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Poems of mine

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John Kintaro

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Spinning Into Love.

A thread of life keeps spinning up from the field

Love recirculates around this spiralling wheel.

I felt the stare and adapted to the busy glare,

Empathy was there, if she didn't dream to care.

Her needles wound its way right through my head,

Sewn into the idea that I'm meant to be met.

While I can keep picking up on character lint,

Id rather hear the voice of how your needle spins.

As every string of the vine continues to entwine

Your spiralling stitch into the fabric of my mind,

Crossing into these patterns I realise in time,

That my boll can pollinate your soul into mine.

It seems to be that she is weaved into me,

A yarn of thread on the weft of a busy dream.

And ginning my fibre is her denim smile,

Resurrecting my eyes to open for a while.

Written in 2005

White Termite

You're my little white termite,

eating the old wood of my oars.

I love to groom you until we

arrive at the daylight shores.

Walking with no seismicity,

breaths of magma sealed me.

In the great depths of your,

lullaby dreamy-land arms.

When we become one for a while.

The shadow joins in the door,

when the split reconnects oh,

we can hold hands with a strip.

Lumina brights the room abound,

into the opposite second street.

Speaking a language of hot fire,

I smell contrast on the horizon.

Your my blue eyed love song,

among the tritons of my sight.

We can stay put until the day,

comes running away from my ear.

Written in 2005, adapted from a song to a poem in 2007

Ripple in Time

Once upon a deadline, how I wish I could fly

Wishing life wasn't so sublime, the time it

takes me to get into line; dreaming of her eyes.

Yet still everything catches on this memory

of you, stuck in my latches waves flying back

in flashes. Wishing I wasn't buried into this

fading truth, I just cant fasten the noose,

to hide the bad news, of loosing you.

This fourth dimension moves to the side,

I never realized that every nanosecond flies:

taking me apart, taking me into pieces,

slowly but surely taking me away from you.

I'm supposed to be crunching little numbers,

with pieces of silicon and plastic buttons,

but I'm stuck here in my personal barrier,

from the rest of the world, from the carrier.

Their pretty faces tell me that your not worth,

the gift of my thought, with everything I

brought to tell you how much I love you.

But if I know its true, I've shattered the line,

Between me and you, I cant accept it still

so I will stay silent and keep to the deal

that every word spoken tells me I'll find

something less broken, yet still I cant grind

anything against the difference of you.

I could never find the words to use but,

Its to late now. I guess I've burned the fuse.

This forth dimension moves to the side,

I never realized every nanosecond flies:

taking me apart, taking me into pieces,

taking my heart, slowly burning my youth.

And in a symbol of my dreams, every time

the sun fades beneath its blankets; thieves

the light from my eyes, I fall into believing

I'm still there making love with you, but

its no use, I'm just going to bruise my,

lifeline above, it poisons truth too.

I motivate and relocate to preoccupy,

to replace, my taste; that belongs to you.

Written in 2006

Broken Morality

not a good name but its the best I could come up with

In my life I have had many a struggle.

Like leaves through seasons I've traveled:

from having no reason to having only speed

a green painted forest to a dead yellow leaf.

Me, a quiet and curious puerile green-eyed baby

was purposely poured into a vague obsession,

No pain or fear, just lust oh very uncomely.

Ideas of pleasure yet no sense of discretion.

If ever the captivation of pleasure shed

was with the application of a salient snap.

A fire painting the silent green forest red.

Only age could paint the great fire black.

While that great fire was still a roar.

I committed a sin before I could see

the part of the gospel they don't implore.

Trying to save the others young, from me.

A hypocrisy, heads full of holes of fear

thinking they protect God and the young.

An army of doctors converting pleasure queer,

good memories of mine, gone now none.

Like a bullet in the back while smelling a rose.

Where there was pleasure this guilt would arise.

For my desires were all nonsense, I chose.

Pain from pleasure they dressed in disguise.

Vibrance and energy were detested by my peers.

A blast of glee followed with the unacceptable.

And when I seemed peaceful nobody would fear.

Except behind the peace lied misery inevitable.

I renunciated from all sense, and I would detest:

God in his pleasure kingdom, his angels singing

their songs of hedonism while asceticism they request.

In heaven only joy while on earth pleasure is sinning.

Written in 2007

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wow you are a very good writer.

I really liked your poem Ripple in Time, I felt that I could relate to that one, like im still holding onto something, and dont want to let go. That is what I got out of the poem atleast.

Would you mind if I printed these, I found them really fascinating, i like to collect poems and stories i find interesting from the internet. It seemed to me as if the poems stood for more than they really were, and i really like literature that is like that.

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From these pieces of forsaken thought

we ignore – send a flying fucking retort.

It hits the other poor sort whom,

sends it flying back, and all the while an onslaught -

a thriving battle of words and discord.

Those words will echo unlike echoes, but grow

louder as each note of discord is thrown forth,

the volume of which is viral of sorts, we know -

for the friends of ones foes, their volume grows

until the chamber for symphony is a yard of moans.

Sides form for both like magnets so opposed,

yet they share the same value – woes,

the terrible chamber is fights, explodes, when close.

It would take quite a smelter to get the magnet opposed.

Back to themselves like when iron turns red and glows.

Yet some such a symphony is praised on the sides.

Such sweet melodies which this violence could subside -

it was no music, but a matter of the same stride

of which all of this violence and madness would subside.

No chamber of brass, strings, and piano – no!

Just an admission from the one with the power,

who began this awful dissonance from his ivory tower.

That it was time to change it all, an hour at a time.

Because he saw on the light of the world a dark shrine,

and off he went to make that shrine become light and divine.

So off went the unreason, without the smelter,

nothing had to burn, and all was within shelter.

For one man alone, put letter to word to help us.

Now there is peace, agreement and God's earth returned.

So there is spoils of unity, consent, unreason no longer a concern.

This is one of my newer poems, which there are few of and only get written when I am in a psychiatric hospital

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