"allegories" poems
If I said my heart was a cyanide laced pomegranate,
would that make its expressions any less ******
If I said falling in love was like throwing yourself off a cliff on a winter night and drowning yourself tumbling through the air blind like a bag of kittens, but I was quoting Kierkegaard,
would that make it any less of an awkward melodrama?
If I told you the western blocks blind attacks on the other,
kinda resembled Freud's account of the mother
of a miscarriages melancholia,
is that a condoning or a condemnation?
if I translated every meta-narrative of class relation, oppression, wage slavery, state violence, suppression,
into anthropomorphic allegories for a myriad of psychological phenomena,
would I be an academic or a shinto miko?
[and would the world be any better?]
if I superimposed on the geographical topology,
the political and then the existential,
would I have a sandwich?
Or a lasagne?
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
*flowing rivers simulate the virtual reality of love
warriors topple over forgotten
like cartons of used milk
silk worms speak sovereign messages and warn us of our fate
are we ill or are we healthy
stealthily imprisoned by our visions
finish the sentences and sever your attachments
respecting tradition leads to detachment
a semblance of serenity
the giver of the dawn used shards of standard force
hover in the mind’s sky
houses pass you by
in finite allegories
gardens blossom
governing movies and seating our jobless
go outside now
remove the shades from your eyes
breathe in soma and drink from the sky
sightless sorrow forges on towards tomorrow
art is a balancing act
she came out of her shell in order to tell you a story
of garlands of silver and gold
woven finely into ribbons
greased with oil from a rare toad*
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
the bottle's like a violin,
screaming demons in my stomach,
a cyborg forging information as lunch,
purging an urge for self-destruction,
my outer shell's cold but the circuits a storm,
of electrical database lifespan into megabytes of ****
see death is a story,
and my analogies are allegories,
mourning after the goriest morning is NOT worth storing,
blank pages turn into mythical dissipation,
and with that loud speaker you'd think he could pen down imagination,
a midnight gig playing with cosmic instrumentation,
for the humanoid race place your conscious on your invitation,
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
I'll have my heart in a gift box wrapped in see-through,
embellished with flowers, dedicated to you.
I'll spread a smear of glitter on it, maybe a little gold too,
so it doesn't seem so bitter, so overdue.
I hope it's vivacious; if it was pumping still,
and with prudent words you would overkill.
Its liveliness--once, now long forgotten--will decay in your palms.
Daffodils and daisies will melt into your hands, betraying all qualms.
Being the human that I am, obliged me to always seek knowledge.
I loved everything. Everything was a wreckage.
The fact that humans can cause this much damage enlightened me,
yet the thought of persuing self-destruction further could never set me free.
I was distraught till I was numb to the bones,
paralyzed on the cold tiles, silencing my own moans,
because what future awaits those who are namely the sick-minded,
the delusional, the know-it-all, the blindsided?
For spectators like us, we set everything into action,
to those who are less fortunate; the earth is flattened.
Their ideas, their meticulous theorems and allegories would all be dispersed,
by those who ignited the fire from the beginning. By the universe. By us.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Thirsting
For subterranean
Blue morphology
Azure dreams
Flitting about
On butterfly wings
Mining stalagmites and
Stalactites
Sipping nectar
Numinous ruminations
Illuminating
Analogous mimetics
Allegories of the Cave
An altar for
Pluming rhetoric
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
There's a full moon risin'
in a blackened sky
there's a full moon
sittin' huge
on the horizon sky.
There's someone standin'
on top of that hill
could it be I?
Hearin' music coming thru the trees
dancing
an old soft shoe
arms held high
silhouetted
by
that big full moon sky.
There's a shadow bein' cast
long thin and lean
stretchin' out creating darkness,
while illuminating light
all around
the shadow movin' ahead
a thin strip of darkness
and callin' it my life.
Illumination
darkness
a small pin light
flashin'
on
memories
possibilities
metaphors
allegories
waterfalls
in
all those
exquisite present moments
the poetry
our flash light lightenin'
And of course
there's a soul
could it be I?
Dancin' that old soft shoe
on top of that hill
a moment's delighting
in a full moon's night sky a risin'...
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
#
*How long wilt thou - this generation of deceit and joy – detain,
Starve, and defraud the people of our holiest reign?
Content ingloriously wasted to pass by as our falling days,
Like the flooding rains, as virtuous fools chase each other’s praise:
Till all thy fleshly allegories, now dimmed once shined so bright
As the multitudes grow stale - tarnished with each day’s new light.
Please believe me, ye youth by whose royal fruit thy must be
Gathered before ripened - else ye rot upon the tree.
Heaven itself must be sufficiently allotted, soon of late,
Like some unlucky youthful revolution born purely out of fate.
This false fate whose notions if we watch with skill,
For does not human good depend on human will?
Fortune rolls upward like lava, smoothly it does ascend,
From its first release, it takes not the bend.
But, if un-seized, it glides away like the wind
And leaves us - a late repenting fool far behind.
Now to meet with you, the you reading of this glorious prize,
As I spread these wisdom words before you as above you he flies.
Had thus Old Noah, from whose ***** we all offspring,
Not dared, when fortune called him to be the lead offering,
At the bottom of the ocean in exile he might still remain
And Heaven's sacred anointing oil would have been in vain.
Let Noah’s successional ages to your heart engage
And not shun the examples of this prophesized declining age.
For behold soon there comes three days of darkness to the skies,
As the shadows lengthen into the airs and then we slowly vaporize.*
#
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
In My Many Travels and dealing with the challenges of MAN'S MIND, Teaching and Learning with each STEP; I HAVE THIS "BURNING" DESIRE , For the "W H Y S " of life. SO, I ASK OF YOU !! Have you ENCOUNTERED ANY OF THE "FOLLOWING " ?___________(#1)= The Trail we Leave Precedes us, BUT the Shadow, do WE Lead or Follow. (#2)= "SHUCKS" said the Cowboy as He climbed upon the Steed, forgetting to put on His SPURS, NOW what would GOAD the Ride, to the SPUR store "OR" would a collection of SHARP words "WORK AS WELL" ? (#3)= Don't Tell Anyone, BUT, I have found a WORLD where the meaning of words are OBLIQUE to the words we use, Can YOU believe it, I've seen them ! (#4) The NICE THING about being OBLIQUE, when using "HIDDEN-MEANING" words and Allegories, the "ENEMY" *CAN'T Hear the words of TRUTH COMING! (#5) Do YOU realize that Glistening afternoons "USUALLY" result in "SHINING" attitudes for the Evenings; "GO FOR IT ! (#6)= For Those who are Still Rehearsing their LIFE; It's time to go Stage-Front, Turn off House lights,,Bring-up the SPOTS and see what "GOD" has in store for YOU ! (#7)= I USED to smell like Canteloupe, THEN, I discovered "ESCARGOT", NOW I Smell like an "OIL-SLICK" , What is? The Price of a Barrell today ? *(#8)= MY Songs are Not Just Words Written on Paper, BUT the Voices from My VERY Heart and the Melody Has JUST Begun ! ___"EVEN AS I held them up to the GREAT-LIGHT WITH HOPE= "YES" *TRULY I Understand NOW the "W H Y " of "OBSCURE OBSERVATIONS".......
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 3:16 AM UTC
i will write simply
like a snow melt in the spring
water brings music
and our feet are washed clean
remind the stars that we named them
even if they take our souls
we will forge them again in the fireplace
and breathe life back into them
soon we can rest in the music
but first let us use them
just like we were meant to
now is the space
to give your heart its grace
so we feed the lakes
their icy beverage
and make the songs that melt the frost
i arrived like fire
when rain was your only hope
our souls washed in the burning sun
the conundrums of love
somebody escaped with our watermelons
sundrops upon the lake
feelings we can never shake
our ecstasy is awake
and we have outgrown our shallows
swallowed by the hand of fate
our lives we did partake in
yes we have reached further
into the thick of it
into the blackest night
i walked into my own dismay
and displayed upon the sky
was the light that caught your eye
like threads of shredded rope
as darkness could never
cope with the worst of it
i sold all of our hope
for you should never
have to ***** for emptiness
send me the wisdom
to unleash you from this prison
so please give me another kiss
and fill me with your stories
for now we will forever know
that dreams are only allegories
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
I think yesterday is years away;
Between one and the other,
Between fathers and brothers.
So sisters and mothers
Blink feathery at their watches.
Hums like a hummingbird
Flails to a shrillness,
And a polyphonic fearing panic
Pulls us all back by chance
To the chancery.
Somewhere after grandfathers
Before grandsons,
Like Robert Frost being a modern
Not modernist—
There’s the last of the conceivable eros—
Conceived by sleeping
Resource and resourceful
Poverty with all the impressionism
of the gardens and allegories
at a dinner party.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 1:49 PM UTC
back in the day
rocks could talk
often
they where
casual, petty and small-minded
just like us
divinities platitudes
every word a drop of manna
its magic
wow magic
so out of conceit
we made them gods
deferred to their credibility
and like idiot children
paid attention to their great allegories
a provident sea of wisdom
from the skeletons of time
we carved their faces from stones
put them on pedestals
and gave them names
the great know it alls
urns of heaven
those oracles of old
and so ensued
the epic cycle of talking statues
and thats how decisions where made
back in the day
the statues are strangely mute now
sunken shadows into earths bowels
and the age of reason
has been transplanted
by the age of
*what the ****
a new
hobbled world soul
of darkened consciousness
to cope with tentacles of complexity
and a forest of trials
where depth of thought has been replaced
and decisions are made by
the exalted
ennie meenie minee moe
method
an abstruse form of ritual magic
so from now on
all arguments will be settled
by me
sticking my tongue out
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
I'll weave into your sleeping form and lace into your dreams; when you wake I'll be the light behind your eyes and the softness in your smile.
With sharp words and gentle intentions I will shape and guide this story. I am cunning and honest.
I'll get inside your head, but more importantly, your heart. There I will spin my tale and make you begin to wonder and learn.
I design and I scheme, I am crafty and clever. I create and I intertwine, I am fabricated and beguiling.
I am the sin and savior of imagination, I am the inspiration and the hollow ring. I am the advocator of make-believe and visions of passion.
I am the lessons of joy and strife, I am the morals, I am the parable of simplicity, I am the myths and legends that have withstood time.
I am the fallacies and disappointments, the misconceptions and outdated lore.
I am; I create. I entwine, knit, construct, contrive. I invent these allegories, bringing things into being.
(So who am I?
...I am love, for "love is a cunning weaver of fantasy and fables.")
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
You read my eyes
And when you see
the endless pages
I feel no cause
to close, but lay open
for your chapters
Ages my bound spine
wished to be splayed
wide for your bookmarks
your margin notes
Write in me, soft
pencilled reference
Mark me, as your map
Under the stroke of your hand
I am fearless
Breathe deeply in me
with no counting
and let your clocks
drop and break, in bliss
In knowing who we are not
we are timeless
Show me your darkness
and let me hold it
that you may laugh
at your fear
through Shiva's eyes
Play with me
I long to see
your child-mind
that knows so well
how fairies dance
in sun or rain
Moons ago, and now
my heart still comes
when you look at me
My hopeless allegories
hide no secret beyond
this honest open love
but one
I want to leave my flowers
on your doorstep every day
Copyright 2015 Ken Rush
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
1.
The peace of the brave
gave way to the war of allegories
illuminating our world
like a medieval manuscript
with a confusing colophon
of indecision.
2.
Unstable religious fuels
and volatile political compounds
energize the endless human wicks,
that light many an unsuspecting
yahrzeit candle.
3.
And love which may have
been 'stronger than death'
is not so strong lately
as an army that's already dead
cannot be defeated
as easily.
4.
"the children come right home from school"
Yossi said,
'perhaps they've already learned too much as it is?'
I think....
Our home is our castle
and like a missile defense
in American mythology
its walls are semipermeable membranes
of security.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 10:39 PM UTC
Ancient Christian hardliners, probably Gnostic in origin,
held that the fruit Eve gave Adam was ***** & that God
had created Adam homosexual, but he ****** up by not
creating another guy; God made three mistakes in a row;
which he expected to correct by sending his horndog son,
born to a single mother who made good by marrying Joe,
a successful carpenter, & when the boy was given the first
good bath he'd had in years by his cousin John, he was thirty;
people started following him around, especially women &
some of his cousin's friends; the women all had issues; the
boy constantly distracted by voices; some people mistook
him for John, already a well known heart throb & nemesis
of the Patriarch Herod, others said he was Elijah, legendary
prophet & super hero, but the boy was just a poet who went
around ******* people off w/ his damning allegories, drank
wine, hung out w/ shady people, slept w/ prostitutes, kept a
gang of burly knife-wielding fishermen around & raised the dead
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 9:37 PM UTC
I have a passion for graveyards,
for ghosts and secrets lurking below overturned soil,
cracked headstones screaming haunted pledges,
ripe grass fertilized by those we love.
The perfect place for a sunlit picnic.
Jupiter hangs low in the pregnancy of midnight,
lord of my eternity.
A sustenance to fuel my blood and feed my soul,
we spend our nights swapping juniper berries and allegories.
You’re my albatross, my cemetery stone,
a Cheshire catalyst embedded in my soul.
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
What is Certain(sir-tain) to a rhyme?
How do you remove what you've dined upon?
Now is not the time
to wait
when one can create
mono atomic gold
the joker represents
egg yolk (joke)
on your plate.
Expose smoke
on a simple fate
unfazed
played out allegories
in front of my face
Pictorials.
Foolish Votes for new morals.
While I'm stuck at the sea studying coral
One is not free
until they help someone
else become free.
I am a ****
Live judgement free
I never said
that was me..
Young hearts break free
Never get hung up
by this thing called
anxiety.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 11:27 AM UTC
No similes
No metaphors
No allegories
No alliteration
No irony
No paradox
No rhythm, and no rhyme
No more stanzas
No more verses
Only
truth:
I miss you.
2 8 . 0 7 . 1 4
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
We never spoke of love.
We spoke of cosmic miseries;
we spoke of falling statues;
we spoke of unsolved mysteries,
of the prevailing cultural attitudes.
We spoke of miscommunication
and Comedy and Tragedy as brothers;
we spoke of being lost and broken,
yet healed at the hearths of others.
We spoke of Winter's silent war
and how the Sun scared us both;
we spoke of wanderlust and bars
and how our lives were the funniest jokes.
We spoke of possibility,
in coded symbols and allegories,
of all the universes we wish we could be,
of all the things we'd do with wings.
We never spoke of love,
and yet,
somehow,
it's all we ever
talked about.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
Like you,
But with no filters around your mouth
Not stopping midway when you reach out for me.
Like you but before my demons got to you.
Like me,
But with my heart not swelling and crashing,
My lungs not elating with hope and deflating with reality
Like me, but before i fell in love with you.
Like you,
But with strong hands that feel like fluttering of butterflies against my skin when they touch me
Your footsteps sometimes syncing with my heart beats,
Like you but when I could read your eyes the way I read poetry, never getting enough of either
Like me,
But me talking to you, rather than bringing up your name as the room quietens and my friends look anywhere but in my eyes
Like me but when I had you, instead of these metaphors, and hyperbole, smilies and allegories, arranged in the shape of you so I could still have some souvenir of you.
Like me but with our names that you scratched on my back not faded.
Like you,
But not thinking that you have had me figured out now, so you could casually go down your library and put me on a shelf
Like you
But not finding me to be a waste of breath.
Like you but when you thought my light was worth the long period of eclipses it comes with
Like me,
But going on walks with you to the beach
Instead of me going on and on trying to kiss the horizon or the bottom of the sea,
It depends on the mood actually.
Like me but happy.
Like us,
But when we knew exactly who it was that we wanted us to be,
Instead of clinging to whatever vague ideas our mind comes up,
Doing anything to distract us from the aching hollow heart we carved ourselves out of
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 1:20 AM UTC
stuck on a hook....
cobalt metal monkeys cling
in reeling creative circus chaos
like dripping molten ash
ache from the fallout
you exhale darkly riddled pain
i inhale smoky denial
lives lit on fire
spun in gray matter
disjointed cold sober allegories
falling from a desolate sky
craving kicks inclination
embers hitting pay dirt's
fix'd enslavement
stuck on a hook
self destruction’s behavior
bent on indifference’s
obsessive sweet tooth
jonesing for a speeding bullet
an injurious habit's alibi
shot through the eye
at the scene of the crime
more than one fatality suspect
poppy blooms wither'd
sacrificed in crimson's desire
whilst laid out in entomb'd
conviction's escaped act of faith
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
This poem was only written to
Create a meter and a rhyme
There is no deeper meaning here,
So if you don't like wasting time
On mindless drivel, here's your hat
Because this poem is just that!
No wellsprings of emotion flow
Nor subtle allegories preach
Within these empty, patterned words -
I have no wish to moan or teach
Go somewhere else for love or fear
Because you will not find it here.
Now to apply some filler words
Like catnip, ice cream, roller rink,
Because I have no words to speak
And do not wish to feel or think.
I told you you were wasting time
Upon tetrameter and rhyme.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 11:24 AM UTC
They said that the breeze
Told them nothing but miseries
They said that the grass
Inhaled nothing but nurseries
They said, “We seek you for tragedies,
And we want our tears to pick your lyers;
we made you dreams of catastrophic allegories,
and we want our grief to mourn over your prejudice
of undesired futures.”
They claimed that they were conjured of
Passion and mysteries
Of knowledge other than blasphemies
They said, “We chant you for the last morning tea
We desire you for your ever-after evening satires,
Stay, and keep us for the crystal wires
Of your undying lyres.”
They said so as desired and as deprived,
Yet if they are so afraid to lose
Why do they seek in the first place?
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC
i'm 7 1/2 inches old. 8 by you.left. a film on me
like melatonin.leaking outside of it.vocaloid choaking. kawaii grunge in the
waterlogged
meniscus.my genocide- your ears.ihate the way it ran
down the wall then. better.if i crouch inside your cradleface18+ years
ago. like an inflammation. you qualify for
recursion_
like the newer- more appealing nightterrors.we escape certain
allegories. by gutting them. filigree-
whipped outside.to punish the exhibitionist inside: your lanky breathing.i am tired of borrowing your guilt i must be good.you
think.i break my wrist.
we.
anyways,.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC