Category: Uncategorized

Once we were in heaven
And could dream for ever
But weather started a heat
And spat it’s pestilent receipt
Oh, it takes a whole lotta grit
To get out of that pit

Like a Blue Moon rises Desire
Over a dark Pit set on Fire
Where wood flickers way up high
Like illusions in the children’s eye
And days burn and time goes by
And I wonder whether to breath out
Or whether to die

Fool always believes to be pardon from want
Knight always asserts to be first to anoint
They say there is no right and there is no wrong
Whether the winds blows just a little or very strong
Whoever is lost in that dark valley of greed
You shall never be acquitted of your need

Created June 11,2020
Philosophical/ Dark
Author Pola Popovich

A soul is given to each one of us. It is a gift from young and lasts until we’re old.

Our pathways can become dark. Depression creates a force that tries to push and lull us into pseudo madness. We are treated like criminals within our heads. Forced hatred doesn’t make us strong. Hatred blurs the lines and forces pieces of our soul to die. Hate causes our souls to cry. And sometimes it causes us to live a lie. Reach inside yourself and take a step forward to realize you are strong. You are beautiful and most of all you my sweet thing, you are loved.

Do not allow fear to dampen your shine. You are all that you need. Believe in the strength of your translation to hear your soul speak.

Words will fill your head and even stain your soul. But you must know there is bright light that comes from your own power.

Your soul is and your journey are ahead of you. Allow your soul to dance, allow your soul to grow. Times may change and the positive words may begin to fade.

Kick over the stones of depression that may block your way. Embrace the sonic waves filling your body with a knowledge of life because the secret of joy is written on the pages of your soul.

I will use you in my magic potions,
Dunk you in my cast iron cauldron
Add your long, scarlet fingernails,
Your colored curls,
Your embarrassed blood
And the slick black feathers
Of the crows I killed
And your freshly slapped cheeks
And the strap welts across your legs
Which I gave out of duty and love.
I did not kill you, of course.
But I did warn you about your pillow.
I told you it would grow addicted to your head, your thighs, your sighs,
Your begging legs, your restless breasts.
It is not my fault I fell asleep
So soundly I did not hear it creep
Over your precious face.

‘Ode To My Shorn Sack’

Times had changed
A new era, begun
No longer my ball fro,
was an object of women’s fun.
A razor I was told, would restore my appeal.
A few quick strokes, should be no big deal.
With a steady hand, I looked down below.
I measured every inch, that razor would scroll.
The shiny silver blade, grazed along my sack.
Alas, my sex appeal, would soon find it’s way back.
For one brief moment, my attention was taken.
That moment in time, had left me aching.
As I stroked away, from north to south,
A sharp pain I felt, then foamed at the mouth.
I screamed and hollered and squealed like a piggy.
So much of my skin was no longer with me.
I fell to the floor.
The blood spewed like a fountain.
I no longer stood, like a man that once stood like a mountain.
I reached for the phone.
Three digits my fingers dialed.
In came the medic.
Marching about in singular file.
A miscalculation, would cause a major set back.
Not all of the King’s men could fix my poor nut sack.
Soon thereafter the doctor strolled in.
Extreme anguish, I knew he knew I was in.
A numbing agent, he quickly applied.
My balls shriveled up.
Felt, as if they had died.
I took a deep breath.
In misery I wallowed.
The sutures I so feared soon had followed.
I gasped for air and threw my head back.
Quickly finding religion, I prayed for my sack.
A lesson I learned.
A straight razor was not the answer.
Such a thing only ends in great disaster.
For many seasons, women have come and gone.
But, this ode to my shorn sack, will forever live on.

by,
Ken Hewski

I could not contain the smile, it grew.
No affectation.
One of those spontaneous smiles, quiet humour, or irony,
that sometimes steals its way across my face.
Like an ambush.

Will he notice?

This cool, young black man sitting opposite,
on the train from Reading station.
18 (I think) with his girl.

From top to bottom,
immaculate.
My father would be impressed
if he were alive,
if he would see.
But I knew he wouldn’t,
couldn’t.
No speck of dust, no dirt.
Coordinated.
Primed.
And his shoes!
Trainers,
gleaming white.
No doubt expensive
with a vibrant Nike tick.
Tall, slim, fluid shape, casual,
seemingly unconcerned, confident.
Skateboard tucked,
accidentally,
under arm.

A trophy?
He wants us to look,
but not really.

And then there’s me!
Sitting opposite.
On the train from Reading station.
57 (I know) alone.
Will he notice?
In my new Chinos (stretch)
fitting nicely, I think.
From top to bottom, immaculate.

My father would be impressed,
if he were alive,
if he would see.
But I know he wouldn’t,
couldn’t.
No speck of dust or dirt.
Coordinated.
Primed.
And my shoes!
Brown brogues, leather sole.
No question. Expensive!
With a vibrant shine.
Tall, slim, not-so-fluid shape these days, casual,
seemingly unconcerned, confident.
Wrinkles etched,
accidentally, across a face.

Trophies?
I want them to look,
but not really.

From the platform,
through the carriage window,
people see

us.

Different.

Yet here we are!
Opposite.
Sharing.

A love of shoes,
silent dreams,
a single, brief-lived moment,
together in this life:
as we rode the train,

from Reading Station.

https://www.artjohnstone.com/

A quiet horror hides a dark sense of humor
Knock, knock whose there? Bloody Mary.
Bloody Mary who? Mary in the mirror!

There are angels and devils, soil and shovels
Saved, to be saved
There are headstones and halos, wings and horns
The risen, depraved

While you pray to God I wish for evil for you

People of the lie deny their darkness
Hark! Hark! The herald angels sing
Angels sing for whom? Mary in the manger!

No room in your INN, or in your heart
Diabolists
Bring Black Swans and bile, real remorse
Scares your wits

While you pray to God I wish for evil for you

Purgatory helps you find your guilt
Before you go to heaven or to hell
I wish you evil on a black draped stage
A brush with death, a limb that’s maimed
An axe that misses your neck
Better than a corpse that forgets

Fumbling regrets, a life of lots
Fumbling regrets, a life of lots

Mary’s chopping block!
Mary’s chopping block!
Mary’s chopping block!
Mary’s chopping block!

While you pray to God I wish for evil for you

So this was a long time coming

I hope to get it all out no thumbing

I’ve been trapped for a while

But in the midst I compiled a file

Great enough to bring this to the light

Sorry it’s not about to be bright

I lost way to much to be nice

One mistake and I paid the ultimate price

Fuck that call me a monster

Fuck that bottle call my sponsor

6 days I spent behind bars

Isolated from the world, hoping to be salvage like old cars

Love me yeah that was the joke, sent me to hell

Just to think you sent your husband to jail

I have never been this honest yet it’s time

Nervous at first but the mountain I was ready to climb

What’s to hurt they took everything yet you smile

Even when I was stripped bare, you no where close to carry the Mile

Vulnerable and weak he became a first yet you still sat high

Allow lemme bring you down,fuck them tears please cry

“I love you”

Yet you left me to rot

Sleeping my days on that cot

Not knowing when I’m seeing daylight, trapped

Theses mofos taking a story with no background, capped

For a while I hid this from the world yet I needed an escape

This whole time my wife should’ve been the gape

Right my wrong knowing there’s a look over yonder

Yet I did no wrong so there’s nothing left to ponder

Make me the beast give me my mark

Let me go trying to set off and leave the Clark

Important enough to turn heads

But our situation damn near involved the feds

Ooops I’m giving too much yet not enough

So take this and don’t call my bluff

More to come I have plenty trust

We’ve yet to get to the middle, tip toeing on the crust.

To feel your tender body touching mine
Is a sweet feeling that is simply divine
I love the touch of your arms around me
It makes me feel happy I want all to see
Our tender love is both strong and true
With our never feeling down and blue
Just to hold your hand in mine so tight
Makes everything in my life feel right
When we kiss your lips feel like wine
The feeling from this is quite divine
Just walking along with you, my love
It makes me know there is someone above
No one could ever love me as you do
Whenever I’m with you, I am never blue
We were made for each other, that’s for sure
And I know I will love you forever more

Colin Guest.https://www.colinguestauthor.com
Twitter.com: http://www.Tigermanguest
Facebook.com:: www. tigerman55
Amazo.com/author/colinguest:
Be positive, not negative, positive thoughts lead to positive results.

I met an old and mellow writer who spoke of artesian wells and anonymity,
his calligraphy was luminous,
his blotting paper lay unused.
The sugarcane juice was relegated to the back burner
so emerged the blue note that side stepped into a bebop.
His caramelized typewriter turned a mint green.
Outside, the amphitheater looked spectacular in the moonlight,
he sang- Let the wheels of rhapsody keep on turning.