Poet(s) of the Month ~ Aquill Relle Magazine

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I am so pleased and proud to be included in the latest edition of Aquill Relles wonderful magazine. To be added with such talented poets is very humbling/exciting! Thank you from the bottom of my chimerical heart! :)

http://www.aquillrelle.com/magazine.htm

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Break The Sky

I am wrapped in silence
in smoke and in manifest, 
arrogant secrecy.
The dark shading my vision and coating my tongue with waxy compliance,
eyes veiled and my hands gripped in place 
held fast with the strength of tree roots in splintered coldness.
And my brightness
my light
 becomes an apparition,
a brief surfacing spray of memory
a fading caress 
so promising 
so warm 
 before deepening into the escape of sleep.
Perhaps Morpheus heard my formless,
my unspoken pleas,
and graced me with a fertile fragment of illumination.
For there is something still clinging
flushed and quietly inside me,
my star still shining
but softly
softly, 
learning to test the locks and chains.
Seeking out the fissures slowly expanding in the drought.
And I feel the warmth growing
gathering the strength
the courage
the right
and I will burst forth.
I will be the sun itself 
and break the very sky. 
©jayetomas2015

 

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The Tyger ~ by William Blake

The Tyger, written and illustrated by William Blake

 

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 
In the forests of the night; 
What immortal hand or eye, 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?


In what distant deeps or skies. 
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?


And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?


What the hammer? what the chain, 
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp, 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 


When the stars threw down their spears 
And water’d heaven with their tears: 
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?


Tyger Tyger burning bright, 
In the forests of the night: 
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
~ by William Blake
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Burning Call

“I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.”  ~ Sylvia Plath


 
Delicate glints of gold and platinum bubble as I tilt the crystal goblet towards my lips
eyes lidded
 marking the small deathwash against the glass
as the stem captures the heat from my fingers and draws it into itself
magnifying
igniting….
So beautiful, this flute of sparkling poison, 
and I raise it
toasting myself 
for I crave the burning
the spreading conflagration inside.
All burnings call to me
with a hot and raging song,
out of control fire is where I want to crest. 
To be seen against the glare and rising from the smoke like a badgirl Venus,
 riding the heat as if surfing an ocean wave.
I feed like wildfire
eating everything in my path and leave behind only my initials
sweating in the steam…
My desire is for the dark
the forbidden
the dangerous
That twilight walk along a slippery precipice,
the apple bitten
 not just once
but eaten core and all.
And in the end
the burning will be grand and glorious
a crescendo of sparks and smoke.
And in the end
I finally understand that Frankenstein loved his monster.
And in the end
before the final sip
the final flame
the final step 
I will know that I have stood toe to toe, 
breath to breath, 
with dragons
and did not flinch.
 
©jayetomas2015
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Awful Like Me

The hated thing that dances
raging
 and bares its teeth at old people
slow people
babies that cry and family members that will (prattle) phone all the time.
And it slithers through your brain
leaving trails you scrub with frenzied denial
not me not me not…
mine.
Private deep moments worry-wondering if there is anyone else…
and does anyone else know about…
me. 
Can they tell?
Do I wear it like a stigmata,
like a camp number on my arm?
Do we all house monsters? 
Do we all provide demons a waiting shoulder to perch,
skittering and landing with a whomp.
Wings wafting a stench of uncharity
impatience
selfishness
up your nose.
I must be the only one….
Nobody else is, 
nobody else could possibly be,
awful
like me.
©jayetomas2015
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On The Outside

 

I’m always on the outside looking in…
I’m the smudge,the nose print on the window.
Never invited, never a part,
I’m always in shadow,
on the fringes.
Wandering unnoticed in the night
gazing the lamp lit rooms.
Studying your smile,
your gesture,
practicing…
So if I ever get in
I’ll know what to do.

I’m always on the outside looking in,
searching for the key
so I can stay
What am I lacking?
What keeps me separate?
Sometimes a lost stranger pauses,
and I am drawn like a moth eager for the flame,

but it’s only for a moment,

they never stay.
I’m the lone performer on a stage
that’s not been built.
I play all the roles
and none of them are real.
How do you
get to the inside of things?

 

©jayetomas2013

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Touch Me

Touch me . 

Touch me like you mean it,

like you love me,

like you hate being away from me,

and miss my skin.

Touch my heart and mind with your words

my soul with your yearning.

Touch me

please

Touch me like you touch her….

 

©jayetomas2013

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