"architectures" poems
the world is a machine built of scorpions and wolves, praying for sleep and
soft lullabies. the wheels and knobs turn endlessly, recklessly howling at the
stars for it's desirable solace, like ghosts stuck on earth preying on others for
revenge for being sentient puppets tangled in the strings, thrashing in their
thoughts, stuck in a everlasting cycle carrying around burdens like a courier
through dense forests and vast wastelands, burning bridges and bibles and
throwing gasoline upon the architectures built up and setting them on fire
but i feel hands of fear at my ankles, pulling me into the restless ocean
with a pulsating ache, wolves howl from the insides of my barren stomach
and making them be quiet is difficult, if duct tape worked, it would help
these knives for fingers cut through anything, but it can't cut through you
- kra
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
Little ant, so small and insignificant
Yet in numbers up an elephant’s snout
How easily you make him indisposed
Lesson to learn: strength in numbers
Maxim to remember: unity of purpose
Oh termite, thou destroyer of civilizations!
How mighty when surreptitiously you creep in
Such ingenious civil engineering feats everywhere
Orderly highways with neither jams nor congestion
And tall imposing castles kissing the air proudly
Result: new architectures plagiarizing your prototype!
And you wasp of constricted waist and mean toxin
You make no attempt to hide or disguise your dwelling
Yours is a house built upon a hill for all to see and tremble
They say when a man has no obvious protection keep away
Lest you trigger subtle forces that mesmerize and pulverize you
Lesson from this: commandos are modern day human wasps
Everybody owes the bee everything, from sweetness to health
The bees a-buzzing speak of persistence and how it breaks barriers
In the end you listen because the message is ceaseless and urgent
And oh sweet bee of the hot sting shot from your posterior
No cordon bleu chef anywhere can ever approximate your finesse
Your formula and patent are hedged with natural mystery
Lesson to learn: the bitter and the sweet in judicious mixture!
Now little man recently so puffed-up and conceited and ever so inadequate
Hear ye this and know it well lest you stumble and fall into dark precipices
You’re nothing and you’ve created nothing; there’s a prototype of everything
In nature’s wonder store of huge surprises and unassuming wisdom
Lesson from all this: one day the other world will rise up and assert it itself
So steer your course differently and beware of those who bide their time
Grim in their purpose and determined in their unshakable resolve
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC
I
Fanciful and then the first notice of
suspended mouth corners,
fleeing gravity with invisible strings,
sloppily synchronize in giggles.
II
A glance at the shore horizon,
widening into chasm,
Erebus leaking
ominously—
oh but the raft
is far too small!
oh and flimsy!
surely the shadows
will ravage
the branches
and pull this
neurotically
euphoric contraption
below.
III
glazed malfunction
blurred and hazed
for lack of clarity
billowing surges
mold as magnets inandout
and in andoutandinandout again
fades in before
melting again to
disjointed gestures
in a multicolored backdrop
IV
Skeletal architectures
return from a hysterical
awareness of ****** intricacy—
And discussion is,
of course,
forever precluded
for fear of relapse
and embarrassment.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 1:55 PM UTC
I’ve felt lost
Like tangerines being pushed into the
Discotheque of animosity slowly murdering each other’s nebula with
Arms crossed over and eyes blazing joints among the durable and dangerous
Architectures where the faculties of the skull
No longer admit the worms of the senses
How much time may be disjointed while everyone
Takes to their wondering sky
The glass floor the rock beaten path
The somber shadow of neglect justifies
My hiding from the world somewhere
I shatter into a billion pieces and slowly the collapse remembers how it once
Felt the ugly ball of lights thrusting each beam into my skin
A metallic taste in my mouth
The groovy red liquid that makes life dependable as painted laughs
Migrate to the other side of dawn
No one hopes for anything
Let it all disintegrate into the coming rainfall
Gathering in small odd shaped holes all over the cities belly
Barbwire disguises melancholy gasps of breath
I’ve seen you in those hours where anything can happen
And it does
No longer waiting at the long table
No response no self doubt
My particles coagulate in my throat
The simple thought disappears
A night of unrest turns your skin inside out as
The violence escalates into silent picture mode
Only thirst recovering from three days of religion
And no explanation is needed
I know when all those beautiful sad laughs you send out on every
Other month finally arrive I’ll be ready to open my eyes
Hold my hands out and receive you in full
Is this your spirit?
Or the glare coming off the street lamps
Just close the door
And lose all memory of me
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
These grand architectures
Built over fragile foundations
Trusts are a rarity
One eyed perceptions
Safe haven for distorted images
Walls are flimsy
Pillars of love can hold no more
Like a pack of cards
Everything will be rubble
Will be buried deep
The dream of humanity
Wind blown
The deserted lands
Will be testimony
Of the uncertainties
We had within
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
The flames of Valencia
Rips through my veins
His colors course
Through the dreams
In my eyes…
Astounding architectures
Along his streets
I gathered….
Whispering expressive
Spanish songs,
In the core of my ears…
Inside a taxi cab..
Running wild
Unmindful,
My heart soaring
Like the taps of
The feet of
A flamenco dancer…..
Wrapping my very soul
With eclectic passions
Rhythm and rhymes
Church bell that chimes
Carelessly,
Impatiently
He moves his fingers in a dance
….and
To me,
It is a caress,
that leads me to a trance…..
With a soft cry of passion
I walked the streets
Of Valencia
Like a woman
Possessed…
With his glory
With his story
Loving minute after
Minute
Of his magnificence and wonder…
Never wanting to leave
his Mediterranean shores…..
Sights and sounds of Valencia…….
With his pious ,stately cathedrals
Where I knelt in awe
Before the ******
Vowing to return,
A hungry kiss upon his cheek
Shall I plant before I go...
This I promise and this I know….
Valencia…..in my heart
You will always stay…
In fervent wishes,
This, I truly pray….
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 1:09 AM UTC
Night is like a song that you can’t see
so you make up scenery to fill the gaps
between fluorescent highways. and forests possible.
Figments of figs twist with twigs into
nocturnal architectures of confusing beauty.
Headlights slice into your eyes and ruin
the surprise so you return to sound
of foggy rain and smoky tears,
trying to fit between the droplets
without feeling cold or found. and failing.
World exposed as just imagination but
your faith blooms, believing
makes the secrets breathe.
Traffic rolls across eyelids like
tracks of fading bright and wet tails
across the windshield. and when
you peek again you find only rubies
staring back like mute, unblinking fireflies
and you know you’re driving blind
no matter how wide your spies are open.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 3:15 AM UTC
Stones which used to be Mountains
worn away by frequent seas
{eroding shores by an ocean’s undulating toll
Will it leave a sound-?-or will all be smitten
by the waves’ pitch and roll,
wearing me down, singing like a siren}
Broken windows in remarkable architectures,
gravel hurled injuring sick and dying edifices
{shattered skeletons by which rusty old panes ache
Will they come back to life-?-or will they crumble
like so much grey mortar
waiting on my grave, my ash like lime}
Substance of life saw so much when solid
now drips its thawing unwanted mobility, unrestrained
{once unique solitary patient glaciers
Will these tepid breezes not extinguish-?-yet hastened
towards the yawning mouth
which empts into the anonymity of the deeps}
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
Once upon a Cold, we painted with
our Breath, drawing grand designs with Frost.
We thought the Ice would last
all season, comfort of our white Chrysalis
wrapping Crystal dreams.
We antici-
pated each coming day
like a Snowflake waits
for infinite friends to follow
it’s unique descent.
We didn’t fear starry hours
or burned out sky
because even that
was Bright.
And one morning whispers with a
drip. drip.
delicate palaces rush into consciousness.
new chrysalis cries
as every brick of what we built
becomes a warmer, wetter winter tear.
collapsing towers, liquid architectures dancing
deep in ear canals, all flowing castles of the fall.
Tall empires all return to sea level.
farewell, foundations.
goodbye, stuck moments.
take care, cold friends.
hello, invisible breath.
now fleeing into pavement rivers,
moving as if only motion was alive,
sunlit course corrections,
shifting midstream to not die.
but I weep for our grand designs,
no solace in the warm survival of their parts,
impermanence courts chaos
in what’s left
of a pair
of frozen hearts.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
In the dawn
The universe may rain ego and rancor but
I want you to fight like cats and dogs.
Shape four skilled intersections twice like the Empire in the hands of an octopus
And May you Shelter poetic architectures that last virtually as the life of a tortoise.
At Twelve hundred
split into matching halves by drawing imaginary lines through our Psyche and central axis
Because I want you to Puke instinct and weight like the brains of a pigeon engaged solid as a donkey,
So we can all possess the strength of an elephant and
Shine radical and symmetrical like Brittle stars.
Just opine.
Formerly sunset and ahead sunrise
sleep-talk the way dolphins seem to.
Cease to Contain clueless courage as
Humans have complex ears to translate what our blind eye can process.
Mimic the recordings during rest ages,
but even boars can figure out how to make the same sounds we do.
We all want the lion's share so our existence can grow fat as a pig.
If such is perfected, We shall pursue conducive habits like sheep.
I meant, Live long and Prosper.
Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 7:27 AM UTC
Laisse-moi respirer longtemps, longtemps, l'odeur de tes cheveux, y plonger tout mon visage, comme un homme altéré dans l'eau d'une source, et les agiter avec ma main comme un mouchoir odorant, pour secouer des souvenirs dans l'air.
Si tu pouvais savoir tout ce que je vois ! tout ce que je sens ! tout ce que j'entends dans tes cheveux ! Mon âme voyage sur le parfum comme l'âme des autres hommes sur la musique.
Tes cheveux contiennent tout un rêve, plein de voilures et de mâtures ; ils contiennent de grandes mers dont les moussons me portent vers de charmants climats, où l'espace est plus bleu et plus profond, où l'atmosphère est parfumée par les fruits, par les feuilles et par la peau humaine.
Dans l'océan de ta chevelure, j'entrevois un port fourmillant de chants mélancoliques, d'hommes vigoureux de toutes nations et de navires de toutes formes découpant leurs architectures fines et compliquées sur un ciel immense où se prélasse l'éternelle chaleur.
Dans les caresses de ta chevelure, je retrouve les langueurs des longues heures passées sur un divan, dans la chambre d'un beau navire, bercées par le roulis imperceptible du port, entre les pots de fleurs et les gargoulettes rafraîchissantes.
Dans l'ardent foyer de ta chevelure, je respire l'odeur du tabac mêlé à l'opium et au sucre ; dans la nuit de ta chevelure, je vois resplendir l'infini de l'azur tropical ; sur les rivages duvetés de ta chevelure je m'enivre des odeurs combinées du goudron, du musc et de l'huile de coco.
Laisse-moi mordre longtemps tes tresses lourdes et noires. Quand je mordille tes cheveux élastiques et rebelles, il me semble que je mange des souvenirs.
450
The banter runs in squares. Hot air
condensing stories on the things you like,
inquiring where they’re from? A lush
entanglement of architectures
pulled from hungry jaws, unsated,
set to gnashing blindfully
at light, like worms?
Rejoice in proper terms!
Renounce those shameless fights
with others and yourself, best soldiers for
this no doubt war
appealing to the combat tribes
to both consider lives
and shoot them from the fences.
Ampleness, bedecked in hero standard,
tacks our motto to his brim -
“Why Can’t You Be Like Him?”
A just extolment of desire
(trod lightly otherwise),
steps to our eagle-eyes.
We’re living.
Pry the fenders off the lies
that carted us to chaos
heedless what it spurned -
what gardens have we watered?
Labors that upturned the noses
of the rulers bidding silence in their undertow -
what power, then, to stir below.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
steel cold looks
cool worked metal in hand
American workers pause
waiting to take stand
not on trial
but as witness to tell
of planes and plain faces
they have known so well
cross examined
with tacit emotion
by averting eyes broken
and curtains unopened
the artist a jury
convicts without words
his portrait the judge
its sentence unheard
but architectures fate
arcs down towards man
to remind him
of lost history's demand
to imitate the past
on infertile soil
to bear no fruit
and continue their toil
Apr 20, 2020
Apr 20, 2020 at 5:30 PM UTC