Happily Forever After

The sights are in lavender's and florescent green,
The mind drifts sweetly amongst raspberry and violet blue
The heart swims free, in the deepest red you'll ever see
The body floats atop vitality
The soul sways forever more

There's a thousand voices all around
yet only a few do your ears command
precious melodies made just for you
forever and always
eternally sharing it's life
the heartbeat of a melody
breaks free the chains of darkened night
allowing love's symphonies to sing it's purity of light

It's a place, like none other
where aromas stretch endlessly
through gusts and gales it's scent sets sail
ever reminding you of nourishment and care
instilling the memories of those times, those special
times, when it was never a question, as to whom cared

For all seconds yet to stir
internal visions embrace
the pleasures that result
from tactile bliss,
from the soft caress of a silkened skin
to those warm hugs you loved as a child
and those tender touches, tame to wild
and in such moments, nothing frays thin
when enrapt from the sensations echoed from a kiss

Where linguae mesh, merge and blend
a thousand pleasures primed to taste
sugary sweetness of nature's fields to
the mixtures made in combination, the
texture and the savoring, the nibbles and
the bites, only the favorable, where sustenance is birthed in fun,
where excitement builds into orgasmic scenes
every delectable moment wrapped into one

all life a-rest in balance
where harmonious sensations breathe within
from the parallel to the plane
a recumbency just the same
Supine and prostrate
prone to rejuvenate in relaxation's ease
internally flowing waves of pleasure's seas
to the soft blades of grass, to which the mind
forever wishes such moments to ever last

Perfect ideas swell in thought
enticing memories realized each waking set
where the purities intrinsic to your own beliefs
dance hand in hand with the fantasies and the dreams

All the senses make the one
heaven's breath breathed upon
the never-ending coda, the most beautiful songs of the swan
connecting the familial to the holy, that natural to the societal
ever joined in perfect companionship, always aligned in this, your
most blessed of blessings, forever immersed, forever alive, in
this newfound universe that you once did all you could to fight and stave, that's since become
a world that only ever feeds your soul with passion and love
an idyllic dream you wish and pray to forever stay, alive
with all perfections living as one, never alone, never far
from this sense of God's everlasting glow

Charles Miller is hosting Meeting the Bar over at D'Verse, and has prompted us to write about a world unlike our own.  I really enjoy world building, and have wrote many pieces with intricate settings, but for whatever reason, tonight, after rereading Charles' excellent write-up, I instantly grew full, with the thought of the perfect universe of the afterlife.  And while, not 100% fitting to the theme, I thought the muse should not be denied.  And that, is the backstory.

Please head on over to D'Verse, read Charles' excellent intro, check out what world's the other's have shared, and while there, perhaps you too, will become inspired to create a world of your own, but please do share when you do.

Of Art and Passengers (A Subway Tale)

A kaleidoscope of ethnicity
compressed

Flavors permeate the
nostrils through transmutational
remnants still wafting about the air

Diagonal, vertical,
slits form breaks
then
stops and
when ready
starts again
only. for these. pauses
to refresh newly formed

Every pang once felt
forgets its cause,
each pain you feel
salts away before the
peppered points of tear

after a gritty stairs descent
a newfound attachment
to ever-altering straits
of atmosphere appears,

is discovered, forgotten
and rediscovered once more

the comfort of warming
sensations resonate to
the gullet of an individual
existence

alone, this portrait of
warmth, is a cycle held
dear, for between both
hands, and through every
biting glance, a variance
of spice and pleasure
emanates within

passageways recall
those sacred memories
of long lost times and
even longer days,

where you're only care
was being clothed and dry,
swaddled full upon the
primitive satisfactions that
enrich each and every morsel
of woman and man

art forms in flashes, scrawled
upon supporting beams and
along the seams of darkened
apportioned tracts of tunneled
walls, where the only vision
beyond the flickering bulb that
sways to the trains fleeting feet

is that of the composer and the
architect, as withered fingers
paint away by these unnamed
scribes of the underground

and in these too fast to recall
moments of rapture,
both the observers, poised from
their catbird seat, to the artist,
swimming faster
than retinae can scan,
both arrive at such a place
where a new artistic movement
is revealed within

at each the platforms,
the faces alter form
and air expands, contracts,
from thick to thin,
from thin to thick

In the winter months
you may not care about
the close comforts of
strangers, processing and
surveying your every inch,
feeling out your very story,
as surmised from the touching
warmth of an impossibly captured
palette of voluminous shapes and
shades of skin

In the summer the space
is prayed upon, for it's
eagerness to cool, but

occasionally, perhaps we don't
mind as much,

for coverings
are vaguer than they are
other points of the year,
and the depths
below the concrete jungle
are cool in their subterranean
melody

and then the change falls
clink-clink-clink

the cards are punched
reminders of the day of
month, sometimes year

but the transaction is far from done,
the conductor's voice replays, repeating
under the covers entering the dreams
you carry within

I never cared much for subways or
people for that matter.  I can't
say much has changed, but change
has occurred, this much I cannot deny

for once poetry caught me in it's net,
every experience and vision
seemed to come alive, each breathing
a song that only I can fully hear

and I never even discussed the conversations,
the ones that only I could hear,
the ones  jumbled together, the
passages of sound and speech,
I patch to form
the ever-changing conduction
of symphonic sound

I never speak of those dear words,
for those transactions, are as sacred as
the nap-sacks and gold studded black
suitcases, white-knuckle clutched close
to traveling hand

Head on over to D'Verse tonight and check out their weekly Poetics feature, where Claudia has offered up this Subway inspired prompt. Come read what others have linked up and while you're there, as always, link your subway poem to share.

Flowerpot

Painted Staircase

Coriander in the air

Warm vanilla gets you there

Pudding sliding down your tongue,

A feeling remembered can’t be undone,

Plush velvet slinks upon the geese you wear

Artistic exhibitions where midriffs bare

Funny shapes make you think

Facial quirks and subtle winks,

I know you then like I believe I know you know

Like cake batter upon the blending stick

The candle burning on both wicks,

Aromas of mint and basil bring you back

Return you nostalgic to times before,

Stainless steel, my heart’s composed

Every time I open up

Those who touch,

Imprint me so,

So easily, my love gets smeared

Will you plot me near a source of light?

Will you love me when it’s dark outside?

Black Metal Opera

A persistent sound attracts to me,

organic in revelry, eerily attaching

With each step, volume shakes and treble punches,

guitars are the first upon the scene,

a pitter-patter, hum-drumming of a creeping tune,

its beat expires, then renews,

joined by drums and then by symbol, shriek and violent boom,

Finally, the piercing bass arrives,

force-feeding adrenaline through ill-equiped veins,

quicken and it shall too, 
into a chilling, sudden flash of chasing inquisition,

heartbeats explode in silent deprivation,

from the steady flow of racing blood

to the shallow breathing-
paced tenuously throughout the lungs,

Crescendo to diminuendo to crescendo again

This internal melody is haunting in all it's many ways,

 unearthing nostalgia from the childhood, 
where a refusal to listen reigned above,

Soundtrack and soul have merged,

to where the language of song flourishes its deadly plumes,
entrenching its very coils deep within tissue, pliable to mold

Upon ascension the senses quiver 
then swell,

like thunder issuing warning,

prior to lightning strike,

 A Black Metal opera shadows-encloaks

protecting, attracting, the flesh 
from all things unknown 




Stu McPherson is hosting Poetics over at D'Verse tonight and has issued a musical decree.  I've written many different pieces about music and song over the years. From what I've read so far, there are many directions one could go with this prompt.  I thought about going the route where you list the names and or song titles of artists, which I've done a few of, but after reading Claudia's piece today, who took the prompt in a way I hadn't considered before, I thought I'd go in a different direction myself.  And so, there's the backstory for why I chose this particular piece, which appropriately enough, tonight, is being raised from the archives to sing it's metal song once more.