She was ripe,

an unpeeled apple

waiting to be exposed,

wearing proud red cloak

of ultimate perfection.

I peeled curvaceous layers,

unraveled masked white skin,

appealing freckled face,

beauty more than

skin deep,

lush contours

of glistening silk.

My teeth bit

into her flesh

with slathering,

seductive sound,

intoxicated with

sweet fragrance

of her pith.

Sugar juice

dripped from lips,

red blush of ripeness.

Claret rhapsody.

now go misjudge 

do that if you must

but know of this

unjust, you are just

gauging those others

by the low standards

you are adhered to 

and can never dislodge

down deep in your

ditch, mire and sludge

where frown and fester 

dwell, plots unhatched

never rising up above

weighed down in that 

by ego and the fug

of hard narcissism

and the misdemeanors

you sweep under rug

so judge if you must

self serving slug, just

remember dark pasts

heed the inner voices

that whisper and rasp

you're nothing, worthless

realisation dawn and gasp

It’s warm here, with my brother and sisters.

Crowded.

We writhe inside the small enclosures of our eggs.

We are the half-formed: brown translucent pods jammed

side by side in the dark hollows of our host.

Soon, our brood mother says. Long, serpentine, beautiful. Soon.

And then—the drop.

We are the fallen, flung from the sky, clustered

in brown globules on the shadow of a leaf.

Come closer, slow-moving snail! 

We entice you with our shiny ovals.

Closer, closer.

You are a languid giant sailing across the leaves.

And you take the bait.

You swallow us down your gaping slime maw, and we

travel down the dark length of you.

There we grow.

We grow in this new dark, forming long tubes, interconnected.

We dig our tendrils into your neural circuits and drive you.

We allow you to travel

To where you want to go—for now— 

places cool and moist and dark

Running your creeping circuits around

dark undersides of mushrooms and rotten logs.

We are the broodsacs.

As we grow, we spread out into your eyestalks

preferring the left tentacle over the right, 

As we grow, we grow fonder of you, our lumbering ride

and life source

As we bloom, we dance and pulsate in bright green and yellow spirals

You cling to the darkness, giant snail, always

but we draw you to the light and

the warmth of the sun, which catch our colors,

(we pulse in light only)

We draw the energy for our dance

The dance of death

Drawing the eye of a new feathered host

Down, sharp beak, spearing into the soft flesh of you

And we are drawn into a familiar darkness, down, down— 

The cycle begins again.

Who's that Anchorman

That hangs so

Blatantly 

From a string?...

He mouths words

Of oatmeal 

With no value

At all...

...These Anchors 

Take after

Pinocchio

Now...

Wooden limbs creak, and 

When they tongue-lash...

...Rivers of chatter

Gravitate to your

Platter...

If puppets brought you 

The message 

You were dying to hear,

Would you be doing

Cartwheels?...

...Or would you steer

Clear 

From the channel 

Because the truth 

Stung so damn much?...

Commentator's of this 

Ugly thing we call 

Progress

Spread 

Lies 'round 

The lips of a

Well-oiled 

Smile...

...The truth has to 

Taste right!...

...Sticks of gum 

Pop 

When primed!...

...Who could pay

To oppose?...

...Who can free up

The time?...

These Anchors demand

That we set life aside,

And immerse ourselves

Deeply 

In the farce they call

'News'...

Yes, we must join

Their ranks

With our closed closet

Rules.

...We can't keep for 

Too long

From the fridge

'fore an Anchor 

Affirms our expiration...

...Guess we knew 

It would come!...

As the Anchors insist,

We live under 

The gun.

If puppets brought you

The message

You were dying to hear,

Would you be doing

Cartwheels?...

...Or would you steer

Clear

From the channel

Because the truth

Stung so damn much?...

Maybe truth wouldn't

Hurt so

If the dosage was 

Frequent...

...Perhaps we should 

Seek counsel,

And abandon our 

Crutch...

©

2017

Bunny Villaire  

I have to ask, — is this all there is? Do we live a few years and then die and nothing more? Is the thought of God an empty creation by man born out of desperation?

Ultimately, when I look up at the night sky and contemplate how vast it is, I realize I am nothing in the scheme of things. When I see the beauty, and diversity of the world around me, knowing that everything comes from something; I know all things had to have a beginning.

I am a machine-tool builder by trade and here is what I do know: nothing creates itself. What I see is intelligent design all around me and this compels me to believe in a Creator. How I would choose to define that creator is a continuing journey and the road is long. The problem is — we are not born with a collective consciousness. We must start from scratch and begin the slow and arduous learning process, turning to those with more knowledge and experience. But progress in any endeavor involves taking the known and building on it. Are we still using flint spears? Growth involves seeking those with knowledge, acquiring, using, sifting and refining in a continuous forward progression. My quest for knowledge on this topic is far from over; yet my faith in a creator is unwavering, because of a simplistic truth bases on the expression, — “Creator.”

Locked together in tight embrace,

They were the darkness, the infinite space.

The primordial parents were intertwined

Between them, their children, in the blackness, confined.

Clustered and cramped they were wedged for an age

Growing bitter, resentful, they hated their cage.

Together they plotted for this union to cease

“We must pull them apart, we must make them release!”

So they each of them pushed and they each of them pried

But the parents pulled tighter, their children denied.

The first born, the fierce, he refused defeat

He laid on his back and pushed with his feet.

The oldest, the angriest, cursed out of spite

“Enough of this darkness! Let there be light!”

And the lovers, as one, from the beginning, the start

By their children’s own doing they were pulled apart.

The father, he grieved and so did his wife

As light burst forth and out of darkness came life.

He lamented his loss for there would be no other

She fell with her children and became the Earth Mother.

The children became gods of the Oceans and Seas

Of Fire, of War, of Forests and Trees.

But the Father, his dominion, Lord of Stars and Skies

Still mourns his love with the rain from his cries.

And Earth Mother, she struggles, and makes the land quake

She longs for her love to sooth her heartbreak.

Still they call for each other, but to no avail

And that is the beginning, the creation tale.

We can be so cruel and harsh with each other

Words can cut sharper than a double edged sword

Life and death lies in the power of the tongue

Cycles of generational miscommunication

Cycles of pretence to please those bestowed with power over us

Cycles of suppressing our true self

Choosing to stay caterpillars when we are destined to bloom

What holds us back from being butterflies?

Fear which speaks on a larger problem

We do not know love, many of us will not truly know it in this lifetime

There is no fear in love

There is no cruelty in love

There is no possession or control over the other in love

In choosing to practise love, we speak life, we seek light, we heal our spirits together

There is no force greater than this

yet we are so easily consumed with

anger, power, lust, violence.

As a family we are divided and broken.

We let the past interfere with our present, casting a shadow to our future.

Ego blinds us to seeing the cumulative change and personal growth we make daily striving to become better.

We choose to live in a space of pain and hurt, recounting the moments that made us feel small and unworthy.

We refuse to heal ourselves because that requires effort and an active choice of change.

We refuse to choose to be happy, to heal our pain and turn it into laughter because we don't know the pitch, tone, variance or vibrancy of this laughter.

We fear the outcome believing that if we let go for one moment to truly practise love and heal some how we will get hurt and fall even deeper into the spiral of despair,

living the rest of our lives under a dark cloud.

We lack faith to believe that love is our birth right

We are afraid that in choosing love we choose a new unknown identity. We are not the same once the choice has been made.

There is no fear in love. There is only faith and hope.

I pray that you know love and if you do not get this opportunity I pray that you get a glimpse of it. You are deserving and worthy but the power lies in you.

At one time I was her very best friend,

Through thick and thin, to the very end.

But children grow older,

Imagination does smolder,

Increasingly less on me does she depend.

Feeling sluggish and worn out

All strength has been lost

My physical body is hollow

I'm exhausted

Fatigue is wearing me down

Feel like I'm being tossed

My mind is vacant

I'm exhausted

Believing that my finish line is near

Into eternity I'll soon cross

My spirit will vanish

I'm exhausted

Completely used up

Actions carry a high cost

My soul has emptied

I'm exhausted