"augmenting" poems
in the year 2462 those with nails protruding from their palms
will talk in ancient tongues
& sway the tribes of men to eternal love,
& endless ammunition
of the soul.
spiritus.
kin, galactic
& the golden fire.
throb the saga of man,
into hip ****** illusions and combustive color schematas.
we bury our dead in flower clippings
or skull bits.
[skateboarding rises as the highest form of intellectual sport]
thrum and plum-bum the sewers of electric babylon.
hive city reaching past gasp and wasteland,
her lips ruinous.
cement slabs and coils of fault with
vast artistic possibilities.
these skate-lords from their heaps, their clans, augmenting
& rattling bone masks
grinding themselves into meat-bit heroics
& death.
their teeth are yellowy awoken.
this is all seen globally,
via tele-cast-com-core-mind-warp-tech.
or video.
dreams impact reality
impact dreams
in such
that the cathode cortex filter, invented circa 2222,
evolves into a demi-god, a solar charged demon of unlimited knowledge.
& it mutates the psychosphere of our mainstream public mind
with countless projected memories.
[streamed alternate realities]
fills the belly and the brain,
but all those unhooked are skating.
sweet meat market.
ghost harddrives.
poor leftovers called children of the once-was-men
& their poolside parties.
they leap the rubble of centuries old plastic icons,
their boards, their weapons, their seeds and spit.
they hang chains from their necks
& spew black flame from their sunshaded boot-click
lickings.
they drink from large bottlesof elixer distilled
on old flowers
& worship archaic cassettes.
cults of cyborg women with gem-tipped-blade-additions
carve wooden planks from
groves of great oaks.
great oaken powers.
their creators chew gummies and bend time
to uphold
a proposed history of perfection.
they master pong from their crystalline towers,
& hire mathematicians to write
conceptual skate-deck algorithms,
solely for fun.
non-profit.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
Near, near are my lucid dreams.
Sultry sleep, augmenting realty
Today, nothing will be as it seems.
Flashes of translucent, magnified beams,
Lighting lingers in treacherous tonality
Near, near are my lucid dreams.
The water flows in upside-down streams,
Rivers rage in confused commonalities
Today, nothing will be as it seems.
The mechanic roar of howling screams,
Shrapnel shrieking in utter infinities.
Near, near are my lucid dreams.
Pulleys construct convoluted schemes
While pollution parades in notorious normality
Today, nothing will be as it seems.
Awake. I go forth, my mind again seamed.
Awake. I go back, into a world of formality.
Near, near are my lucid dreams
Today, nothing will be as it seems.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
resuming textual trip
testing experimental procedures
visualizing model tsunami
augmenting facetious environment
catching abstract architecture
noticing rhythmic exchange
projecting subtextual database
airhorning reggae royalty
adding atypical party
resolving twitter question
noticing emotional mission
awaiting emotional dialect
installing metaphorical experiment
intensifying animated trip
displaying dynamic victory
programming abstract development
releasing emotional exchange
deriving fata morgana
glorifying referential sequence
intensifying facetious map
noticing harmonic trip
observing radical ratio
compiling nomadic message
predating google rebranding
reticulating facetious panda
using hyperreal feedback
exploring virtual panda
speculating graphic gallery
throwing mundane exception
targeting graphic experiment
replenishing emotional trap
localizing asemic animal
dropping rhythmic trip
propagating immortal experiment
displaying lowercase database
invading orange bubbles
crashing animated trip
running conceptual topography
remembering collapsed buildings
crashing hyperreal coverage
propagating hyperreal stipulation
finishing western library
envisioning neon tessellation
reciprocating network likes
processing animated device
releasing haptic quality
examining building seven
awaiting rhapsodical ratio
sampling death sauce
sensing lowercase clone
examining symbolic tour
processing potential development
encapsulating spatial lottery
displaying digital paragraph
reticulating theoretical source
perpetuating western paragraph
transmitting monochromatic structure
anticipating ambient quality
transmitting asemic environment
intensifying atomic quality
remastering history poem
keeping future light
hypothesizing eternal game
using future library
rearranging masonic language
transmitting masonic development
continuing ceremonial ritual
questioning party's legitimacy
deferring western coverage
finishing asemic hypertext
mollifying ostentatious presence
synthesizing allegorical icon
forming categorical unions
sketching app wireframe
programming immortal repository
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
The Jester to the court
A simple fool
A man to bring about life
Bring about the Dreary
Bring about the Light
Bring about stories of Joy & Strife
Dance amongst
Wax philosophical for
Play about the Concepts
Reorganize the Notions Preconceived and Not
Bring about the Esoteric
Bring about only the Palpable
Bring about plays of Obscure Lucidity
So alone who is he
When at home does he see
What does a merry walk become
Questions, “Who begins to portray me?”
Bring about Divinity
Bring about Sin City
Bring down to Existence and Humility
A Jester will never need a court
Will never have courtesans
He only needs to compliment their world
Must succeed in augmenting their reality through his own
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 8:10 PM UTC
Cheers to the race that doesn’t have a heart,
No reasons, no morals, no souls, no scruples,
But piles of lies, tons of deeds, all perfectly unabashed and splendidly aghast.
Cheers to their courage to walk unhesitantly in the crowd,
To stand with a stride and to converse with a pride,
And just in case their secrets revealed, to their dignified admittance clear and loud.
Cheers to their score that keep augmenting every day,
To their pleasures, to their amusement emerging from despair,
To their delight, to their bliss, to their ability to rejoice every time one cries in pain and dismay.
Cheers to their shamelessness, cheers to their sins,
Cheers to their disrespect for fellow human beings,
Cheers to the vanished humanity in their souls,
To the way their conscience has drifted in black hole,
And cheers to their skill of turning hearts into stones,
To their abhorring thoughts and to the way they never atone,
Cheers to the way, in this world, they sustain,
Cheers to those monsters, cheers to those beasts, cheers to those incredible demons again.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
A dark night
Littered with stars and rain
freshwater claims a sliver of consciousness
A simple word
a lonely question
"Why?"
You take my face into your hands
letting your eyes close on minor chords
It's almost silent
save for piano
and nervous breathing
Your forehead on mine seems to speak
directly to my thoughts
an arrow to my subconscious
An injection to my strength
weakness in quiet trembles
lovely petals of black and grey
falling on our awestruck countenances
augmenting the watery streaks of light
strewn sideways across your freckled skin
A hesitant thirst
not eager to be quenched
finally satisfied
Consent in closed eyes and soft pressure
Fingers caught lovelily in strands
of tired hair
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
It's Sunday again for you cloistered patricians
aloof from the madness, the magic and myth;
who trust in your wisdom, investments, physicians
unready to answer forthwith:
"Why bother with worship—in church or the zoo—
why weaken the links with a dull set of tools ?"
you ask yourself over your high-end Tarrazu,
bemused at the fables of fools.
You've bartered salvation for New York Times articles,
sipping on bitterness (shade-grown organic).
You settle for molecules, atoms and particles
unfairly-traded, satanic—
while you celebrate emptiness, general futility
musing on nothingness, sure of specifics
ensconced in your kitchen of pampered gentility
flirting with atheist physics.
Those simple plebeians: you'd love to enlighten them
help them, like you, to become a free-thinker
but you remain tasteful, for boldness might frighten them
reeling in fairy tales: hook, line and sinker.
Yet somebody, somewhere has uttered your sentence
(though you abhor judgement, let's read it again).
Sheba and Nineveh, versed in repentance
await you—not whether but when.
The darkness is brewing unholy filtration;
the wine of the harlot approaches the rim;
your guilt is augmenting in slow percolation;
you shrug it all off on a whim.
The souls of Assyria rise from your paper
they watch in amazement, prepare your abyss.
Your coffee now brims a more sulfurous vapor;
oh sinner—there's something amiss:
The crypts of Marib and the tombs of the Axumites
shudder and groan while you're reading the Times...
(immune to the words that some Christarded poet writes
mixing psychosis with rhymes.)
Royal Sheba will chastise your erudite unbelief,
smug self-importance and cynical squawk.
Then she'll sigh with immense Ethiopian grief
and her Highness Queen Bilqis will talk.
It is Sunday in Babylon. What if your sunlight ends...
why are there mobs in the streets of the nation?
Shall you have breakfast—or calculate dividends...
what would you pay for salvation?
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
*Then I start feeling
How it is like to live in a heaven
Being loved and kissed
In the days pass by and to the days come by*
*Then my feelings start singing
To a soft blue rhythm
Augmenting the aura brighter
Even more to thousand stars*
***Then myself start turning to yours
Harmonize the splendor of
Colosseum to the vintage days of Paris
' Mihiraviye...'
Days to days - Years to years
The time was beaten
By the sunshine of the spring
Happily everlasting***
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 1:28 PM UTC
She walks on water as the stars reflect
their shining brightness only lightening
her paradisiacal face and unclothed body
beauty may have it's layers, hers always
more than skin deep in the selfless benevolence she
gives forth in every interaction she herself
engages herself within,
In my years of wandering, I have never found
a soul I feel so compelled toward, frightening even
myself with my augmenting attachment and need
to hear her voice, feel her soul, listen to her heartbeat
to see her smile, and know her stories and tales from
the days that passed between the time we last spoke
my heart skipping beats,
An internal battle brings forth, an ever forging narrative
of realistic practicalities and the contrasting drifting
dream lands, entwined with fantasy and longing,
fears and hearts, left on the line, of a blurring demise
restore my heart, set me free, allow me to love,
let me
be
hers.
© Sia Jane
---
“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Lost in trials and tribulations; testing one’s patience as malignant lesions formulate morphological alterations ceaselessly swarming throughout this mortal embodiment
Erratic mitotic divisions serving as propositions carrying calamitous conditions - prescriptions from physicians functioning as baleful contradictions augmenting one’s overall condition
Salubrious air would substantially repair in lieu of a multimillion-dollar pharmaceutical snare chemically altering the brain chemistry unsympathetically.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
When the moon is out there shining,
When the stars are twinkling out in dark,
All the emotions come bursting out of her,
Oh! how they come right from her heart!
What can she do? What can be done?
Just to see you once again,
Just to be there back in time to take all your pain,
It shouldn’t have been you,
Oh! how she didn’t have a clue!
Time heals with every settling sun they say,
But it just digs it deeper and deeper , augmenting the dismay.
She doesn’t want to be loved, she doesn’t want to be adored.
Just come back once and Shout at her once more,
Don’t show her you care,
Just greet her with glare,
But come back once like you had always been there.
With every tear that wet the cheeks under the moon,
With every regret darkening the sun amidst the noon,
Sitting beneath the twinkling stars, battling with the memories,
Thinking of how the future could have been,
Thinking of how the present turned out to be,
She looks up in the sky, with blurred vision,
With hope that someday she would find you in the light,
And lovingly whisper -Good night dad, good night.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC
i took a route to eastwood
far off the end of a road that does not exist
i took a route
and was enticed by the aroma of growing freedom
kempt and hidden, underneath the soil and concrete
it was numbers away and off the grid
a name, almost too ordinary and typical
of what it offered, i did not know
but the uncertainty was what kept me going
a motivation for my augmenting footsteps
a sense of clarity for my clouded reasons and thoughts
i took a route to eastwood
far off the end and beyond the bustling surface
i took a route
and was enticed by the introverted trees featured alongside the lonely roads
of what it offered, i wasn't sure
but i welcomed the idea of a new beginning with open arms and an open heart
and a certainty for happiness
(n.j.)
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 7:01 AM UTC
She cracks her bones like whips,
augmenting her limbs and fingertips
like a demon i cannot satiate
Play with me, I hear her shout
and all I want is to get out,
an endless loop I must escape.
I never want to see these dreams again,
a distorted body, my dear friend,
I mourn the monster you've become.
It's time to end what I've begun.
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 7:58 PM UTC
Words spun at her mercy
like flowers around vines,
They longed to be
pieced together,
Dovetailed into a crown
that would adorn her,
embellishing,
augmenting her.
Words flowed like rivelets
in the valley of her conscience.
She befriended them.
Basked in their sheer beauty.
She was the enchantress.
Her words,
Magic!
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
No matter if you lose sight and see not,
But what to those who vision clear claim,
Can see pebbles in the children’s hands,
Cannot see bombs dropping over them.
The burning bodies of toddlers,
Painful bleeding mothers’ eyes,
Mean nothing to them, neither rubble,
Of collapsed houses and the deafening cries.
But they do say, children’s protest annoying,
Slogans raised for freedom blackest crime,
Without any slightest feeling of shame,
They say they do it to wash away the grime.
The so-called champions of the human rights,
Silent with dead conscience and lost insight,
Are the black mole on the face of humanity,
Instead of lessening misery augmenting plight.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
With their celluloid lakes
inviting,
their every crevice open
for exploration
and hands gesturing
groups and individuals
to come inside
they offer lifts
and roller coaster rides
augmenting reality
in sensory 4D
He presses the button
and we both enter
going up
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
Rivulets of smoke lacerate the atmosphere as weary limbs embellish the plain;
soft flesh embedded within the dark soil.
Our wrists tarnished by the exposure to air as we kept them secrets to the wailing winds,
we feared the noise that hit the window panes as children.
We writhe within our grained bedding as we glimpse at the past
as we are met with consternation for the future.
The sunset kisses our skin, as though to elongate our presence in its gaze.
We find ourselves satiated, our bodies lapsing into lethargic planks.
The taste of wine rested on our lips as we presented ourselves to glass bottle tops;
our laughter vibrated throughout the hills; our bursts of noise ricocheted,
returned to us, and allowed us to perpetuate our curious canvas of joy.
Clouds scuttle by in the wind as though fearing to ruin our sight of the sky lost in various hues.
The birds’ songs became whispers; their secrecy only augmenting the beauty.
The paws of foxes created a rhythm of which our fingertips complied,
dancing upon the grass as the wind caressed our skin.
Our phantasms became entwined with our realities,
our palms touched and seemed bound by twine.
Such a sequence ended with the ascension of our bodies from the floor;
the moon sighed at the loss of a picture.
The wind exhaled and clouds wept,
the birds lost their songs and the foxes ran to the foliage.
We found ourselves lost but in being lost we found ourselves.
With strong hearts, swelled chests and cleared eyes,
we left the borders of vision.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
Lives in the mouths of cannons
engineering themselves in laughter, smelling, changing, in the tip of a firefly-before it thinks or truly lives. Glowing, in the buzz-hum with a perfect way of rolling
over each other in geometric bliss-mating
like shadows flying from the hands of a tribesman, in the ceremony of his eyes – - explaining to his love
that she is the stealth of his blood, and that the camera watching has lungs too, like you or ‘I’. Stripped negatives from chests sing from a line of animals hung in a black room
the only thing to remind the city of its eternal face, wetness clinging to each peg – all augmenting themselves, transforming drains into ventricles and aorta’s-opening, the sighing pool-mass we see has a curve along its far corners – slight – returning its shape to us inside the battery, and eons of humbling war, and the vat contained molasses,
and the occasional faces of god
in flickers, of red saluting static, across the landscape.
Our time is linked as the day shifts, workers conducting the days lips
joining sculptures uniformed in nakedness
steam glides across the deepening pool,
rhythms of the earth belt free from knowledge and chaos,
no life vermin,
no energy separated from birth,
or the simpleness of walking beside you
Where we always are,
in the climbing paths of voiced and unvoiced back world flowers, which hope without thought,
and never begin
until they are named,
and known within cell,
microbes repeating their art.
A nightingale crossing paths with a worm,
all of the lampshades tensing at once,
holding the air up
completely still
transcending a tight fist until it bursts into a tree
placing its roots in the burning ground by melting its ice
illumined
traces near the opal shaped glass
where we purge our minds
of transport beyond our own
intricate company
settling into one
and hearing nothing
that is not here
belonging;
with us.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 8:02 AM UTC
Bird's flight
Tight light
Be op do op and all the light
Over the tired and torn world
The shingle-tingles
Peg leg harms
Needles beadles
Pawnshops mattresses
Brownstone runs
Past and reeds
Diminished incliner
Augmenting disarranger
Kali and calipers
Ricoh fives fire knives
Air recess
Dying confess
Less swing than gallows
Racing tracing
We passing
Futile asking
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 7:12 PM UTC
on my commute there is a building.
facade worn and *****
the brick needs to be replaced in places,
repointed in others,
but it's solid.
they've been working on it for months, now,
and today i finally saw
that they've been working from the inside out,
and now it's time to open the building,
and let the hard work be seen.
as i went by,
i was awed by the care they took,
to preserve the old brick that needs repointing,
because the outside is worth keeping -
when the work within shines forth,
augmenting the past,
renovating the future.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
I want to curl up
Into a tiny ball
Covered in blankets,
Surrounded by darkness.
The loneliness is creeping forth,
Slowly encompassing my life.
Each good-bye
Draws the emptiness forth;
Encouraging it to entwine with the loneliness.
The internal darkness
Climbs through me,
Effecting every part of my life;
Clawing its way to the surface.
The length between each hello
Grows and grows,
Eating at my insides,
Slowly and meticulously.
Each good-bye
Leaves cracks in my heart.
I don’t know
How much more I can endure.
My heart’s fissures
Are widening,
Becoming near impossible to close.
Darkness reaches up
Augmenting each rift.
Attaching to my soul,
The darkness,
The loneliness,
Encompasses me whole.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
Mind your English,
Watch your French.
What here, are these words I see?
It all looks like Greek to me...
Day in, day out, I toil, I labor
Seeking and augmenting my repertoire of words.
More often, so often, I read, I find
My disgust in my own language's ineptness.
I say here, I love you.
But as also I say there,
I love you as well.
But society has brought love
Crashing down around their ears
For these two loves are naught the same!
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 9:03 AM UTC
*Stuck Between Her Echoes & Voices,
Drowning In His Drug Induced Choices,
Illuminating The Beacons Of His Desolation,
By Augmenting His Cerebral Evolutions,
Reflexes Cracking Her Color Morale,
Initiating A Hearty Battle Royale,
Stuck Between His Sense & Sanity,
She Kept Searching For His Firmament Of Destiny,
Detainee Of His Manic Subversion,
She’s A Victim Of A One Sided Version,
She Feels Pseudo Experimental,
Victim To His Desecrated Addiction Accidental,
His Cataclysmic Urges,
Triggering Her Into Persistent Anxiety Surges,
Claustrophobic Under Hypnosis,
He Insurrected Catastrophic Psychosis,
She’s Dressed In His Intoxicated Restrains,
Wishing She Could Aid Him Refrain.
An Unrequited Dreamt Scarred Stain,
Unattainable Myth Under Heavy Rain,
Looking In His Chemical Eyes,
She Desires Consequences Without Lies,
Still Sealed Up In His Dreams,
Hopes To An Another Realm.*
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 5:08 PM UTC
Tantamount to traitorous slime slips through
Unknown to me and most certainly to you,
Augmenting the treachery, bilious and bold
With a heart bent on glee and a conscience onsold.
Wither he goest the admirers do flock
With an indolence bent on quite mindlessness stock
And the weft and the weave of the right and the wrong
dedicate the tonelessness found in the song
Where an emptiness lurks in it's grey woven gown
'Cos the crowd's given up and gone out on the town
And the brainlessness bent in solutions then sought
Means the curtains are closed...and it's all been for nought!
Marshalg
6 July 2017
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 12:30 AM UTC