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Tag Archives: poetry

How the hell do I find stuff here?

Hi! Please look to the top and on the right sidebar for categories that might interest you. This is the very best way to read this blog. Click on any category, and read anything you like and please comment on everything! I love to interact. You don’t need to be nice, profound, eloquent or anything in particular. Just be you. Come on in barefoot, even naked or wrapped in a towel if you are so inclined. I don’t mind. It’s a friendly come as you are kinda place!

If you would like to add some of your own work on this site, just contact me, and we’ll see what we can work out if it’s a good fit. You can find me at: dts.streetmedia@gmail.com

Meanwhile, happy trails to you!  –Daphne

I’m just merely obsessed with words–the strange alignment of symbols that string together serving as a magic oracle communicating enlightened, humorous, banal, dreadful and depraved thoughts. And all combinations therein. –Daphne Taylor Street

Just 1 Monkey

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Posted by on November 9, 2011 in PROSE: Be that as it may

 

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Liquid Breathing

Diving under majestic waters
The jellyfish swarm translucent
Dreaming in hues of blues and
White lacy backgrounds as a
Backdrop to wonders in a new world
Popping corals and clownfish and
Sea anemones and voluminous
Plankton clouding yet invisible to
The eye as daylight illuminates
Shallow depths. A lifetime of beauty
Captured in a drop—life on an ocean’s
Floor.

If I could live beneath the waves
A calming essence of mineraly
Saline to inhale the wonder and
Untold tales of dreams captured
By myriad daydreamers who toss
Their souls upon Posidon’s fork
Which sink as jewlboxes trapping
Lost possibilities, because the nature
Of impossibility was believed. And the
Tides shift with resulting tears.

Realism too often serves as a deathtrap to
Hope, but then the white dolphin sings
His song while thousands of suns sink
Behind thousands of horizons, and we
Drink in again, dreams renewed by
Seaside waves and engulf our small
Heads filled large with desires.

 

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Hammered

Savory, smoky, chilled acid
sloshing on chipped rocks
diluting only for the tongue.
The head winks at the strength.

Again and again, repeating
the fluid motion from bar
to parched lips, collecting
glasses aside while angles
and demons silenced their
chirping mouths. For once.

Movement is daunting. A
spellbinding act as a feathered
body is forced to carry a thick
frozen head about. Inevitably,
it lands on the floor. Thud!
Head aches. But I can’t feel
my hands.

Slowly discovering my lower
limbs, the puppet master
begins its act of coordinating
the disgraceful marionette.
Some distant laughter, obnoxious
echoes within my mouth and
churns in time with the stuttering
blasts of nonsense uttered in
voluminous rants.

I remember a toothy smile and a
strong gentle hand brushing my
hair aside. Then the morning
came in to sting my eyes.
Go away.

 

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Myself: As a portrait of everybody

Higher the mind wanders to cloud
formations communicating wind and
alter egos swarming in webs of chaos
Living in noise and rambling through
market places – life strains to differentiate
with purposeful stares, taking in the
movement

A universe of untold stories trapped in
heads wrapped in bright colored bows
and unsent letters written in sand. Lovers
soar in twilight then turn their masked droned
faces to greet the new day – oneness

Morphing between two and back into one
relationships repeating lessons unlearned for
this life. Alone I find myself whole for once and twice.
Solitary. And we can breathe in tomorrow together.
Tomorrow

As difficult as it is to dream through all this pollution
we must.

 
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Posted by on November 9, 2011 in POETRY: Culture

 

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Awake

Dewy garden leaves, the dawn
kisses the morning for early risers
who courageously notice the breath
of creation.

Color palates in shades of divinity, reach
through to stir imagination and create our
days.

The front yard’s magic just beyond
the door. It’s time to begin.

Inspired creation.

 
 

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2011

Never to be lived again not the same
way. Something different to betray past
and habitual harm. Returning only as
memories like sticky candy or the smell
of rain on hot pavement.
Sizzle.

Excitement in opportunities,
possibilities not thought of, heard
of or yet imagined – clouds of promises
un-kept until the paper packages open
beneath injured thumbs.
Revealing.

A disciplined mind, body but wild
spirits previously contained, freed
among the overused stuff, tattered
after too many years of misuse and
angry and vindictive. Time to be replaced.
Fresh.

And the new year begins – a joyful
magic to cleanse unwashed stones
turned over with silly babies dwelling
underneath. Reveling in alien happiness, joy
and success – sunshine illuminating the caved.
Bright.

Why wait? Why ever wait?

 
 

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An Un-American Dream

There are those, I know them, who still
Dream of good fences, fine back yards
With friendly neighbors who manicure
Lawns and drive shiny cars with freshly
Pressed clothes. They dream of happy
Babies who grow into obedient soccer-
Playing children. They dream of successful
Husbands who stay fit and are kind, mostly.
And these are good dreams. For them. For
Me, this is a fucking nightmare. I would rather
Beat my head in with a block until my brains
Leak out of my skull, leaving a damp, sticky,
Smelly mess. My dream is far less familiar.

I dream of lithium-laced sunsets, with hot
Sand between my toes and the gentle
Thud of yesterday’s hangover slowly drifting
Away with the icy rum drink in my hand. I
Dream of revolving and forever changing
Backdrops where downstage I will play out
My life. Scenes changing through road trips
And train rides and flights to far-away lands
Real or imagined—a blend of hallucinations
And nomadic drifting to keep my eyes from
Developing a steady gaze, fearing anything
Familiar. I dream that words will pour out
Of my head and onto pages, inspiring and
Informing and igniting others. I dream of
Music fusing jazz, punk, opera and rage to
Form a perfect sound, representative of all
This. I dream of art, sculpting culture and
Painting all the strange creatures that dwell
In my brain. And I dream of a dance that brings
The community together in beauty and expression.

 
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Posted by on November 9, 2011 in POETRY: Culture

 

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