Poetry

My love is like an unfinished poem
With only a line or two
That can cut entirely through
The thick brush that obstructs the path back home.

He stands triumphant in the golden light.
She is at last his pride and everlasting companion,
But still she doubts the rich day like the night,
So back down he goes to rake coals in the red rock canyon.

---

As a pillar of rising smoke did my angel condescend and appear
Standing without reserve on the exhausted banks of infinite sorrow
Gesturing to a gentle stream that overflows into tomorrow
With the collected dreams of a tragic love so painfully far and near.

Hilda Hilst

Quote :

"This mournful moon, this unease
Inner turbulence, lagoon,
Inside the solitude, a dying body,
All this I owe to you. Such immense
Plans and future, ships,
Walls of ivory, words full
Always consented to. It would be December.
A jade horse beneath the waters
A double transparency, a line in mid-air
All these things at your fingertips
All undone through the portal of time
Silent and blue. Mornings of glass,
Wind, a hollow soul, a sun I can not see

This, too, I owe to you.





When Beatrice and Cayanna ask you, Dionysus,
If you love me, you may say you love me not. It little matters to me
Being nothing around you, a shadow, tattered stuff
In the judgement of your mother and sister. What matters to me,
Dionysus, is what you say in bed, in my ear
And what you say cannot be sung
Because they are shameless, raging words
And in my verse they would sound wrong

And in my room love is the word.





It is as it should be, Dionysus: do not come
Voice and wind only
Of the out there

Supposing alone
That if you were inside

This important voice, this wind
of the branches out there

Would never reach me. Absorbed
I would listen
To the essence of your song. Do not come, Dionysus,
For it is better to dream your roughness
And every night, savour victory anew
Thinking: tomorrow, yes, you will come
And tomorrow will be a time of plenty:
Every night, I Ariana, making ready
Fragrance and body. And a verse every night
Unfolding from the wisdom of your absence.





Send me word, if you can,
"The moon is full, the house is clear."
Send me word, and paradise
Shall be nearer, and your uncertain face
Shall seem more recent.
Send for me if your day
Is as long as your night. If it's true
Without me you see nothing but monotony.
If you remember the gleam of tides
Some pale red fish
In certain seas
And my wet feet, send me word:
"It's a moonless night"
And dressed in light, I come to see you again.





I smile when I wonder
Where in your room
You keep my verse.
Away from your
Political books?
In the first drawer
Close to the window?
Do you smile when you read
Or are you tired of seeing
Such abandon
Amorous spark
On my ripened face?
Do I seem beautiful
Or am I to you, perhaps
Too much of a poet,
And not serious enough?
What does the man think
Of the poet? That there's no truth
In my drunkenness
And that you prefer
A friend more peaceful
And less adventurous?
That you simply cannot
Keep in your room
Worldly traces
Of my passionate words?
Do you see me as mad?
Do you see me as pure?
Do you see me as young?

Or is it true
That you never knew me?"

Everything returns like spring to its initial state
Where the wind carries the fragrance of our demon fate.
Through colorful flowers and dark brooding trees alike
Eurydice unfolds with the scent of a fresh Reich.

Keep 'em coming.)

The hotly contested soil of our sacred spot,
Where sprung a perfect moment that must be taught,
Becomes a battlefield for all trains of thought
Till one timeless idea arrives unsought.

And on this hill at the height of summer fast
A man calmly rises to a new cool caste.
From above himself he commands his whole past
As fragmented souls suffer the spell he casts.

But dark magic working at an unseen rate
Restores endless struggle to a lighter fate.
And those that wish to fall never fall too late
When children grant a push without flat debate.

---

Take my hand and we'll fly past the moon and the mighty stars
On bright wings that fan the irritable temper of Mars.
This love of ours will journey to mock all of time and space
Before arriving back in the light of each other's face.

---

Woman: forged in the fires of hell
Where that one creative angel Fell
Retains the memory of a love
That burns with the lightness of a dove.

Man: ravaged by the darkest black flame
Returns eternally to reclaim
The red dawn as his bride for all time,
Freed to release him on his sky climb.

Salutations, inexhaustibly complacent and gainly New World Passerine.
You prudent and resolute enmity of Gravity.
You ubiquitously restless and motionful permeator of dampened Skies.
For whom are your sonorous intimations?
To where do you covet your aspirations?
And when will you take respite,
confluenced with the nominal inhalation and nuances of the Sun?
Entreatingly with constancy - not so soon;
there are timeless peaks of peaks to construe.

Sappho:

She looks at him looking at his sun
As if he can see an unknown world
Lit by a fire lovingly unfurled
From his warm heart where she is the one.

---

You look back, but she's no longer there.
Wide awake with an emptying stare
Into the abyss that doesn't care
If you fall to your death unaware
Of life-saving threads of teasing hair,
She looks forward to your take and fare
Of this ill-fated shadow affair.

---

I watch her abandoned dance
And laugh like one in a trance
With life and its need to play
On my heart's deep naivete .

A lover's song, so simple and sweet,
Like grapes crushed under enchanting feet
Can evoke the most complex desire
To follow dancing maids though barbed wire.

I reflect on the life-forming loss
That keeps us stranded on separate worlds
With only the cold blanket of the night sky
And I dream of a silver bridge
Connecting every memory with the moment
I first saw your smiling face
Through the clearest glass window
Of our starship youth.

And these strange stars
That others look to for redemption
After a brush with alien life
Are finally restored by us
When we wear the leather of each other's night
And calmly ride into the perplexing light
That fills the gateway of a glance
Dying to get back home.

My pain reaches into the depth of sadness
Where beauty waits by the skin of a woman
To unfold in the form of a rose
For the man that confidently knows
Not to grab at joy
With dirty need.

And I pull out a delicate understanding
of death and its lover life
With the confirmation of the dawn
Who blushes like a woman turned on
By the sight of blood
On a man's blue soaring vision.

Don't be lead into the sunset
By an irresponsible girl
Who seems sweeter
Than the citrus sun.
She lives only for the taste
Of being naively chased
Into the savory violence
Of the red velvet sky
Dying to absorb your lasting light
Before fading from rosy view.

All Gods have disowned me -
Who is left standing?
Fall back unto yourself,
yourself will uplift you.

Who has stuck around -
Disobeyed orders from the rancor above?
Draw me nearer to the stars,
my Guardians of intrepid.

Fall with me and pull myself up with me -
Why have our Gods disowned me?
Our ostensible superlatives resent me,
my fellow winds of apparition smiles.

Pull me up with you -
New Gods of what's to come.
The old Gods have abandoned me,
my walkers before all head.

Lift me up, headstrongs -
You have not turned your backs on me?
A battle has been forged with these backstabbers,
my movement of limbs.

Like dear Mercutio...

Whose heart we only begin to understand when the moment counts.
Whose honour belongs more in Rome than Verona.
Whose pride, exemplified by a poetry without equal, tells him without description to stand his ground and defy Romeo's "tender" prescriptions.
Whose leopard skin drapes lion kings with shifting patterns of an elusive gold.
Whose hold on life speaks mountains to his hold of the stars.
Whose audacity we aspire to like fledglings of fate.
Whose words,that once released from the fiery gate, dance dangerously close to the heavy lusting hooves of summer, and in leaving a cool path, spur the serious sun to finally join lighthearted discussion.
Whose wit turns tragedy to comedy and back again before turning the corner on all concrete hearts.
Whose mischievous smile, so full of light, spell-bounds even devoted witches of night.
Whose dreams we dare not imagine unless we're ready to face reality's dragon.
Whose temper quickens even the blood of the gods,
And whose passion puts lovers in their place...

We depart always at the right time,
Our seasoned words burning strong like thyme.

She is the wet body that makes us weep
When we think of a love so wide and deep
That no ocean or canyon could express
The time put into this well of excess.

Like the earth embracing the incoming light
With a pink sky of heartfelt surrender
She lays down on a bed of thorny roses,
Ready to bleed for the man that sends her.

Torture supremus: locked in a room against your will while Maya Angelou poems are recited over an intercom.

The lacerated remains of a once glorious sun
Are seen slowly decomposing in stacks of golden hay
Before being thrown into the keen imaginations
Of monstrous children that rip apart as they freshly play.

As a child we test boundries
Hold our hand against the hot stove
And see how long we can bear the heat
Sweat pouring down our foreheads in anticipation
For that sharp exciting thrill that creeps up our spine
Explodes into our head and shocks every nerve into goosebumps
Just before the brain notices the pain
Just before we have to pull away
Love is a fire like that
We test
We try
And we hold
Until the goosebumps appear
Trying to make that feeling last
As we explore each others being
We add energy, and breath and the spark of passion
Hoping for an raging inferno
That burns long into the night
We stand, insolently naive waiting
For that lick of pleasure before the pain
The off chance that we can hold it there
Before the tears drown the flames
Or we smother it out all together
Inhale smoke so hot our lungs burn
And we forget how to breathe
But we stand waiting, blistering
Obscured in the smoke for too long
Before we notice that our skin is charred
In the fallout we wait for the scars to heal
Take pieces of ourselves to cover the wounds
Hope that the damage doesn’t scare others away
But our scars become our warning signs
The masks we wear
Signposts
Guiding those who visit
Reminding them we are a tourist spot
A dock to greater journeys yet to come
That we no longer build bonfires
Climb mountains, sail the seas
Our outer shell of skin grafts
And scar tissues is too thick
To feel goosebumps

Arditezza wrote:

But our scars become our warning signs
The masks we wear
Signposts
Guiding those who visit
Reminding them we are a tourist spot
A dock to greater journeys yet to come

That's really good.

---

Never stop loving that saucy bitch they call empty space
Because when you fall asleep
Beside the night so damned deep
She reveals the most beautiful contradictory face.

---
The silver ignited stars have always been falling
Homeless through heavenly space where beauty is sprawling
Til being straightened out by an arrow of longing
That calmly gathers the distant light of belonging.

perpetualburn wrote:

Take my hand and we'll fly past the moon and the mighty stars
On bright wings that fan the irritable temper of Mars.
This love of ours will journey to mock all of time and space
Before arriving back in the light of each other's face.

I love this, I have been also writing some poetry that is otherworldly lately. Perhaps there is something in the water.

This was written April 16, 2015 around the same time;

I am a multiverse
Full of atoms flowing
Creating and destroying
Planets inside my head
That spin around suns
A brilliant supernova
My words are particles shining
Plucked beautifully
From the edges of newborn stars
With wonders unknown
The composition of which
Is yet to be realized
Navigating through space
And time transcendent
Skidding carefully
On edges of black holes
Careful to avoid the vortex
The debris often pierces
My soul with wounds
Experience riddled
I adapt and expand
My universes
And all the beauty
I draw with my ideas
Filling in spaces
Colouring the world
With multitudes
Born within my heart
Exuded from the tip of my pen
A glimpse into my galaxies
Begging to be explored

Moonlight streams,
Howling winds and leaves
The fire in her eyes,
They never lie
She is hotter than hell
And colder than a blizzard
Always on the periphery,
But ultimately a Medusa's gaze
She slowly chisels ice from her heart,
To cool my cup of death.
The last drop,
The beginning of a dragon's breath.

I dream of steel bridges
That support silver crossings
And the men that lead the way
Over silky water of darkest depths
Where sly monsters have no say.
And I am transported
As if by a shuttle of familiar light
To a place that welcomes all words
To describe this eternal city
Built beneath the clashing of swords
And the sharp blades
That keep their rose promises.
Now the moment arrives
In a stream of blood
As I stand before a treasure trove
Of dark secret trees
That huddle into a quiet grove
To protect the evening flower
From loud and heavy feet.
So I become a shadow of the night
To make quick but trusted friends
With everything touched by cryptic moonlight.
And the black nocturnal bodies
That guard the mystery of my heart
Finally back off, providing a portal
To an intimate place
On the other side of everything mortal
Where true love waits
To prick me awake.

Steel, silver, lead; bridges, crossings, way, depths.
Superb, reminds me a little of Serrano's vision about the eternal cities, discs of light, the eternal myth.

The steel in my stars begins to rust
Listening to clumsy white clownish seagulls
Harass the enduring but serious rocks.
And I sink right into the hazy sea
Of a smothering Calypso
Whose sad affection manages to send me
Joyfully back to Old Silver Beach
Where we first cut our little feet
On the still end of broken glass.
And here, home by the dark cave, I flash and play
With floating threads of dancing light
Left in the distance by my Ariadne
To help me navigate the salty but warm coastline
Of an endlessly reconstructing jagged love
That pushes and pulls with the tides.