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    Becoming Conscious After Eating A Yellow Moon

    BECOMING CONSCIOUS AFTER EATING A YELLOW MOONyesterday I ate a yellow moonas it rode low, and slowlyencountered a twilight sky.it tasted like vanilla crunch.but you know, eating the moongives you a headache,like the kind you get if your facewas...

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    • hello dearest Curt I handle trauma in a similar way I disassociate and I go crazy wrapped in a world I formed great write ❤️dark expression but I get it…

      • Thank you Crimsin, for your comment and for your visit on this poem. Yes, it is a “dark expression”; there is no “light” in the pain of this abuse nor in the aftereffects. It is a poem I had to write, to tell the story of some poetry friends and how they were “working on healing”. Thankfully, they all really liked the poem. And one friend sent me a small box of chocolates with a heart drawn on the box lid. While I love chocolates, these were her favorite types, caramel and cream filled. Unfortunately, we lost touch, which I understand is often the case after revealing such pain. But the last I heard, she found someone, got married, and had a girl baby (she must be about 10 now).

        Crimsin, it is hard to overcome such pain, I hope you are doing well in handling the trauma you face/faced. Thank you again for your words and visit.

    • I don’t like to speak with my own tongue when the piece is personal like this, very personal… a personal experience (even if it’s not but the writer is). abuse comes in different shapes and types, in my opinion mental abuse can be the worst of all, many times it’s very later when You realize You haven’t come over it while You thought You did. Guilt, shame, low self-esteem and low self-respect… all stuck within the inner child and might be manifested into unexpected things as adults. to overcome pain, hate, guilt… is NOT easy to do in this 3D world, yet some experiences are unreasonablely unfair, even when there is learning or where there is karma.

      Unfortunately, it’s the world and humans who have changed into the worst, leaving profound devastation in the people and environment around. You already know this but You must hear it from others out loud and clear. It’s not your fault, never was and never will. No child should be blamed for anything specially in such situations and circumstances, not their thoughts, nor their actions… their bodies, minds and hearts have turn own the defense mechanism to protect their own selves, all what You seeked and loved is the image of the Father You, and any other child would wish him to be, and from my own perspective, You had/have such a pure heart and wise mind to love/loved him still, You could feel beyond the vail and that’s remarkable.

      I swear there is a tear in my heart wanting to be released as I read this… the only image I have is a little confused Boy writing all of this.

      • Back in the late 90’s and early 2000s, when the internet was not as ugly and more accepting, real friendships were made. In a long gone poetry page I met 3 young women and a young man who told me of their abuse and how they were dealing with it, mostly through writing (poetry). We exchanged poems and even talked on the phone or through chat rooms (ICQ). I wrote this poem about the young man because boys/men’s experiences are not as well known, or talked about. I found out that he committed suicide about a year later. The really sad part is that 3 days before this he and I were talking and he told me he was doing really good, had just started a new job, and even thought about dating (he had met a girl at his work).

        So, yes, this is a very personal poem for me. But it is not my personal experience. I have never been abused. Just the opposite, I was given a lot of freedom to explore and discover what I wanted to do and become. While my relationship with my dad was turbulent at times, I was a free spirit, while he was an ex-Marine; there was no abuse. And later in life, he and I became more open and shared a lot. He took my kids fishing and played Santa Claus to them. So, the personal experience is in my knowing them and the need to write. I think it is a true statement to say, it’s their story, I just held the pen.

        Thank you so much for your comment. The difficulty and mental anguish you mention is so true. I spoke because in some ways, they could not. At least not as direct as this poem. Thanks again Light.

        • It’s not your personal experience but believe me You did a great job here, You obviously have an emphatic heart.

          I’m so sorry for your loss, it’s common that they will tell You they are doing good while they are not, even when life seems to change for theirs to the better but their inner world is not, they held and endured so much… and it can’t be erased in one day. I think woman are more capable of healing because of their physiological nature, yet for both it’s the ego that must dies or at least be silent, You see many of them don’t/won’t speak about their experience even to the close ones because they might fear that people will misjudge or think they are weak. Anyway, analysing doesn’t matter, explaining doesn’t matter. after all they are beautiful humans who walk the same life as ours each with their experiences, beautiful souls who came from the same place we came too.

          Thank You for putting a voice to their pains, may your days be only peaceful and joyous as it should be 🕊️🤍

    • One of the most compassionate and giving men I ever had the honor of knowing had a horrific background that would break hearts. He’s no longer with us, but I believe he would have been deeply moved by this piece. When we’re so fractured, it’s difficult to believe anyone sees anything but the scars. Thank you for putting such a strong voice to abuse. It’s real, even when those who are made uncomfortable by knowing or hearing about it turn blind eyes…or perhaps because they do so.

      • I am so sorry that your friend has passed, Willow. This kind of compassion and giving is rare in our society these days. I am happy that you had such a wonderful friend.

        It’s easy to see the scars, but difficult to see and hear the person carrying those scars. It took me awhile to fully understand this. I think part of our “nature” as a human being is that we have an instinct for compassion, for caring about others, but it is forced out of our consciousness by the society we live in and under. Besides this is the guilt, the internal feeling that what happened is our own fault.

        Willow, I really appreciate that you read this poem and added your words. It means a lot. Thank you.

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    redzone wrote a new post

    Your Erotic Metaphorical Flavors

    Your Erotic Metaphoric Flavors   You are coconut fudge and cherry cream images I see when thinking about you; a savory truffle that splashes butter cream in my mouth as I kiss your inner thighs. *** Tangerine spice and minty green sensations float around my skin as you lay with me amidst an apple tree breeze while wrapping...

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    • First, Thank you, I am happy you liked Mary.
      Second, and more importantly, that bath sounds soooooo inviting. Yes, Yes Yes! I will join you. But, you must promise to behave yourself. I am a nice boy after all….. er… NOPE, NOT TRUE!!! I will devour you and lick my fingers afterward….. er… wait…. I will rav… er… aaarrrgggghhhh now I’m all flustered. 🤯😎😂

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    This Garden...

    This Garden Lilacs in odor, to recall the perfumeof maiden's amore, in her casting roomVelvet and violet, tender but todayfor each casts its memory away. Roses thick, with pink and blush-a just kissed cheek, the stolen rushWhen courage meant to quickly stealthis budding flower, and grant it, real. Tulips tipping, to the dew, please satethis thirst begins, if passion wanesAnd drunkards, we, crushing vinessucking our fingers, of green-grape wines. It's a natural thing for meThis garden, I grow for thee. And all encompassed, by a forested gateto frustrate all, that dare penetrateHidden, but very proudly, minethat reaps, that grows, that shines. And to toil tirelessly, just to comparethis golden evening, and your raven hairThis soil I turn; A bed tucked inrecalling how your arms held me then. These blooms that lift their hopes to the sunjust like I did, once we were oneAnd upon your chest, in red, blushedare pink roses, two, both full-flushed. How I clamored, over sudden flowersfrom sun to moon, became fertile hoursTo think I'd ever walk away, this fieldthis earth, this Eden, this ever-real. A tulip, one, and the dew satisfieda craving far greater, so intensifiedIt held its head up and spoke of Springand how sudden it comes, once winter flees. And in this forest, prepared to standthis stead garden, this fertile landI prepare the fruits, of thy hunger's needto fill the basket, with resulting seed. It's a natural thing for meThis garden, I grow for thee. ~~~

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    • hello dearest Styxian this is very beautiful, sensual and romantic…I have a garden dream to I always picture wisdom is there walking through the garden having philospohical conversations with Eve it is a curious thing… this is beautifully written and your metaphors are just right to evoke deep feeling ❤️

    • Hey Crims! I’ve edited this one so many times, trying to get the rhymes and meter tight. I’m not much into this type anymore, but it’s good practice for my ol’ brain. LOL
      Thanks for letting me know that the effort paid off!

    • I love this. The rhyming is sooo good!
      Dare I say perfect, yes I think I will.
      I think about your back yard and all the hibiscus 🌺 back there.
      This isn’t too far fetched 🙂

      Love it and you!

      • Well my love, no flower compares to you!
        Don’t forget the monster bougainvillea! (yes, i had to look up that spelling, LOL). It’s taking over the yard! Wanna come play gardener with me?

    • Beautifully penned, Mark. A very passionate write indeed my friend. Excellent work as always. Appreciate you.

      Damian

      • Hello Sir Damian!
        I don’t write many rhyme/meter poems much. It’s hard for me to get deep into my feels if I do. Freestyle is my obvious choice, because I can detail them better. But any rate, I do attempt to test some creative builds like this from time to time. And no, no AI assist either. (Seems many do lean on AI nowadays).
        Anyway, thanks dude. I enjoy your dropping by’s !

    • Look at you going all rhymey! This is so lovely, well done.
      ❤️k

      • Hey you!
        This was a major task to write! And several edits to get it to where I’m satisfied with it. I’m proud of it for the effort verses the result it took. So when I get any acknowledgement for it, I can breathe a sigh of relief! Thank you!

    • This has such a ye olde sonnet vibe to it. It flows and builds great imagery. Trying to write in a rhyming fashion fractures my brain. Well done!

    • Trust me, it wrecked my brain big time! I hacked at it quite alot. I actually had some more “ye olde sonnet” type words in it, but took them out because I didn’t want it to seem pretentious. If that makes sense. I also doubt that I can ever write one quite as solid as this one, as far as the build of it. again. Maybe if I break out the old pencil and paper, so I can erase a hundred times. LOL. (I still write on paper sometimes, because it holds a unique touch to me.
      Good to see you Willow. Hope you are well and enjoying life!

    • I’m not used to seeing rhymes from you so this was a pleasant surprise. Your poems are always a pleasure to read. Great job here, this to me is a dedication poem and one well written.

    • Hello Tim. I started out as a rhyming kid. LOL. But as I got older and read more contemporary material, it changed my preferences. It was more in tune with my “feelings”.
      But, I have a few attempts here and there, to stay mentally sharp I suppose. So I appreciate the nod for my result. these ain’t easy for me. If for anyone.

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    The Taste of Synonym

    THE TASTE OF SYNONYM     The odor of stale beer danced with the steel blue smoke, while Ska beats filled the air with electricity.   As the room filled, a thousand words spoke all at once, loudly, making it seem like a small riot. Amidst the noise of confusion and polemical...

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    • Very clever, for starters. And you carried the story theme along so well. It’s a read for creative thinkers who wanna frolic. LOL
      It isn’t so trippy that I couldn’t stay with it. Great write.

      • Frolic away, my friend! I am glad you enjoyed the read, Styxian, it is always good to see you on one of my poems.

    • Hi ValuptasUnholyWhisper!!! If that is you in the avatar (photo), it is nice to see your smiling face, and welcome to my poetic garden. And it is my pleasure to have “captivated” you.

      perhaps you might also like Deep Forest, and Enya? These are some of my “trippy” musical treats from the 90’s. I’m listening to Enya’s “Watermark” as I type this reply.

      Anyway, I love when you visit, thank you for time and words.

    • The places this one took me…You held this one on the crest of wave after wave of poetic brilliance. It was the faded tight jeans that locked me in and kept me rolling with it

      • Hi Willow! This poem, its internal mix of emotion is one of the poems I am most proud of. While it is a play on words, it is also the way “faded jeans and flannel shirt”, makes it more real, more conversational. I am glad you noticed this and more that you got hooked by it and brought you deeper into the poem. Thank you!

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