bryandahl - Hello Poetry

Imagine bringing your dead hamsters back to life over and over again To keep their wheels spinning, And telling them they’d better love you- Or else. I don’t want anymore strength for trudging in circles. I want to see this cycle so gloriously broken. To see my last corpse crumble beneath me, and make my last ascent through the prison air To disregard the summoned guard posing as Jesus and Krishna and all who would guilt me into coming back one more very last time. I want to shield my eyes from that tunnel of light long enough to see another way out, To see the stars for who they are And if in that moment, in turn my hopes crumble beneath me, No crack to be found in the firmament, Inner-self-destruction a last false prophet, What then… No chance of burning up or burning down, Just forever burnt out… Hamsters so quickly, gloriously enough, chew their way out of those ****** plastic cages.

0

Jul 1, 2024

Jul 1, 2024 at 5:03 AM UTC

Forever Free

Imagine bringing your dead hamsters back to life over and over again To keep their wheels spinning, And telling them they’d better love you- Or else. I don’t want anymore strength for trudging in circles. I want to see this cycle so gloriously broken. To see my last corpse crumble beneath me, and make my last ascent through the prison air To disregard the summoned guard posing as Jesus and Krishna and all who would guilt me into coming back one more very last time. I want to shield my eyes from that tunnel of light long enough to see another way out, To see the stars for who they are And if in that moment, in turn my hopes crumble beneath me, No crack to be found in the firmament, Inner-self-destruction a last false prophet, What then… No chance of burning up or burning down, Just forever burnt out… Hamsters so quickly, gloriously enough, chew their way out of those ****** plastic cages.

17

And so I put my dreams to bed To rest and dream their own Upon a stiffened, twin-sized mattress Loosely sewn with pillow worn. My dreams are forced by every sleep To stretch the bed diagonal, or else Force their feet to dangle Over the edge that could not hold them.

0

Jan 1, 2024

Jan 1, 2024 at 12:28 AM UTC

Precious Sleep

And so I put my dreams to bed To rest and dream their own Upon a stiffened, twin-sized mattress Loosely sewn with pillow worn. My dreams are forced by every sleep To stretch the bed diagonal, or else Force their feet to dangle Over the edge that could not hold them.

8

Please let me die. Please don’t make me wake up again. Please let it be over. Please let this be the last time I have to ask. Please just let my heart Stop. If Jesus isn’t listening I know Google and the NSA and the CCP still are. Please let pop up in my feed an ad For something I can take to make my heart Stop. You can spare one consumer can’t you? Maybe I should just claim to have developed a breakthrough cancer treatment or zero-point energy device. I’m sure within a day I’d shoot myself In the head Twice. The big liability suicides never fail. But would a snarky little poem merit the wet works? Please don’t make me Listen to one more ***** say it- What an exciting time to be alive. Please spare me.

0

Jul 26, 2020

Jul 26, 2020 at 9:36 PM UTC

Nightly Prayers

Please let me die. Please don’t make me wake up again. Please let it be over. Please let this be the last time I have to ask. Please just let my heart Stop. If Jesus isn’t listening I know Google and the NSA and the CCP still are. Please let pop up in my feed an ad For something I can take to make my heart Stop. You can spare one consumer can’t you? Maybe I should just claim to have developed a breakthrough cancer treatment or zero-point energy device. I’m sure within a day I’d shoot myself In the head Twice. The big liability suicides never fail. But would a snarky little poem merit the wet works? Please don’t make me Listen to one more ***** say it- What an exciting time to be alive. Please spare me.

22

Did the Germans revere beauty as it was Revered by the Russians. Did the Italians savor beauty as it was Savored by the French. Who could cherish beauty as it is Still after five thousand years Cherished in India. What do we offer up to beauty today With an offer not expiring tomorrow. The pyramids, temples, tombs, tunnels Left for us to doubt Atlantis sits far out in the desert Wretched ring by ring. If we are to witness our own extinction, What can we preserve For those five thousand years from now To revere, savor, cherish, offer Beyond all wretched doubt. Our digital legacy deleted With the same convenience it provided. Can we hope to move a stone Heavy enough to matter. Can a Russian chorus sing of Krishna, If Mayan legends sing of Atlan. Can we leave behind a song And hope tomorrow’s people still sing. There will be unspeakable horrors Quickly forgotten. What beauty can we create Withstanding propaganda absolute- ******** proof. Straying far enough beyond The Georgia Guidestones, Vedas not so hard to comprehend. Something beautiful enough to promise Women never again suffer this insane Inferred and feigned inferiority. Never again this amnesia. Can we not all agree We’ve all been fooled, And instead of starting over, Write our song in words of stone. Stone heavy enough to matter.

0

Jun 27, 2020

Jun 27, 2020 at 4:59 AM UTC

Easy-to-Swallow Time Capsule

Did the Germans revere beauty as it was Revered by the Russians. Did the Italians savor beauty as it was Savored by the French. Who could cherish beauty as it is Still after five thousand years Cherished in India. What do we offer up to beauty today With an offer not expiring tomorrow. The pyramids, temples, tombs, tunnels Left for us to doubt Atlantis sits far out in the desert Wretched ring by ring. If we are to witness our own extinction, What can we preserve For those five thousand years from now To revere, savor, cherish, offer Beyond all wretched doubt. Our digital legacy deleted With the same convenience it provided. Can we hope to move a stone Heavy enough to matter. Can a Russian chorus sing of Krishna, If Mayan legends sing of Atlan. Can we leave behind a song And hope tomorrow’s people still sing. There will be unspeakable horrors Quickly forgotten. What beauty can we create Withstanding propaganda absolute- ******** proof. Straying far enough beyond The Georgia Guidestones, Vedas not so hard to comprehend. Something beautiful enough to promise Women never again suffer this insane Inferred and feigned inferiority. Never again this amnesia. Can we not all agree We’ve all been fooled, And instead of starting over, Write our song in words of stone. Stone heavy enough to matter.

43

There are two lessons taught here: Remain oblivious to privilege, Be empowered by poverty. Dismiss the insinuations, Laws and promises of economic pop culture. Embrace the demoralization of each decade, But remain oblivious to a year aligned, A year designed to destabilize. The coming event is no small production, but Few can be bothered to see it coming. He is nothing. No matter how bad his hair, How unnatural his tone, How tall is towers, How crimson his throne, How fake his news How loud his tweets How racist his farts How fascist his feast. He is nothing Compared to the banks. He is nothing Compared to their ranks In the complex equation Of the root of all evil. He is nothing Compared to those already assassinated. But we embrace his scripted destruction, Oblivious to the Man Juicing the orange.

0

Jun 20, 2020

Jun 20, 2020 at 7:30 AM UTC

Juicing the Orange

There are two lessons taught here: Remain oblivious to privilege, Be empowered by poverty. Dismiss the insinuations, Laws and promises of economic pop culture. Embrace the demoralization of each decade, But remain oblivious to a year aligned, A year designed to destabilize. The coming event is no small production, but Few can be bothered to see it coming. He is nothing. No matter how bad his hair, How unnatural his tone, How tall is towers, How crimson his throne, How fake his news How loud his tweets How racist his farts How fascist his feast. He is nothing Compared to the banks. He is nothing Compared to their ranks In the complex equation Of the root of all evil. He is nothing Compared to those already assassinated. But we embrace his scripted destruction, Oblivious to the Man Juicing the orange.

30

Are we all slaves on a ball in a cage In this unbelievable moonlight? Hurricanes with minds of their own, Wildfires spare trees and eat homes. Always sunny in Philadelphia, Always raining in Tarkovsky, Never enough to make a change, A soul too old too late. Fallen angel down on the street Remembering just enough to suffer. Watching the history burn In this unbelievable moonlight.

0

Jun 20, 2020

Jun 20, 2020 at 5:54 AM UTC

Nostalgia

Are we all slaves on a ball in a cage In this unbelievable moonlight? Hurricanes with minds of their own, Wildfires spare trees and eat homes. Always sunny in Philadelphia, Always raining in Tarkovsky, Never enough to make a change, A soul too old too late. Fallen angel down on the street Remembering just enough to suffer. Watching the history burn In this unbelievable moonlight.

12

Sat upon the novelty of the dance studio floor, Surveying all the talent judging him like none before. Suddenly, a brilliant flash through dull fluorescent light- With thunderbolt’s perfect timing His twin flame at first sight. Long, deep, dark, hair, eyes, Ivory skin. Crystal resting at her heart- His taken in, When all the inner voices Sing a single melody- The Beethoveenian chorus Racing, soaring,“Who is she!?” Walking past the theater’s long awaited double doors, The thunderbolt struck twice Bidding coincidence ignore. Two classes for two passions, Twice a week for all of spring. Rising from the lightning Grew a twin flames’ smoking ring. Helás! Married and with mother’s eyes, How could he trust his heart? But being naive spread only Patience ‘neath the part. The church would have its way uplifting Long-winded psalms, But fewer thanks to Constantine’s Nicean cherry-picked palms. Where on earth would then unveil To unsuspecting she By high tide’s moonlit poised indifferent Unassuming sea, The moment she would crawl into his vulnerable praying arms, The sky would dilate all her silver Lining sinning charms. She would soon regret the pictures Burned into his sensor, And never speak to him again.

0

Jun 8, 2020

Jun 8, 2020 at 8:56 AM UTC

The Lightning Rose

Sat upon the novelty of the dance studio floor, Surveying all the talent judging him like none before. Suddenly, a brilliant flash through dull fluorescent light- With thunderbolt’s perfect timing His twin flame at first sight. Long, deep, dark, hair, eyes, Ivory skin. Crystal resting at her heart- His taken in, When all the inner voices Sing a single melody- The Beethoveenian chorus Racing, soaring,“Who is she!?” Walking past the theater’s long awaited double doors, The thunderbolt struck twice Bidding coincidence ignore. Two classes for two passions, Twice a week for all of spring. Rising from the lightning Grew a twin flames’ smoking ring. Helás! Married and with mother’s eyes, How could he trust his heart? But being naive spread only Patience ‘neath the part. The church would have its way uplifting Long-winded psalms, But fewer thanks to Constantine’s Nicean cherry-picked palms. Where on earth would then unveil To unsuspecting she By high tide’s moonlit poised indifferent Unassuming sea, The moment she would crawl into his vulnerable praying arms, The sky would dilate all her silver Lining sinning charms. She would soon regret the pictures Burned into his sensor, And never speak to him again.

39

Any singular thing of genius Taken by force, repurposed for evil, Should be by force reclaimed for good And complete its cyclical ring. Naivety dwarfed by beautiful gold Out-shadows not a joyful ode. Music destroyed for the good of the party- The diva’s backstage beauty behold: Dust off her autobiography. Constantly changing the bible From reincarnation to Darwin’s claim, Quantum physics quotes the soul “I told you so...” laughing in pain. A singularity in spring- Green’s golden gray, Ascending with the lark and strings, Prevailing genius, come what may, Be reclaimed For good.

0

Jun 8, 2020

Jun 8, 2020 at 6:44 AM UTC

Before. It is too late.

Any singular thing of genius Taken by force, repurposed for evil, Should be by force reclaimed for good And complete its cyclical ring. Naivety dwarfed by beautiful gold Out-shadows not a joyful ode. Music destroyed for the good of the party- The diva’s backstage beauty behold: Dust off her autobiography. Constantly changing the bible From reincarnation to Darwin’s claim, Quantum physics quotes the soul “I told you so...” laughing in pain. A singularity in spring- Green’s golden gray, Ascending with the lark and strings, Prevailing genius, come what may, Be reclaimed For good.

19

The ideal shape of creation is Equal at every single point. .... We the collected people observe, Revealing itself in multiple layers of a pyramid, Our so-called Globalism. . .. ... .... This realization’s two conclusions are either scrambling to the top of the pyramid, or reshaping the pyramid into a sphere. .... Scrambling to the top sooner forces the cube, (which may seem prudent but only as crude). .... Economically, intellectually, spiritually, proudly: Those at the bottom of any pyramid Rarely conceive of the sphere. Being two dimensional does Narrow the perspective. ........................ If math, space, time, and money don’t all conceive the sphere, Won’t imperfection conceive their pyramid? .... So about this simplest equation, If a lawyer says in a thousand words What says in a dozen the poet, ............ Can simplicity, poetry, math, and law Through a pyramid, see their sphere? . Ideally, a sphere large enough for a heart...

0

Jun 8, 2020

Jun 8, 2020 at 5:38 AM UTC

What is the simplest equation for transforming a pyramid into a sphere?

The ideal shape of creation is Equal at every single point. .... We the collected people observe, Revealing itself in multiple layers of a pyramid, Our so-called Globalism. . .. ... .... This realization’s two conclusions are either scrambling to the top of the pyramid, or reshaping the pyramid into a sphere. .... Scrambling to the top sooner forces the cube, (which may seem prudent but only as crude). .... Economically, intellectually, spiritually, proudly: Those at the bottom of any pyramid Rarely conceive of the sphere. Being two dimensional does Narrow the perspective. ........................ If math, space, time, and money don’t all conceive the sphere, Won’t imperfection conceive their pyramid? .... So about this simplest equation, If a lawyer says in a thousand words What says in a dozen the poet, ............ Can simplicity, poetry, math, and law Through a pyramid, see their sphere? . Ideally, a sphere large enough for a heart...

39

I. If in your lifetime, You don’t want to watch the world Deteriorate, You have the right to abstain. If you are with anything left to lose, You can’t believe Government isn’t to blame. II. If an artist, sees for the sake of art, If an artist and partner, See for the art of growing, If an artist and seeker Of truth and shelter grow weary, If an artist and liar Sit long by the fire outside the growing Thunder, lightning hissing Booing down from the balcony Onto the stage, Rising from the artist’s grave, If you’re still watching, Listen. III. Many delicate things have you Smashed without noticing. My clumsy hands give Everything to hold some one thing Dearly. If trembling, Shaking, Dropping, Casting brutish shadows they offended, Smashed aloof and nought is mended, .........What the **** you liar Call me sometime, so long, after all. If you’ve not clumsy hands, my friends, Please, stay on hold for ohms, amens. Many more delicate things will smash, No one noticing. IV. What’s the most beautiful thing in this world? All such things, in this beautiful world, Might remain very subjective. But if I code an experience into a thing, Tchaikovsky’s siren with her strings, In the sea beside the shore, 1812 cannons’ overture, Bellini’s casta diva’s love, Cecelia’s colors lofted From Sevilla to St. Petersburg... But my love, the truth in this Most beautiful blasting world, This sure subjective silent bliss, This moment, present, Setting sun, holding your beautiful hand: Our kiss.

0

Oct 24, 2019

Oct 24, 2019 at 8:02 AM UTC

Bellini Poems

I. If in your lifetime, You don’t want to watch the world Deteriorate, You have the right to abstain. If you are with anything left to lose, You can’t believe Government isn’t to blame. II. If an artist, sees for the sake of art, If an artist and partner, See for the art of growing, If an artist and seeker Of truth and shelter grow weary, If an artist and liar Sit long by the fire outside the growing Thunder, lightning hissing Booing down from the balcony Onto the stage, Rising from the artist’s grave, If you’re still watching, Listen. III. Many delicate things have you Smashed without noticing. My clumsy hands give Everything to hold some one thing Dearly. If trembling, Shaking, Dropping, Casting brutish shadows they offended, Smashed aloof and nought is mended, .........What the **** you liar Call me sometime, so long, after all. If you’ve not clumsy hands, my friends, Please, stay on hold for ohms, amens. Many more delicate things will smash, No one noticing. IV. What’s the most beautiful thing in this world? All such things, in this beautiful world, Might remain very subjective. But if I code an experience into a thing, Tchaikovsky’s siren with her strings, In the sea beside the shore, 1812 cannons’ overture, Bellini’s casta diva’s love, Cecelia’s colors lofted From Sevilla to St. Petersburg... But my love, the truth in this Most beautiful blasting world, This sure subjective silent bliss, This moment, present, Setting sun, holding your beautiful hand: Our kiss.

56