By your Decide these Fourteen-Lined Girls Play,
And Shriek then Shrivel their Memories re-vamp
For now the Muse Changed his Technique this Day
And Submitted his Pleasures to his Stamp
I Refer your Lad his Fine Efforts flow
Though Knowing your Forceps his Name refuse
Since Villified Forces emblast his Show
Then Create Sullen Theories by their Confuse
Yet this Numbing Silence your Weapon still
In Disguise make this Wrathful Shouter heal
For all his Looniness his Words distill
Though Somber Passions do Burn until.
Edging enough does Heart frown for Support
Be as it may cringe his Pride to Report.
Whether by choice
Or by force
The loss still hurts.
Now the punch line of every song
It hurts to play,
But kills to stop.
Which is the lesser I cannot say.
Because the radio hates me,
But it drowns the hushed voices in my head.
Voices that shriek could haves and lost thoughts
My choice is noise and noise alone.
I tell stories of fantasy and fable alone in the dark
In the soothing belief that a new world will wipe away my sins,
However it seems only to enrage my demon
Vivid dreams of hostility and resentment fill my veins with venom.
My two worlds colliding into an inhospitable torture.
I twitch in solitude bombarded by my choice.
Images of her haunt my spirit,
twisting it's remains into coal.
Like a switch my hell is brought to life.
What little easy I find in the company of others is shattered.
Demolished by hazy eyes and fastened ears,
Dragging me back to Oblivion.
A tolerance of loss emotion is fabricated overtime.
It's bleak touch only proves to numb
For her thought still wakes me.
I see the heavens turn bleak and watch the sky begin to seethe
It is as if the world is beginning to tear at the seams.
Remaining upon the rocks to watch the waves change
First seeming tame and hushed,
They begin to swell and rise up like stallions ready for the charge
Their rage only seems to intensify as the spray hits the rocks below.
And the waves tower even higher, opening their jaws to shout their rage at me
The sky shifts black and green with murderous intent
It will claim lives tonight, a sacrifice long overdue.
Suddenly the heavens tear and all the fury of the gods shriek down upon the earth
The waves try to swallow the earth at my feet and the land shudders,
Even the wind has become distorted, screaming for life
The ocean, no longer indigo, but green with the spirits of lost sailors
Their souls to be devoured by the shifting void, adrift forever in its vastness.
The aesthetic world
Which I am ensnared
Ensnares the human condition.
When tools are stripped
A human is simply a strategist;
We grows abundantly when mind is focused.
The web of comfort is a dubious web
It isolates while it stimulates
The tools are surpassing the mind.
Unity breeds family, synthetic breeds iso mind
Looking for a common ground in which
A ground for thought, growth, and synthesis.
Where is Machiavelli's Moses?
Where are the dreamers, imagineers, the ghandi's?
Employed by the market street
That vampire Greed vamps a wicked web of
People buy it on an interface that is faceless
Never realizing that happiness is sitting at the window enjoying the view.
Employ love to grow and be guided by prudent
We move with
Writing, painting, discussing.....
There is an uncanny relief in
Facing demons of the subconscious
Allowing the Ego to rage like Katrina
All the while knowing how petty the storm is
That it will pass
As it blows itself horse
The storm is petty
As are the webs we think are shackles
But are cobwebs in a trash heap of back consciousness
Easy to dispel but scary in the dark
We need not wait for Moses
If we create a forum she will come
Can you see the concept of Moses?
Let us let prudent direct action
Be a trumpet of change
Calling forth the " I have a dream"-ers
We are ripe for rational change
But being distracted by debt
We see it not
Until the forum sheds light on
The vampire cranking the subtle machine
On market street.
Disavow the ownership by machines
And control the machines
Detach the eyes from the pretty lights and mob numb-ers
Look into another's eyes
Digging the light inside of the windows
Then with mutual respect, and walking hand in hand
The numb numbers will awaken
And shriek with empirical distaste
So to shakle greed, as we unmask OZ
To unshakle the mind and utilize the incentive
Of filial sentiments..... Then
Then.... We as people
Can accept a cohesive Moses and revolutionize
Hark " not all that is gold glitters"
The mind is a diamond in the rough
And to change would be an sublime adventure
T'was the night before Christmas
And with everything done
The kids were all dreaming
Of Christmas Day fun
The tree was completed
We had wrapped all the toys
When from the basement below
We heard a faint noise
I sprung from the couch
Took off down the stairs
On my way through the kitchen
I tripped on two chairs
I slid down the staircase
To the base of my house
And there with my shortbreads
Was a bloody great mouse
My wife followed close
And then she let out a shriek
She saw me and the mouse
And she started to freak
He nibbled the cookie
and he ran past my nose
right down my torso
Then he stopped at my toes
My wife was still screaming
The mouse didn't care
He continued his running
On under the stairs
I crawled to my workshop
Grabbed the first thing I found
A mallet for pounding
That mouse in the ground
I limped to the staircase
And I swung at the wall
I again lost my balance
And again, I did fall
I put two holes in the riser
Two more in the tread
I was gonna keep swinging
Till that mouse was dead
I broke the one lightbulb
That lit up the room
Now I was worried
I couldn't see...found the broom
I stepped on one end
Squared my self in the sack
I then heard a noise
The mouse had come back
I heard his slight skitter
As he went past my feet
He was off to the larder
For more stuff to eat
I went back to the workshop
Tripping at least three more times
I would finish this mouse
He would pay for his crimes
I grabbed for a lighter
And my large propane torch
I would hunt down this mouse
And his arse I would scorch
I lit up the propane
And I aimed at the stairs
It caught light on the carpet
And I burnt both those chairs
The flames went on upward
The stairs were quite dry
I laughed in hysterics
That damn mouse would fry
My wife had recovered
And decided to run
but, after seeing the flames
She phoned up 9 1 1
The mouse left the building
In fact, he never was found
The house burned in seconds
It collapsed to the ground
And through the whole scene
I just stood there and laughed
At the wreckage before me
And I thought, damn I'm daft
I had ruined our Christmas
And I burned down our house
Over a damn shortbread cookie
And one little mouse
The kids, they got out
And were wrapped up and warm
While I was creating
My own perfect storm
The gifts were all ruined
The house ...all consumed
And over my head
One large question loomed
If I had gone for the shotgun
And shot at the mouse
Would I be still having Christmas
And would I still have a house
My wife came on over
And she gave me a swat
She said "look what you've done"
"you great stupid twat"
I learned a great lesson
and folks ...it is that
Once I rebuild
I will then buy a cat!!!
there once was a mean girl of yore
who dressed like a thrift store bore
no one knew her undies were pink
or that her farts dared not stink
spittle spewed when she spoke
words came forth as as joke
in a voice with a bossy shriek
why even her nose had a constant leak
why was this lassie so cruel
and stubborn like a mule?
a secret she kept hidden in deepness
like undergarments no one's business
clothed in ugliness she could out bully
anybody and keep to herself truly
why even this story cannot reveal
torments that kept her soul bound
forever in quiet it utters no sound
out like old clothes this foster child
wrung tightly and squeezed without
years in the system just spun around
sadly now legal age alone in her pink
The vision of a loud sleep
Howling in a evolution spirit
As the corner of wars acquires a silent danger
Society of concealed disdain, succumbs when freedom disappears
Where mindless premonitions shriek
Erupting with desperation
Dreams jars full of color
Decomposing perceptions with shreds of fate
The map of my introspective is a harrowing walk
Twisted in a weave of deceit
Trying to stifle the air of depression
abducted by my own frontal lobe
sand dripping down my toes like those
sandcastles I used to make at the beach
as a kid with peach fuzz dunes and
flower petal skies I want my
orange bathing suit sewed to my skin and
my finger nails cut too short so it
stings when I waltz on surfaces made
of wood or steel or linoleum
like those victorian queen polka days
when we used to lay on the kitchen floor sunlight
vomiting onto our faces and we laughed anyway
I want your mustache forests and I want to believe in them
and you told me I ran so fast I don't know why I slowed down
there are 6 easter eggs hiding in the garden but
has a slug on its shell and when you pick up
the tie dyed droplet surface you'll shriek
in the light
of the moon
the golden one hides in the creases of
the trees and it will remain there for
1 week until you smell the stench
like emerald gas climbing up your nose
I have dreams of flying
icicles and snow angels
pretending I am someone I am not
an actress with all the lightbulbs and glitter
who am I to say it
me me me me me me
back to the hallway extremities
and ski lift blushing and ocean
drowning I can not wait
for the day that I finally realize
what I need to understand
in order to vacuum the carpet
in order to
in order to
I prayed with light voices, but a burdened heart;
You are not here--that I am supposed to know of.
But still, my mind cannot accept that we are now apart.
I am despaired by my own hands, by my own love;
Your images keep shrouding me--you keep haunting me.
Your portraits shout your name, but none of ‘em is truthful;
They reject my bliss, though they told me I was beautiful.
I keep looking for you in the shades: but all I find is blueness,
And as daylight grows mature, I feel but scarce and clueless;
I am entrapped by my own wishes, and I can no longer write.
Ah, ‘tis over now--I should declare;
I walk home and sleep, and decide I should no more be in love--
Some sheer charms I might better not be.
I was running across the moors, and secretly hoped I would find thee there;
Thee with thy own giggles and mockery and childish wishes;
Thee with a resemblance of moonlit skies on thy face.
Thee with a thousand arches in thy brown eyes;
Eyes that were genuine, hopeful; with spirits that would not die.
And those lithe hands; and thy handful of full lips;
Thou always startled me within thy black jacket,
Yes, that black jacket with gruesome naughty little pockets,
Thou always asked me to chase around the bogs;
While peering naively into the hidden summer spider webs.
Thou woke me up with thy morn noises;
Thou wanted to tell me a tale of castles, friendship, and promises.
Thee with a thousand smiles, hopes, and legitimate fears;
Thee with the sweetness of a moonbeam, thee with one hundred kisses.
Thou wert like a lonesome butterfly at first;
And on a shiny day I but caught thee;
and weaved my colourful love onto thy plain nest.
Thou shined again, and I felt but merited;
As time passed, I grew hungrier for thee--and always delighted;
Thou wert a summer to a pleasant summer itself;
Thou made my heart warm, and my seasons magnified.
Even my lavenders were stupefied by thy cleverness;
They were warm always, to welcome and greet thee at night.
Ah, my darling, my half spirit, my sweet;
Thou owned the second spare of my green light;
Thou wert my frost at conned summers, and mild winters;
Thou wert the white snow I played with--and its evening rainbow!
Ah, and at times--thou wert like a nature among yon shrieking green grass;
I smiled always, as I entrapped thee within my clear glass.
I should twist this story away, and welcome him;
Welcome whoever shines through my love--in reality, and in dreams.
I know I hath to celebrate him behind the furnace;
I shall smile sweetly and charm him by my maiden’s face.
He hath a lovely aura as the unheeded stars;
And his steps are awkward, but stately as the moon’s.
He hath smooth and virile advantages about him;
He hath a weather, but still he hath not thy playful air.
He is serious, thou art more festive and thoughtful;
He is cordial, but I findeth him at times uninnate and insoluble.
Ah, Immortal, he liveth but in a cold bubble away from me;
And so you know, the love of him is but a love of pain;
Sometimes I want to find thy face in his poetry;
Sometimes I want to see again, but your fairness.
Thy heart is, as thou hath figured, widespread within me;
It ambushes me and glides me around like a cheeky star;
But as thou gazed into me,
I found that thy charms were absolute;
I pampered this notion of thee--as I still do;
Thou wert my nymphic and immortal dream;
Thou art my sane and insane ambition;
Thou art my sand, my boats, my sails!
Thou art the sea worth a thousand miles;
And I care not what foul and fuzziness thy soul might carry;
I shall purify thee, I shall endorse thee, I shall welcome thee into my lonely heart!
Ah, Immortal, I am but a spoiled of ruins and wreckage now;
As I woke up t'is very morn, I knew I wouldst not see you tomorrow.
And guess now--how shall I define our once glossy, faint Sofia?
I do not want to pronounce to Sofia, ah, our very dwellings, a goodbye;
I shall never pronounce such; and on t’is I shall care for thy sayings not--
As telling such wouldst indeed be a remarkable lie.
Instead, I should dream again, of being by your side;
I shall be the terrified mermaid--but thee--my gentle merman;
We shall swim across the sea and startle the aquatics by our depth;
And thereon I shall dream of myself cherishing you--and holding you in my arms;
As I pray and bow and submit the rhapsodies of my heart, all day and night.
Ah, but where is Immortal, Immortal, Immortal;
Without whom my heart is bleak; and winters are hard.
Ah, Immortal; by whom rains are pretty, and colours are magnificently saturated;
By whom storms are no more storms, and no more downpours are petty;
By whom lakeside houses are not cold, and slippery rocks are not frightful;
By whom birch trees shall sing, and honey bees shall farm away for hours.
Ah, Immortal, by whom my poetry stays alive, and fed tranquilly by yon earth;
Immortal, by whose lullabies I fall asleep among the midnight’s icy hearth.
Immortal, whom my heart values, and urges me to love;
Immortal, by whose side debris are whole, and ruins picture unity;
Ah, Immortal, by whose singing melodies are songs, and rhythms are but poetry.
Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose words--the entire worlds are but Sofia;
And all merit and grace but belong to the romantic Bulgaria.
Immortal my entire darling; who taught me to see how the moon teases the sun;
And how the latter becomes fainted but mirthful, at t’is very realisation.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose absence I feel but frightened.
Ah, Immortal, do you think I should hurry--shall I fleet and run?
I shall meet thee again tonight, around the corner by the lake;
Before such an eve grows genuine--causing the day to turn fake.
I should meet thee before everything is but feasted and pierced;
And I shall bringeth thee my midnight poems and soliloquy;
I shall embrace thee by my myths, and relish thee within my solitude.
I shall make thee remain by my side, and keep shady thy burly night;
I shall, perhaps, make thee my mirth itself--I shall keep thee warm, and safe, and bright.
Ah, Immortal, one who was always aired by my fresh recitations;
One who was entrenched in my tales of craze, atrocity, and vanity;
One who cried by me like a selfish child--but at times, became the radiance itself.
Ah, Immortal, one within whose palms the moon is transparent;
And the harmony of night becomes more possible;
Ah, my darling Immortal, who was once infatuated with my nights--and 'twas apparent;
Oh, my darling, my own darling, my very darling--how I hath only words to play with!
Where is but Immortal, Immortal, Immortal,
My jokes cannot sleep, and even my eyes choose to stay awake.
My heart feels absurd, as it is not calmed and soothed by him;
Even as I can sleep no more, I am but unable to edify him in my dreams.
Ah, where is my Immortal--for as I scurry outside, I cannot locate him;
While he is but the golden lock I need to deliberate my heart.
Ah, my husband, who owns but the charms heartbeat cannot describe;
Ah, Immortal, by thy words--thou knoweth, vanished worlds are real to me today.
The rush of your blood still, knowingly, flows within my breath;
You look like that little lad proudly standing by yon bridge faraway.
Immortal, my little sound, my eager song, my profound lilac;
How shall you ever know what you mean to my heart?
To me, you are more than any gold, brown silver, nor white bronze;
You are my tears, my growth, and the height of my winter;
You own the youth and throne my heart hath always longed for.
Ah, Immortal, no matter how hard thou hath defeated--and perhaps, betrayed me;
Thou art still more immortal than a thousand suns outside;
And more mature than t’is benighted winter as it already is.
Ah, Immortal, 'tis hath grown silent again, and I need to greet my lavish worlds;
But for you know--your scent shall remain better than the sun's on its own, and more lively.
Ah, Immortal, and while those winds shriek, and hop, and wail;
‘Tis your voice still, that I but imagine in my bosom;
And while their spread and take rule of their wings;
Thou shalt remain by prince, my ruler--the one I choose to be my king.
My heart hath borne thee since I was in her womb;
My mother's chaste womb--and there, just there--
I had but been formed by her sheepish threads.
Ah, and thus I heart her like t’is-but not as much as I heart thee, perhaps;
If I doth dream of her; it meaneth I'd but dream of thee;
And thou knoweth--my dreams of winter shall be but one about thee;
About thee--my vigour, my shadow in my traces, my vengeful spirit.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal; my century of blessings, my time
and poetry of such an endless eternity.
Ah, Immortal, in whose heart there was purity;
And in whose love I felt reified, and no such tyranny,
Ah, and t’is loss of thee perhaps means a life of illness;
A time of neglect, but a loss of my valid youth.
I want not to age, for thou art, thyself, young and ageless and immortal;
I want to dwell but only in yon Paradise of thee;
And be fueled solely but thy desire, and not anyone else's.
Ah, Immortal, I want to feel but the flavour of thy skin;
And be engrossed but against thy stomach.
I want to be thy lily, and thy novel rose that shall never wither;
Ah, Immortal, I want to be little again; and thy most awesome lavender.
And thy blame--such as t'is one, shall mean a brawl to my destiny;
And its glam is but my fiery--while insuperable--destruction.
As I promised thee--I shall not be weary, I shall not be sad;
But never shall I love, never shall I be satisfied.
Ah, Immortal, I shall never agree to love again;
I want to keep my love for thee; for whom I shall advocate my youth,
I want never to share my trembling love with anyone else.
As I hath loved thee just now, perhaps I shall love thee forever;
Ah, Immortal, as how it usually is, thou shall be the sailor-
And ever the painter, in our very own colloquial poetry!
Immortal, my grace, my perambulations, my ecstasy;
Immortal, my good, my one, my irrepressible;
I hath fulfilled thy wishes, at least at present, to bear t'is alone;
But for you know, that life without thee is no Paradise;
And even when I am dead, perhaps my soul shall never lie;
I shall wander the earth still--to look for thee, my tears and my lost love;
And insofar as thou remaineth away, I shall too stay on earth; and never ascend above.
Screamed in the morning, wailing in the afternoon
shriek at night.
Each up toned voice, I will recite "I miss you."
A voice spoken, a slit vocalization
I miss you.
dejected from the synonyms
no words miserable, muted.