Imprints

“You are a blue distance, into my future…”

He began to remember with his dark eyes, drawing out the light
in mists of sandalwood and smears
of rose madder, a fine red

Scratching Van Gogh’s history
stunningly, makes a vision,
from a tube of ultramarine blue
and buds outta of tea colours
after café terrace hours,
the first to lay down swirls of ecstasy

Partial cut-up from
Sacré Bleu- Christopher Moore

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Mine Na Poem

Mac and Moir

In crown of stupa,
The sugilite jewels birth the Violet flame
Fresco half-moon-wise
the excavated
Blue lotus, bud-eyed boy of two
Rises to
Hear his mother’s universal voice in the wind
Running barefooted on the damp grass
Between the golden yews and pass
spires of irish bells
Meets her at the garden gate
To nestle his face in the warm depression of her shoulder
In intervals
She swings him high, then
She anchors him back to her eyes
And wraps his anam in the seventh ray
Holding back the night, to bless his lifestreams
Until memories retreat into the void

Words: Nara   Art: Christin Laszka

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Art Illustration + Poems

Lou Land

Rainwater
ambrosial liquid
soaking the perlite soil—
filling the ancient underworlds veins
of fire, with celadon still life beads

Slick cellophane in Lou’s waters
spanish moss shelters,
shamanic whispers,
weaving a wheel to rise the flames
to rejuvenate the scarlet scarred hearts and sundial those eyes,
that once streaked and
swiveled the stars;
in a half destroyed ocean yard

Art and Poem: NaRa

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Echo Muses, Mental Health

The platform of eternal verities

Entrapper,
my mind is a stage,
racing and sluggish
falling blades of droplets,
with fire in my belly.
I’m dancing with chimera.
Encapsulated, in the shambles of
a castle in the air.
Where the dark ate the moon.
There must be a way out of here?
I’ve lost the ground,
seeking a tone of verity.
Frahm, how do you stage it?
As the cobalt sky flowing through your veins, to your yenning fingertips,
with passion never diminishing.
Only unyielding instinctual energies, gracefully unfolding the composition,
of the soothing piano winter masterpiece.

“When you realize everything is staged, then nothing is staged.” Nils Frahm

Nils Frahm: Music Video:Baláz Simon Words:NaRa

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Earthly voids & Spiritual quest, Mental Health

Nacara

A ghost gaffs in my pearly bones,
to plant a splitting cellular rumor,
You piece of junk.
Burnt out as a string of lights.

At the ledge of my heart,
I sought magnificence of green aventurine, glowing room.
Where a child walked through,
a forest to a beach of silver sands
and sunstone shells.

As that child, I sat gathering seashells.
Preparing to build a bridge to mother’s lunar craters; to be engulfed, in a child’s mind a solacing embrace.
But the dawn always broke with the numbing morning antagonizing,
You’re too late.

Nowadays, I’m aware of her nature,
as cold and distant. Only a mirror, to the warmth I desired, in my blacken nights.

But I know the spuns of iridescents are still within. And I can burrow in the empty chambers of the furled spiral.
Even if I tip on my side and sink into the depths of a cave in the ocean; my love will never runout, dear.
For some, like me, must contract the fragmented consciousness, to revive back into the ever spinning expansion.

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Earthly voids & Spiritual quest, Mental Health

Derailed…Is there time to heal?

82 lives, she told me.
I was told to go to therapy.
I sought a mystic instead.
Centuries of soul shape shifting,
I want to get off of this roller coaster,
With the rails rackety wack ruckus.
The thrills are gone.
A mother to too many,
now I’m empty as a paper shell.
When I finish unwinding my body,
I forget about myself and
heal for them
heal for them
Not for me
For them
For them
Survival now, I rather take to the streets.
I have many atoms of animal instincts.
How many veils and unveils before I disappear?
All thoses homes splattered on the ground, scraping at my souls.
Karin is right,
we are hungry before we are born.
Human gossamer threads of thoughts,
access forgotten to the obtainable unknown.
Well, I can no longer wait.

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