Death, Lunar Poems

Blue Bees will not sting

Unless…
Roses in the park,
Shimmer as a string of red pearls slipping down her throat

Β 6853589D-70CF-4237-AE47-9F4A85B5E72B

In a steel room he held her midst of mercy
Autumn’s arrival at last, the violet petals collapse
He’ll pass through cosmic tunnels
And wear her voice as he nears the moon

4A3AA4D4-693E-4C50-BED4-222BBAF5DD1F

What of it now?
The failure of nerve
We all stand a chance
To be a queen in his eyes
When the suntory claimed the roses as blue

Poem by: NaRa

Art: Blue Bee Image Pinterest, Mark Rothko & Freydoon Rassouli

 

 

 

Advertisements
Standard
Earthly voids & Spiritual quest

Existence for now

My heart unlocks to those wet green eyes that cry.
Matted lashes mirrors the summer rain clinging to the pines.
Syd Barrett singing Golden Hair from no certain distinction ahead.
Grasping through the spruces.
Passing the rotation, fear has fallen apart.

To the Middle Way, hereafter;
Each spokes connected within the whirlwind of my lungs.
The oval window in my ear.
My belly of a thousand folded flowers.
The zenith tides in my eyes.
My voice plunging into midnight.

IMG_1319

Standard
dreams, Earthly voids & Spiritual quest

Sundog

Hyper-sleeping in diamond dust.
Above the dreaming pool
fingertips snaps,
bursting river feelings as
sudden swollen demands.
Let them permeate the earth.
Mother’s core contains all heaviness,
all sorrows and more seasoned scenarios.

Even though his voice
went into a vacuum void,
he was not confused in the darkness. Eventually the light passes through
pinhole dreams.

Daughter Colma, universal child
silently waits on the high hill.
Persistant to find her lover again.
Rising in the gloaming, out of clay, her love, shaped by the beam of fire.
Until summer days fill with ash,
and devotion,
goes beyond the river’s edge.
Swimming towards
the innerconnected horizon.
Up the arc of his haloed skin.
Willfully dripping prisms.

Standard
Mental Health, Relationship

Ossuary Sea

Jellyfish spit love
Tinkering with nature
The pleasure geyser from under the frown
Settle for up or down

A friend that failed you;
Once a three headed goddess
merry-go-round
Now she’s restless as a Wolfgang huntress
Chasing a sorrow bit tale
A mad clap ovation to tear down the love summit

Perplexed, when we come back for more harm
When times are good, demanded the sorrow to stay away
Pushy like the river into the sea
Water element, better then the air to breathe

The horizontal bones
sinking bells below,
Out of decadence we all go under, in watery graves tonight
In hope, to awaken in aria’s soul-mist
A great acquiesce, to exist
A perpendicular recovery
In a circulation towards love again

Standard
Mental Health

Elasticity

The self sabotage roping you in.
How to trust in that shaky hydra of skin?
As you search through it all,
Everything you thought was love;
Horded into corners.
Pushed aside, rummage through,
When your mind can bare to touch it.
Separate the conversations,
Into more tolerable piles.

Stacked up to the ceiling;
All those long ago friends.
You behooved their art,
Spinning wonder towards
The ethereal 9 to 10.
Treasures found in medicine cabinets, borrowed hasselblad lap shots
On bedspreads, and shower curtains,
Became sudden backdrops.

His black hair tugs
At your memory strings.
Backwards in the darkroom
For the make-out session.
Only wanted you as a moving stranger.
We exposed and dramatized our Destructions.
Too much vodka weeping
And highway speeding.
But he followed you home;
To thread you into a knot
And began to call you his friend.

How many more after him?
Lowell’s alarm,”they’ll never come back.”
His firewords,
Burned it all down,
Heaps of ashes.
It was idealistic,
The origin of expectations
For them.
At last you can’t pretend.

In the morning,
You still have your asana
And a mantra to reshape and liberate; everything you’ve enslaved.
For daily shallow sighs, eventually snowballs into an avalanche.
Only your breath remains
For the restitution.

Art: Sara Willett

Words: Nara

Standard
Echo Muses

A Roaring Stumble

A graveyard of wedgewood
All her possessions,
Latticed around her willowed heart
In the stream foam green corners,
Of the after-party
Love her soul splendour, a dancing daisy

The Fitzgeralds’ torrent love
Scott’s shame,
Could we give it a name
Hiding behind Zelda’s ruffled feathers,
Lit the bellicose beast hours
And those flames expired,
Only after taking Zelda’s mind and flesh
All that her heart could hold

Standard