Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger from Pexels

Let

the sublime

be back in minds

from above and inside

the fog that all covers and

down at the edges of the golden

sand and cobalt skies , one of the

apostles takes me to tremor and the

waves mixed up with the winds so that I

shall fall onto my knees in laughter, scared

afraid, in pain and wonder. be it that why beauty

is in the eyes an orgasm. letting you be lost in

the arms of that temptress bigger than us

all, shaking, moaning, pleading for

more, more life, more views of

the vastness, of the coming

storm, let it be then

let it be eternal

let the sublime come back to surmount time

again

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Author’s family portrait

I cuddled the moonlight for a sonata of slippers and boiling water.

I’ve swum when my body bent, and held breaths to see you in faded waves. I’ve never

Known such confusion.

The politics at the 86 stop, of rotten fruits and dried-up currencies. I’ve left comfort seeking comfort, I’ve made mistakes

Swapping feathers for murmurs, and pillows for silence.

The grave man’s hidden talk an alarm. Burnt the cigarette, to the gallery of madness I should return.

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Photo of my mum a couple of years ago.

51, this woman lying under the same weighted blanket as me
looks younger, or just about her age.

Cook at a small café, 2 meters of a kitchen, music from a land she left now time ago.

To come back home.

She holds my hand at night. She lets me hold her as I suffer.
Tremors take hold
Of my hands, my capacity to breathe. A lament from that same humid land.

This is what kept me alive.

Mum a small creature for whom the seas fought over.
I screamed; I threw my phone against the darkening wall, myself on the floor.

30 years old.

Mami, help me.

Help me still.

And we fall back asleep, as the cat reclaimed her place as the one who sleeps next to her.

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Photo by Dawid Zawiła on Unsplash

Tremble and tremble, is it worth getting better to panic at the end?

Today I suddenly felt better. Like that somewhere over the rainbow showed itself. Or it was more like a tempest clearing.

I just don’t know.

Pacing like a caged animal
at times sedated,
the conscious meat machine.

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Dawid Planeta

In its eyes, we rested
avenged were the night and our fallen knights. Oblivious to our own violence we called monsters monsters but ourselves by our names.

Avenged our souls, if judgment is to come. But we denied hierarchy and put snakes back on her head. We placed swords on departing men, and waved to the growing weeds.

So big it was, it made a shadow out of the land, it kneeled, and we were free to go.

Pink lakes, desert, and jade drops. Who were we…from there on?

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Well, the title says it all, doesn’t it?

While on my main profile (where I write longer pieces, not more important) — Jess the Avocado — I am still placing my stories behind a paywall, I don’t see the point of doing it here. Actually, it was probably doing me a disservice.

Were a couple of dollars a month worth not able to reach a wider community of poets and poetry readers? I don’t think so.

Sure, maybe my poetry is still not as enticing for people to want to click on them, but I hope that having them accessible to more of you will help me share my thoughts with more people.

Bye for now. Until the next poem :)

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Asterion

Asterion

355 Followers

This half of my mind: a place for Poetry, Art, Photography. Please consider support my writing: https://ko-fi.com/squeezetheavocado