brock-lesmondain

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A photographer’s portrait in a mirror, a hundred years ago, Japan, ca. 1920. Text and image via Old Japanese Photos on Facebook

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Turn

Turn and take turns, licentious weeping—

Makes me go so numb,

Offs all of my clothes,

Pours the bath water over me.

Do not forget all that I had,

Is vested within and without your hands,

Come to life inside a still cocoon—

Dost I beg to differ lover,

Dost I try not to see it all complete—

Without me—outside me.

Then wind we hear her come,

And she came—

Not asking for anything,

But a little chance to show,

Great providence–

Each circumstantial rerun,

Looking into cdrystalline—

Green eyes.

[brock-lesmondain]

Black Orpheus (Marcel Camus, 1959)

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Algimantas Kuncius. Vilnius. 1984

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i would like …. many books…. some plants….. a couple of candles…….. and some peace and quiet 

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So simple, yet so elagant,

So brash, yet so humble,

So confusing, yet so right.

Writ withal love’s expedient,

A. De. Scott

Talk Me Down - Troye Sivan

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—Am/Am not—

Warm and cool at one time,

Silver sun high in the sky,

The lesser light—

Pale white rules the night,

Betwixt your concupiscent lies.

By my time thrice I observe you outside,

In the market for another brother in my eyes ,

Knowledge of decadence,

Reeling time after time,

Feeling it all around your sagacity—

O so sophrosyne,

O so wise.

I can see right through your eyes like—

A man of metal made well by the sun—

I am the sky,

A god am I,

Yet I am not.

Withal words writ expressèd,

A. De. Scott

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Todd Webb. Paris Traffic, Paris, 1950

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Getty Images. Manhattan Bridge. 1930s

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Alexandre Cabanel  (1823-1889) “Fallen Angel” (1847) Oil on canvas Academicism Located in the Musée Fabre, Montpellier, France

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Art by Aubrey Beardsley

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Broken Bonds. (Composer)

You still call to me.

Yet, I will sing a new song everyday to drown you out.

Till my vocal chords dry and shrivel.

Till my voice no longer rings angelically,

To never again hear your faded lies is my dream.

And I will write until my fingers break and bleed,

If it means I never fall so far as to let yours ever touch me.

I’d rip the bones from beneath my breasts,

Unstitch the needle’s thread that embroidered your name across my open wounds

I will be free of you.

Though as many times as I wash this heart the love never seems to fade.

But I’d rather be a ragged woman, still running away,

Than a broken one still trapped in your spurious embrace.

-DC.

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Provoked

The light we seek Is false As it only leaves us Wanting For a moment Eternally lasting With safeties Held in place

Unlike darkness Since provoked By that gimmick Claimed enticing Ever transient Through illusion Of what peace Just doesn’t stand

As this air Flees from our lungs Wasting lifetimes Soon escaping Beyond capture Chasing seconds Now elapsing With each breath

Losing days On simple chores Missing years No man remembers Finding God Their humble servant To what numbers Plague His gift

And demand We mustn’t sin Showing protest If resisting Such deliberate Modes of conduct Deemed befitting Without chance

Any hope Should then exist Praying doubt Inspires anger Letting passion Cast some shadow Over reason Proven wrong

Since assuming Faith can cure Any danger Within bodies Caught between Two worlds conflicted Trusting souls Before our flesh

Where this earth Is all we face When these feelings Only matter Praying symptoms Start abating Staying hurt But still relieved.

- J. Pigno

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I want notebooks full of poetry and pretty pictures

Watercolor illustrations and polaroid fantasies

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