Xaviera Allan Oct 2017

Desirest only a door?
Ice and water fight at dawn tomorrow when
Homely things will wrap themselves in furs
The dog's eyes grow wide as it begs
And licks your calf
Sensational! The little worms
That thrust their head through the snow
Will bite my back
The most piercing of wails on the steeple
And under the dead trees groans
Silence! I demand silence
So the ails of the tooth and the leg
Will wanter to and fro across the mountain of thoughts
Eat only bits of rock
Quillawe, that spout of faith
Satisfy my love for ducks with a rifle and a nickel for fish
My worms have yet to begin their purpose
All I wanted was their eggs
Wappadad, that hope of think
And butterflies sprout from the shells
Cast by my mother's lost goat but
Incorrigible! I am a lonely goose
And with my long neck I will save my ducks
The fish will take my dead skin and turn it to gold
With one hundred waves of peerless oak
Midasfat, I alone have a toothbrush
A monster who gnaws on the bones of the living
I feel not the pain, I built a small Wall
Informative stalks of antennae with xray vision
Prejudice! I came first, little blue
The dirt under their nails will grow me an abandoned garden
Burned by edible fire, and garnished with nightshade
Let them not chew on the undersides
They call me Sleep

Inspired by Lorca.
The Dedpoet Feb 2016

In that moment your soul sailed
Off into the profound unknowns,
With heavy eyes watching you go
And God's rain falling on those
You left behind;

There in the flint of the final star,
Becoming yourself once again
Into the ocean of stellar waves,
Your shoulders that burned before
Have found their wings once again.

You shall birth a Nova's light across
A stream of unknown universe,
Filling the empty space that was
And is now no more an oblivion;
You become a solar being.

You have vaulted the quiet reaches,
The timid space between stars you
Have birth a system that will grow
From your presence, and when the seed
Has grown to have it's own shores,

The first delicate breeze of your airs,
The birth a your new amorous Earth,
You will become a song without words,
An orchestrated living constellation.

And the long embrace we feel from
Your absence, the abyss left from
Your departing, it will be filled
And as we look to sky for Hope's
Sake, we will see a new place
In the night sky.

Your star will say, " I am here",
You're light will press against the
Eyes of those you left behind
And the arms of your light shall
Embrace everything we miss.

You will find yourself in new waters,
Know yourself in the sun,
As your soul catches the solar winds,
Make sure the star you birth
Winks for the eyes of those
Whom shed your tears.

For the loved ones we have all lost.
The Dedpoet Feb 2016

In the end
I was, but I will cease to be,
A thought on the project called life.
And the thirst for answers
We don't know to ask,
Abandoned by time.

I am not what I was when I was born,
I have become someone else
In the elastic anxiety,
Which was really nothing to worry about.

What is beautiful
That is infinite,
Fleetingly we were all magnificent
In the oblivion,
        Death is a contrast,
Unlike life where nothing is guaranteed,
A revelation to our defined being.

    In the end
We we figure out the answer
To the questions that should
Not be asked,
Posthumous wisdom.

The Dedpoet Feb 2016

There is but one inside each of us,
The magnificent irony that is you,
The gift of emotion and darkness,
Light and the solemn silence.

In each there is a word never spoken,
The lord of his or her pen stroke,
Like a library of dreams
Disclosed to the insensible mind.

In vain with each passing day
The infinite ache of the lifespan
Becomes an accessible garden
And fountains of immersive memory.

And to die is but to awaken,
We toil in the philosophy of words,
Without strength or direction
Writing sorrowful verse.

Haiku, sonnet, free verse,
Stars, skies, oceans, meadows,
All are symbolic to the perceptions
In the void of the eye's twilight views.

Painfully we probe the depth
And fathom the darkness,
Heaven becomes a metaphor,
Hell seems too real, the Power....

Long before me or you,
The dead poets took the dark
And shown them in the light
In his or her fading dusk.

The gallery of poems,
Impalpably dreaded like life,
And we are the dead whom write
Of life in the setting sun.

Power, which had written this poem,
Disfiguring the poet, perpetually dark,
The word speaks through us,
The curse is to observe as it all passes away.

The Dedpoet Feb 2016

In every century
You will hear of a comet lost in time;
Haley's was here an eye blink ago,
And the rivers replenish the oceans
One and again.
There will be a small light in the sky
That you will not see tomorrow
Because it is now dead,
And it died millions of years
Before the luminous rays hit
The first womb of Eve.
     There will be children grown
Into formidable singulars,
     And each one is barely here
When the sun yawns, another passes away.
    And when the sky is full
You will count the stars
With your child, just to teach them how
To count.
        The eclipse will haunt one because it is
Like a darkness that comes to visit
       In between one decade and another,
You will question yourself to see
    Where you were before.
And there are premature moons,
     Babies of the cosmos,
And you will name one after your daughters
That brought you to look
Again at the hopeful skies.
    And when you are done here,
As you leave for eternity
To the Blue Sun,
You will look back
And see the tiny miniscule miracle
That was a star being born.

The Dedpoet Feb 2016

High voltage poetics,
       Planting words seeds
In a field of nomadic minds,
     In a sky of dreams
Bursting above the magnetic stars,
      The skin of words
Peeled from flesh of life,
        The page is a silken weave,
The words threaded in a void,
        Syllable construction
Of a spiraling flame that invents
      A city
In a day
     In a life
In a person-

    The thought deconstructed
Into metaphysical metaphorical,
    Musical mandolins,
The mandolinist touches the foreheads,
     A pack of wild people
In the wild city nocturnal,
     The spectrum of voices
In a rainbow of verbiage,
      A wonderful desolation
As the hours fly as a writer flies,
       The Sunstone's dial
Burns time at the crossroads of midnight,
     We are a gallery of echoes,
Our history lives today
    Hushed into memory,
Diaphanous vision
    Accumulated into the mind
Vast as the moment,
     The mirrors reflect the Word
And the Word is life,
      Reasons are a geometric anomaly
With morality at the center
Of the theoretical poem:

   I choose to inspire,
Which means to live and observe
Daily reconstructing in the poems,
      But the poem is not truth;
Poetry like history is made,
    Eyes of language,
The truth is to walk it,
Inspired to live and the dream
Is written in verse.

The Dedpoet Feb 2016

It's stayed stuck in my eyes,
The vision of you walking home
As the old school buses, sluggish
And scattered yellow passed
You by on the infinite road.

     I wasn't following you, I smile.
You don't know how crystal clear
     I remember you.

From the bottom of my soul
A fresh evocative scent forms,
One I can see ,touch, and hear,
I could smell it even today,
I take it with me everyday
Under the maddened carousel
        Of this life.

I am the same wild guy
     Who brought you to his side years ago,
In those moments we are forever.

The Dedpoet Feb 2016

The night is drowsy and frowning,
      I hear my thoughts aloud
      In forms looming over dimly
      Lit rooms hurling worlds at me.
It is incredibly close, the thoughts gallop
     Confused I plunge into a sea of faceless
     Names groaning, discerning the sorrowful
     Language of half dead stagnant beings.
I see a flash of verses that I grab from my mind
     They speak as a mirror speaks in reverse
     Phrases I spill ink repeating my minds
     Tongues to prove a sanity in the dark.
I am lone into the night,
     I am breathing still as I write with
     No gravity in my hands,
     The words lulling the constellation
     To sleep, one by one a poem is furiously
But with night comes a deeper essential,
     I am not certain where the images
     Come from, but sometimes there are
     No words for their form,
     It is a haunting tide of thought.
Today is born of yesterday,
     I write into the morrow,
     Suddenly time is conscious
     And it ticks away watching me,
     And now is passing away into the moment,
The moment is sunk into eternity's nest,
     It is not wasted on a compass of death,
     I passionately write it into life,
    Time is frozen at my inkling,
     I will die of life and death will
     Be a birth.
       Caught in a lucid rapture
       I cannot name the faceless momentum,
       But it brings more life in the dark,
       No body or soul, just life
Into the words, I am trapped deeply
       In the starlit terrace of my fore thoughts:

I fall away into the poem,
     My eyes have nothing to see,
     I am a 360 degree spherical eye,
     I see the cosmic splinters of time,
My childhood comes to mind,
      The whole of the beginning in the
      Past, a whirlpool of water that flows
      Furiously with eyes closed,
And suddenly I am middle aged,
     Today brand new again,
     The past in my present,
     Becoming omnipresent like
     A ghost petrified into thoughts,
Wind blows through her hair,
      I am in love once again,
      My first love relived without time,
      Timeless like a frozen ice queen,
I have come back to where I was.
     I am in immensity of youth,
  The shores extend like an endless beach,
       The water is crystalline,
Her body is transparent,
    Two rivers become one,
We walk into forever over the water
   In a bridge of time that relapses
Over itself, time looping into
      My very memory,
The jade moon follows her silhouette,
       I am a star crossed fool,
The sun shines at night when
   We held hands.
I blink, and once and again,
I am trapped in the eternal night.

There is no way back,
    The dead are still alive,
The living are suffocating on life,
     On my wall a sea of faces enrapturing
My words,
    All the time I have lived in a bottle,
  I drink drunk on memory,
       The ladder leads to Jacob,
A thousand lives have lived in this night,
     My world remote,
I shrink into the dawn,
     My eyes close,
My final thought:
Where or when have I ever been??

A night for a poet.
The Dedpoet Jan 2016

Emptying memory:
        The sun does not block out
The stars,
        The soul did not absorb them
The water vanishes the fire,
       Petrified light,
Executed dust of old flesh
      In a tomb of earthly thoughts;
The Sol centrally corners the eye,
     Blinded by the word
In a litany of days,
     Crushed hopes fall on nocturnal
     Old as Cain and Abel
As smooth as assassin pagans,
        Kissing the eclipses
In a fit of rage on a wounded bird,
     Theatre of peoples
In a cosmic garden
     Impaling moons
And guillotining the planets,
      Eating fire on burning lips,
A thirst for living water
     And a wisp of gentle air,
A swarm of deities with
Overgrown origins in a circus
        Of faithful,
    The sanctum was exploded
With idealistic dogs licking
     Their own vomit,
The amphitheater of man
     Stained with repetitive slow thoughts,
Drunk with light
Hidden in shadows.

The Dedpoet Jan 2016

You fall from your body to eternity,
Not to death but in my eyes,
      Your name becomes untouchable,
Falling through a prism of mirrors,
        Each one my memory of you,
The eternal moment is a scattered fable
       As I divide you into words,
Kiss me at the solstice,
         The season bring about separation,
Alter and knife,
         The tremor of the moon on your breasts,
Solar lovers in a cosmic body,
         We make two syllables out of love,
We paint the sky unfolding the horizon,
        Transfigures of body and time
The dream realised in another dream,
        I fall into you
             You fall into me,
We meet where the earth and sky kiss....

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