Something slips, I shudder,
Shrinking from the crowd
Drawn by the subtle noise;
Troublesome are the thoughts
In the dead of night
Of bodies lying nearby.
Cosmonaut In An Alkaline FieldThough Life is but the chair too close beside
The bed, where dead men slept before their tryst
With depth; above, the trees are white with mist
And snow, the rattling wind has barely cried -
Instead from door to door we fall inside
This stretch, the slowest mind is split (dismissed)
But gowns of green and hollow floors exist,
Our sleep an adamantine grip defied.
Dream as we must, this lustrous haze comprised
Of memories - aged vellum/lifelike dolls -
Where one the other kills, is never prized
Like alkaline and limestone specks, the cold
Blue field outside; a cosmonaut builds walls.
No bed. No chairs. By simply youth devised.
A Touch Of Ash And Dust Resistance breaks the skin,
The webs are sprawling
And awful, a melancholy
Crimson that sways each thin
A stalling wind escapes,
The place of sweat and stinging
The pent-up sinking ship,
It's calling, pushing against
Waves that bend
I am in that place again
Reflection Upon FearI've searched for the arbitrary,
Found places abandoned to a plague,
Under restoration yet unrestored:
Awl-marks tagged for eternity,
Fresh rage scored the plaster,
Hastily-painted mural of Christ
Marred upon the stone façade,
The scaffolding’s chain of pipes
And planks were
Dark with soot, vacated.
Some things in us that we can't see
Are narrow, dead ends from pillar
To post, soundlessly guiding where
We shouldn't be led.
He who grabs and demands an open hand
From which to stand again
May stand, higher even,
On other men.
Dust particles poised to curse us,
We cannot cure the condition of "versus".
Children play kick-the-can
With a dented censer;
I watch them battle with each kick, a
Fresh perfume of cinders.
The Carrion My fingers itch to intertwine
With votive texts; the withered spine
Of ills and mornings lost
To fingerprints, embossed.
Remembering the aimless days,
I cannot sleep, a clawing craze
Comes atom-small but grows
And stirs my firm repose.
But roguish ran the vein of plot,
What complicated parts and naught
A show of lissome prose,
I turn inward and close.
God with honor, hang your head,
Wild silk you've spun instead
Of Truth's thread; your traces,
Features in our faces.
What partly-colored pain is this,
Acrylic and acidic kiss -
Your stories are no home,
No crueler end can come.
My fingers now are filthy teeth,
Old artworks drawing blood beneath
The words I can't pronounce;
Hunger is but an ounce.
Heaven's a tempest carrying
The carrion meat - the craving
For purpose, in service;
The search for worth, bi
Iceboundmore infinite than
space are memories made
blind in moonlight
trembles beneath the touch of
dawn's first breath
camouflage of ice,
the waves' sigh
of snow cradles dawn,
the ice solidifies
one hesitant step
leads a man's wanderlust thoughts
to something lost
harsh sunlight echoes
upon the waters shore. her
breath lingers no more.
In Wait (A Tale Of Untaken Bait)Bass stop snapping up the squid,
Ditto for the halibut;
Yellowtail pop up, the line never taut.
She'd Take The Devil At His WordAt first glance, her world rolls on
Unbroken, timid eyes;
At first thought, she can't be tender,
Would quickly dart and strip away
Ecstasy's face; a compelling fire
Of flesh in offering
To the night's knife-sharp perspiration.
How beautiful that form expressed,
Pulled by splinters beneath a skin of ropes
And smeared like a thick liquor;
Her possession, becoming possessed,
A devil's depth in adjuration
That I may gash her to pieces and receive nothing;
Her being hollow -
I swallow -
Her being a song, I sing.
Digital WitnessAlready now it stings, hollow nibbles between being swallowed whole,
I die tonight, my life destined to be shared and liked,
Already now it seems the billowy ocean of clicks have found me.
I died without trying, to see him at the pane I sit,
To meet him whom unsubscribed, my life a lofty prize
Plowed through and trod down, powerless against the scroll.
Already now the force of blows, mixed with the incense-steam,
Seem to me less as weapons, more melancholy comments
Attentively neglected; I trust nothing, and expect less.
I am hostage to a powerful host,
Honored to be an awful ghost
Living still in others' eyes,
Through old memories and new replies.
Expectation Of An AvalancheOur emptiness, our spades and saws,
Old tools become debris,
The shattered bricks, a flayed applause
Shaking the snowy sea.
Tomorrow and the muted crawl,
The air's shock caught up, surging fall,
Beyond, until the motion stalls.
The bloodless gallop of the void
Between a dreamer's bones,
And at the foot lay there, destroyed,
Dissolving little ones -
So was it then, an elegy?
To soften their geometry,
So was it, then?
So was it then
When ice was all that I could see?
Alignment of translucent dunes,
Glass roofs but gravestones be;
Giving shelter to shedding moons
All polished perfectly.
An avalanche, as one would say,
No anchored noise thrown in the way,
To seize the feet with frozen clay.
Yet convalescence strips away
That jewel-box whose stems may slake
The eyes' long-thirsty lust of gray -
Our emptiness outwears and breaks.
No arabesque to dress the heart
Nor quickly sway its idle aches;
To whisk off vertigo, to part,
Our emptiness o
This Poem is Extremely LongThis is the intro
So read this first
I hope it will quench
Your poetry thirst
Let me point this out
First of all
We are artists
So stand up tall
This is the part
Where the poem begins
But this is just the start
You should see how it ends
In a world filled
With fame and mediocrity
We are the true stars
With talent and creativity
Unlike those celebrities
They think they’re big and boss
But we all know they’re bumpkins
Nothing more than social floss
You call this shit art?
Miley Cyrus shaking her ass
I don’t think it’s classified as talent
It sure as hell doesn’t have class
How about its impact
On today’s generation?
You getting bored of this poem?
Then I’ll switch to personification
What the fluff
Does a wrecking ball symbolise?
Does it dangle over our heads and fall
Before we look up and realise
And gasp in shock and surprise
That this 99999 pound ball
Of useless information
Is about to crush our noggins
And we’re supposed to show fascinat
Empty NestSilent as the bird-less tree
Branches borne their capsid fawn
A wind take them
Blanket for the generation
To be set so unprepared upon
Shawls to face the blizzard's hem
With the quiet of the winged free
Holy by a timeless just
The valour pressed between the stones
And shattered fair
Changed without a pause
Of growing flesh and bones
Extend a now poorly fitted wear
Like down to the winter lust
Fabric in a feathered leaf
Multiplied by coming days
When helicopters still their beats
And eagle eyes denote a nest
Sew a tuque every which way
A breathing wool as soft as bleats
From cooing babes new to the reef
Crossbar hold the sway of dark
Ground take precedence
Cradled on the crook of tune
Heard through the sheets of paper greens
Spawning germs have time to sense
A wind and how to open wound
The myriad will leave its mark
Elements beneath the trunk
Variety hath wormed to front
But strive the will not
To imprint what is now for always
A striding race still has the jaunt
From icicles to bliste
*Choral Practice*Stirring rendition in wind
Harmonized voices sing
Choral practice taking place
Choir achieved state of grace.
Voices soar and surround
No constraints they're not bound
Perfectly magical healing power
Musical reflection, melodious hour.
Pain.Is it odd that the title judges the piece?
With one simple word, a whole piece can be destroyed.
With one simple meaning, a piece can be praised.
What about those that are hiding millions of meanings?
Are they worshipped and held highly?
Or just thrown aside as a headache?
What is truly the meaning of a title?
To summarize the content?
What the dictionary says it is?
Or another part of the piece?
Why is it there?
What is its meaning?
Is this going to be another We are all sick?
Or does it have no significance?
To answer all these questions though..
We will need to look at my mind.
We will have to find out who I am.
What I live for.
Who I live for..
Or I can just say what the meaning of this poem is.
But where is the fun in that?
Neglected. Final Warning.Wow, you stand there.
Expectant and powerful.
Waiting for me to fall to my knees and kiss your feet.
But I am not.
I am not going to be neglected kissing your palm, while you barely glance at mine!
No! I shall not become your debt collector.
Garden SlakedSkirted crux still tyrant loom
A wash to cleanse the earthen peat
Cling deadened neat as twining doom
Dancing rose in gallows hang
A fealty prayed with whispering
And sing come severed tolling rang
Rocky shoal conspired to dale
A task impartial of its bars
To let its mars cascade to pale
Fingers in a holding stance
The text invite a deceased mind
To share the kind of dying chance
Dress in sequence has no threads
And blended ties sway with the lines
As does the fine and roughened bled
Sombre on the bruising cheeks
Flush see its waters cast away
To ending day the noose will seek
A flower floating on a tide
Have weakness for its will to leave
Believe it made its choice to die
Crown gone weightless burden passed
And rule and regulations give
The ceaseless last to let one live
Wounds unhealed fresh as eyes
See existence for all its bears
And share the moment left behind
Outside on the cusp still one
Impacted in a shifting cloth
End willing done to send one off
Arms fallen in flesh of age
Love will writehiding in the shadows
intently out of view
near enough to watch
me and you
to capture conversation
perfectly by design
requiring a mere heartbeat
the smallest pause or look
with swift pounce upon the moment
Love will write its book
90 butelekDziewięćdziesiąt butelek
Dziewięćdziesiąt butelek stoi rzędem przy ścianie,
Spadnie pierwsza i druga i kolejna już głowa,
W sieci nocą splecione snem anielskim splątane,
Wpadną wszystkie ludzkości wiatrem niesione słowa.
I nic dalej nie będzie i zapadnie już cisza,
Ostra niczym krzyk źrenic rozszerzonych do granic,
Melodyjką z pudełka znów do snu ukołysze,
Dziewięćdziesiąt butelek znowu stanie przy ścianie.
FlameFeel the heat of the fire burning at your feet.
Taste the smoke that comes from up underneath.
New life breathed into the kiln of defeat.
Temptations and desire, no longer to beat.
Hate, love, hope, and broken souls all go up in flames.
Never again will the world be the same.
Reanimated hearts reach out to break chains.
New blood, flowing embers incenerate shame.
To destroy is to create.
Shattered dreams are lost fate.
Bones shed their skin before it's too late.
Destiny waits for the flame to retake.