Antxnia

Wave

The water approaches slowly

Barely daring to wet the sand

A little foam at the edge

Where the friction creates its own element

…and out again; and in again; and out again…

The water gets bolder

Washing up on the shore

Wetting sand, rocks and tentative toes

It’s about the right temperature – you can get used to it

You’ll probably adjust (quite quickly)

You just don’t control the waves.

…and out again; and in again; and out again…

There’s nothing unpredictable about being at sea

One cannot expect the tide to chill

It’s controlled by the moon, it’s lunacy!

Eventually the waves are all that’s left

 

…over and over and over it all…

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Antxnia

Lead

We were always just humans,

though I thought us above such

animalistic realities.

 

We got lost and

had been – for the longest time –

I thought you were taking me

past the bright lights

and civilised city.

 

We waded into the depths

of the greatest emotions,

then you wanted me to let go

and let you drown.

 

We separated as

your grip loosened,

but I was the one with lead tied around my leg.

 

We were separated

by raging waves,

with blood so hot it made

every wor(l)d burn.

 

We panicked and

as I searched for your figure,

a fear so feral that nothing could get close,

stole you from me.

 

We surfaced, one after the other,

two worlds shaken after the collision.

 

Our orbits shifting and feeble attempts to float against the gravity, failing.

 

Our perceptions and affections altered, time so precious and too long.

 

Our days on one planet were centuries on others.

 

Our knowledge became our ruin, as rewarding as the lies that become truths.

 

Our vision blurred, but I swore you were blinder than me.

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Collection of memories and creativity

The Human Is a Queer Creature

The human is a queer creature;
Facilitating a multitude of features.
Stalking by it’s white, white eyes
It lurks on the periphery of nature.
.
This impetuous beast adorns disguise
Colourful and bequeathed  – but full of lies.
Prostration is it’s manipulated display,
Submissive façades shall be our demise.
                                                                                                                                                                                        .
Amassing Himalayas of acidic decay –
This species adores the violent slay.
Revealing in folds  of peculiar routine
I often wonder, to whom does it pray?
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Collection of memories and creativity

Three Insignificant Letters

We have given three insignificant letters
Gathering in circles with broken beggars.
We have given one bemused syllable,
It seems we were always so cynical.
                                                                                   .
The Arabs, they refer to it  as ana’ak,
Throats vibrating, plunging back.
Cutting the air with such guttural thunder
One is left in such resounding wonder.
                                                                                  .
The Indians, they call it Āliṅgana
Tongues embrace the divine whimper
To hold fast; to cling to; to cherish.
These words, they’re made to nourish.
                                                                                  .
So, press your chest to mine my dear,
Our beating  hearts are your call to prayer.
Is it so wrong that I must claw and clutch
For your last, warm inexplicable touch?
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Collection of memories and creativity

Dulce Bellum Inexpertis

Lift heavy hands to my head
Caress away my worries
fingers gentle, maternal
absorb trauma that ferries
oscillating brain to bone.
Echoing “set me free lover”
proves impervious but carnal.
Free the fallen flower inside
Residing in ash beneath eyes
Hold me tight, under the cover.
                  *
Bodies tangle, unwillingly
in the depths of deaths sleep,
Embryonic universe, spills
from reverie to realities keep
splitting guilt by her seams.
“Hold on to me lover, hold tight”
swallow the contraceptive pill
Regurgitate the love I gave in
orchestral thundering, “why”
Bodies drift into the night.
                  *
Eyes that flutter often forget
in the shades of darkness, listen
dulce bellum inexpertis
etched, on arms of politicians.
Chain my body to a boulder
inhale, devour raw liver.
Forbidden to reminisce
Histories lack of her story,
Look, look to your lost lover
As she flows into a sombre river.
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Collection of memories and creativity

China Tea Pot.

The moon has fallen –
The sun is dead.
My mother’s tea pot
Broken like bread.
            *
Disheveled fragments
seldom held;
Lay on the alter –
Needing a mend.
             *
Her body Hollow
With pursed lip.
Her arm no longer
Glued to her hip
             *
Losing her head
Was often the norm;
Hell hath no fury
Like a tea pot scorned.
             *
She’d sigh and sigh
And moan some more
About the table cloth,
Window and door.
             *
Perplexed little thing
Molded in China
She hadn’t a clue
She was in South Carolina.
             *
She’d whistle and hoot
Every Autumn and Winter.
Crying and crying
For the Milkman and sprinter.
             *
On the twenty-seventh of July
She fell from the table.
That round impervious bottom
Meant she was rather unstable.
             *
The moon never fell
The sun never died
But that stout little tea pot
No longer cried.
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Collection of memories and creativity

Beaten Into Adulthood.

Whip down as the nail pierced my sole
Ripping into my shoe, flesh and coal
Vultures perch on edge behind me;
Hoping to break me for better control.

Whip down, as the high hat seared my head
Tightening imagination, now I am dead.
Prod after prod the pritt stick probed;
Lobotomizing Helen into deepest red.

Whip down, as the rope takes a twist.
Smothering my breath, no more lisp.
Stifled noose, Ich, Ich, Ich.
What can one do, but persist?

MF
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