Riverside, CA    1992 -    
abstraction is my native tongue

&

everything i produce is
absolute garbage by most standards
abstraction is my native tongue

&

everything i produce is
absolute garbage by most standards
EJ Aghassi
EJ Aghassi
2 hours ago

Meticulous, magnificent
Hurled into hell
Though heaven sent

Shadow for a face, undefined,
Sorrowful contours &
Shading under the eyes

Knowing little to none
Of biological purpose
Depression worn on the sleeve
Feeling less than worthless

There was no attempt in hiding
The bad feelings residing
Beneath the surface, and
Those scars they're outlining

Opened your heart and your head
To a nation sick in bed
With a spiteful spurning
Of shallow pleasantries

Decades before me, your
Troubles finally ended
But they permeate onward
In me they're resurrected

If I could only console you
Touch you or hug you
Sing songs in sadness
Deflect the rain from above you

I'd mediate the relationship
You've since had with the Sun
And reconcile the rejection
Of the Moon and her young

You've shocked and appalled
But your only crime
Was your humanity

I am a mourning a soul
Thrown into the maelstrom
That warped your own

But I want you to know:
In the midst of these years
You aren't alone

Your blood runs through my veins

& in my heart you've found home

For Christine Chubbuck:

Your story made
My heart ache
In a peculiar way

This mighty empire hath but feet of clay:
Of all its ancient chivalry and might
Our little island is forsaken quite:
Some enemy hath stolen its crown of bay,
And from its hills that voice hath passed away
Which spake of Freedom:  O come out of it,
Come out of it, my Soul, thou art not fit
For this vile traffic-house, where day by day
Wisdom and reverence are sold at mart,
And the rude people rage with ignorant cries
Against an heritage of centuries.
It mars my calm:  wherefore in dreams of Art
And loftiest culture I would stand apart,
Neither for God, nor for his enemies.

Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
Into some lesser thing.
Prove that I lie.

Such body lovers have,
Such exacting breath,
That they touch or sigh.
Every touch they give,
Love is nearer death.
Prove that I lie.

  3 days ago  EJ Aghassi

You did not come,
And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb.
Yet less for loss of your dear presence there
Than that I thus found lacking in your make
That high compassion which can overbear
Reluctance for pure loving kindness’ sake
Grieved I, when, as the hope-hour stroked its sum,
You did not come.

You love me not,
And love alone can lend you loyalty;
—I know and knew it. But, unto the store
Of human deeds divine in all but name,
Was it not worth a little hour or more
To add yet this: Once you, a woman, came
To soothe a time-torn man; even though it be
You love me not.

  3 days ago  EJ Aghassi

Well, World, you have kept faith with me,
Kept faith with me;
Upon the whole you have proved to be
Much as you said you were.
Since as a child I used to lie
Upon the leaze and watch the sky,
Never, I own, expected I
That life would all be fair.

’Twas then you said, and since have said,
Times since have said,
In that mysterious voice you shed
From clouds and hills around:
“Many have loved me desperately,
Many with smooth serenity,
While some have shown contempt of me
Till they dropped underground.

“I do not promise overmuch,
Child; overmuch;
Just neutral-tinted haps and such,”
You said to minds like mine.
Wise warning for your credit’s sake!
Which I for one failed not to take,
And hence could stem such strain and ache
As each year might assign.

  3 days ago  EJ Aghassi

Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.

EJ Aghassi
EJ Aghassi
3 days ago

Plastic bottles
Of cheap vodka
Ceremoniously laid
On top the dirt

Faded red deterioration
Decorating human sin
The plastic as much
A human construct
As the forces driving those
To drink the poison within

Our kind is found among
The freshly fallen leaves,
Blanketing decomposition,
Suspended in between what
Is known of a detached life
Gracefully succumbing to nature

Our character is in the mulch,
It is in the metamorphosis

Our hopes and fears hidden
Within the actions that define us

Scattered about the ground
In the honor of days now drowned
In fermented angst

Plastic human sin
Cheap ceremony
These are the things
We choose to be

But we are so much more

Part 1.
 
To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment