"accretes" poems - Hello Poetry

Pain is awakening: the expansion of consciousness. There is no half-way mark: ignorance in sleep, health in full waking, bound the gulf of hallucinations we call life. In that Abyss of lies we deceive ourselves until at last Truth annihilates the deceived, unveiling the hidden Glory of the liar. In the mantle of victimhood, Identity accretes like a pearl on the tongue of a mollusk; and a narrator, lost in the telling, comes to mistake the story for reality, wounds for tragedy, scars for harm. Identity forms about Chaos, a shell of experience that shrouds a kernel of Truth. A pearl is but a grain of sand made beautiful by pain.

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Apr 29, 2014

Apr 29, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC

misadventuresofcrow

Wounds, Our Wisdom

Pain is awakening: the expansion of consciousness. There is no half-way mark: ignorance in sleep, health in full waking, bound the gulf of hallucinations we call life. In that Abyss of lies we deceive ourselves until at last Truth annihilates the deceived, unveiling the hidden Glory of the liar. In the mantle of victimhood, Identity accretes like a pearl on the tongue of a mollusk; and a narrator, lost in the telling, comes to mistake the story for reality, wounds for tragedy, scars for harm. Identity forms about Chaos, a shell of experience that shrouds a kernel of Truth. A pearl is but a grain of sand made beautiful by pain.

17

Some scrawl the names of people present and past Some drench theirs in pearlescent candied nacre Shapes and hues exact, stencilled down to the last Pretty copies of individuality There are those who have it forced upon the face Growing into it, it feels more natural To don that dress, to hit the gym and say grace Becoming the things they are needed to be The flawless surface ever in flux stirs and returns to slumber. Still others, indecisive, searchful, hover From pile to pile, over fractalised discards Picking out their newest favourite cover For their brittle blandness blushed by exposure Mine has grown inwards, claws entrenched beneath skin Reverse quicksand; raking scars old and fresh Valour marks in the battle I cannot win My silence percolates. Outside it accretes It glows in flickers of luciferous fluoroscence, firefly flashes. Hope is but another addiction to break Yet this air hangs heavy, toxic to inhale A frigid gut burn with every breath I take Soulful tremor smothered in despair's cocoon. Fingers roam my jaw. Phantom edges they seek Futility dawns. It has long disappeared As have the haunting echoes of devil-speak I have swallowed it all as it consumed me It changes, chameleon-like, dissolving pixels on a screen. Is it me, or am I it? It matters not Its pulse fills my veins with something close to life Yet I musn't bleed - the fluid does not clot It leaks slowly like a punctured memory Inside nestles the tangle of cobwebbed dreams Silken sojourns unwittingly petrified Quavering mutedly to my stifled screams: You cannot, you shall not, you must not come in!

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Jun 6, 2015

Jun 6, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC

clxrion

Mask

Some scrawl the names of people present and past Some drench theirs in pearlescent candied nacre Shapes and hues exact, stencilled down to the last Pretty copies of individuality There are those who have it forced upon the face Growing into it, it feels more natural To don that dress, to hit the gym and say grace Becoming the things they are needed to be The flawless surface ever in flux stirs and returns to slumber. Still others, indecisive, searchful, hover From pile to pile, over fractalised discards Picking out their newest favourite cover For their brittle blandness blushed by exposure Mine has grown inwards, claws entrenched beneath skin Reverse quicksand; raking scars old and fresh Valour marks in the battle I cannot win My silence percolates. Outside it accretes It glows in flickers of luciferous fluoroscence, firefly flashes. Hope is but another addiction to break Yet this air hangs heavy, toxic to inhale A frigid gut burn with every breath I take Soulful tremor smothered in despair's cocoon. Fingers roam my jaw. Phantom edges they seek Futility dawns. It has long disappeared As have the haunting echoes of devil-speak I have swallowed it all as it consumed me It changes, chameleon-like, dissolving pixels on a screen. Is it me, or am I it? It matters not Its pulse fills my veins with something close to life Yet I musn't bleed - the fluid does not clot It leaks slowly like a punctured memory Inside nestles the tangle of cobwebbed dreams Silken sojourns unwittingly petrified Quavering mutedly to my stifled screams: You cannot, you shall not, you must not come in!

35

she accretes ghosts of uncountable tears into angry fog that hovers all too near with pain and pent up regret that would rather bask on a warm beach in southern California or Cozomel.

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Jan 26, 2013

Jan 26, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC

bill-true

13 0121

she accretes ghosts of uncountable tears into angry fog that hovers all too near with pain and pent up regret that would rather bask on a warm beach in southern California or Cozomel.

10

she waltzes naked before the fire dressed only in music tennis court at night the moon a ball in flight LOVE-ALL her shadow slides up steps as if it were her serpent self a peacock shrieks her mirrored self kisses her on the lips incense walks about on the air the legend of her accretes about the real self even she no longer knows the cuckoo clock aghast at her death her pearls scattered across the floor a morning made of silence and stillness the hawk's talons outstretched

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Apr 4, 2015

Apr 4, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC

donall-dempsey

SPIRIT KNOWS NO COLOUR

she waltzes naked before the fire dressed only in music tennis court at night the moon a ball in flight LOVE-ALL her shadow slides up steps as if it were her serpent self a peacock shrieks her mirrored self kisses her on the lips incense walks about on the air the legend of her accretes about the real self even she no longer knows the cuckoo clock aghast at her death her pearls scattered across the floor a morning made of silence and stillness the hawk's talons outstretched

21

6 0’ clock and the string of doors on the block creak open in unison, The briny smell of sizzling, leathery bacon accretes, Seeping forth from pale shutters, Peeling past the cars, stripping beige paint off the sides of houses. The morning drizzle, forming tiny rainbows, You would think it was acid rain, melting away the plastic people. Midday, after only an hour passes and white wine splashes like crashing waves in the crystalline stemware, Where orderlies dazedly rescue their children from the montessories Where power lines crack like whips, So generously oozing sustenance to babes. The civiliter mortuus, roam their undead domain, Like a swarm of cockroach wasps speed walking in parasitic pairs darting through Safeway aisles, Demolishing houses of white chocolate, and roasting sweet nothings On the new George Foreman Grill ™ . Every house on loan to apathetic debtors They come to yours with their holy letters PTA, … IRA … NSA … HOA They proselytize, prioritize Themselves over forest bears and wolves, But where only hedge trimmers growl The only Tuesday sounds are the behemoth Devouring your trash, And where leaf blowers asthmatically howl.

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Dec 17, 2019

Dec 17, 2019 at 10:49 PM UTC

FMradio

The Suburbs

6 0’ clock and the string of doors on the block creak open in unison, The briny smell of sizzling, leathery bacon accretes, Seeping forth from pale shutters, Peeling past the cars, stripping beige paint off the sides of houses. The morning drizzle, forming tiny rainbows, You would think it was acid rain, melting away the plastic people. Midday, after only an hour passes and white wine splashes like crashing waves in the crystalline stemware, Where orderlies dazedly rescue their children from the montessories Where power lines crack like whips, So generously oozing sustenance to babes. The civiliter mortuus, roam their undead domain, Like a swarm of cockroach wasps speed walking in parasitic pairs darting through Safeway aisles, Demolishing houses of white chocolate, and roasting sweet nothings On the new George Foreman Grill ™ . Every house on loan to apathetic debtors They come to yours with their holy letters PTA, … IRA … NSA … HOA They proselytize, prioritize Themselves over forest bears and wolves, But where only hedge trimmers growl The only Tuesday sounds are the behemoth Devouring your trash, And where leaf blowers asthmatically howl.

30