Underneath the anger, there are tears. Beneath the fury, there is hurt, a river
of affliction - the day that possibility evaporated. I knew, the moment
it was gone. Telos obscured, like a mist, had left me.

Frost in February, morning at the local coffee house, perseverating, sedate
in privatized, cogitations - certainty dissolves into irony, the transient
collective with predictable cadence and singular objective. Borrowed
energies - preferred anesthetic in defiance of the placid, quotidian horror.

Angst wrapped in skin, clothed in remorse, like a muslin coat unable
to keep me warm, the palette of truculence, dislocated savant,
with guarded aversion - faces enucleating in tacit harmony, the muted tragedy
of the forgotten.

Yoked, the metaphorical satchel, freighted with the sentient debris, sifting
the fuckage, memoirs of failure, privation of venture and honor, objectified as
mere portent. [Existence] - the daily riot, becomes the necessary crucible.

Dissonance and detachment resonate the cultural banality, [being] displaced
by icon; [branding], ideas about ideas, life several times removed,
emblem over essence.

Existential renegade, exploiting the counter intuitive, the paradigmatic prodigal,
favor squandered, in the absonant passage, bearing fruit of the undone.

Bones of contention lament, interminably, like a false friend, present in absence,
perceived in the lack, subtraction, slip-stream - the disheveled
palaver of the broken.

Acutely self referential, misery enfleshed, its own reward, a post-war
discontent inhabiting sorrow, compressed and narrow, begetting
apathy in springtime.

Commodity of youth, the currency of beauty -permuted, commerce of the
ethereal and diaphanous. Human caprice, post-modern fog,
the flattened self,
the enemy of us is us, drowning in the decorum of narcissism.
the fattened calf,
immolating on the sword of autonomy.

Recycled grief, a recursive loop of gestating thoughts, marinating fluidly
within the interpretive grid. Confessional cyber community - exposed wounds
and concrete suffering, abstracted from virtual solidarity, refracted through a
reductive sentimentality, maybe they will ‘like’ it.

Iconoclast in exile, inhaling the incense of barrenness , surrounded by synoptic
drivel in understated - present tenses - alight in the now, axial axioms of the privileged,
who genuflect to the god of unfettered freedom.

Peripatetic intervals of isolation, self-imposed, hidden in a sanctuary of derision,
colliding with immutable otherness , the waters of chaos, calm.
The proleptic display, announcing eschatology. An ancient text written on the interior
expressed in myth and narrative the courier. The carnal and cerebral
arise, rightly flourishing.

Sense thresholds stirring, surprise and turbulence, reverberations of altered
domains merging - the temporal and ubiquity, the indissolubly resplendent
inversion - the invisible made visible. Opaque intrigues subsumed into the
balm of reconciliation - the first shall be last…

©2012 W.S. Warner

slippery light boasts
languid limbs gestating
in mercurial puddelings
awaiting the destruction
of their tender shafts by
some pale passing
fle(she
bears its ethereal
glow on her pallor
in the                           second of that truculent divergence


                                                                )

Head hung low he strolls along
The squat, staid streets of London
Until halted by a throng
Of blossoming carnations
I ask: What mortal joy is grander
Than to be rapt by a flower as you meander?

And raise thy head in reverence
To a flourishing floral sight
Fanciful as rainbow’s end
Pure as a soul in flight
Bundles of them he saw at a glance
Adding their zest to the Spring’s gay dance

Glittering in resplendent hues
From all across the spectrum
Much colours did his eye amuse;
He didn’t know to expect them
He stood and sighed and thought: “How pleasant
To see the world turn iridescent!”

Beneath the trees, sunk in soil
Gestating all the year
The flowers with the earth embroiled
The work of life is dear
Dutifully they pledge upon
Their lives to keep life going on

It pays well to flash thine eyes
On things that are lesser seen
Much is hidden in this world
That is soothing and serene
He left, his heart in gestation
Just like the blossoming carnations

The world is so connected and indeed, it is not in many ways,
From newspapers to the internet, social networking sites to video calling and last but not the least telephonic calls.

We are so absorbed in the world that exists not as a tangible reality,
that we forget the ones seated next to us,
to smile at our friends we forget or we don't realise
but find time in all the world to smile at a WhatsApp message or a Facebook chat.

We miss the chances to care and help others in real world
while we make panels and help groups on social sites,
And work ******* promoting  stressing and straining to make things work.

We forget our loved ones while trying to find new loved ones
through distant chords and invisible strings of a virtual world.

It is indeed right we learn of cultures and diversity
and acknowledge most kinds and varieties
forgetting the very near and very much wanted.

It is a difficult question as we are still gestating in a world of virtual reality
far fetched from the perceivable reality
if we still wanted to continue as such.
But the truth is that we are more connected by this umbilical cord of illusionary virtual global connectedness  that we block real realities in the dawn of it.

We are not ready to be reborn with more sensitive capabilities,
to transform and reunite and catch hold of our lost sensibilities and sensitivities
to save our world from being so disconnected.

Is not it time that we did redesign a new world
Where love and care
Warmth and tenderness reign.

Is it not time that we stop and stoop to hold our old world and yet conceive of a new world integrated
With technology and live side by side
And weave a wonderful life for us.

Words hissing through links of spine
Shake his skull’s base
Plunge into a pool of melancholy
So vacuous and contemptible
That’s been
Flooded by nihilism and avarice
Her dead notion gestating
Open case indefinitely
You chose this,
Sinking
In my shallow waters
Displacing fondness
Evaporating on the banks
In serotonin’s stolid drought
Crinkled blueprints for what might have been
Were trembling lips adverse to apathy
And chances had been taken

I want to marvel at the sky
As sunlight sneaks away
Yielding to majestic night
As colour bleeds from day

I'd leap at the horizon
Beat wings against the Moon
And touch the bonny Rainbow
Through which fierce fires bloom

I'd climb upon the stairs of heaven
For a better view of Earth
And behold her awed by splendour
Of her gestating girth

Watch this thought walk up the wall.
Watch the creepy crawly creature creeping higher.
His waste trails after him, sullying the paint.
Before long the whole room reeks.
Watch him watch you now as he sits on the ceiling.
Is this really how you want to spend your day:
watching your thoughts walk circles around the room?
You used to entertain yourself with lofty notions.
You used to write to some of the thoughts down.
Now look at you looking at some sickly creature,
and trying to find something to say.

Watch this thought form a cocoon.  
Watch the sleepy drawling creature sleeping soundly.
He is gestating, growing, becoming while you just sit there.
Before long he’ll be something more than you.
Watch him and listen to the sounds of change.
Is this really how you want to spend your day:
in envy of a creature who’s life barely lasts the whole thing?
You used to entertain yourself with clever colleagues.
You used to fool around with funny friends.
Now look at you looking at some sickly creature,
and trying to find something to say.

Watch this thought hatch from its slumber.
Watch the bouncing, buzzing beasty birthed.
His wings spread out and he flies down from the ceiling.
Before long he makes out of the open window.
You ask yourself: is this really how I just spent my day:
imagining a life instead of living my own?
I used to write poems, and I thought they were profound.
I used to tell myself that they might mean something to you.
Now, look at you looking at me looking at nothing in particular,
and try to find something to say.

Poetry...
A fragile emotion
Gestating
In the womb of my mind
Safe in the amnions
Of thin creativity
On the nib of my LAMY
It shall descend
For a verbose delivery

She was barely sixteen,
out late partying,
and intoxicated
when he came
and violated
her sacred
center.

At first, she resisted
but with his fists
he insisted.
So, stunned numb
she submitted,
laying still as a stone
that sunk
to the bottom
of a lake,
as she was forced
to endure
that horrible ****.

Disgusted and ashamed,
she almost took a shower,
but unfortunately knew
if she wanted to
press charges
she’d have to keep
his ******* fluids.

So, she let them
swab and start collecting
all the samples
they would need
to prosecute.

But at her
court appointed
appearance
it soon became
apparent
that only her parents
cared about justice,

cause the judge was
quite transparent.
Even though,
he made a production
of compassion for
her suffering,
he still let
that rich man's son
off with only a
slap on the wrist,

cause the lawyer told him
he’s just a boy and
he can’t do time in
the prison system,

cause it would ruin him
and it’s not his fault because of
affluenza.

What good would it do
but ruin the lives of two,
after all they had
both been through?

Several weeks
and more than three
pregnancy tests later,
she still felt
the violation
as a remnant of him
began gestating
like and alien
inside of her.

But her church wouldn’t
let her abort the fetus
so, despite the trauma
she had to adapt
to the fact
that she was trapped.

Four weeks later
she went from
at least this life
will need her,
to cold chills,
cramps, and a fever;

From ten to
twenty-two  
pounds gained
then to back down
and even lighter
then when
her pregnancy
began.

She went from
finally accepting
and preparing
to start sharing
her life
with a newborn,
to a ****** expulsion,
nausea, repulsion,
and hiding
said heartbreaking
pain in shame.

BTW vir means man in the old Latin
from which
the nomenclature
of Catholic Christianity rose up,
curia and cives and synoikia by Roman ****,
and cries of grace

a ****** seems a gin, ala engine, ie, ei
genius engenederer a man maker version

We got hope.

--
it very well could be, that we
know more than we imagined
we knew
as we,

the people, who hold certain
truths,
to be
self-evident.

You see? You hold these certain truths
and
****
you're an icecream cone.

And as Arthur assures me still:
There
will be time
to start
all
over.

If you can artifice enough integrity of mind,
to think of a way, each

mankind mind made unthingable, find that Greek word

ah dian oi toasted, nah, but near, this word means
the thing done, the deed not non-doable in being real.

the line
in the sand, crossed,
this away and thataway

we that take the refractured way through the wall,
inalienable right holding we,
the unalienable native
born bhering heir
looms
holdin' woven coffin nails as puffs of smoke signaling
go
now

carry good news on beautiful feet.
conciliate, liberty sans munera calls remunera to the game.

play fair, or be square.
Living Shakespearean tropes in Euclidean dramas
enacted by liars used to entertain fools

for the power of suggestion
gestating in the waiting
next
from now on.

stem cell words
from the cellular wall of the
poem birth canal
narrows, twists,
even double helix's,
doc-prof diagnosis
with perfect, absolute uncertainty,
denotes the presence of
stem cell words

"all your writes,
gestating make-believe,
word smythe
premium cocktail concoctions,
gospel soul post-viewed
rocked and roiled
still and always,
unflinchingly personal

singing and simulcast
the unique
internal combustion,
that removes the pollution,
of your
unflinchingly personal..."

mother necessity
delivery of a
Caesarian cut-them-out

says me
cut, excise them,
take them,
them newborn-baby stones
give them
a good home,
my DNA upon them,
my only Jacob blessing,
that they get
goodly tented taken

let them spawn
more and others,
will love them
better just for knowing
even never seeing them again,
still and always,
whatever they
write on,
still and always,
I'm in them,
they will be,
unflinchingly personal,
even if signed by
another's name....

How sorrow flows,
as it gently nudges
at the edge of my elbow
again and again.
Until I turn around and
surrender.

How sorrow grows,
from a little moment of
discomfort,
shame or death of a feeling,
which was once dear...

Into a monster
who cannot differentiate
love from hate.

Sorrow flows,
like the monthly massacre
of a woman's
body, week and dreams,
gestating
from a tiny cell.

A dream goes drifting like a cloud
Across a sky of molten colour
Enveloped in divinest shroud
Gestating for infinite hours
Until harnessed to consciousness
Yielded to individual mind
Brought in to focus by inquisition
Some dreams are mean, some are kind
The individual and collective psyche
Wrestle for dominance
But they can be harnessed to harmony
And brought in to concordance
It was known to Jung that thoughts are sung
By more than one sole spirit
Symbols and ideas magically wrung
It enlightens one to be near it
It's just that one must be aware
That thoughts transcend one mind
If you try to perceive the ether there
Untold treasures you will find

A goddess wrought in platinum aura sublime
Aloft, triumphant at starts and ends of times
All is created and all is destroyed there
Perpetual motion; thermodynamics flare
Men they try to copy her might, futile mime
For they can't emulate her deep disarming stare
Which transcends reason, inspires bards to rhyme
For the good and godliness in there
Outranks Medusa in enchanted hair
For I floated enchanted rapt in thrall
Enchanted by her bonny beauty rare
And her suppression through aeons the mind appals
But when henchmen of demonic devil's snare
**** her in the western warring call
Arrogant to think they'd suppress lady Kali's magic might
They will fail and they will surely fall
Irisidescent was her gestating glow
Glittering atman guarding all of space
Angels take us to see her to and fro
Show us in her the light of love apace
To deny her truth is a dank disgrace
We should regret that, repent and woe
That cultists **** her, proudly, in her prime
And make of diva's death a glutton's show
We are her children, but some of us do not know
She is able, what's hers is ours
A knowledge that begs to be devoured
In celestial, rare, immortal hour
Time not decreed from tyrant's tower
From her blessings wonderfully shower
Thankyou John for showing me
Temptress Kali, sweet, supreme
To her we went through eternity
Saw the celestial democracy
Of Christian and Hindu angels alike
Don't carry each other's heads on spikes
For knowing Allah's heart has light
Like all prophets peace their fight
Direction's guardians, Blake, Buddha, Ganesha
With love's light and earth enmeshed
Blake lamented spiritual decline
That children by Satan's plans in brine
But his flaming vision sees through times
And will path the way to freedom's climes
Buddha sat under the Bodhi tree
Knowing peace to set minds free
Hearts in confraternity
No you, no I, only one heart, WE
John the angel of the north
He told me John, didn't say which
I cried with pride when his enchanted drawl
Revealed a songstress from people's Liverpool
His message spoke to the one and all
Imagine the people, Imagine them all
Out with all that hates and that is cruel
Hate has made of each of us a fool
Ganesha, last but surely not the least
Has hankering heart of bright benevolent beast
The angel of the earthen east
Love gestate in him that never ceased
I saw him before, it was a while ago
But dressed in woman's form, with woman's glow
Vinayak the learned scribes would say
But all can know her either way
I saw her as one called Lexi that fine day
And it put an end to my dismay
To see us indivisible, goddess, same
When foolish man played dividing game
Gave "better" and "worse" to us as contending names
While he go questing for recognition, fame
But I do not resent that one for flaws
For all are irresistible to adore
Just want him to end this goddess war
That all men educated for
I digress, back to the flight
Where John took me on an epic sight
Next was angel of the earth
Diana of the heart and hearth
Lightworker born in tyrants sect
Learned how to love not genuflect
To hearts purity we would sure neglect
If we didn't long reflect
On fact that was surely killed
By one to who the devil shilled
What their fancy name: who cares?
To scare us with it: who dares?
She got our hearts on television
Appealing with her sweet precision
To love and brother her decision
Sought to heal the earth's contusion
Like Michael Jackson, arch angel too
Deranged as me, but sweet and true
To hurt children he didn't want to do
But give them nurture, play, they grew
The ones who really hurt the child
Are the ones who he reviled
Who sought to bring him down with lies
Again their victim empowered in the skies!
So many angels I could not count
Shakespeare whimsical on his pipe
Silent thinking thoughts so ripe
To think Lords slandered him as tripe!

Percey Shelley too was there
Chose to rebel shed claim to heir
Scaled the oxford ivory tower
and pamphleteered for freedoms power
Got kicked out in gray dull hour
But through time his insights rain and shower
As audience for devil are fewer and fewer
And peaces hope is ripe, empowered
Beyond angels, Shiva, meditator sublime
Is it audacity to ask what he sees in font of time?
Lids half open, rapt supreme
Painted with a pallet got from dream
Looked akin to Taylor, dancing wild
With heart and happiness of chiding child
That he akin to god reluctant to accept
But aren't we all Gods in retrospect?
That we are animals belong to tyrant taught
And in accepting that, our souls meet la mort
(If you read Plato backwards he fought
To encrypt truth of soul's genesis, answer sought: Really, it's stunning.)
Beyond shiva cosmic churning true
Said the blessed fires run through you
And I heard clear and remembering applaud
THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR WE ARE ALL ONE GOD
There is nothing on earth as exquisite as you
It spoke turning my heart from red to blue
Said all the world is lordly love and light
A truth in which all nascent souls take flight
Musicians there, their sweetest songs unfurled
Their festival with all the time in the world!
Even ones in youthful splendour culled
By ones who will to hate heart's song and world
It was then that Lennon zoomed me to Kali
Swimming in that churning seismic sea
Sure as heaven a vision of eternity
And in a circle she danced fluid free
The circle was a wave and particle
Light, a string in theory, gave me fright!
For Kali I had been so rapt in thrall
I had not noticed THE GOD PARTICLE
Sounds crazy but experiments of thought
Are scientific method Einstein taught
For only in deepest dreams is it possible
To see what life could truly be
Thanks John for letting me climb your wings
And flying that particle over me

When we descend back to sprightly earth
The angels all changed place, assumed new roles
Diana cede to Jo, of equal warmth
Fought for lass and mass and for the proles
And Buddha went from northern angel sweet
To defender of the faith with God's trust replete
A role assumed by Jesus once before
As he ascend to god, irresistable to adore
The bit that got me most is this
And it gave me joyful bliss
I ascend to Buddha's southern role
See sunshine as a kiss, it made me whole.

Back off, magic pen,
the memory is mine, once I settled all accounts,
my worth
is not them knowing,
more than I survived, I did
not by being one of the few, but I survive
by being the only real me,
who stood in that position, calm eustasy,
in a box of thoughts tested time and again, knowing
and with a little umph, oomph, try,
once more,
effort, per haps a made up sweaty struggle,
to catch this magic fish who gave me this
wish
to have endless ink and informative material,
gestating as solemn promises to tell
as told,
speak when spoken to, pray you hear in time,
waiting is, but so is ever,
whose wish
haps first is whose may is now. In a word.

Self Feeding System Digesting Gestating
Regurgitated Lies Insider Trading
Atmospheric Tension BI-Polar Shift
Entrenched IN THE Mire Builds Pressure TO Lift

Engorging NO Purging THE Feeling IS Urging
This Active Revolting Deep Sickness IS Surging

Organic Inbreeding
HER **** ARE Bleeding
This Sickness IS Seeding

Little Boys' Notion OF Self Possession
Setting IN Motion HIS OWN Regression
A Lack OF Self Assurity
Convinced OF HIS OWN Purity

Isolation
Alienation
A Nature OF Self Anihilation
Muscular Overcompensation
Dissociation
AND
NOW
AN
EGO
IN
Flames

WAR OF THE Words Each Symbol Provoking
AN Incantation That Summons Invokes
Minds Conform TO Cradle AND Cradle AS ONE
This Little BOY THE NEW Born SON

'I' Speak NOW Louder Than Words
YOU'VE Paid THE Price TO Shepard THE Herds
Mankinds Hubris MY Metal Skin Girds
ALL Souls Strewn FOR Scavvenger Birds
Souls Laid TO Rest FOR Scavenger Birds

They Deify Knees Pressed TO THE Ground
THE ******* OF Bale ' OF ******* Abound
OF Deafening Lies Speaks A Deafening Sound
Worship THE Power OF Little Boys Crown
Worship THE Power OF Litle Boys Crown

I Beat MY Chest I Beat YOU Down
ALL Souls TO Rest Little Boys Come Around
I Beat MY Chest I Beat YOU Down
THE Heart OF THE SUN IN Little Boys Crown
I Beat MY Chest I Beat YOU Down
THE Finger OF GOD Never Touches THE Ground
THE Finger OF GOD Never Touches THE Ground

I Beat MY Chest I Beat YOU Down
Souls Laid TO Rest Little Boys Come Around
I Beat MY Chest I Beat YOU Down
THE Heart OF THE SUN IN Little Boys Crown

I Beat MY Chest I Beat YOU Down
Souls Laid TO Rest Little Boys Come Around
I Beat MY Chest I Beat YOU Down
THE Heart OF THE SUN IN Little Boys Crown

I Beat MY Chest I Beat YOU Down
THE Finger OF GOD Never Touches THE Ground
THE Finger OF GOD Never Touches THE Ground

“There’s not even room enough to be anywhere
Its not dark yet, but it’s getting there”. – Bob Dylan
.
A pair of die is tossed across a plywood-table.
It’s oak-veneer of creamy grain glisters with light
Which falls crummy, like dandruff from naked bulbs
That are illumined by a hand that screws;
There is no switch.
The flick of that wrist charms those die into snake eyes.
And so, the two-fold trick erupts our opposites on top
Of the laminated universe. The stones have settled.

You can smell the ignited, paper wick
Of a well-packed cigarette
But none of the sweet leaf which follows.
The virtue of our space is that
The substance is snuffed out.

No more panache with death-
Wish; just sadness fumbling with toilet
Paper, because tissues got expensive.
Pretty quick the crown of that nose chafes
Against the single-ply and specks of skin
Suspend themselves in oddly solar
Bathroom light. But the cells reform so quick;
The cartilage is solid like the trunks of effusive,
Sappy trees that create a sympathetic prison.
Soon, apathetic winter comes to ****
The ornaments obscuring
A depthless forest.

So stripped of foliage, an ascetic, wintry oak
Must look inside itself.
The anatomy of tree
As annulated grain,
Is kept concealed; flat circles. marking. years.
It sees Prospero’s Ariel and Carlotta’s Madeleine.
They’re gagged, trapped in the trunk
And point outside the Vertigo of time –
Inside the television – to “total flow” –  
(Where Scottie drools catatonically)
To spotless light, in evergreen rooms
That are built of such better pulp.

..

Conspicuous are characters around here.
It seems that silver dollars stack ten to a word
Of which so many do plague these matted
And miserly phrases.
Intelligent, it isn’t.  Green looks blue;
Intelligence is stupid. It does not sound
Like anything and means much less.
No, they’re hopeful to be musical or
Umbilical; like, connected to the harmonic
Mother who’s just now gestating an utterance
For life or death. Whichever side
Of the soil you prefer.

Most folks used to hedge their bets on both
But eternity is out, the moment is in.
Like Jesus Christ it’s difficult to stay
With the latest
Transcendental style.  
Friction atomizes faith’s tension ‘till
Belief systems are burned out.

The Library of Babel is in flames.
The ash falls and frosts the boughs
Of culture’s mangey oak.

That tree, was just struck by the zeitgeist’s lightning.
And furiously, so furiously our year’s snow is falling,
On all the breathing; all the sleeping,
Whom sawing logs are situated in the worst, possible
S(lumber).
…

I saw dust, and it looked like me.
I am the 3rd Adam.
I am a-bomb.
And I will deliver us.

Sawdust

The ground work
The art work
The craft work
The hard work
The life work
of a working poet
works on long after
the pen rests
and the mind drifts
to pouring wine
and making dinner
at the close of the journal
at the close of another
working day

The words dance on
The mind works on -
fermenting
gestating
wordplaying -
while the pen
and the journal
lie in waiting
ready for the release
of fresh ink
at the start
of another working day

A sun of bright and blazing fire,
Embroils deep with my desire,
Summoning me to its embrace,
Kissing with its warmth the hollows of my face,
A smorgasboard of molten colour,
Beckons at me, summons me near,
I become swept up, in hurricane,
that rolls and waves across the plane
of one reality in to another.

'Tis here where spirits dwell and brood,
Feasting on fine celestial food,
On wings, a sight on which to swoon,
Beauty, whose time is e'er noon,
The Faeries with the Earth embroiled,
Gestating deep, sunk in soil,
Words are whispered by the trees
Life is flowing through the breeze,
Without care or toil.

I immerse my Heart in meditation,
Gestating deep unencumbered by thought,
To feel it pulsing divine vibrations,
Is a skill that can be learned not taught,
The purity of thought is an immaculate creation,
A mystery of the world
In seeds of thought the future in gestation,
In them the path unfurls
For all she gives, my appreciation,
In my heart affection swirls,
Soothing my past's laceration,
Begetting future's pearls.

A lover drifted in a dream
Over Gods sweet and sinuous rills
And paddling down that purest stream
Chanced sight of dancing daffodils
He stood and sighed and said how pleasant
To see the world turn iridescent

His eyes enchanted by the hues
That sparkled under truthful sun
Revealing with disinfecting rays
Things through which cosmic fire runs
Givers of the life the earth and flame
As lovers of life we are the same

All souls were they enchanted by
The dance of flowers which rebel
To drink up lightning from the sky
A bloom to vanquish concrete hell
Inspires song when eyes revolve
Upon that sweet gestating salve