"amalgamated" poems
A living breathing inauthentic dialect of amalgamated spirituality mixed with an ever so pervasive mix of tomfoolery and diluted astrotheology
An inexcapabley unexhausted aproproptraiton of extrapulated constipation
homeginzed and watered down to make it easier for the minds of the masses to swallow it down.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
Like multiple personalities
Creatures inhabit me
I know each persona as she lives
Sweepingly amalgamated
Feminine and Feline
Paradoxal archetype
In woman’s intuition
I am free!
And I would be nothing less
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
In a strange mood - see/write art
in a strange way, disorganized but straight on,
light tinted magenta, issuing, in frothy large pours, from my mouth,
knowing what to say, and the meaning too,
I can more than walk, can write, on water,
where all can read weeping, Mary-miracles of seeing, living words,
themselves, on light waves lapping in a
shifting rotunda vision, color reorienting spatial senses.^
in a strange, strange stitch, seasonal spirits and witches,
Chagall, Baez, Dylan Thomas, Donovan, Richie Havens
doing their knitting in my brain, from Montmartre to the Midwest to Monterey,
painters and poets in lockstep head-messing with me,
imperfect clarity but still one voice,
see/write art,
so went and caught the wind, going gently into night
to banish the hodgepodge of uncertainty from inside out.
knowing well you don't understand fully, but jumbling tumbling
verses are sliding off my rusted tongue as fiddlers fly above,
roughened words, hewn from a paper cup, spilling diamonds uncut, imported from Sarajevo, Montparnasse, the Lower East Side.
wretched me, in the hour I first believed, this amalgamated conception conceded,
seceded from my mind into your palate for a tasting,
tho neither drugged, nor deaf and dumb, just slammed poetical-like, this write is
all I have to portend is your affections, your attentions, to yours, am beholden.
a ***** well respected man in daylight,
the hidden references accuse,
woke up to see Wednes-day Caesarian born,
askance glanced at the prior passages of the night before,
when my palate clefted,
when eyes chose not to distinguish
between right and lefted,
in the nightlight,
a ***** man disrespects language convection/convention,
and lays before you activating stanzas and his mind, prone,
but always the truth, speaking,
the visions, leaking, mind to eye,
recombinant, into our minds eye.
^ http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york/exhibitions/on-view/james-turrell
Rather than write extensive notes on the many references, inspirations in this poem, if there is a line that intrigues, ask me
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
"Surreal skeptic, cynical cryptic! Licentious lecheries fabulist façade fantasias. Wild eyed spectral serene. Dream of catenary concoctions, ethereal salacious conjugation, bridge the gap in metaphysical mystique. Erotica erectile errantry’s exserted protuberance is a kinesiology kleptomaniac with his embark embargo extraditions and his eventuation evocative execrations, a positive amalgamated anathema android of a terminus thrall. The shadow in the shade of the silhouette sojourn. The bailiff’s rakeness rails incarnate, unicorn railway nails and all. He will paint mirador bartizan panorama tableaus all over your proximity parameter perimeter peripherals. Force the enmity to acquiesce into impunity.” “Why this is not but an ogling ogre of an oligarchy omelet” she shrieked as he continued to tickle her. “Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugueness,” he said. “Positive orchestration renditions of transpositional interlude.” “Come here,” she said “let my clambering clamorous clangor write you a wield wile treatise expose’.” “The legions of Chinga da are battling the hoards of Gunga din saying ‘kinetic supremacy temporize tractive fluent’ , it’s sheer genocide. That plasty goop nosed Gumby ****** Gunga doesn’t stand a chance. Coax cacophony clout, catatonic phonics, grizzly grotto grouches all”, She squealed. “Now you’re gumption dreaming”, he chimed. “Chutzpah panache spontaneous generation complicity, gambit alluvium aloof succor.”
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
Communion of Soft Fingertips
speak, modern world
we are sketched in languages of digital bits,
parity shading certainty with probabilities of truth
giving us form and existence across distance,
distilled to series of warm, invisible numbers
frequencies divided step-wise, as Fourier found them
in noise amalgamated as information heterodyned,
left to be separated out, reordered
by advanced statistical protocols
that trace our borders with delicate, unseen fingertips
a description of new beings, relationships between them
uncertain at first in the short trails
of data they create
but there eventually - by the law of large numbers
or acts of successive approximation
we'll find them
revealed, like a pointilist painting
or seemingly random collection of string
whose elements are alone meaningless
unless we step back to see an entirety of mass
which we recognize immediately
as true love and intimacy
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 8:57 AM UTC
treacherously torrid and torrential torrents of totally tangential tumultuous tortuous ; tyrannically torturous adjunct viably salient seethe.
procrastinating pandemic plenipotentiary prosthesis ; prosaically pragmatic parenthetical predication predilection premise prognostication
panoramic tableau preternatural propensity proclivity prestidigitation gesticulation :
gyration guidon ; ghastly gruesome grotesque hideously horrible horrendous heinous
grotty gnarly
diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt
awful
amalgamated anathema analysis agnate aggregate aberrance
somatalogy virtuoso cognate obduracy
worse
rudiment ebullience , confluence effluent effusion affluent , prolific profusity opulence , cogent fecund secular secund , recondite redolence abstrusely obstreperous mesomerism resonance resilience
protractive perpetude futurity
blither blandishing blabber burnishing boresome blahs
lithe blithe jabber prattle chatter tithe
morose morsel moribundness
stolid stoic
stalwart bastion bulwark
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Today I lost a dear friend.
She loved with unconditional love;
the type you can not buy or barter
she would instinctively know when I was near
and would wait patiently by the front door
a 6th sense beyond what we see or what we hear
what we think we heard or what we thought we saw.
She had golden hair with flecks of mottled brown
smiling eyes that knew friend from foe
loyally walk side by side
without fear in the darkest places
where ever we would go
I remember that time before;
id broken up with a girl of 5 years
she knew something hidden was very wrong,
although I hid the tears, let the feelings cower
she sat upon my legs, a paw on each shoulder
nestled her head into my neck
and hugged me for at least an hour
She was a lady of grace,
with the poise of pedigree
with an open heart for those close she loved;
her immediate family, close friends and me.
She would've made a winning frisbee catcher
that'll be the greyhound whippet in her genes
zig zag sprinting faster than the wind itself
hares and foxes was her excited prize
lay low among the undergrowth unseen
other than her piercing forever watching eyes
Yesterday, like any other day she dug for stones
chased her reflection on the water
and stood guard as we slept
little did we know the excitment of a fox to chase
would stop her heart and for hours after
my father, who kept his emotions in check,
was left speechless and bereft
as he uncontrollably wept.
Today I lost a dear friend,
a companion like no other
an amalgamated sense of loss,
like a sister from another mother.
Her last breaths, there are no words
to look upon her slowly glazing eyes
wrapped in a shroud and placed in a box
she will be sorely missed
departed from the ones she loved
to the land of the chasing fox;
muted words exchanged -
the last goodbye
the forever kiss.
Corrie
Rest in Peace
1999 - 2013
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
a circling vortex of disarray
starts inside my head
clasped by unsure
yet supportive hands
the helpless recesses of which
lets the sycophantic white light of my desktop monitor
summoned upon a wretched click
scatter on this scattered face
forming a weak shield
amalgamated by the desolation
and imbecility of a roadside orphan
ignorant but lasting
on the crumbs left over
from a stranger's life
a familiar unsettling sound
cracks open this pale shield
and my brooding eyes open
to see her making contact
one instant
one magical instant,
and die the next
leaving my impressioned eyes
wanting more
i lie, lie to myself
when the truth is
there woud be no more
of her tonight
retreating never meant giving up
and i do retreat,
to escape the insanity
of her charm get to me
amidst real affection
to run away while wanting to look back
when an embrace is just outside my door
desperately wanting to hear that unsettling sound
which drowns the familiar sounds of laughter
the circling vortex now inherent
inside my head
clasped by my helpless
supportive hands
the helpless recesses of which
lets the servile white light of a numb monitor
trace my tears
oh how I weep
to be her onscreen ******
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
I am from tiny small town where a mountain looms above the village. The height of the hill prevents the eye of heaven from shining. Yet the winter night persuade its day to set early.
I am from the land of ****** bliss than the internal. Love and tenderness is the first option to suffocate… Jealousy, Hatred, and disrespect amalgamated where I am from.
Yet, I am from where I come from. My town, My Kasi, My land, my soil.
I am from a village like town right in the medial of lowland of mount horeb Between the Drakensberg.
Where the beautiful daffodils grow
Just beside the stream that flows gradually, giving the inner roots opportunity to select its necessities.
“I am from small family in the medial of Clarens.”
I am from family full of love and affection. Ubuntu and joy perfect its image. Yet we are not that bold to be in everyone’s Eyebrow, but I am from the family of Lengau.
The only unique family from love to respect.
I am from the family of MaLengau, the loving and caring woman of Bakoena. I am from the family of four gentle guys and three ladies.
I am from Clarens, town among towns…
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 1:59 PM UTC
"Surreal skeptic, cynical cryptic! Licentious lecheries fabulist façade fantasias. Wild eyed spectral serene. Dream of catenary concoctions, ethereal salacious conjugation, bridge the gap in metaphysical mystique. Erotica erectile errantry’s exserted protuberance is a kinesiology kleptomaniac with his embark embargo extraditions and his eventuation evocative execrations, a positive amalgamated anathema android of a terminus thrall. The shadow in the shade of the silhouette sojourn. The bailiff’s rakeness rails incarnate, unicorn railway nails and all. He will paint mirador bartizan panorama tableaus all over your proximity parameter perimeter peripherals. Force the enmity to acquiesce into impunity.” “Why this is not but an ogling ogre of an oligarchy omelet” she shrieked as he continued to tickle her. “Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugueness,” he said. “Positive orchestration renditions of transpositional interlude.” “Come here,” she said “let my clambering clamorous clangor write you a wield wile treatise expose’. The legions of Chinga da are battling the hoards of Gunga din saying", "kinetic supremacy temporize tractive fluent" , "it’s sheer genocide. That plasty goop nosed porker of a Gumby ******* ***** monger Gunga doesn’t stand a chance. Coax cacophony clout, catatonic phonics, grizzly grotto grouches all”, She squealed. “Now you’re gumption dreaming”, he chimed. “Chutzpah panache spontaneous generation complicity, gambit alluvium aloof succor.”
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 1:26 AM UTC
she is everything
godly radiance
her warmth envelops me
stabbing
piercing through
within her light
I am known
but I am burning
desecrated, yet blessed by the flames
too close, and yet too far away?
amalgamated I fall
melted wax
feathers
flesh
idiocy
it feels divine
Jul 8, 2024
Jul 8, 2024 at 4:37 AM UTC
I returned to the place
where I use to escape
from the pedestrian affairs
of life in suburbia.
Many nights spent
collapsed on the pavement
swapping humdrum stories
of teenage angst.
It was the end of a road
just north of town
with nothing but swampland
in two directions.
Far enough away
from the sprawl of the city
to understand quiet
without getting lost.
An abundance of stars
made us feel insignificant
and the freedom of isolation
gave us confidence and strength.
It was balanced and beautiful
like we were, back then,
just the right amount
of elation and confusion.
So then it was silly, I guess
for me to expect
that a place like that
would still be the same.
It's a strip mall now,
sleek and amalgamated
and the unkempt sawgrass
replaced with pigmented mulch.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
She was accused of
Many unstable unsatisfactory emotions
All of which amalgamated her hurricane soul
That so breathlessly changed pace
With every maleficent or peaceful encounter
That fed the storm of her pith
A hollow quintessential girl
Hidden beneath eyes of tragic twinkle and
An amorphous disposition
That so whispered her visceral uncertainty
With which
She placed her demons in plethora
Upon all who obstreperously disturbed
The susurration of her own self-cataclysm
This decrepit distorted typhoon
Of the thundering lullaby she once embraced
Dissatisfied with the resonant rhapsodic scintilla
She so carelessly went from sonorous to somnolent
Once her nature echoed a sanguineous symphony
Of intimate honesty’s to now
Only as discreetly murmur callous contempt
Until this once magnificent hurricane soul
Did crumble like the walls her efficacy once
Tore down to whimper into the dust that is
Now her soul’s riven zephyr.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
Capture consciousnesses,
implement into
an amalgamated
substrates' soup.
Dissolve dark
pigments, promote
all-consuming oxidation
to tear
through thoughts,
seal strands
with wishes
of overcoming
indulgences, individuality.
Beauty beyond
reason resonates
with withering
minds' molds.
Shape-shift self,
melt mercifully,
pretty please.
Evaporate every
free-spirited feeling,
despised dearly.
Free from
humble humanity,
an astonishing,
extravagant, empty,
splendid shell.
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
Where did you go my queen,
Sun eluded,darkness hued the sky,
Clouds amalgamated and the sounds emerged,
Thunder tingling the mother earth,
Where did you go,you two little foot with your graceful fingers and celestial hands,
Wandering in the cosmos of obliviousness,
My mind envisaging your pastiche presence,
I see ur smile drifting on the rays of the imbued rainbow:
When the mellows of the zephyr that carried the voice of your breathe that breezed in to my breathe,
The ecstasy of tears cracked through the clustered clouds,
My hair winding as the zephyr roving through synecdoche strands...
My palm is under the influence of the dripping water,
and my eyes caught you floating, like the foliage leaf,
The ellipsoidal life carried your simulacrum,
I asked the drops of globular life that where did she impersonate you,
She limned with the bubbles that spoke chirpily:
"I saw her While I was in jaunt trip with the chariot clouds and lilting thunder,
she was strolling in the frolic fields fuddled with wallowing winds....
Her long hirsuite was in harmony with the zephyr,
As the brother zephyr was billowing in to her hair...".
I don't know where the place is,even my mind tends to imagine it,,
but I feel I too could fuse with you in the midst of that perpetual bliss,
I am waiting for you as my body transferring heat to the dripping life,
Didn't u hear those imbued silences that yelled your name...
Where did u go you plenary pulchritude,It is from you that I read what undulations are.....
If you don't come,I will...when I do...you wouldn't...
We will melt as one to the one....
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Nighttime's rest evades me of late,
Waking long before the hour of eight.
Sweet dreams and nightmares wake me, amalgamated --
A compensation for day's despairs which I've abated.
From sleep I have this vision of a sun-kissed dusty road--
A familiar place from which this story did forebode:
There came two women in a speeding car who, at my sight, did slow
And both inquired about this path on which I solemnly strode.
I squinted my eyes and I cocked my head,
Saw a traffic boot on their car tire and said,
"This path is a diversion from the realities we've fled."
The two women laughed, and soon away their car had sped.
I was left in a cloud of their dust, feeling very much alive--
Accepting, somehow fully, that their booted car could drive.
Now I see that none of slumber's sanity did survive,
And yet on that dusty path, I somehow still did thrive.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 11:54 AM UTC
They decked their bodies on the hexagonal stairway,
That primed up into the heavens of boulders.
Decked boulders,
Eyes from the dead shoulders,
That ran the dust of time and concern,
With double ambiguity;
That ran the cobwebs of melodrama,
Of Purple voids
And dainty scars,
There were just blocks.
There was no God.
No Owl.
No leaflet or Foliage.
There was just a dainty scar
That cervically opened
Into a white expanse of rugged and dusty fieldstones;
With the waves expanding their circumference
It was hard to keep the shells afloat.
Rosebuds, it looked like,
The little ***** that dug out of dung holes,
Everywhere on the white crystalline beach;
Rose budded footprints of an animaline saint.
It might just not be the little *****
Then the dust rose up.
It amalgamated into the purple haze
That became the tender feet of cupids that embedded
Their rose-budded footprints along the shore of the sea
Sea that circumference the earth;
A Chinese fishnet flew out of the foliage
That, that is drugged in a an embrace
Gently over the ocean’s tiny footprints.
The fishnet was not targeted or focused on oars
But it was the Oars
That roared an echo
That conjured a Wraith
With Ate by its side;
They roared in unison
In a screaming echo of the overdue night before.
One with desperate fledging oars,
In a senseless sea
And,
In an endless churn;
Then the sky drifted apart
To clear the grey remains,
That of a nuclear battleground
Of the last world
It skid along a steep drift
And found a purple pathway.
The pathway took enough time to open them
The dingy awls of ancient machine plates.
Entwined and unforgotten,
These had made a rounder depth into its omnipotent boulders
Than the mongrel-ic infrastructure of the present world;
Mongrels of a primitive category of potential.
The wisdom that was as ****** as
A bloated hyacinth in its first blossom;
It took a speck of a quarter wink.
Chaos followed obstruction,
And the dust jostled out in the jiffiest.
It was a strange new octopi.
With blades for pearls.
With fangs for lustre
With gigantic dilation of a black void of pupil;
How could it run through?
It phantom-ed the serpent in one plunge;
And a single spasm.
Then it exploded.
A million nebulas bristling with a zillion kind of rainbows,
Rainbows of hydrangeas in elixiric daze at the tip of each finger.
And,
Starlets.
Then it was all purple.
Cosmotic falancho on a curly fledge.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugue-ness, estranged ensemble orchestrations and all. Similar states of analogous configuration and ancillary subordinateness in fact. Various assorted forms of related stranger weirdness. Preterite orchestration renditions of synthetic synthesis’ retrospectively retroactive. Accidence ambience acoustics, aorist actuator’s arbitrational attenuation. Explicate eventuation evocative expletives, amalgamated anathema android wind up toys. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity! Enigma entity’s identity crisis.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
[]
ballerina on the subway
sublimate that cigarette sunset
if you don’t know, now you know
pop art
for the modern world
(she’s not that kind of girl)
normality is a paved road,
where is all the time
we were promised
it asks
give up the **** that
weighs you down
it writes
on a yellow
post-it
.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
Part of me will always think about you, wonder how you're holding up;
Part of me will always contemplate on who you've become, the person you ended up to be;
Part of me will always recall the certain smell of your sweater:
Peppermint and cough drops, blended with cigarette smoke;
And the way your eyes lit up when you smiled:
the little spark amalgamated within the light brown of your iris to form the twinkle;
Part of me will always look to the past and get lost in the memories:
the way you would hug me from behind and how you would join both your index and middle fingers to make that stupid-shaped heart I taught you;
Part of me will never let myself forget the hurt:
the way in which I was so blinded by what you wanted me to see, rather than see you for what you truly were;
Regardless, part of me will always care about you, hope that you're alright and doing well for yourself;
But absolutely no part of me would love you or could ever love you.
Not ever again.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
The aura of your spirit precedes you
Calling out insight and energy
It swirls around you, hanging above
Like a singular beam of light
And you tread on instinct;
seeing with your eyes closed
Universe amalgamated;
a conduit for its voice
And you tell the tales of your old soul
And you tell the tales of your purpose and journey
But a broken hearted boy haunts you
The one who ran away and no one cared
So you tear at your feelings
as they hold you under
Gasping for air in the oxygen of escape
But it wears off
It always wears off
And you forget how exquisitely you are made
But one day, you will make peace with the boy
And suture the bleeding holes in your heart
And the footsteps of this nomad will climb
to see how much bigger your world can become
and that some dreams are built very far from our homes
Because at this moment, living inside of you
is the energy that makes a good night a good night
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 10:11 AM UTC
Winter spring summer and
fallbackwards in time
I go
A pattern of leave(s)
Falling away
As if summer never touched them
And spring didn't water their roots.
Winter was just a phase
You knew that those rainy May days
Were my version of love.
It is never the right time for me
So I will always see fall
At the end of it all
I go through withdrawal
And still in the stall
As the archer-man calls
With an arrow and bow
Flaming, he throws.
Fire created
Spring desecrated
Summer repudiated
Winter reinstated
Fall and backwards, amalgamated.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 1:37 AM UTC
Efface the corridors of my mind, they no longer matter to my hands. My hands aren't in the reflection of my eyes, anymore. The ripplets of amalgamated rigmarole has left me disconnected from my own solace. (The truth of the matter is, I detest you all)
Such a fiery passion filled with such repugnant result that only ensues regicide. Don't you see? You aren't the same as when I opened the door to Eden. Pusillanimous flowers froze under your cold dexterity and callous maneuvers as I tried, as an denizen of the air; in giving you fire. My animosity-indulged blood feel upon everything still. (Poor benevolent garden became the stage for fire and brimstone! Burn it all)
The severance between rhetorician and denizen is the best that I can do to impart my desperation. God, what must I do to show the waters and the earths of my pain? Yet, I'm overlooked. (Yes, you are overlooked. Taken for granted). The black hiding under my nails is but testimony of how blood can transmutate to dirt. (You're too nice and stupid. I detest them all) Am I to believe that time along with my memories are my enemy? Then what of my sins and their justifications? What the hell must I do?! (Envy, Envy, Envy!) Why must I insist in speaking when those who must listen choose to turn their heads and ear like imbeciles to the slaughter? (Let them ******* die! why open your mouth, you idiot?) Scrupulous actions reflect my misery that can only explained through the pen.
(Why must you waste your time? You were born alone, so die alone. Let the sky scream your name as the earth swallows your very existance and time effaces you from the memories of the inhabitants of the world. May all take a drink of the child's corrosive life and watch them atrophy and burn into nothingness)
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 1:10 AM UTC
Today, the hot sun baked the orange leaves
like toast on the lush over-grown grass while
I meditated on indifference,
apathy amalgamated with acceptance, filling
my heart and chest with a confusion
about whether I should even care
whether it's worth my time
whether I even have the courage.
And as the ground beneath me rose and fell
cars passing me like stars, as I weaved my way
back into the darkness, I remembered
that more often than I ever admit
I was the peahen in Darwin's
big book, admiring those feathers;
the soft, light skin, the blue eyes,
the beautiful smile;
all hauntingly forbidden.
Because, when you've gone
so many days without water,
and the desert isn't getting any smaller,
perhaps it's just easier to lie down
and remember the orange leaves
on the green grass
beneath the empty trees.
Today, I remember, and die;
unable to forget how long
I've been dehydrated.
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 12:13 AM UTC