I Ate the prayer

Layer after layer, through teeth and truth.
Bones that trip and slip under.
Down into the briny wonder.
I ate the prayer.
Closed the eyes, for tomorrow will never see.
Bring that illusion back.
Roll back the time.
Sucking up event horizons and riverbed pebbles.
Milky chalk to wash the medicine down.
I ate the prayer.
Laid out on copper plates and paper trays.
Flung from hell and the devil’s lips.
That kissed and took me under.

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So much clearer

Deep in the depths of history, and the things you will never see.
Heads held high.
Sweetness following the fall.
Burying the ill-gotten hand me down partial bothers.
Wrapped in tear soaked parcels and mislabelled.
Wait for the recognition to subside.
Breath, and live the new with wonder.
Crack the salt that built up in your eyes.
Those passer-by’s.
Cut the honey from you lips.
Turn down the voices that always lied.
(Nothing free is gold)
Save a little magic for the one who always smiled.
Lemonade and teddy bear parades.
The look of a child at a sight never seen.
Believe in the obscene.
The truth never told that we can all be free.
Strung up in a new history.
Bottling this hope for the future.

Raining underwater

Underneath. Down here where it’s still.
Where the black beauty of the abyss flitters at my feet.
All is quiet.
I’m entombed as in a coffin.
Locked forever in my own space with the promise of ever after.
And then you came.
Pelting my world.
Hurtling across like a comet in my stretching blue sky.
You bring the change, flourishing open like a new season.
Calling sub-oceanic flowers to bloom within me.
Aquatic forest firs that reach up to touch the surface.
My hands branch to catch the light you dazzle.
A sudden rush you instil like heroin bubbles my blood.
Coming up too soon, bending my compression that has kept my heart safe.
A fish not born to fly with you, where the birds and angels soar.
Now it rains under water, puddling the pool of the sea that parts us.
And I drift in the stream of sorrow.
Knowing the rain on the surface, are really your tears.

Drenched departure

Untied the silence while the rain came.
Blanketing this world is a quiet monsoon.
Layering and prevailing over me, and all I see.
Let it seep into those muddy bones.
Washing everything. Purify and personifying a state of being.
Fresh like holy water.
Stinging the sins like acid.
Drown and choke underneath those silent waters.
A vast tide that you wash over me.
Those days that were always numbered.
The borrowed time and delicious decay of it all.
How sour those words met my mouth when I asked you to leave.
Tying my tongue into confused states.
Separate states and traumatic time zones.
The flight into a new world where the clouds coughed around me.
And the skylarks sung our demise.

Tornado

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Clutching for balance
Unavoidable through straw stark nights
Lost within the gap
Caged in need,
Of rippled static

Surrender in the frightful whirlwind
That moves in silence,
Like a thief in the night
To open wounded doors
And swell in my belly
A nebulous mouth,
Until everything rushes out,
Cleansed
And left with a bosom unfettered

    Words & Art by: NaRa

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Sky stained satin

Your eyes picked out the moon that night.
Reflecting lunar memories and utopia.
I remember the rain on your skin.
And those words you had held deep within.
The goodbye corroded my heart and the lava love.
Those volcanic changes of emotions that shook my soul.
Whispering words you hoped I never heard.
And you shot us down like a low flying bird.
Flicking away the dew drops that had stained your eyelashes.
Flicking away both me and pieces of the past.
You pulled that heart out of me.
Leaving me to breathe underwater in a black lonely sea.
The lights shift. Cracking to burn as you departed.
Lighting your way into a new design.
Somewhere in my memory, that rain never ends.
The moon will shine off your skin like Saturns rings.
And the twilight will stick to my eyelids like sleep.
Somewhere before that I will always be kissing you.
Where the sky is stained purple, and the rain pulls down.
And love still courses through my heart.

Little Black horn

 

Horn

LITTLE BLACK HORN

He’s a wounded animal. A dying breed who I keep here with me. I never intended him to stay after the first night. There is no selfishness with Little Black Horn. This is what I’ve named him. He’s a dying breed. I was draped over him, trailing my fingers down the prominent blue veins on his arms.

‘What are you thinking about?’ He asks me. I’m not thinking about the accident. That is what he is implying. I’m not thinking about how frail you have become.

‘That we really should be eating something. You know I want to, but we can’t be laying on top of the bed all day.’

‘Then how about we lay in it?’ He begins kicking the duvet down around our ankles.

‘I really need to eat. Let me cook us something special.’….


(Highly recommended and free this weekend. Click the images for link. For more information on Harley Holland, visit his blog here.)

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Way to your heart

What keeps us warm when the rain covers all?
What brought us here, what was our fall?
Who keeps you safe when the fires smoulder on?
Who is your light, keeping you strong?
Which god do you turn to when pain wastes your heart?
Who leads you back, right to the start?
I fired a shot out into the nothingness.
Into the void, that cold strange abyss.
I cried for you when the pain drew near.
Yet you keep me away in sad lonely fear.
Where do you go when world leaves you cold?
What do you do when your dream isn’t sold?
Who dries your eyes when tears corrode the gold?
When you realises, it’s all as you have been told?
I’ll make a bed for you inside me.
I’ll keep you safe, contented and free.
I’ll breathe the trust in where it belongs.
And I will love you just like I have all along.

Oxford’s Eeriest Ghosts

“For heartbroken Sarah, it was clearly too much, and she hung herself from the couple’s four-poster bed. Today it’s claimed that if you see her – and you surely will – but ignore her too, she will either scream and shriek like a Banshee or hang limp and lifeless from the bed.”

A Magazine piece available online Co-produced my with friend and amazing human being Shaunna Latchman.

Click below for the article’s main page:http://oxhc.co.uk/Oxfords-Eeriest-Ghosts.asp

The Prologue and the promise

We took a dream to a land we did not know.
You closed your eyes and disappeared.
Let loose of the gravity that was holding you.
We wanted to be anywhere, somewhere.
With orange juice skies and the smell of peppermint.
To forget is to disappear.
A war which rages in our absences, devoid of our participation.
Kills the sky and marks the earth.
But here, in our land of other, we drink a dream.
Soaking in the manna and the marrow of the bones we wish to be.
The chiming sweet chorus that facilitates the soul.
A world that blankets the old.
This is our now, our future our place.
In which to wake from the dream.
To shake the soot from our space and reclaim what was always meant to be.

(Art: Robert McCall, “The Prologue and the Promise”)

You know who you are

Beneath the trouble and the trauma.
Where the spirits of all you ever wanted to be do dwell.
Lies heavy opportunity.
Have you seen?
Did you know?
There is a chance for you and me.
Those dreams wrapped in gold and cotton cloth.
Rubbed on the chest of righteous men who wore such burden.
They unhooked the stars for us.
Gave blood, and lied for us.
Passed on into the void but left such light.
Lay down on the ground. Listen to the earth sigh.
Catch moments and dragonflies.
Roll this word on your tongue till it melts.
‘NOW’
Take down the black night and roll up the misery.
Trap the sadness in the frozen ice below.
We are yet to begin (and I know).
I know you want the same.
Close your eyes and start to believe.
Sugar sweet belief.

Prey you are watching

A different kind of beauty flutters in my veins.
The transformative forest fire that rages.
Splinter the bark as I howl at the moon.
Life shifts and shakes too soon.
Wet your lips in my misery.
A whirl once more in the serenade of solitude.
With fresh pine air I rejoice.
Capturing wandering stars and night owls.
Keeping them safe and hidden under my cloak.
For the winter will come early.
And these dreams will not last.
Pull the bones from my nightmares.
Drink the wine of my fantasy.
Rub me all over your teeth like cocaine.
And call my name.
The shooting star caught in the halo around the moon.
Learning your lycanthropy

Late night tale

What will be your legacy?

The earth will continue to turn over as the day melts into the misty night of the lonely. The seasons, with all their trappings will parade through time like compartments on a train; heading for an unknown destination but one that feels familiar.

What will you leave behind Jack, to a world already brimming with forgotten stories? Of people who have already done things that you crave to accomplish. Your life sits in the valley of the forever reaching, watching the clouds pass that offer hope and rain.
He held the phone to his ear, the ringing echoing in his skull like a voice in a seashell. He drew a pattern on his shorts as he awaited the click, the delayed static before they spoke. Looking outside his window he could see the half-moon poking its jagged edge above the trees. The clouds fluttered over it, shielding its full brilliance and illumination. Holding back the hope, and the light that didn’t even belong to it. The moon was a thief after all, growing infamous off the sun’s illumination.

“Hello?” the voice answered, the tinge of annoyance already present.
“Hi, how are you?” Jack said, clicking his fingers. He was nervous and angry; which had always been a dangerous mix.
“Fine….” they replied before following with “…you?” God forbid they be rude to the others listening. God watches all after all.

Even the devil? Jack wondered in that moment, as the moon ascended the top of the trees now and glared fully for the first time.

“I’m okay thanks. I was wondering if you wanted to talk?” He asked, trying his best to sound inviting, make his voice something that would open up the soul that had shut him out for nearly a week now. He knew it was a stretch, his feigned reassurance always came across as hostile for some reason, like razorblades in candy bars badly hidden.

“Not really.” They replied. He could hear music down the line, cutting the awkward silence that would be building now like a monstrous hill.
“That’s a shame. I thought by now you would have had time to think, and perhaps something to say to me. You know, you’re not being very fair.” Jack said, his voice stayed level. He was annoyed, it had been going on too long now. The uncertainty was eating away at his impatience, combusting his state of mind.

“Well, I’ve kinda said it all already. What else is there to say?” No remorse, no softly spoken words to reassure. Just the cutting knife of the reality that he had feared all along. Did they know how many nights that week he had cried into the pillow that their head used to sink into?  The smell of their hair long since gone. It had been ages since they had stayed over. A month and a war in the space of their relationship which was now halting, wheezing and ready to collapse into the river of time that pulled all things away.

He wanted to shake their head and heart, unhook the kindness that seemed to have been placed behind iron walls and stony facades. He knew these words betrayed their real feelings. How many times had they said they loved him, how many times? Less than he had ever uttered a nasty voice spat inside his own head. His mind had been a petri dish of all ill thoughts and worse case scenarios this past week. Suspicion breeding like virus as self-doubt was on the rise.

“I want you to say, you’re sorry I guess.” He blurted out suddenly, regretting it instantly but proud somewhat he had said it at all.

“Sorry?! Me?” the voice replayed, taken aback by such an innocent requests which echoed unwelcomingly in their own private world of self-preservation and denial.

“Yes, you’ve not been kind to me. You know how I feel, and you know what buttons to push.” He said.

There was a long silence, the music in the background having been turned off momentarily before. The break hung like Christmas decorations in March, out of place and conjuring conflicting memories.

“I’m…I’m sorry Jack.”

He was surprised, then overcome with panic. It was the goodbye he feared. The closure they needed and the thing he had orbited around. He had given them the ticket to depart and leave him forever. A clear conscience can flee with ease, and freedom only helps you say goodbye.

How long he had stayed on the phone, he didn’t remember. They must have clicked off a while ago as the moon now indicated to him the night had come. The darkness was here, nothing more now, and the nights were to be cold and desolate.

‘The Last Man’ – Book

Fantasy Novel suggestion:

Farris Mathalion did not believe in the old stories, not until her own brother was kidnapped by monsters to send her on a fantastical journey. She travels both within the mind and without, taking a path of harrowing adventure and personal enlightenment as she strives to rescue him.

THE FIRST MAN is the first volume in a two-part young adult/fantasy series that can be read on many different levels; whether the reader appreciates the excitement of the many fast-paced action scenes, the surreal beauty and mystery of new worlds, the philosophical musings of the guides along the way, or the spiritual path of overcoming reality that Farris finds before her.

She will travel through the seven kingdoms of the earth, each woven into the deep mythology of the land she passes, and each representative of one aspect of spiritual enlightenment.

In the first volume she passes through the surface world as well as the lands of fear, pleasure and illusion below the earth. She is accompanied in her journeys by a variety of strange creatures, including her faithful pet goat Bumble, Gloria the magical fish, and a romantic interest that makes uncertain love and looming betrayal pervasive themes throughout

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Tobias Wade writes fantasy and horror stories (both of which styles are excellent). For more information, visit him on Goodreads or his own website.

Efflorescence

Do you feel the change in weather?
The heart beating for the very first time.
Get down on the ground and listen to the soil.
The trumpeting pound of nature’s pride.
Beating like a dominance in my body.
Listen to my flesh as the drum beat breathes and sighs.
You turn a seasons within, devoid of the frost of winter.
Bathed in only the crystal glaze of summer.
Always sunny when you look my way.
A twice look biscuit fire that scorches my soul.
But I do not burn, I bloom.
Mesmerised and polarised in the dew drops of your joy.
The pounding of the flowers in the spring of your step.
Thump as the earth shakes.
Gasp with each breathe.
Gardening in twilight as you sleep when I wake.

Blue Bees will not sting

nara15blog

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

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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

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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

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The ecstasy of anyone

Kiss me when the world is watching.
Take me when the night time comes.
Explore me until something shocking.
Rattles in your bones and hums.
Taking you to seventh heaven.
Letting Allah kiss you on the mouth.
Praise me once, or six or seven,
times until our heads go south.
For in my lap you’ll find the answer.
In my mind you’ll find the key.
Your fingers will become a master.
In unlocking this mystery.
But this is more than cheap gymnastics.
There is more than sweet ecstasy.
For my heart is linked to your tantric,
ways of love which I cannot flee.
You have my heart, my precious treasure.
You have my soul, my body and mind.
So with it all, I offer such pleasure.
A union, till the end of time.

Enduring patiently

An alpha and omega song.
Sung to us when young.
Seeps into the soul and sets the angels afire.
Speak those words of the prophecy.
Of tar fields and lunacy.
An aching hurt that rips into your bones.
At a distance from love when all the world goes dark.
The flame does flutter and ignite the hope.
Around which, please do not breathe lest the flame goes out.
A flame, which will tear away Satan.
And bring a rush of blood to your head.
Perceive the end in the beginning, for that is where we need to be.
Back at the start, dusting off the hurt and shame.
Washing the ego away in the stream of change.
One with you, at one with the divine.
God in your own design, wearing your clothes.
Making you shine.
The first, and the last.
The beginning and the end.
Angels which now call your name.
Taking back the world.

O Glorious Petulance

Max Meunier

o glorious petulance
regale me
indignant

persist with recalcitrance

overtures obstinate

divulge your denial

dearly dreadful disease

let us stretch out
‘fore this
unceasing obsequy

grind my soul
into artisanal loess

dare not confess
crimes deemed contemporaneous

avail us
yet
once
more

of

your

t e x t b o o k

i
n
n
o
c
e
n
c
e

stalk me
until i submit to your sway

or fuck it
just traipse away sulking

whatever you do
just make certain you don’t

for if you did
what was done

does implicate you

but even then
redemptive vies surely mitigate

i must admit

the mistake here
bears only my namesake

of browbeaten
broken-willed
brickled abandon

hanged by haranguing

omnipotent angles

and theories that query
these wrists
not yet slit

how verily apropos

no no, please do go on

acquaint me
the grandeur
that is my wit’s failure

immured by…

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