PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Pick out a score of opinions for me. I
am open to any metaphor you want to make me. All I need is something to listen to,
to keep this messy head in some sort of order.

Order like I order and reorder this room
of daydreams. I can’t lose myself in them until I lose myself. I spend
beginnings like I will never run out of them but every time I start I can’t
continue down this road.

Roads I will never walk down again, never
sprint from barefoot, never stand on while I lose and win so much, never leave
knowing I can return to all of you, never stir half-awake right as we get home,
fill me up- I don’t think I can fit any more into my skin.

Skin that freezes me from the inside out
even as it is my lifeblood. I feel it covering my heart and collapsing my lungs
every second of every day as I am still numb. I keep chasing the rain even as I
move further and further into places coated in ice.

Ice is too close to my heart. I keep looking at the

icicles that fall off things around me and make them ordinary again. I have
thought too many times about picking them up and putting them in my pocket, saving
them for when I need to make things beautiful. When every piece of me is paved
with questions and can snap at the sound of nostalgia it shouldn’t be a
surprise I am made of bones.

It's been all only full of joy and pain
Found every good, and wound a mortal feel
Evermore, day and night of open, and eyes closed
Unto passings lost here, but we are growing;
Children born last, parents we are becoming
Earth creatures, the ultimate.
But what's life, without the end
Of years until all suns of days descend?
It all a heart's fear, to fear the nigh,
Death and God, which can call, beneath his sky
Is life though life unto the living soul
I give to God of earth; it not my own,
But of the fleetings that'll be passing by,
All Human hands that hold or let me die.

Found warm where watering of the Ace of Cups
Fall streams and jets ooze their silent rain
Of crystal Gods and Goddesses, from sky to earth
Sips of the ground and seed-quenching for growth
Flowered and cropped that maize for harvesting
In autumn; period of your green food culled
Ripe, their necks by sower's dutiful hands
For months and creature both he and she; a species,
Whose heart depend on it; the full wind, its flightful air
Soars everywhere, a bird arrives first in speed
Of these immortals, that see no grave or tomb
Built before them and hours known beyond the door!
It's only hands and wands and spirit here,
Lives God. In fire still, leaves all those, later years!

Kiss my lips a lover
Give me yourself, will I,
Have it all the good
And a ride, the Sixty-Nine?

Holding on, I cannot wait
Keeping eyes away? No way!
Life is quick at edge; it turns,
The hours to our face

With wind much slow a lapse
Or quick its speed, you find
Much sense, it makes our lives
Aright flowing this way?

Kiss my lips a lover!
Roses open, rosy lips sip
Until we're burning bright,
Clasped me to her tonight.

The ancients declared that all is meaningless

A chasing after the wind

The modernists claim that nothing is real

A consuming, constant dream

So what shall we say on our mortality;

What should we surmise of our souls?

We've all been screaming what we want to hear

And yet the truth quietly whispers, drowning our voices

We pay our very souls to safely cross the river Styx

Only to find that we can't leave Charon without them

We give our all to gain what our hearts desire,

And realize that we have lost everything to gain nothing

What man can bring back one second of his life;

Yet time seems worthless without entertainment

We campaign to save our fellow man,

By placing funds in already full pockets

Humans are dimensional amphibians, living both spirit and body,

The ghost in the machine

How light a heart in love!

How heavy a heart in sorrow

The weight of a soul drags me down

But hope can keep me alight

We strive for goodness through deeds and laws,

But laws are not for good deeds, or good people

We cannot live long alone, and yet push others away,

Until we are left with only our “selves”

We push and strive to become better than ourselves

Yet we can only grow inside our own nature

At what point in our quest to become God

Did we convert into the devil instead?

by DaddyO

Here we are with the dark cloud of death once again permeating the lives of many friends around me and I think it's time for me to respond.

Hell, why not take on another unwinnable battle, DaddyO?

Death, and especially unexpected death, serves us as a reminder that we must celebrate the lives of everyone around us...now! Not at a later time when death forces us, but at this very moment!

When I said "I will be the only one who really wants to be at my funeral who won't be there", I was being serious. Sure my lifeless corpse may lay in state, but the life that once brought joy and provocation to a community of kinksters, and the cognizance that what I am doing to make this world a better place will have vanished.

The overwhelming joys along with the devastating pains of life will cease.

The straight line on an EKG tape is a good visual metaphor. No more ups, no more downs. Billy Joel once wrote in the song "Summer Highland Falls" that his life is either "sadness or euphoria." So if the ups and the downs are over, why are those around us sad? I am not calling for euphoria (though there are some of my enemies who undoubtedly will be euphoric at my passing) but at life's end, let us attempt to subdue the sadness and continue onward. If you are reading this, your life has gone on.

The funeral, wake, memorial -whatever ya want to call it- is NOT the ONLY time to celebrate one's existence. If someone is important to us, EVERYDAY is that time.

So yes, a loved one's death always changes what is going on within the story of our life. In everyday life, if we are a good person, there will be just too many good people surrounding us to adequately convey the honor and gratitude due to them while they are alive and with us. After all, we are busy enjoying the very wonderfulness that we would be giving them accolades for, right? Nonetheless, we must strive to do this.

Death is a brutal exclamation point that stops us mid-sentence, punctuates and redirects our future paragraphs, but also sobers us to the realization of the importance of celebrating one's life with them, here and now, while they are still alive and with us.

FROM WIKIPEDIA:

Hedonism is a school of thought that argues that pleasure is the only intrinsic good. In very simple terms, a hedonist strives to maximize net pleasure (pleasure minus pain). Ethical hedonism is the idea that all people have the right to do everything in their power to achieve the greatest amount of pleasure possible to them. It is also the idea that every person's pleasure should far surpass their amount of pain.

I am a hedonist, but my hedonism extends to to others. Pleasure may be the highest good, but I propose that ethical hedonism must also include the pleasuring of others along with it.

In our life's story, if we strive to make death a simple comma, it furthers our capacity to move forward ourselves in writing our own story.

When the harsh reality of death slaps us in the face it is a reminder that the only sequel is the one we reveal by passing on our loved one's legacy.

The magic of love and life is a true miracle made of indescribable words and phrases. The realness of death is the final page for our loved one. And, like any well bound book, usually two blank pages follow. Use these to create their epitaph and secure their legacy. It may not even be words you use.

Pictures, scribbles and even folds and tears might be apropos. Certainly you've heard the phrase "everyone grieves differently." Just remember when doing so, to uplift the world around you with your tribute.

Sometimes a real evil asshole will leave our midst. We share in the responsibility to celebrate the end to their archetype too, Study them as intently. Do not celebrate their lives but celebrate instead the transition of our present culture to a more enlightened understanding. Celebrate the positive assertion of pleasure the entire world experiences because of their demise.

The first time I spoke with Death
I did not understand His words. 
He spoke in cryptic characters, 
Used arcane abstract symbols. 
 
He provided me a shroud,
A cloud to obscure memory. 
He took mercy on a youth 
And took from him recollection. 
 
Life has since taught me the language,
Her cruel tutelage in preparation 
For when Death comes back around. 
For when our conversation does not end.