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SimplyScripts Screenwriting Discussion Board    Discussion of...    Poetry  ›  Liquescence Moderators: Rob S.
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  Author    Liquescence  (currently 5995 views)
electricsatori
Posted: June 18th, 2007, 6:19pm Report to Moderator
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I ride the bus
and notice the electric lines
     made of streetlights
     - pale reflections
in the gutter.   over time
     there is a collapse
inward, like footsteps on the
beach, sand crumbling
beneath
     your toes – you watch
the corner of the moon dangle its
     crooked smile
over the ocean. Right there we collapsed
on our backs
laughing against the
annihilation we
     knew
waited for us
     at the end of everything.


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages

Revision History (5 edits; 1 reasons shown)
electricsatori  -  November 23rd, 2007, 7:55pm
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electricsatori
Posted: June 19th, 2007, 12:07pm Report to Moderator
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The song you sang reminded
me of a girl I loved once (and how she spoke)
except, you are not pretty - like she was -
so no one will hear how the wind bends
around the distance of         syllables    spread     out
from your
lips, while
drowning in the desert, you sing
of
    a beautiful
thirst.


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages

Revision History (2 edits; 1 reasons shown)
electricsatori  -  August 4th, 2008, 11:11pm
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electricsatori
Posted: June 26th, 2007, 9:46am Report to Moderator
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god smiles and children die

she appreciates their laughter so much more than us



DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages

Revision History (3 edits; 1 reasons shown)
electricsatori  -  August 5th, 2008, 2:24am
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electricsatori
Posted: July 2nd, 2007, 2:09pm Report to Moderator
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         I like to lick ice cream from
your breasts when our
house is so hot
     your legs melt
around my face     
     dripping
wet      lips          of               
turning          into
     drool
I hang
below like Kundalini, all coiled up
and present in the moment
and stuff, yeah.  


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages

Revision History (1 edits)
electricsatori  -  July 5th, 2007, 2:18pm
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electricsatori
Posted: July 2nd, 2007, 2:33pm Report to Moderator
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I don’t think you heard me laughing.

How I sang in the solitude
where my voice stretches the bounds
of where I’ve been,  
exploring new angles of memory
and how experience has shaped me.


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages

Revision History (4 edits; 1 reasons shown)
electricsatori  -  November 23rd, 2007, 7:49pm
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electricsatori
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The only thing you have control over is what you think.

Love has a beginning, middle, and an end.
Whether death or time or conflict takes your lover away, do not lament the natural order.
I would not rejoice either since nature is a cruel mother, creating food from infants for vultures.

If we live successive incarnations but do not remember our prior lives, and our ego is subject to disintegration each time we die – then all the nihilists are right, regardless of the soul.
Experience shapes the fundamental aspects of who we are, and without the recollection of what has happened to us we cannot participate in our development as human beings or souls of the universe.



DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages

Revision History (3 edits; 1 reasons shown)
electricsatori  -  November 23rd, 2007, 7:50pm
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electricsatori
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I

We arrive late, sleepy eyed and watching
ourselves in the
reflection of our parents eyes. As
the intangible
we desired form, an expression
of self.

Without fail, we want skin
to register
the brush of lips and
lungs to tell sighs
to each other
on sleepless nights.

There is no desire
without a heart for sorrow,
no lust without
an object
of affection.  

No dying until
we’re born,
and no leaving
till we stayed
long enough
to know we
will miss
what we never had.

II


Ella
imagined it. Her kid with withered fingers
scratching at the door, scraggly sticks for digits,
his flimsy paper skin a mottled parchment membrane.
“It was not like this when I could have been a mother,
or younger,” she said.
During daylight hours, every other’s living is a killing
she won’t ever comprehend.

“What I mean,” she said,
and drew a breath, “ our ghosts are never given rest.”
“We were careless as kids,” I said.

Yesterday snuck up on Ella again, left
the edges of memory a little softer, hazy
impressions of photographs, the outlines
of faces faded
into a child she could not carry
and become company
when age has turned
to silence –
- when laughter doesn’t happen
in her life
without knowing someone
who did not have it.



DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages

Revision History (3 edits; 1 reasons shown)
electricsatori  -  July 6th, 2007, 5:17pm
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electricsatori
Posted: July 11th, 2007, 11:15am Report to Moderator
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In the space between my soul
                  I
write these poems that rise like smoke.


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages
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electricsatori
Posted: July 23rd, 2007, 2:05pm Report to Moderator
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Edward Estlin tread the poem that is a tribute here


Serry liked the points of
         r     
      a
           i
                n
that
fell
              between
             the seven
wheres and whens if forever
D   N      E    
    A    C      D
like liquid on her LIPS.

she spoke the rays of sun
                    singing between the slips
and gives that have not made
forever
sames
the
single
feat,

Whoever longed the freedom and miss stood under
                                                        Earth and birds and sands of clay,
time pressed
        flowers on the face of glass
some           reality           peered           across
and went the end where toenails
dug
a gravestone for the birth of days.

All the oceans drank by lakes,
girls s p r e a d bare her palsied face.

If Serry wanted likes to look and smell
breaths
below her WindoWsill
she told no’s ever whisper-ever take
Regret would end a harshest faiTh.


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages

Revision History (1 edits)
electricsatori  -  July 25th, 2007, 2:40pm
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electricsatori
Posted: November 23rd, 2007, 8:03pm Report to Moderator
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I watched her smile
trace tiny fractures beneath
her eyes, little slivers of
consternation the sea wrapped
itself in.

I wanted her to kiss
beneath my chin
smile up at me
say something
about how wonderful
life is when lived. . .

Later I came outside
to smoke and remember,
reflect a little bit on how her
fingertips left my leg trembling -
and saw a bird with
its neck broken,
fractured against
a glass building
nestled like sleep, a rock bed beneath.

Her lips moved without her voice.
"I dance between the rain."

But I did not hear her.
Instead, I heard the dead bird not singing.


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages
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electricsatori
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Midnight drips liquid stars to
the sound of my s h i t t y radio.
Snow billows down to cover
the wrinkles in the song,
a throng of voices shake
the atmosphere into itself
and embrace the illusion
of water boiling onto the stove
     while I sit
here and      float. . .

My sister calls me from the East coast,
I can hear her loneliness bouncing
through the phone lines –
drug addicted husband, unstable brother,
crazy mother. . .
this is what we’ve inherited Mary,
the loneliness of words.  


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages

Revision History (1 edits)
electricsatori  -  May 14th, 2010, 4:27am
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electricsatori
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I am the skeleton of a white lotus.
My blossom arms have dissolved to leave only the remnants of the
architecture that once supported them.

I sat inebriated by the blurring of boundaries – matter exists without time, but
time does not exist without the illusory motion of objects in space.

Enlightenment is not the enlargement of self nor the absence.
It is the unification of the substrata of our universe within ourselves.

The blossom wilts in time but remains a tangible universal memory recorded on the ether, unendingly giving forth redolent  dissemination of its Absolute idea.
     
As Ouspensky dreams of the differentiation between an idea and
the object it represents –
     a vast sea of people are perpetually frozen in an instant state of
infinite ending
and
beginning.

This is just the skeleton of an Absolute idea,
not the idea represented accurately,
but without perpetuation all concepts would
remain an osseous framework –
never ending
never beginning.


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages
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electricsatori
Posted: August 5th, 2008, 12:21am Report to Moderator
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two

She goes home
with empty house and lonely bed.
She cries briefly wishing for warmth.

He goes home
with lonely heart and worried head.
He sighs deeply with wish for love.

On the street their eyes catch,
but they pass never knowing.

Fate plays games on those with heart.


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages
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electricsatori
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I am now remembering a past life where
I walked into my son’s room
and he was sitting silently by the window.
He said he was looking for other children –
on other worlds who could understand
how it felt to fall in love at a young age.

I didn’t think much of it then but now
I’m called back to wonder
if that past life is still
happening in the timelessness of infinity?
And, if it is – could I reach out to him?
Let him know I’m looking out the window
and still thinking
about my child from another life?


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages
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electricsatori
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Beneath my feet sand crumbled and filled the gaps
between my toes where the skin clings to bone.

I looked out over the beach and saw a drifting mist
and I wanted to go back in time and see if the creatures
that labored over the ground and scrounged from
the ocean all were made in the same glory, as say,
the light reflecting on a lake in summer.

Have you ever felt like there was some intricate
part of life you had never seen?
Ever, just once, felt like you could slip upwards
and end up in the vapor above the Earth
with clusters of sunlight on fire like synapses
and I know
There are some things the physical being
can only perceive like shadows in a dream.


DUST AND ROSES - (Western) 7 Pages

SUNDAY IS THE WORST DAY TO DIE OF THE PLAGUE - (Drama) 12 Pages

THE GHOST OF JOHN (Horror) 94 Pages

Revision History (2 edits; 1 reasons shown)
electricsatori  -  August 5th, 2008, 2:33am
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