Tag: Earth

Womb Would’ve Known

A door opens inward.

Womb Would’ve Known

By Tyler Lucas Mobley 

Shot from cannon with a cry, hands of anticipation

cradle and rejoice another plummet. Form of impressions 

soft to the touch, a bundle of things to come. 

Portrait of the whole falls to pieces, boundaries undefined. 

Steps taken, shape sought in hammer and chisel world.

Lucky enough to fall into place, still an emptiness fills a space. 

Mid puzzle crisis, what is a piece to do? 

With the rug gone, clouds appear full of answers. 

Wet from the rain one happens a pond, 

met with a reflection, mirror of crystal sky. 

Peace for piece with a look in the eye,

a portrait framed inside the whole.

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Dressed For Holiday

There comes a time, even then we can’t say for certain.

Dressed for Holiday

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

Jettison my darling, find this common wake,

throwback pairs of defining lights, smirking

sky bounds unrequited, dressed for holiday. 

Chariots of exacting grace fiddle across our

pendulum planet. Veiled modalities pierced by 

opposing ends, cogent leaps of boomeranged 

expressions surface over pent up millenia. 

Sojourned doubt dances over the void, the 

grand swath of limerick contusions, embodied

with gallant strides through our one true vein.

Lethal Kini

Ohh life when we are young…

It never gets old.

Lethal Kini 

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

She walks with sandals on her feet and little else. Sunshine amusement, flesh painted by strokes of warmth. Take up an oak for a smoke, limb relaxed elevation doubled.

Here comes a young couple with a question. 

“Sure, we’ll take your photo.” 

“Would you mind returning the favor?” 

It could’ve been how, on that particular day the swim trunks he was wearing had a loose fit, causing them to sit lower on his hips, showcasing a prominent “V,” the boundary between chest hair and pubic hair was devastatingly, enticingly blurred. Due to the shorts riding the way they were, any movement elicited a degree of friction that became noticeably pleasurable once  processes were underway. When she pressed herself into him for the photo his hand and feet remained still, but his body displayed gravity defying motion. She squeezed him harder drawing his attention where he couldn’t refuse it to go. Her breast bulged against him threatening to spring from their holster, a hand tugs on the fabric for a superficial adjustment, her eyes giving up the ruse. They hold smiles and each other for the camera, a serious tent pitched before them. The couple was kind to conceal their most certain recognition of matters at hand while phones were returned. 

“Enjoy your hike.” 

 Taking it easy up the trail, footsteps are heard from behind. Just as they move over to let the noise makers pass the rhythm is thrown off. Sounds of danger, the unexpected, alarm, a body crashing to the ground, the crinkle of plastic as a water bottle turns projectile and skids by, dust in it’s wake. They turn to take in the scene, a backpacked youth picking himself up off the ground, his companions offering no help. Being closest to the lost bottle she bent to retrieve it, those in observance fell into orchestrated movement, her behind the maestro. From their uniform reaction one may ascertain the plight of man.  

Tracking to the source, they round a corner and the extent of Saturday seekers swings into view, bodies splayed about, a busy picture with little movement. They weave through, stashes and stows, totes and draw bags, past snacking families and tiktoking teens to face spoutin mountain of bubbling bowl. A far fetched fellow of white tank top and Raiders shorts standing beneath the deluge emits a series of hoots of apparent spiritual compulsion. They join him under the modest falls, sufficient for southern California standards, foyer rush of cool, sublime that summer day. The torrent is surprisingly heavy, a weight on your back, the drops play her breast for bongos, pummeling her tender flesh sending reverberations throughout their countenance. If that wasn’t enough, her giggling stumble would sway her into the heaviest part of the falls, lightning would strike with a flash as her portions jump from their cover; only for an instant before a reflexive hand tucked them in so. On the runway to the falls few paid them any mind, those present remained at large, occupied. Exiting the spring, eyes flocked to them as two torches at night, glistening bodies taking the shape of mountains, as water traced their features, they became the attraction. 

On the return trip down, still dripping from their dipping, another jolly-sum of profligates come hustling up the trail. The juncture that lay between the approaching parties was a dry creek bed a few meters across, rocks of various sizes made for attentive obstacles. The eager bunch didn’t bother to slow their progress as they began to rock hop; only a few steps onto the creek bed the pair waited patiently off to the side to let them pass. One second the sun is shining, birds chirp, it’s a wonderful day in the mountains, the next, one hurried fellow catches his toe on a rock propelling him through the air. The slowing of time brought on by the utter terror that accompanied what lay before the suspended individual, proliferated into all who shared that perception. The rock that would’ve been his next step now loomed fatally ahead, as his trajectory would have him landing face first into it at breakneck speed. Doing the only thing he could in the split second he had to act, he tucked his right shoulder and let his momentum roll him forward. The extent to which he braced a fetal position exploded upon impact, as someone does in a game of crack the egg on a trampoline. The wide eyed look on the kid’s face confirmed what they saw, he cheated death. 

Once out of earshot he shared an intuition, “I think you’re distracting these guys and making them fall. Once I’d understand, but twice, there’s a pattern emerging.”

 “What’s so distracting?” 

“This,” gesturing to her figure with an open hand as though she’d spun from a hidden wall in a game show.

 “You think?” 

“I know I can’t take my eyes off you.” 

“Ahh you’re sweet,” she leaned and kissed him.  

Reaching the point where they were ready for it to be over, slogging hip to hip, an arm wrapped around the other’s waist. A couple on their way up the trail, upon taking them in, the woman was prompt to say, “I just love what y’all got going on.”

“Thank you, we love you,” he replies without hesitation. 

The woman turns to face them, and with a hand to her chest says, “ahh y’all just made my day.”  

 On the way home she finds out her grandparents have stopped over for a visit and would like to see her. She gets out of the car and her mother asks, “you were hiking like that? Where are your clothes?” 

“Yeah, some people couldn’t believe it either.” 

                       

The End

She goes by,

@thedreamingmermaid365

To Be in your Thoughts

When you said so, with me forever.

Impressions…

To Be in your Thoughts

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

Don’t know how I got here, but I’m happy to stay,

make myself comfortable, dance around and play. 

Was it something I said that popped me in your head?

Nice of you to have me, you really didn’t have to,

all the ways of wishing, sure did bring us true. Love

when you have me over, feel I could stay awhile, 

best part of being here is getting to watch you smile. 

And when the children ask, ‘were you like this when

you were young?’ We’ll only momentarily interrupt 

our impressions of sizzling shrimp to ask with 

condescension what is meant by ‘were young,’ then

straight back on the barbie we’ll go. I play the harmonica 

between your legs, lost in enchanted song. A realized

seat upon the piano bench of time, always playing 

for as long as you are mine. Throughout your darling 

days my little whispers tickle as they trace your wings 

with the morning dew we once knew. As you tread the 

garden of your golden hour mind, find me tiling away, 

tending with love the fruits thereof.  

Show Me The World

Somehow we’re all here.

Show Me The World

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

Expectation, fall into place, a falling place,

ahh how you soon learn things have

a way of going where few things go. 

Jurassic acknowledgement, life finds 

a way. Jumanji drums feet lift from earth,

bridge to all may be. 

Be found oh distance one, have your

rathers. Say you galloping sun, for I am 

the only one to wrap your cloak around

and hold me night. Trace suspension 

to n fro gages something well below,

always now, prism rhyme obeys light. 

Heavy is the point, feel the weight of

the world translated through you,

something to push against. Hold me 

down so I may fly, have the moon in

my lap looking at what always held me 

back, in the cloak of time. 

Eternal Resolve

The pleasant pairing of space & time. Originally titled Passion Patrol.

Eternal Resolve

By Tyler Lucas Mobley 

Pleasure running out my toes 

greed blown from thy nose 

sung in manor of mountain temple 

obscuring boundaries when able

to coax frequency with command 

returns oneself to cradling hand 

of a world all for you. 

Luminous Drops

A series of thoughts while surfing the morning of 10/29/21.

Luminous Drops

By Tyler Mobley

In a world of reminders, reflections of life’s unknowable center pass with utmost familiarity. It may seem obvious after the fact, self aware creatures are bound by the light they see, yet being of light their understanding of its spectrum is only limited by the spectrum itself. A Dude Where’s my Car’s “continuum transfunctioner, its mystery is exceeded only by its power.” Everywhere there is light there is a rainbow, put another way a rainbow exists in all the light we see. When the sun reflects off your phone and casts an iridescence on your hand grasping the wheel while you drive. The Dark Side of the Moon album put it right under our noses, but we only see so much with our ears. A lone beam passing through a prism becomes many as constituents are displayed. There we are, “the all singing, all dancing crap of the world,” pulling out our phones to capture through the clouds what we’d find if we’d look inside (Fight Club). 

A surf of revelation sets my receptors open to basement dwellings, a rainbow in the spray off the back of a passing wave shone in the low morning light. Thoughts come knocking, not one to wait is the self referential check in all things, the seed within the fruit. Arriving at Stan Tenen of Meru Foundation, “light in the meeting tent” occurs to relieve some insight. We are no different, take the formless, light, fire, soul, and pass it through the form, prism, water, body, and what appears? A rainbow. 

Soren Kierkegaard in The Sickness unto Death frames our condition as a relation to the relation. The central relation between formless and the form, the self is what becomes of the relation to the central relation, thus the self is inherently self referential. To become oneself, find you’re light among the rainbow. 

Links to

https://meru.org/

https://antilogicalism.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/thesicknessuntodeath.pdf

Absence Eternal

Started from a thought jotted down while driving to work, like those shoulder advisors we’ve seen repeated.

Absence Eternal 

By Tyler Lucas Mobley 

“You’re here again?” 

A demon of ember skin sits gargoyle on the lunch table cover watching Timmy Schwartz walk to chemistry class. 

“What do you want?” 

Sparks fly off the grin that displays a set of charcoal teeth, “I’m here to show you your future.” 

Timmy stops and looks up at the domon, “why don’t you just go away my future is fine without you,” stomping off backpack bouncing. 

“When will one turn out? They don’t know the privilege they’re missing, somehow I’m only visible to the shy ones. 

“The chemical chain of atoms is made up from a series of bonds; the placement of these bonds determine the type of the element,” says the teacher. Timmy looks around, did he hear her right, did she just say bomb? 

“Boo!” 

Timmy jumps in his seat knocking his binder to the floor, he can hear the crackle and pop of the demon behind him, but all the eyes in the classroom are on him. 

“Is everything alright Mr. Schwartz?” asked the teacher, seeing a distraught little Timmy. 

“Tell her nothing is alright, it’s all going to hell.”

The class became more confused when Timmy “shhh’d” the air behind him.

“I’m alright,” said Timmy, “actually could I step out for some air?” 

“That would be fine Timmothy.”  

His chest tightened, air seemed to be pressed out of him as though the Empire State Building were on his chest. The ground around him turned into a molten rock shaking with steam. Timmy tried to jump free though every leap landed him in a thermal glow, and the ground grows more brittle with each lingering second. 

“Had enough?” says the demon, startling Timmy who was planning his next move, “stay away,” Timmy cries and attempts to jump. The cement crumbles under Timmy unloading his springs, a fail characteristic of when people slip while jumping off boat railings, or flimsy outdoor furniture. A static extension causing an off balance landing, Timmy stumbles, trips himself and falls head first into a nearby planter. He pulls his head out of a cherimoya and pats dirt from his shirt, eyeing around he sees no sign of the demon. 

“Brother, it is I, creator of all that is and will be.” 

Timmy looked at the janitor with his bucket on wheels and mop stick in both hands. 

“Yeah, would you mind telling me what is going on here, Mr. … umm ahh Creator.” 

The janitor throws back his head in laughter, a crack of thunder, echoes run between the buildings.  “What did you do to him?” asked the janitor of the demon, who was crouched above Timmy, embers sprinkling down. 

“He did it to himself, the kid is a box of tissues, you’re choosing him,” the demon asked then snapped his fingers and a cigar appeared in them, “audacious is all.” Biting off one end of the wrap and spitting it out, and then lit the other on himself and blew smoke in God’s face. 

“Do you mind stepping aside, Crusty and I need to have a talk,” the janitor said to Timmy. 

“Alright? You can wait back in class, Timmy?” 

Timmy began to redden. 

“Ohh release him would you!” 

The demon unclenches a fist that wasn’t around Timmy’s neck, but inflicting force all the same. 

“I think I will go back to class, I’ll just be here if…” 

“Hey knock that off.” 

The demon puts Timmy back on the ground. 

“Ask me, the boy can hear, he’s going to have to learn eventually, right?” 

The janitor looks at Timmy. 

“Right, then how do you expect me to believe your party will end when you won’t even let me have my witness?” 

“Witness,” the demon said with a laugh. “Is that what we’re calling it now, and we agree unangeled? 

“That’s why we’re here aren’t we?” 

Timmy fell into glazed bewilderment not sure if he believed any of this. What would he witness? Angels? 

“Timmy,” the Creator said with a sigh. “The world, Earth, goes through phases.”  

The demon chuckles, the Creator shoots him a look. 

“See the things that bring life also require death.” 

“My department,” the demon interrupts with a puff of smoke. 

Timmy gulps. 

“And you know what the source of all life is, don’t you?” 

Timmy looks directly at the sun, not quite at noon. The janitor quickly covers Timmy’s eyes with his hand, and bites a smile over his shoulder. 

“That’s right Timmy, the sun is the provider of all life and thus, can take it away.” 

“Take away all life? Could it be true? 

“Our demon angels descend in hell fire to clean house, just wait and see kid.”  

Timmy took another gulp. 

“We’re meeting with you so you may ready yourself for the task humanity requires of you. Have you heard of Herodotus? Like him for the next age.” 

“A new age?” 

“Even the Earth must be reborn, my son.” 

“You come with us now and in 30 years time, Earth will go a-rockin, as I’ll be a knocking,” said the demon.

“Ok let me get my bookbag and I’ll be ready to go.”

“That won’t be necessary, just follow us and you’ll have everything you need to know.” 

Timmy watched the janitor and demon banter through campus, his pride swelled as he felt his life’s calling agree with every step. Timmy glanced at the sun, and thought how precious a star it was. Timmy steps off the curb.

 His shoes landed on the ceramics and woodshop buildings respectively. Since the bus was on the smaller side, it had a normal car hood which Timmy rolled onto up the windshield, and received an extra kick from the raised roof leaving his limp body with considerable amplitude to fall in a fit of acrobatic twist and tumbles, that would’ve been the envy of Biles and Lee until landing face first on the pavement. 

The creator and the demon stop and turn to look at what’s the matter. The janitor shakes his head in his hands. The demon says, “guess you should’ve started with how to look both ways.” 

Her Way Never Lost

Today, when hungry pen brokefast to page, this happen.

Her Way Never Lost

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

Her body a sound garden, storm swept sea

passengers afloat, humming her vibration.

Carried and tossed, her way never lost

cosmic gyres full of glee, winking out reality.

afterthought: simulation, consciousness, energy ladder doesn’t seem all that off. Maude; extremely vaginal.

Aboard Nimbus Nine

Most falls in during morning flows. Pen & Page be-pressed for days. Welcome to the Xander Zone!

Aboard Nimbus Nine

By Tyler Mobley

Does the world speak through your eyes? To know is to know anything at all. No fantastic beast, a spice caught mid drizzle down forearm scruff posing to the onion if the slice was worth the cry hoping the answer may remain to remind of what is present, like shower confidence carried into the world, a Sesame Street stride “a good day to garbage grins, bird, thank you for your song, Tree wood you settle your branch brood and leaf yourself blown, any stranger can tell you’re a bit knotted up.” Is that enough? Ok one more, “I went for pizza last time Mr. Tree, leaving your wallet in your trunk is no excuse.” If only money grew on … our backs. 

For the love of God traffic lights have more personality than some elected officials. Respect the runway’s duty, a performance demanding stage. Floor is yours, the lights hot, dance as if you’ve practiced all your life, no doubt you have. Imagine every word spoken by a congressional member must include a jig or dance at a minimum of eight counts, carried out before or after the statement being left to the members discretion. Not a thought mind a movement goes unweighted in expression, art or ability the absolute passion for life shines under recognition in unbearable fashion, if one were to gaze directly at this primordial flare the result would imprint itself onto all seen thereafter for embracing our undeniable order, complexity maintained under elegant guise, meditating bottoms know to sink to rise, morphing bubbles on surface ascents, a dance perhaps, prescribed to those who’ve not thought through the depths from which they’ve sprung.

That ought to sort things out a bit. Dance if a lash bash is all you can manage, propel your mind with Saturn sneeze rockets any less is just another dance, pads of melting butter for skates, we must roll, a days roll presents no choice and every option each time time time time time time time.