Just some a whistlin'

art by bluealaris


A slip of a bird just whistled at me
from high in old oak tree
came from high as the city
as brave as a sailor
cussing his way through the seas:

"what pretty hips,
and what summer lips",
this was its melody.

And all the hurt stock
that long held me to dock,
were cut and I was free.

AEM July 2011

When Once I held the Sea.

Hold it Inside by SayinBayan



Inside I'm all a liquid,
a lapping and a listless sea,
and if you are to listen near
I'll wager this is what you'll likely hear:

a Howling wind, a Haunted breeze, a Dark in the noon
late quivering breeze,
a stirring deep, a changeful streak, enough to turn
your ear from me.

You see, inside I'm all a liquid,
an oft disturbed keep,
and the way that your eyes pierce
I'll not have sides to hold,
when the sea is drained to the deep.
And then like the mass I'll survive,
in the gasping half shallows of life,
where we share the common pool of remains
that once like the world held the sea.

AEM June 2011

A-Muse-less Park

Photo by Jade


I'm a showground
unripe in untrod soil,
uncoloured by the watery brights,
that drip one night
for a year of light
before they jingle away for their respite.

I'm a ground that for three long breaths,
calls for wonder under skies,
captures gasps of delight
and turns them inside out for sighs
for three whole nights a year.

I'm a sparkling park and people rush to fill me,

But generally through the long seconds that time deals with one space day space and two dead nights and fourteen beats of silence in an echo of what might be nice,

I'm a barren ground where hobos lie down
and young lovers once a month escape
to blow warm air on my cold belows.

We Built a House with Legs

We bend to fit
together
between our hardest aches
we listen for a
rhythm
while our hearts synchronate
and steady
ourselves to stand on our four legs.

We built this house
where tired heads lie.


AEM 2011

People are Mostly Silly and Always Deaf

art by poopgoblyn


We think so many brave soul'd ideas:
like we are deadly, sharp we be,
yet without a spark we sag in sea

We might be potent, lungs are strong
but strike man to hear a silent song

The Bushes and the Barracks spokesmen
poke us with their grand demise
prodding pride in youth and progress
with a babbling design

If we are dangerous, young and strong
where have we hid the Battered ones?
If we are wise and good and right
why do the Gentle find no rest tonight?
If we are noble, pure and pious
Why does the father groan for quiet?

And if in night unwelcome truths come marching in
and doubts of wholeness begin to pin
you do not induce a medicine sleep
but let it speak,
let it speak
Then we might see we need this spark
lest sag in sea, we are defined as dark.

I am a Vase.

photo by Ashveenp

What could I give unto this morning
that is not false, or forced, or frayed?
How could we push with painted hearts of feeling,
our coloured hopes to damaged Deeps?
Why do I strive and in kneed I buckle
to throw in haste with pride my aid,
or should we silent, bent and able
admit that what we need be is sheer;
clear to You, vases, vessels here.

AEM April 2011

Our World is a Spinning Top, and now it's Stopped

art by vedzonius


When fast we move, the world it's spinning
topped the height of delights and trimmings
but now we slow it starts to sway,
and on ground we stay
I never thought I'd be the one to pray.

April 2011 AEM