss?

*

I’m constantly pouring myself over roses,

redefining the color of steam,

hoping to be unmasked, and then finally,

seen.

*

See I was porcelain,

stuck in one position;

until your heat,

it thawed me out.

*

I’m like a bee playing with a cat

“here kitty kitty,

But don’t by fooled by size, my bite stings,

deeply deeply.

*

And while looking for you,

you better find me soon.

Because frankly,

my darling,

life is quite boring without the bloom.

*

See, you’re like honey clinging to it’s bottle

lecherous, halting and light.

But one day, suddenly

you’ll be weighted with the desire to reach the tongue,

with all your might.

And well,

I might yawn

and even possibly,

be

long

gone.

*

Although I must say,

weighted in me, is so much of you.

*

Besides, who will help me put my pearls on

and slip on my black nylons.

*

Oh, and if you’re wondering.

I taste like

rain,

vapor

and rose pedals.

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Photo: Katja

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Photo: Calvin♥

Photo: Calvin♥

Photo: Calvin♥

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Photo: Calvin♥

Photo: Katja

I only want to open my arms to

the one who can truly grasp

 the point,

to all,

of this.

But do tell me,

do you wonder,how I kiss?

Gin Soaked Visions

March 23, 2013

By: Magnolia

He dreamt of her standing there,

dead center in the midnight of Time Square.

He snuggled against the light post,

Beard choking neck and gin washing teeth.

Wishing he was drunk off her skin and being wrapped in her sheets.

And as he sat in the cold, damp rain, and tapped his toe to the rhythm of his pain

He held his glass up to the light and thought with some doubt & fright,

  “If I stare through this long enough, will I be free from all this stuff.”

Soaked hair and bottle to chest, he closed his eyes and imagine her, in a dark, snug black dress.

And a smile couldn’t help but brush upon his lips as he dreamt of this woman’s undying kiss.

Who was she? This Helen of Troy,

a woman who turned the men into gaga eyed boys.

She was the boom, bass,

the last and sweetest drop out of a borosilicate wineglass.

She was worth leaving it all behind,

Rumpus days of playing the field

 and all his fake egotistical shields.

She was all the S’ssss that slide and slip off the sides of your tongue,

Sleek, silly, sophisticated, selfless and selectively sensuous.

And when she walked, trees that even the wind couldn’t bend

Would recline against the breath of men just to see her walk back and forth

again

and again.

Even reality readjusted it’s disposition for her.

As she didn’t live by the rules, she bent them & made um’ blur.

Shaking his head, he reminisced about the good old days

When riding the bus as a little guy,

he’d get excited by just a whiff of perfume as one of um’ walked by.

Or throwing stones

making wishes for a woman that unhinged jawbones.

And now, the only way he can find an Athena, Aphrodite or a Nyx is by

staring at the bottom of his glass or by reading Jane Austen classics.

But never mind all that,

’cause he ain’t budging for no woman unless she’s worth the combat.

He wants to be apart of a new revolution,

constructed with transparency and framed with the buoyancy of clouds in union.

He wants to be unraveled and shape shifted.

Oxygen revived and see something worth lifting the lid of his eye.

And until that day, arrives

he’ll hold his gin up to the lights;

waiting for that one

whose heart is worth it’s wait in gold, who makes a revelry out of growing old.

___________________________

GIN SOAKED VISIONS

He dreamt of her standing there,

dead center in the midnight of Time Square.

He snuggled against the light post,

 

Beard choking neck and gin washing teeth

Wishing he was drunk off her skin and being wrapped in her sheets.

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And as he stood in the cold, damp rain, and tapped his toe to the rhythm of his pain

He held his glass up to the light and thought with some doubt & fright,

  “If I stare through this long enough, will I be free from all this stuff.”

 

Soaked hair and bottle to chest, he closed his eyes and imagine her, in a dark, snug black dress.

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And a smile couldn’t help but brush upon his lips as he dreamt of this woman’s undying kiss.

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Who was she?

(images: Sergio Albiac)

This Helen of Troy,

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a woman who turned the men into gaga eyed boys.

She was the boom, bass

the last and sweetest drop out of a borosilicate wineglass.

She was worth leaving it all behind,

Rumpus days of playing the field

 and all his fake egotistical shields.

 

She was all the S’ssss that slide and slip off the sides of your tongue,

Sleek, silly, sophisticated, selfless and selectively sensuous.

And when she walked, trees that even the wind couldn’t bend

Would recline against the breath of men just to see her walk back and forth

again

and again.

Even reality readjusted it’s disposition for her.

As she didn’t live by the rules, she bent them & made um’ blur.

Shaking his head, he reminisced about the good old days

When riding the bus as a little guy,

he’d get excited by just a whiff of perfume as one of um’ walked by.

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Or throwing stones

making wishes for a woman that unhinged jawbones.

 

And now, the only way he can find an Athena, Aphrodite or a Nyx

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 is by staring at the bottom of his glass or by reading Jane Austen classics.

 

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But never mind all that,

’cause he ain’t budging for no woman unless she’s worth the combat.

He wants to be apart of a new revolution,

constructed with transparency and framed with the buoyancy of clouds in union.

He wants to be unraveled and shape shifted.

Oxygen revived and see something worth lifting the lid of his eye.

 

And until that day, arrives

he’ll hold his gin up to the lights;

waiting for that one

whose heart is worth it’s wait in gold, who makes a revelry out of growing old.

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La Luna

March 22, 2013

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Once upon a moonlit tale, born inside a planted jar,

is where he fell in love with a delicate evening glowing star.

While trapped inside this heavy mass,

he reached his rays beyond the glass.

Though stuck and filled with fright, he knew one thing,

He’d do anything to have her see his light.

So pointed at the night one day,

he poured himself upon the fractured driveway.

Swimming in-between its cracks,

he found his way upon the oceans back.

And while challenged betwixt the midnight waves,

He held on to the glimmer of light inside of her beating gaze.

And when reaching became tiresome and the wind a heavy burden

He reached upon the feathers of a willing black raven.

Into the sky this light was carried,

while pulsating he hid his eyes beneath ruffled feathers, hopeful & teary

From beneath the oceans belly to sleeping above a bed of cotton

His dreams became more puissant, as he neared the place once forgotten.

And as he reached the sky, he let out a big breath and died.

With abrupt euphoria his rays danced inside the darkness

And his message thundered into the void where her heart was.

“Can’t you see my love,

the world is so small and we big in it.

I just needed to think that beings like you exist.

I hope its okay for me to confess all of this.”

And before his final word was etched,

she reached her arms to him outstretched.

Pressed against the midnight sky, her lips upon his cheek she kissed

And revealed they collided, taking pleasure in each-others eternal bliss.

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Begin Again

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To the Be of Things

March 20, 2013

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You didn’t.

I did.

We aren’t.

*

So now sway and tilt and droop,

I will not.

*

No more,

Lull, mum, quiet,

Little

sounds.

*

I’m going,

to the Be of things.

*

Big,

brazen,

beautifully bazaar.

*

No more

Twinkled eyes, prancing pain and panicked,  pleasing.

But barefoot and bold,

boomingly, blissful

un-bashful- beats!

*

Rhythms made foreign to an over-bending back.

Bent on pleasing,

Bent on appeasing.

Coddling?  I must be stronger

Truant? Any? no longer.

*

I’m going

beyond busted glass with bodaciously blue lips

Blemished with brawn as a  bombshell buxom

*

Comatose till shock did I part

What was once dull is now silver

and stingingly,

 sharp.

*

 And decidedly so,

as a Be,

is so much bigger,

than a frowning spine and passive tongue;

Traced,

by behemoth pain.

Released through hot and sweaty

legs and neck and fingers and veins.

All,

tied,

to the key of believing past a running brain and scattered eyes.

So then I must.

I’m moving,

To the Be of things.

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The actual photo failed, so I give you:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
The inverted inside of a polaroid

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28

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By: Magnolia

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Ohhhh! You jingle jangled vexation!

So shaken, and oh,  so stirred;

Like the twisted teeth of a beast, finely smoothened to a round, creamed nub,

Nibbled and disturbed.

Untilted tie and just finely combed stands of brazened, babbling hair;

Collected and composed by slowly moving fingers, hypersensitive and aware.

The heart of a seeker skying across a row of wilted men and tawdry woman.

Vehement with drooling hunger in search of delicious, dapperly virtuous words.

Doomed to levitation till the ground beautifies its attitude, displaying lament.

Forget about maybe, sorta’, possibly, next time, try again, next give me now!

Interweave yourself within the tidings of my ticking soul anyway somehow.

Abate my angst,

Resurrect my serenity,

Give my feet a reason to kiss the ground.

Ubiquitous clay rise to meet me.

Sincerely and Truly,

Your

Lone

Floating

Daisy.

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The List

February 3, 2013

A silly story about a girl, her fixation, a guy and her list.

Flipping through programming trying to erase you from my channel,

There I was, second day straight, hypnotized while living in my flannel.

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With the same feelings of  a 13-year-old, all giggly and dewy eyed.

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When he walked into that room, everything from gravity and life as I knew it, ceased to exist.

And I swear I saw two of him coexist.

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And my whole point of being, was summarized by the life in his luminous eyes.

All it took was one look, and I told myself, “Don’t say anything unwise!”

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I was fixated, forever haunted and entranced by, wait did he bite his lip?

Soft, beckoning and in slow motion, ok he didn’t, get a grip.

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My veins and all body mechanics became employed by my imagination, he had me, jaw dropped & twinkled eyes;

he was the tune, on a permanent rotation.

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Tomorrow was going to be Monday, he’d give me wink and walk by my desk,

And I, I’d pretend I didn’t care, I’d stand there, non-nonchalant and statuesque

Sudden obsession birthed from a childhood spent in boy defiance and aggression,

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Became unmanageable, un-treatable and after two-weeks, no longer could I repress him.

And in reality, his utter lack of attention to me?

Well, it drove me crazy!

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I devised a plan, which consisted of,

do everything and anything you can to get this man!

So here’s my list to secure this mans undying kiss:

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Night before: Practice cat walk and pouting

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And rehears to say something funny and astounding.

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Post notes all over the house, for support

Try on everything in your closet nothing too long, nothing too short!

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Nothing good enough in closet

I must design something, sexy, no, Audrey Hepburn like not hobbit.

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Read,

face mask,

meditation

and when I wake up in the morning,

He will exist more than in my imagination.

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.

Went to sleep and dreamt of him in my bed,

And when I woke up I realized it was all in my head

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Early morning, while brushing teeth, practice the perfect smile.

“Confidence, class, sophistication, it’s not an act, it’s a lifestyle.”

Now, apply red, no pink, no purple, green and glitter!

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Wait isn’t red, the color of someone sexy and clever?!

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dd

Now for something comfortable and not too dramatic.

I hope this little black dress is quiet enough but causes him to panic.

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And will top it off with a sweater with just a small subtle sign;

Little does he know, I spent all night cutting this design.

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No more list, I’m out the door, like a battalion walking tall and suave, on a mission for amor.

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There he is, buttoning his coat,

try to act natural, bury your head in your book and don’t dote!

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Oh my god! He called my name,

Collect yourself!  Now act mysterious and tame.

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“How was your weekend?” he asked.

And like a kid in a candy store I was dumbfounded stuck in trance.

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“Well, ya know, weekends are, so weekend like, ya know.”

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What did I just say, it didn’t make any sense,

and as soon as I tried to get my thoughts together,

my brother grabbed my cheeks and made me look so dense.

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Thinking it was my boyfriend, that’s why he walked away!

And I’m here left alone, with nothing clever to say.

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Ok, must regroup, emergency ‘cool chick’ cigarettes, plan b,

so he can get close and light it up for me.

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But I don’t smoke, so a huge plume of death got caught my throat.

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Bathroom emergency, second regroup, should have made him a chocolate cake, no that could give him a toothache.

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OK a shot of perfume and a little bit of  eye liner,

Must try to act a little daintier and exceptionally refiner.

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Now reapply some color and imagine its him helpful and dapper.

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Ok, act two, there he is,

stand next to him,

and read a book while pretending to be a genius a whiz.

above(image from amazing photographer Darren Roberts collection)

Now sit, and curl a strand of your hair.

Do anything to make him aware.

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Tease and eat with moving lips, but not enough to go to the hips.

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He’s not paying attention!

It’s like I don’t exist,

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Maybe I should just jump his bones and attach my face to his!

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I know!  I’ll blow a bubble,

 he’s the least of my troubles.

Splash, the plan backed up on me,

my face is ridiculed with failed attempts, smudged & sticky!

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Now what I’ve done?! He’s gone and walked away,

And there’s a thousand voices inside of me pleading for him to stay!

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I had so much to say,

but nothing showed up,

I was not eloquent or brave;

only desperate and him, probably fed up.

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Oh well, so much for the day, my feelings & my heart I did not convey.

What’s so great about him anyways?

His smile,

His eyes,

His laugh,

The way he listens to me on my behalf?

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No, he’s just a man,

I don’t like him,

matter of fact, I’m putting him on a mental ban!

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And right when I was going to cry you wouldn’t believe what came before my eyes.

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Flowers in hand he gave to me while whispering in my ear that he wanted only me.

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We sat by the pond, he pulled me in close and pointed to me everywhere in his heart that I had enclosed.

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I just smiled from ear to ear,

For what would I do for love?  Well, what wouldn’t I dare.

Oh! And did I mentioned we kissed!

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_____________________________

THE LIST

Flipping through programming trying to erase you from my channel,

There I was, second day straight, hypnotized while living in my flannel.

With the same feelings of  a 13-year-old, all giggly and dewy eyed.

When he walked into that room, everything from gravity and life as I knew it, ceased to exist.

And I swear I saw two of him coexist.

And my whole point of being, was summarized by the life in his luminous eyes.

All it took was one look, and I told myself, “Don’t say anything unwise!”

I was fixated, forever haunted and entranced by, wait did he bite his lip?

Soft, beckoning and in slow motion, ok he didn’t, get a grip.

My veins and all body mechanics became employed by my imagination, he had me, jaw dropped & twinkled eyes;

he was the tune, on a permanent rotation.

Tomorrow was going to be Monday, he’d give me wink and walk by my desk,

And I, I’d pretend I didn’t care, I’d stand there, non-nonchalant and statuesque

Sudden obsession birthed from a childhood spent in boy defiance and aggression,

Became unmanageable, un-treatable and after two-weeks, no longer could I repress him.

And in reality, his utter lack of attention to me?

Well, it drove me crazy!

I devised a plan, which consisted of,

do everything and anything you can to get this man!

So here’s my list to secure this mans undying kiss:

Night before: Practice cat walk and pouting

And rehears to say something funny and astounding.

Post notes all over the house, for support

Try on everything in your closet nothing too long, nothing too short!

Nothing good enough in closet

I must design something, sexy, no, Audrey Hepburn like not hobbit.

Read,

face mask,

meditation

and when I wake up in the morning,

He will exist more than in my imagination.

Went to sleep and dreamt of him in my bed,

And when I woke up I realized it was all in my head

Early morning, while brushing teeth, practice the perfect smile.

“Confidence, class, sophistication, it’s not an act, it’s a lifestyle.”

Now, apply red, no pink, no purple, green and glitter!

Wait isn’t red, the color of someone sexy and clever?!

Now for something comfortable and not too dramatic.

I hope this little black dress is quiet enough but causes him to panic.

And will top it off with a sweater with just a small subtle sign;

Little does he know, I spent all night cutting this design.

No more list, I’m out the door, like a battalion walking tall and suave, on a mission for amor.

There he is, buttoning his coat,

try to act natural, bury your head in your book and don’t dote!

Oh my god! He called my name,

Collect yourself!  Now act mysterious and tame.

“How was your weekend?” he asked.

And like a kid in a candy store I was dumbfounded stuck in trance.

“Well, ya know, weekends are, so weekend like, ya know.”

What did I just say, it didn’t make any sense,

and as soon as I tried to get my thoughts together,

my brother grabbed my cheeks and made me look so dense.

Thinking it was my boyfriend, that’s why he walked away!

And I’m here left alone, with nothing clever to say.

Ok, must regroup, emergency ‘cool chick’ cigarettes, plan b,

so he can get close and light it up for me.

But I don’t smoke, so a huge plume of death got caught my throat.

Bathroom emergency, second regroup, should have made him a chocolate cake, no that could give him a toothache.

OK a shot of perfume and a little bit of  eye liner,

Must try to act a little daintier and exceptionally refiner.

Now reapply some color and imagine its him helpful and dapper.

Ok, act two, there he is,

stand next to him,

and read a book while pretending to be a genius a whiz.

Now sit, and curl a strand of your hair.

Do anything to make him aware.

Tease and eat with moving lips, but not enough to go to the hips.

He’s not paying attention!

It’s like I don’t exist,

Maybe I should just jump his bones and attach my face to his!

I know!  I’ll blow a bubble,

 he’s the least of my troubles.

Splash, the plan backed up on me,

my face is ridiculed with failed attempts, smudged & sticky!

Now what I’ve done?! He’s gone and walked away,

And there’s a thousand voices inside of me pleading for him to stay!

I had so much to say,

but nothing showed up,

I was not eloquent or brave;

only desperate and him, probably fed up.

Oh well, so much for the day, my feelings & my heart I did not convey.

What’s so great about him anyways?

His smile,

His eyes,

His laugh,

The way he listens to me on my behalf?

No, he’s just a man,

I don’t like him,

matter of fact, I’m putting him on a mental ban!

And right when I was going to cry you wouldn’t believe what came before my eyes.

Flowers in hand he gave to me while whispering in my ear that he wanted only me.

We sat by the pond, he pulled me in close and pointed to me everywhere in his heart that I had enclosed.

I just smiled from ear to ear,

For what would I do for love?  Well, what wouldn’t I dare.

OH and did I mentioned, we kissed!

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On the way home, in the midst of his evening bustle

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His hand griped at the lament buried inside his hearts muscle

hand on heart

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Wilted and torn he took off his blues and remained in the dress for which he was born.

Pondering in the stillness of feeling lost and lovelorn.

“Lovers”      “ Orpheus’ Sorrow  (1876)  ”  by  Pascal Adolphe Jean Dagnan-BouveretThanks to Laberintosyquimeras  for posting this wonderful image

Like a gold fish witnessing the sea while concealed in a transparent cage,

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He never quite felt he fit in his world.

Always yearning, waiting, transfixed on clock hands, tic tocked and twirled.

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Meanwhile, wedged inside his genius was the menacing feeling of a half-filled cup.

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For when he was little; he knew he was meant to be big.

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So, wishing by the sea & moon, he sat on a nest of twigs

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Transient figures, like neon signs burned between the dark sky’s

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Reflecting each tear in his dreaming, uneasy eyes.

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With tremulous cords and vacuous hands he let go and dove in.

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Splashed beneath the film of water, cutting the deep horizons, were two feline eyes with petrified black feathered lashes.

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Unable to look away, he felt the warmth of his veins cooled by her pale as corpse hand

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In hypnotic awe he studied her lips, shaped with the figure of the crescent moon

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And her blythe batting lids, concealing double helix eyes, they compressed and released to the drum of his heart.

Dazed with curiosity, he allowed her lips to expand his chest & surrendered, they swam.

Topless mermaid, voluptuous amd alluring, seducing a young man at the bottom of the sea.Tumblr_me0gn8zezo1qfb46yo1_500_large

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They past childhood sand-castles, faint, white dried roses, tiered Polaroids and running crayons.

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Intrigued but perplexed nonetheless, till his eyes set upon Cherub Caliel, crying and withdrawn.

And as he approached extended hand and comfort unfolded, the cherub quickly turned and said,

“Awake ye now and rid thyself of death and dolefulness, that I can feel heavy upon thy heart”

Bewildered he looked for the siren that led him, but fled she had, and stuck he was.

Turned back, and before his eyes, the cherub decomposed into a plume of red & green dust.

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Swallowed by smoke, swollen iris and startled heart he screamed, “I want out!”

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Treading and manic, he began to run out of air when the siren re-appeared,

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She quipped,”You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger my darling.”

He screamed “I need air!”

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Appearing to rescue but merely passing by, an octopus flushed in red, said, “So wake up.”

As he began to swim up, panicked, he found his feet tethered to the ground.

The sea became more turbulent and a tiger vehement in speech said, “So wake up!”

As he struggled he suddenly found he was not a captive of the ocean but enslaved inside his own tub.

And a final vision of the Siren appeared whispering, “When you desire happiness as you have just desired air, then you will have it.”

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Like an arrow to heart, her words struck him,

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And not all too sudden, his muscle embraced silence and thoughts vanished as  the bones in his back gallantly began an unraveling procession fixed on rapturous expansion.

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Freedom became he, as he floated, tenderly, above the sea,

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And the water slowly crept from chin to eyes, releasing him from self-demise.

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The next morning as he awoke, he found his back draped in wings and his heart cloaked in red

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And from his cage, he did not wonder nor did he wait, he stretched out his limbs & became a man, transcendent and magnate.

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Trapped Utopia & Unfettered Wings

By: Magnolia

On the way home, in the midst of his evening bustle,

His hand griped at the lament buried inside his hearts muscle.

Wilted and torn he took off his blues and remained in the dress for which he was born.

Pondering in the stillness of feeling lost and lovelorn,

Like a gold fish witnessing the sea while concealed in a transparent cage,

He never quite felt he fit in his world.

Always yearning, waiting, transfixed on clock hands, tic tocked and twirled.

Meanwhile, wedged inside his genius, was the menacing feeling of a half-filled cup.

For when he was little; he knew he was meant to be big.

So, wishing by the sea & moon, he sat on a nest of twigs.

Transient figures, like neon signs burned between the dark sky’s

Reflecting each tear in his dreaming, uneasy eyes.

So, with tremulous cords and vacuous hands he let go and dove in.

Splashed beneath the film of water, cutting the deep horizons, were two feline eyes with petrified black feathered lashes.

In hypnotic awe he studied her lips, shaped with the figure of the crescent moon

And her blythe batting lids, concealing double helix eyes, they compressed and released to the drum of his heart.

Unable to look away, he felt the warmth of his veins cooled by her pale as corpse hand.

Dazed with curiosity, he allowed her lips to expand his chest & surrendered they swam.

 They past childhood sand-castles, faint, white dried roses, tiered Polaroids and running crayons.

Intrigued but perplexed nonetheless, till his eyes set upon Cherub Caliel, crying and withdrawn.

And as he approached extended hand and comfort unfolded, the cherub whispered,

“Awake ye now and rid thyself of death and dolefulness, that I feel heavy upon thy living”

Bewildered he looked for the siren that led him, but fled she had, and stuck he was.

Turned back, and before his eyes, the cherub decomposed into a plume of red & green dust.

Swallowed by smoke, swollen iris and startled heart he screamed, “I want out!”

Treading and manic,l he began to run out of air when the Siren re-appeared,

She quipped,”You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger my darling.”

He screamed “I need air!”

Appearing to rescue but merely passing by, an octopus flushed in red, said, “So wake up.”

As he began to swim up, panicked he found his feet tethered to the ground.

The sea became more turbulent and a tiger vehement with speech said, “So wake up!”

As he struggled he suddenly found he was not a captive of the ocean but enslaved inside his own tub.

And a final vision of the Siren appeared whispering, “When you desire happiness as you have just desired air, then you will have it”.

Like an arrow to heart, her words struck him,

And not all too sudden, his muscle embraced silence and thoughts vanished as  the bones in his back gallantly began an unraveling procession fixed on rapturous expansion.

Freedom became he, as he floated, tenderly, above the sea,

And the water slowly crept from chin to eyes, releasing him from self-demise.

The next morning as he awoke, he found his back draped in wings and his heart cloaked in red

And from his cage, he did not wonder nor did he wait, he stretched out his limbs and became a man, transcendent and magnate.

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The Waltz

January 23, 2013

 

By:  Magnolia

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 I am the soil        And I the tree

 Together embraced, closely.

I am the wind      And I the leaves

Together we float careless and free.

I am the heart     And I the beat

Together we move quiet and discreet.

I am the pencil      And I the paper

Together we scribble the answer.

I am the bones     And I the skin

Together we build cover, beginning to end.

I am the door      And I  the knob

Together we absorb every throb.

I am the path     And I the water

Together we travel, paving next chapters

I’m the composer   And I the composition

Together creating melodies that grow and glisten.

I am the paint          And I your canvas

Together splashed and blended into the infinite planned for us.

I am the body    And I your bends

Together till the very end.

So when your color fades

and lines surround your eyes,

My lips will seal your heart with first loves reprise.

And when you are tiered,

I will be your awake

Forever in a waltz through love and heartache.

The breath to your lips, the sound to your silence,

The view to your window and the X to your spot;

We are but four eyes and one vision,

Percolated poetry, bound for eternity.

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I want to be knotted inside the braided vines of your heart.

Far away, inside the slowly moving wings of your relaxed beat,

Softly blowing between the clouds of your most intimate thoughts,

Is where I want my soul to rest.

And every morning awake to freshly squeezed strawberries dripping between the smiles of your fingers,

And to the bliss of your words dipped in honey, sliding off the sides of your tongue;

While being wrapped inside the rising warmth of your hungry skin,

Is where I want my soul to rest.

Late nights and flickering fires bleeding of clenched wax and heated thirst.

Cracked hearts, traveling hands, painted toes and arched necks, genuflecting behind exposed linen and closed curtains.

The whispers of wind between the window seal, the grazing of rose pedals against welcoming bones,

Is where I want my soul to rest.

Evaporated through the lips of pleased desires and stones muzzled in squeezed silence,

Through swaying emotions and tilted waters trapped in waltz;

And mixed between our minds, sweet cream and peppered dreams,

Is where I want my soul to rest.

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Evaporated through the lips of pleased desires and stones muzzled in squeezed silenced

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 the grazing of rose pedals against welcoming bones

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Late nights and flickering fires bleeding of clenched wax and heated thirst

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sweet cream and peppered dreams

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a Tumblr_mgwethjgok1rk4ovao1_500_largeAnd to the bliss of your words dipped in honey sliding off the sides of your tongue;

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And every morning awake to freshly squeezed strawberries dripping between the smiles of your fingers,

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Through swaying emotions and tilted waters  tilted waters trapped in waltz;

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The whispers of wind between the window seal,

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Is where I want my soul to rest.

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God you should have seen Isis, hemorrhaging with ambition while smiling in the harshest of heat.

She stood in the belly of that crowd, raised her arm in the air & matched her heart to the beat.

And suddenly every patron in the city, believers &  doubters, rose quickly to their feet.

Their fists pounding against the rhythm of  the wind; boom, boom, boom, boom!

Kinetic electricity surged from every cavity & splashed through every layer in the room.

Head high and shoulders back, she gave the deuces to anyone who didn’t think she had the knack.

Once the souls that questioned her are now asking for her signature.

Although in the dark & blind to the masses, she doubted nothing while lighting her own torches.

Bearing the brunt of naysayers & pile driving while supplying her own transfusions,

Every night she closed her eyes and challenged the dark with esoteric allusions.

She was a woman, but didn’t need to prove it.

Her ears had swallowed  broken glass and her knees felt the itch of mud and laughing grass.

And while it was in style to sport the scent of gin and sex,

She didn’t bother, she was a self-accepted reject.

All the while undeserving, with gut and grit, she pushed Sisyphus rock up and made it stick.

Her razor tongue savored the water of Tantalus and of others opinions, she could care less.

Unapologetic & foolhardy with determination, she fashions her lips with bona fied narration.

But when the crowd has dissipated she sits alone, contemplative.

And although she is silent in her tears, she paints only what she wants herself to mirror.

Saying nothing, she curls her fingers around the heart of the moon

She squeezes it in hopes of growing more immune.

A goddess, a rebel, a lady of ten thousand names, she breaths to the beat of her own drum, she is a consummate dame.

 

Your Figure

December 19, 2012

  Your Figure

By:Magnolia

Corkscrewed into immeasurable positions starting with the contours of your figure, dexterously clasped, in perfect place.

While deliciously sewed into the geometric spaces of your arched neck, and shadows of your moving face,

Are raised textures moved by the gusting waves of gravity and kissed by the elegance of nature.

Made from the pillars of crashed star dust and the ash of volcanic lust, filled inside the tear ducts of a satisfied maker.

Twisted legs, bended backs, pointed toes and compressed skin forever devoted to the crusade of movement.

Plagued by radiated grief rising from loose pores and fashionable frowns stitched in blood, debonair yet truant

Lame lids suspended above a perked nose and colorful fingers nodding in agreement over a twisted spine;

Squeezed between the elastic, bovine forces of a regal figure, gleeful in design.

Rounded O’s and parallel lines washed upon a shore of puffed powdered sand, emotive blushing lips and bleeding chocolate tissue.

Endless potential, harmonically infused by the bumping beats of a pumping heart, blunt and unscrewed.

Pirouetting into being and bolstered into bent contradictions of love-shaped lips wired into rippled, crying eyes.

Conjoined figures seeping of visceral avidity and shaped in the silhouettes of crooked letters forever melting & mutable, like wax molded thighs;

Your haunting figure, smirks outside the lines and bleeds of palpable pleasantries, gaudy and wise.

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Ladies and Gentlemen meet Bulgarian photographer Aneta Ivanova, creator of a series of double exposure photographs that superimposes the gentile silhouette of a woman’s form over bustling cities and affecting landscapes. A juxtaposition that poetically shows the percolation  of thoughts, ideas and places all confined to the human form. Her work has been featured in Magazines such as ‘Better Photography,’ as well as been lauded for its meticulous beauty online on some of the most popular blogs.

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Her photographs capture the sweet bends and candid folds of a woman’s moods and shape.  When I look at her art, like steam rising from the photo and onto my mind, I think of;  spunk, raw, grace, loud, soft, curve, car horns, cricket chirps, faucet drips, taciturn, sounds of friction from scattered leaves, contemplative, power, poise, rocks beneath your feet, clarity, sensitive skin, dull rose thorns, spine, twigs and elegance. What do you feel/ think of?

Well, without further ado may I present,  the EmOtive EyE of

ANETA IVANOVA

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Q & A

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When you were little what did you want to be?
A doctor or a firefighter.

Do you have a favorite photograph you’ve taken?
Almost every new photograph I take appears to be my favorite for some time. Then I take a new one. 

What motivates you to take photos?
Some inspiration, some temporary need to express something, something I saw, heard, felt…

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What is the longest you’ve spent on a project?
6 months and still going.

What art piece was the most fun to work on?
Definitely “Mama is a superhero” – piece I did a few years ago. I was hanging, then running to the camera, then hanging again – all this for half an hour to shoot this.

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What’s the latest project you are working on?
The “Scar” series – double exposure silhouette photos.

What inspires you or initiates the inspiration that drives you? Do you have a process?
There isn’t something specific that inspires me. I’m not sure I can even explain it. Sometimes even the smallest thing makes me pick up the camera. 

Favorite word:
Curiosity… 

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Favorite thing in nature:
How little we know about it.

One of your favorite artist:
Gustav Klimt

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One of your movies:
Into the wild

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One of your favorite musicians:
Ben Harper

Favorite place to create art:
My home

Favorite smell:
Coffee

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Favorite sound:
Some good song

Was there a time you felt like you were not going to be able to make a living off of being an artist? What would you advice to others about pursuing their dreams based upon how you were able to manifest yours.
Actually I’m not making a living off being a photographer. I don’t want to call myself a professional photographer either. I’m 20 years old, I’m studying computer science in Germany and working as a system administrator right now. This doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep doing what I love. This doesn’t also mean that I don’t like what I’m doing. For now I’m just not sure which one should I choose and most of all, maybe my dreams are to have both. I feel it’s not an easy thing to do, but when it gets too heavy, I’ll just make my choice. But if art is the only thing you want to do and you’re good in it, I think that you should work hard for it and not give up.

Who/What inspires or moves you?
Strong, active, intelligent, wise and knowing people inspire and move me.

What’s one of your favorite quotes?
“Some part of our being knows this is where we came from. We long to return. And we can. Because the cosmos is also within us. We’re made of star-stuff. We are a way for the cosmos to know itself. ” from Carl Sagan

Squares in B&W

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