"aokigahara" poems
Creatures crawl from under the roots of trees and bugs scatter from the pockets of the lost to the cadence of sprinkling rain
Silence in the woods of missused life brings out the sounds of wind screaming past the tightened ropes and rusted knives
Those who walk through the aokigahara forest hear a symphony of life that persists through the maimed, a festival of tents and people strung up like decorations as if it was meant for a parade
Nature reclaimed the unused death of unwanted bodies and the rain drained flesh from bones, simulated hell and suicide is what's found soon after passing the warning signs in red and white marked zones.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 2:23 PM UTC
4
10:30
"Knock knock"
Still in my pyjamas.
We drank coffee and smoked cigarettes.
He went to a rap gig the night before.
Fifteen dollars wasted.
3
13:00
An old school friend.
More coffee.
We spoke of art, travel and vegetable gardens.
In Japan they don't eat or show affection in public she told me.
Aokigahara finally makes sense.
2
22:00
Lucky Coq.
Girls would ****** for his hair.
He told me of his grandfathers poetry recitals every Christmas.
Idiosyncrasies are the ventriloquists of my heart.
1
23:00
We smoked under vine-entwined lanterns.
He fell in love with a French girl once and lived with her in Versailles.
He was young and went back home.
Regret at the fork in the road.
0
23:30
Left to find a 24/7 bottle shop and go home.
Crossed paths with old friends.
"Come have a drink with us"
-1
-2
-3
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
The women in Pakistan are all dead
Men are hungry,
butter their bread with lead
Cartel gang **** death in Venezuela
Girls bleed, crying
Shadowed figure screams "Impale her!"
America hates women
Women love America
Generalisations of a generally confused man
Man jumps from UK office block
Painted tarmac,
because she refused to simply **** his ****
******* figure hangs from a tree in Japan
Aokigahara hikikomori,
The human condition destroyed this man
Single father, taking his daughter to a park
Accused by a stranger,
Jumping to a conclusion, rather dark
Hooded man runs the world
Masked by power,
Money is bigger than Jesus
Knowledge destroys prejudice
Rock. Paper. Scissors.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
It is dark and cold, and it feels like I’ve been here for hours… maybe even days.
Where exactly am I?
How did I get to this cold and empty place where no human hands could give me warmth?
Where animals do not even dare to come.
I try to think, but the bitterness of this place distracts me
I start to walk but I begin feeling this icy numbness.
I want to continue however I just collapse on the never ending ground
Every thing just starts getting darker and darker
My eyelids getting heavier …
My head is spinning
I touch my face and realize my hand feel frozen
How long was I out?
The silence of this place bring fear to my mind and pain to my heart
Causing me to shake and I begin to sob
As I do the tears become frozen on my red cheeks.
What has caused this sudden lament?
I start to walk but I begin feeling this icy numbness.
I want to continue however I just collapse on the never ending ground
Every thing just starts getting darker and darker
My eyelids getting heavier …
A movie starts to play
Of a young man
With eyes that had a smile of their own
A smile that makes you want to join him,
Nice, big yet gentle hands that just told you to play with them.
A voice that made you believe in the impossible as if it could make your dreams come true.
I wake up once more and I hope it’s the last time.
I can not take more of this wilderness and all I can think is
who is that young man? I want to be with him.
The movie starts up again
And there is that young man again but this time….
His eyes do not smile; they are full of tears
He has lost hope; now his words speak only of loneliness
As blood fall to the floor from his arms
Now more then ever do I want to be with that young men
Because I know
That once I was the person, who brought that smile to his eyes,
And that this forest of gloominess is ours.
I need to find him and help him out
With the result that this will stop being the forest of Aokigahara.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 7:24 PM UTC
"Blood keeps drinking away, certain of its destination. Driving through New Orleans at night. Gotta find a destination...just one fix." ~ Ministry
Sick
I gargle your blood one last time
I hear you tell stories of authors
you love so much
while inside my head digs tunnels
to China
At first unwrapping,
(a child with no eyelids)
the chunk of tar
always seems fist-sized - until it is gone
High
You are suddenly there,
a cool summer morning anxious to be far too hot,
wind blows through you as if it were
balloons
in rainbow hues.
Reloaded conception, sanity.
Sick
Stupid -
doing your part by recycling cans,
wasting water cleaning each one out,
equation a zero-sum,
positive multiplied by a negative.
Aokigahara, a Sea of Trees,
redolence of a carrion flower attracts flies.
They land, bring up dissolution and
spread your legs
where they deposit the eggs.
Beachy Head, a white plume of efflorescent death.
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 8:00 PM UTC
the horse rummages on the track
and the victory is owned by the ****
soon sleep will engulf my body
like the oblivious quietude of Aokigahara-jukai.
things and their semblance of utmost care.
light begins to burst
and there is little left to see,
wide-eyed, crunched by the efficacy of aches.
taking all to the very heart of hurt
as gamblers wager,
and coming back with the sound of completeness:
a man is a man in his chronology of defeat -
left torn by madness,
a cornered beast pressed against the woods.
the moon plays its lyre, white-washed,
sound wading in the very source of quiet,
hauled out of the Sun, its mother.
this hound stalks the world
with woebegone legs, a reflection of the entire world fractured
by a singular shot at the end.
i hear the guttural snarl of engine
unwavering in its limitations. say, at first light, all exists to paint darkness quicker
than any obfuscated conclusion -- hiding in
itself, its mood for squalors.
the mud dug deep for bones
pared from the slaughter of midnight,
hiding them to mask my defeat:
everything around me sparkles with
the vigor of frailty, all the same.
the nights are too long, scarce as froth
from an opened mouth left flat,
a dry gin bottle.
i imagine sad armies dissolving in pale moonlight, and crosses thumbed down to the snaking hiss of its nondescript prayer.
gears gnash like teeth in anger
of you in your young clothes, the pace of cars
hurrying back to homes.
i remember the splintered wood burning
the last in the round kiln of the Red Lion.
the upholstery of night is the twilight's
catharsis. the coast of dread widens like
the vernal metamorphosis of a young ********** in Gibraltar,
come in, come in with undecided ******
you can hear the fall coalesce with the levitation of ember, landing like feet blunt
on the asphalt beside desolate bicycles
in seedy parks.
the surreal tabulation of analogue repetitions:
death's myriad, in all corners screaming
the countenance rebel, against the floored masses.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
this thespian ardor.
aokigahara-
jukai, suicide of morning trills.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
There’s a distance in me, too great, too steep
and I have been left crawling, calling,
clawing by the subconscious defeat.
I have gasped at the beauty of mountains I’ll never climb
and envisioned myself at their peak.
But what would I do up there?
What would I do with the world at my feet?
Well, I would scream at the void,
hear it echo again and again
and know that I was finally heard.
I was heard in the end.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 5:56 AM UTC
I can't even focus on the keys in front of me
Figuratively
Literally
I am suffocating.
I hate the feeling of having no chains
Because eventually, even that becomes one.
I know we're supposed to say we're never alone.
...But where are they now?
I know I have to be a rock
But I am made of softer things.
And every time I am dropped...
I break.
It's just gravity, but I feel a little smaller than before
My brain tells me I am infinite.
My heart argues this.
And I can't get into it.
You would never find me
Aokigahara
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
I’m tangled within a sea of trees
and lost with no markings or guides,
I have once read about
history absorbing
the dense and porous lava,
once in this land
as it does me now
providing my sense of solitude
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 4:42 AM UTC
bleed from finger tips
pressed into plastic keys
repeat routine regularly
until wrunged and wrinkled
some of us are just built wrong
you hear yourself say out loud
dream of escape to Aokigahara
where the trees whisper your name
and even darkness is palpable
you can taste it on your lips
the hemlock firs surrounding
dirt and parsnips on your tongue
your skin itches and you are
wildly uncomfortable in the vessel
sleep now, the forest demands
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
words mean everything to me
but in their essence, they are mistaken.
there is no loneliness in a suicide forest
because you're surrounded by corpses
not unlike yours;
yet the very reason you have something in common with them
is because you felt alone.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
In the silent woods of the Aokighara,
The sucide forest of Japanese gala .
Lives a woman reknowed for her appeal and beauty
Dareth any man,
Who did his duty
As travelers would say
Every man who went away ,
Was by her, swayed
The witch of the woods was she called
In the walls of the nearby fotress of Hachioji,
Lies her corpse walled.
The same walls which sing a tale,
Of her lost values , betrayals, ****** and escalades.
And of a just king,
Who had her walled to administer justice.
Even after her long demise,
She wanders the premise
In search of her new prey
So tell thou traveller wish to go for searching the way
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 4:48 AM UTC
Forest Of Death
(This poem is based on truth)
As the Sun rises to kiss the day
The darkness promises to stay
The people live a life mundane
Nothing inside to strengthen or sustain
A London fog forever lingers
In the hearts the chard’s of flinders
Their souls damaged and minds anguished
For so many lives have vanished
In every language the words are burning
And they repeat the same warning
The forest has a power of constraining
Known to be literally life draining
It’s worse than that of cyanide
It whispers to the ear and convinces suicide
Yet many for reasons unknown why
Disregard the signs and walk right on by
The mystery of the forest remains concealed
Theories vary, some say it’s a magnetic field
Some say it’s the Devil and his evil way
Just another game he loves to play
They come from all around to see its wonder
As if it’s a spell that they’re under
Knowing they could take their last breath
If they enter the forest of death
Written By:Charles Kean
Copyright 12/15/2020
All rights reserved
Note:—This is a real Forest
Located in Japan—Suicide forest
Aokigahara. —fascinating strange and true
Research—Japans Suicide forest
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 11:22 AM UTC