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Bhill Aug 2020
who belonged to this heart
beating all alone
alone in the middle of a crowd
was it a he or she
how can you tell when striped of all protection
all coverings gone and naked among the masses
we can tell that this heart is alone
invite the heart to join in and welcome its independence
we all need
we all need to belong

Brian Hill - 2020 # 229
Who?
mk Aug 2020
it was never the beginnings which frightened me
nor the ends (they were almost a breath of fresh air)

it was the middle
the chaos and the panic
the uncertainty and the fear

the idea that this could be forever, or no longer, or sometime, or tomorrow

the middle with the lull
the dull, the calm
the quiet, the serene

i am waiting for the other shoe to drop

a pebble in the ocean, you barely hear it
but it falls all the same

the middle with the muddy puddles
the light rain
the thunderstorm
waiting

the beginnings- the light
the end- the dark
the in-between - muggy, opaque,

anything could happen.
Hermes Varini Jul 2020
Skellums! Intae doomed countra
Ironclad ah dwell,
Claymore flashing in yon mirror,
And o'er the dreary muir.
There is a semiotic variant of this poem. It includes the image of a sword placed over a mirror as one with a medieval nasal helmet.
Hermes Varini Jul 2020
In the year 1332, at auld Dupplin Moor,
Wi' a shimmering Dagger of War,
Ah pierced the Looking Glass,
And amid so wild a Fire Mass,
Ironclad and devastating,
Mine awn Wraith cam.
Owre He beheld me!
His Claymore gleaming, unsheathed,
Into a darkness no one could see,
Ghaist, I winna yield to thee!
Across yon shield wa, quo' He,
In tyme of war ah threw myself,
Wi' gilded Targe and unforgiving Fury,
High flames falling athwart my iron wame,
While thoosan times boiling wapin fell
O'er that clan of skellums (Wundor Sceawian!)
Frae the white barbican, before the black well,
While thoosan times rising nae fellow-mortal
Amid thoosan deadly onslaughts
Ironclad frae the Fire;
But now man, to my warlike whisper do listen:
Ere the rust, in robes of Time,
Shall curse thy blade,
Airn fist ye maun ay wear,
To hold the Firestorm,
To avenge yon star shining still,
And auld Duntulm's stane,
Sae ah shall be strolling forth
In battle ahead of thee!
And when before Dirleton's Wa,
Wi' Colour of Hell reddening,
And next to auld South Ruin,
Yell warlike, enraged Wha Daur!
To thy enemies, and to thy consumed flesh
Doomed I say no longer
Within a forerunning Shade of Death;
And now advance! thy lane, and faithfu'
To thy auld Emblem of Steel,
Whar moorlan winds gaed,
Whar Immortality gleamingly dwells.
There is a semiotic version of this poem, which is written in a potent, altogether martial medieval Scottish tone. It contains my own image "Ghost of Iron". The main theme remains the speaking double, or alter ego, as generated from within a very mirror, and as leading the narrator to immortality. In this light, the underlying message can be looked upon as proving antithetical, although no doubt related to Edgar Allan Poe's own tale William Wilson. The title refers to Dirleton Castle, in Scotland.
Hermes Varini Jul 2020
Play mae, auld moorlan wise,
Wi' thy martial Steel Lyre,
The enraged Sound of the Thunder,
While ah shall be, again,
In nae unworthy mare,
Wi' Targe Shield and Dagger,
Rising nae fellow-mortal,
Amid thoosan deadly onslaughts,
Ironclad frae the Fire!
Another brief composition of mine, as glorifying the non-human voice of the thunder.
Hermes Varini Jul 2020
Thou, dishonorable Highlan' skellum,
Thy dreary whunstane shall not see again!
Nor thy unworthy Clan Banner,
Yet my Blade!
Yet my Blade!
Gleaming here, owre,
At auld Stirling Bridge,
Wi' fiery bluid imbued,
Graving still deep mirk stane,
Under yon Steel Glare
Ne'er to wane!
Another poem of mine, still in a medieval Scottish tone, and mentioning the great battle of Stirling Bridge in AD 1297. There is a semiotic variant of this martial-philosophical composition.
Hermes Varini Jul 2020
Once across a Caledonia dreary, whose Echo,
Amid the Jötnar, was MAN, I wandered hurt and weary,
Until yon Glare, with deadly Rage flaming,
Lo! I beheld, next to the Iron Gates
Of a long-forgotten Ruin named still
After incorruptible Titanium.

A noble, finely engraved feudal Vest,
Under a Luminary invisible, implacable,
Shone thither with a Glare fiercer, methought,
Than that of the rubies at warlike Valhalla,
Amid Walls time-eaten, kingly Banners, and proud Towers,
And dwelt there in melting Titanium.

Deep memories of martial Woe
Like an arrow piercing my *****, and aimed
Thro' the Night with lethal Glare,
No barrier was there to be found
Between my Past yielding and this conquering Robe
With Runes marked deep in Titanium.

Thus I remembered having once graved,
In revered silence and solitary anger,
Into the Glare, within the Hills, upon the Dust,
The Emblem of the OVERMAN,
Which thou may again now see gleaming,
With pride Superhuman, o'er this garb of Titanium.

My Enemy Wraith haunting me no more,
Into a most profane dying hour,
I walked forth, to wear of the Armour of the Glare the worth,
And felt, intensely, from the Zenith of a most fiery Heaven,
The Rays from the Stars imbuing my Very Gore
With blinding, rageful Titanium.

Hereupon, with Cuirass thus worn, I bethought me of boldly ascending,
With heavy Claymore drawn, in a Guard of the Hawk,
At Ultima Thule, of the Bluish Glare, the Hidden Rock,
And at its scorching Crest, with Blade o'er me flashing, widened my gathering Breast,
The Largest Mirror, the Highest Beacon, aye,
Before the wild Blaze molten down in Titanium.
Of this narrative-philosophical poem of mine, as focusing on the dichotomy between man and the antithetical Overman, a semiotic variant exists. The narrator meets at length with a surpassing mirroring force.
Carlo C Gomez Aug 2020
The space between.

A time to sell yourself.

A time for passing.

Sometimes I touch the right.

Too much, the wrong.

Resplendent deterioration
we live by.

With casuistic slogans
and closing doors.

D'you know disembarkment
leads to land sickness?

It does.

And who can then make
heads or tails out of
the qualms of tolerance
and his cousin, ignorance?
Savio Fonseca Jun 2020
In the Middle of the Night,
I was fighting My Tears
which were Out of Control.
Some people ain't Human,
they have a Mind and Body.
But no Heart or Soul.
Humanity nowadays,
is down the Drain.
Hence My Poems have Words,
that are loaded with Pain.
She stole My Heart,
thereby committing a Theft.
Giving Me Wounds, Scars
and a Broken Heart.....She Left.
Sitting outside, i close my eyes to the sound of Tycho-Dive,
Middle of the night, stars wrapped around the night stormy sky,
Moon is finally asleep, and all is dark and quiet.
Deep breath, cool wind surpasses my warm skin on this cold summer stormy night.
Thinking deep thoughts about my life, these are the moments i feel free.
When no one is around, i can finally think calm to myself, and feel finally at ease.
Wish these calm moments can last forever.
They say night time is when our demons come out to play, but i feel so much comfort in this earthly darkness that my emotions escape me, they escape me because i can be me.
No one can stare at me
No one can talk to me
No one, just no one around to bother me
I want to feel free,
Just now as i do,
Have my heart set at bay,
to feel, think and breath this life we live.
Calm rain pellets dash above the porch roof.
Aroma of the heated pavement from the hot sun during the day.
Let me breath.
Let me be me.
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