in conception's inception
are perceiving perceptions
...oh the delectation's rue!!
Her lips zippered like brass knuckles
Her eyes reach with shallow wells
Like a transcendental fishing lure
She seems to sew ideas like fabric gurneys
Her hair thinning with another worry
She gropes at imagination’s vice grip
Piercing her thoughts with immortality
As another icon of life’s servitude fades
The presence unknown by the vaults of intimacy
Lurks around the chilling vespers
Where the shadows whispers in ebonic unisons
And then it happens…
She finally realizes that she is wasted away …inside
Like those memories inside the unknown photographs
A cool crisp moment of never been,
and never have been,
and never have happened,
And more importantly, she realizes, this thing like permuting poison
That dwells inside her core living and breathing
like the virginal womb of wombs seeking birth and conception
She lights up inside her soul with this undisclosable reckoning
About the moment that never was, and never had been,
Never having have happened,
and more importantly, never ever will…
I am reading the sensitive feelings of a child of GOD. I might add and done very beautifully.
Always
Tony
Reviewed by David cox
8/22/2012
She lights up inside her soul with this undisclosable reckoning
About the moment that never was, and never had been,
Never having have happened,
and more importantly, never ever will…
I THINK A LOT OF PEOPLE HAVE FELT LIKE THIS, LIKE IT'S THE END AND THERE IS NO HOPE, BELIEVING THAT OPPURTUNITY HAS PASSED THEM BY, BUT AS LONG AS THE SUN RISES ON A NEW DAY THERE IS ALWAYS HOPE WE MUST KEEP THAT LIGHT OF OUR SPIRIT SHINING AND KEEP THAT POISON FROM SPREADING THE DARKNESS INSIDE US.
THIS POEM IS SO EMOTIONAL IT WILL TOUCH THE CORE OF MANY WHO READ IT YOUR WORK NEVER CEASES TO REACH MY INNER BEING VICKIE.
MAY THE ANGELS ALWAYS SMILE DOWN UPON AND KEEP THAT BEAUTIFUL HEART. OF YOURS STRONG AND FILLED WITH LOVE.
BLESSINGS.
DAVE
(Self-published. Please contact author directly to order.)
Enter the pages of diaspora in quiet introspection. Bathe your thoughts with subtle humor; synchronize your spirit-sense with history-in-heat; fall headlong with eyes wide open into
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
