"augurs" poems
That lamp thou fill’st in Eros name to-night,
O Hero, shall the Sestian augurs take
To-morrow, and for drowned Leander’s sake
To Anteros its fireless lip shall plight.
Aye, waft the unspoken vow: yet dawn’s first light
On ebbing storm and life twice ebb’d must break;
While ’neath no sunrise, by the Avernian Lake,
Lo where Love walks, Death’s pallid neophyte.
That lamp within Anteros’ shadowy shrine
Shall stand unlit (for so the gods decree)
Till some one man the happy issue see
Of a life’s love, and bid its flame to shine:
Which still may rest unfir’d; for, theirs or thine,
O brother, what brought love to them or thee?
3.2k
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured,
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
Since spite of him I’ll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o’er dull and speechless tribes;
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants’ crests and tombs of brass are spent.
2k
The painted sun on the guava leaves
Augurs another winter,
Mellowed only till next summer
The sun quietly rests in the shade of each leaf
Contemplating in melancholy
Next winter they won’t be there
And the eyes catching his breathless softness
May be gone too,
But he through seemingly endless time
Has to return each winter
To rest in the shade of guava leaves
And be planted on the coming eyes
Mellowing in the on-setting winter!
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
Collaboration's implicit excitations explicate expectations
Unity's myriad augurs geomancy's indications
Demagoguery's ostensibly intuitive impetus coordinations
Extravagantly exorbitant panaceas appreciate exaggerations
Prolifically profuse profundity's autonomous gestations
Empirically emulate epistemology's exogamous creations
Intrigue's imperative promulgation's quantum fecundations
Fealty's ephemeral enunciation's explicit complications
Hypercritically exponential prophylaxis protocol's interpretations
Sacrosanct unary's preternatural predilection's extrications
Eventuation's evocative illuminism avant garde's ostentations
Corrupt costume counselor's indicative explications
Assimilation's synthetic synthesis' ascensional implications
Ominous phenomenon portrayal detinue's integrations
Umbrage ultraism's penumbral platitude's objectifications
Futurity's spontaneous flamboyance's apotropaic expiations
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
Beijing’s Child points at the white clouds flying, veils in the somber sky, to the moon under the yielding tree’s red lantern, he is absent-mindedly playing with his brown braids. He pictures himself abroad, by other long shores turning the pages of his dear illustrated book when a fired fish jumps up to the skies clad in its rainbow scales, glistering. Under the yielding tree red lantern
Beijing’s Child rubs the green ginkgo Although the snow, winter’s daughter plucks the feather leaves of her silvery coat....
Was it the wind, messenger of the west that brought the Biloba bird until Ta? Under the yielding tree red lantern
He thinks about it sprouting, seed of the past. The Child whose name means pagoda lives over the gates of the shining sun chanting to the elements songs and lullabies,
Under the yielding tree red lantern.
And when Earth vibrates under the storms when the frightened men rise their damped eyes the child wraps his body with the veil of the stars I hear by the mounts his voice and his augurs. But the tree was cut down and cannot offer its sweet sap anymore the red gleam has faded long ago of the marooned torn by time book only one thing remains, and it is a dream.
Because, at bedtime, as the world is sound asleep the child pours a golden powder to the souls. Stay awake at night because the Child of Beijing will enchant you until your morning!
Written in French in Beijing, October 20, 2011. Translated on May 9, 2014 Lyon, France
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
city heat in hard
black attire, superconductive
glow of a serpent chasing
its tail.
asphalted lay of holy land--
whose bedraggled pulse snorts
in ****** laughter.
roadside augurs fester while
tying the laces of traffic, through
passed out archways.
bird's beaks are broken open,
in mad waterless monologues.
as the nucleus of this wizened apple,
casts oblique shadows... for curly cue-ing worms
flirtatious doom.
sped billboards imminently flattening the world,
under a Columbus-blue sky.
going, going...gone!
ice cream trucks mangle dueling theme
songs, sloughed off by sensational tides of kids.
distraction's lustful lick, an informationless
tombstone busy with curves.
here, whole-body shaves of renouncement...
and steady showers of salt, will make
worthy the truest Himalayan meditation.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
Words whose inspiration I refuse to trace so I claim they are about no one: everyone writes about blood and maybe that's because it's deserved and maybe where there is desert there is no cliché. Everyone I've ever loved has peeled their lips a little too much and been left with blood running down to their chin. Sanguine seems the perfect word, now, but it's been charged with too much meaning and here I give her leave to drop to her knees screaming, 'I am the thick, deepness you've been searching for.' Blood-red a noun that augurs poorly for those whom take themselves too seriously and here I let it work. I should have recognized the portent provided by rivulets of multiple mediums but I was focused on trying to figure out how your eyes vacillate from my ****** to my amphetamine, and back again. I picked up some of your habits and have held them longer than I held you. Between the blood and tears dripping off my chin in a reality you thought you could never reconcile with words lay you, telling me, woven in secrecy between gasps, that everything has fallen into place. There's a metaphor in there somewhere about how nature's strongest shape is the triangle and the two of us could never stand up to the weights slowly placed on us. I'm not yet confident enough to flesh out the metaphor because all I was ever comfortable with was your flesh and I've yet to deduce the other points of the triangle, but at least I now know what they're not. Everyone before tasted like practice and I realize that's what you thought of me. I slipped truth under your door while you slept and years later I think about your morning before you opened my letter and worked through the ink stains shifted by rain & tears, but mostly rain, I promise.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
Collaboration's implicit excitations explicate expectations
Unity's myriad augurs geomancy's indications
Demagoguery's ostensibly intuitive impetus coordinations
Extravagantly exorbitant panaceas appreciate exaggerations
Prolifically profuse profundity's autonomous gestations
Empirically emulate epistemology's exogamous creations
Intrigue's imperative promulgation's quantum fecundations
Fealty's ephemeral enunciation's explicit complications
Hypercritically exponential prophylaxis protocol's interpretations
Sacrosanct unary's preternatural predilection's extrications
Eventuation's evocative illuminism avant garde's ostentations
Corrupt costume counselor's indicative explications
Assimilation's synthetic synthesis' ascensional implications
Ominous phenomenon portrayal detinue's integrations
Umbrage ultraism's penumbral platitude's objectifications
Futurity's spontaneous flamboyance's apotropaic expiations
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC
The Unbearable Winter’s mist
The winter’s mist,
peculiar,
the sky augurs
blue and sun mellow,
but clouded vision
begets and besets,
my own and owned
melancholy vision is
a consequential
snake like blurry speckled band,
of my own drawing,
covering my eyes,
when I read Márai‘s
wit, write, legal writ,
but with my corrected
add
of the
un
and my own self assigned
grade is a bright red
F
eye of the beholder
Life becomes unbearable
*”when one has come to
terms with who one is,
both in one's own eyes
and in the eyes of the world.
We all of us must come to terms
with what and who we are, and
recognize that this wisdom is not
going to earn us any praise, that
life is not going to pin a medal on
us for recognizing and enduring
our own vanity or egoism or
baldness or our potbelly. No, the
secret is that there's no reward
and we have to endure our characters
and our natures as best we can, because
no amount of experience or insight is
going to rectify our deficiencies, our
self-regard, or our cupidity. We have
to learn that our desires do not find
any real echo in the world. We have
to accept that the people we love
do not love us, or not in the way
we hope. We have to accept betrayal
and disloyalty, and, hardest of all,
that someone is finer
than we are in
character or intelligence.”*
Sándor Márai
Jan 10, 2024
Jan 10, 2024 at 2:36 PM UTC
spinning whilst ripping
piercing it's way through
my dreaded fate dripping
sovereign blood on you
clogged, congested, compressed
our hearts need augurs now too
in order to wash away the
horrible things that we do
to ourselves
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
Where are you my love, where are you?
A strange unknown beauty in my dreams,
blinding yet soothing rays from her beams.
Words of beauty and pulchritude she whispers,
words so perplexing yet that of augurs.
Where are you my love, where are you?
I hear her faint voice amidst thunder and clouds,
a being so enigmatic yet alluring behind black shrouds.
Words of beauty and pulchritude she whispers,
words so perplexing yet that of augurs.
Where are you my love, where are you?
Sound of waves cannot subdue her feeble enchanting call,
mesmerized and hypnotized, I act like a thrall.
Words of beauty and pulchritude she whispers,
words so perplexing yet that of augurs.
Where are you my love, where are you?
Sounds of forest whithin fog and hills so intriguing,
but her sound, frail yet so distinct and enthralling.
Words of beauty and pulchritude she whispers,
words so perplexing yet that of augurs.
Where are you my love, where are you?
Now she has become my ultimate desire,
she is burning in me like wildfire.
Words of beauty and pulchritude she whispers,
words so perplexing yet that of augurs.
Where are you my love, where are you?
Ruined, with sword, green turban, clothes stained in blood and dirt.
I'll wait for you in a dangerous yet fascinating desert,
words of beauty and pulchritude she whispers
words so perplexing yet that of augurs.
Where are you my love, where are you?
We will meet together with a long awaited kiss,
together we will head towards the land of eternal bliss.
words of beauty and pulchritude she whispers
words so perplexing yet that of augurs.
Where are you my DEATH, where are you?
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
Awe inspired
While the whole world was
Expecting a
Brilliant lady
In the white-house,
Drawing a blank
It witnessed a
Clown in a Farce
House,where
With the rob of Democracy
Takes stage Autocracy!
If spoken must
Be the truth
The revolting unfolding
Augurs ill to the youth--
The successors,
The task forces of
A given nation,
Who deserves
More attention
To take the nation
To a new height
Where it will prove
A beacon light!
Vampires to
Their hearts' delight
Hold and chew
More than they can bite
Blind to others' plight!
So we must slam on the face
A ****** speech is out of place!
"As the saying goes 'Back to square one--
subjugation, segregation
,gender and colour discrimination...
devilation--
We shall again be
A predator &brutal; nation"
"Business has become red hot
By fair means or foul
Let us get rid of
The non-Anglo Saxons
Rivals from the melting ***
Putting in the dark
From where we ourselves got
The ***
The bottom line is,
Brushing aside
Democracy's mockery
If preference treatment
Is necessary
Setting aside (college vote)
It is successors'
Voice that must get
More weight
In making a nation great.
It is also little
The attention of the fickle(with3 wives)
For the fair ***
This we have to battle.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
Kick me? Kiss me.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLIII)
As greyish twilight's pink clouds on the pale
East haunt lo, the first note of dawn, blue thence
Mair ghostly oh! I think "how calm tis hence--"
Like ninety-mile winds had been here, the frail
Peace breathless nor but waiting to avail.
And where the golden shafts draw fir trees' dense
Forms on dead houses' silence, know that sense
Is odd, cuz our electric'ty ne'er went stale.
Oh Andrew! My heart's on the West coast, poor
Though just friends augurs, where th'uprooted crew
Of ancient trees and battered houses that your
Eyes know too keenly mar the waking view.
And your heart grieves to note all, whiles mine fer
Just having you okay, gives thanks oer you.
08Apr17a
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 1:07 AM UTC
The ancients put tremendous matters
On oracles and auguries.
When godhood speaks, the priest agrees.
Glib cunning fails when trouble batters.
Calculations have a thousand ways
To err, while chance can cut the odds
To one in ten, or more if gods
Drop hints about our dossiers.
Augurs read events to come
From entrails, bones, and scattered sticks.
Their guesses are arithmetics
For problems reasoning can’t sum.
Jan 17, 2022
Jan 17, 2022 at 10:06 AM UTC
You get
lost in detail
(Augurs? Portents? Symbols?)
They shine: you'd be advised to do
As well.
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 11:08 AM UTC
⸎⟆⥉⦕⫯⟴ Ode to the Count De St. Germaine ⸎⟆
Dearest Count,
I know you watch and listen.
It is through you I set sail upon this ship of thoughts
To you, to whom, I christen.
These polysemic effulgence do, alas, waxen, wane,
but seldom in vain.
In antediluvian silence drawn,
manifests in hyperborean dearth
a logos, sir in autochthonous rebirth.
Their, hierophantic murmurs will obfuscate,
the omphalos of matter, still inchoate,
where perichoresis in vertiginous tide
the fractal that doth assuredly bide.
A palimpsest of null embrace
where these false augurs drink from hollowed urns,
and time itself forgets to turn.
Perfidious orisons, whisper-thin,
in circumflected aeons spin,
converging on the cusp of naught,
where paradigms in silence rot.
A chrysalis of paradox,
enshrouds the fey, unbridled clocks,
that chime in fugue, then dissipate
beyond the hinge of latent fate...
The pericombobulatory grand design
deliquesces in auctorial decline!
(Syncretic palingenesis unspools,
within the aether’s epistemic pools,
a syzygetic parallax unweaves
the thaumaturgic spoor that time bereaves.)
For naught but vacuous profundities remain,
a simulacrum of the arcane mundane,
where in sesquipedalian grandeur lies
a syllogism clad in grandiloquent guise.
Ouroboric concatenations of antinomian design,
circumvolute within paracryptic paradigms malign,
as obmutescent theogonic vestiges coalesce
in the eidetic zymurgy of aphasic largesse.
Metagnostic palimpsests, fracto-linear and obtuse,
catachrestically wane in hyperchromatic profuse,
whilst locutions, effulgent yet contrite,
obumbrate the paramorphic tautology of night.
A transcendental abecedarium, paralogical and vast,
consanguineous with the inexorable umbrage
of our shared Jungian past,
germinates within the syntagmatic—
Ever relaxed or ecstatic,
Coalesced to pragmatic,
Lugubriously emphatic.
Within this hypostatized ratiocinative mire,
where sophronistic axiom and non-being conspire,
one finds but an echolalic, chimerical gleam,
an ontosemantic palinode to the dream.
The Archetype realized.
The Alchemist mystically re-materialized.
Count, oh Count.
"Wherefore art thou," indeed,
in this : our time of greatest need.
Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 4:23 PM UTC
Collaboration's implicit excitations explicate expectations
Unity's myriad augurs geomancy's indications
Demagoguery's ostensibly intuitive impetus coordinations
Extravagantly exorbitant panaceas appreciate exaggerations
Prolifically profuse profundity's autonomous gestations
Empirically emulate epistemology's exogamous creations
Intrigue's imperative promulgation's quantum fecundations
Fealty's ephemeral enunciation's explicit complications
Hypercritically exponential prophylaxis protocol's interpretations
Sacrosanct unary's preternatural predilection's extrications
Eventuation's evocative illuminism avant garde's ostentations
Corrupt costume counselor's indicative explications
Assimilation's synthetic synthesis' ascensional implications
Ominous phenomenon portrayal detinue's integrations
Umbral ultraism's penumbral platitude's objectifications
Futurity's spontaneous flamboyance's apotropaic expiations
Dec 23, 2020
Dec 23, 2020 at 7:04 PM UTC
The Muses, of peace, and the women
of proven experience and expertise
in their good intentions, they are merely mentioned,
and as far as the corner of the empty place of the tongue,
light, form, color, a garden, and witnesses by witnesses
whoever does them and it is bitter, very much: the fat, oil,
sodium hydroxide is very good,
and he who is in the sign of the fire,
1 have heard lots of the six men,
the counsel of the 1 live 1 loose
a half of the body from the very fact
of the softness of the hurricane
and the spirit of the excellent torturer took a sword,
and brought him out of the water in the pain of Asia,
in the image of the skin of the white blocks
[buttocks]
to move the augur,
a fool, a fool, Satan: for it are moved
as it is meet to improve.
An accuser of the time of the movement
of the strange things,
without images, and the six of us, the Jews,
who were such great impact on the examples
to be in himself, as God has not suffered him to pass the praise and to us,
the work follows that the largest external interface
outside of this
is to do what, for what so many of the girls that are loose
and the body of a lot of good-looking men,
by what is natural to him is to you
too; And the Muses themselves, and peace,
are the women of proven experience and expertise
are of a good into the ideas,
not that their names are mentioned,
and as far as the corner of his hunger,
it is not of the tongue, light and image; the color is,
in the garden of the testimony of a witness,
and those who make them, and it is bitter,
memories, and the fat, the oil, sodium
hydroxide, the hydroxide is very good,
and the signal light, and the many specifications
laid down by 1 men's open 1
to 1 loose life half by the very fact
that the softness of a strong windstorm
and her best played exhibition takes the sword away
and in the pain of Asia, the image of the white blocks
augurs you to stupidly stupid move your body
as it is cast to play. The prosecutor's movements
of the time sounds strange to statues
and the six of us and the Jews that had a big impact
in the form of your body as the face
of a very commendable merit of the external interface
to the outside,
for many girls are soft and cute people of your nature.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
Collaboration's implicit excitations explicate expectations
Unity's myriad augurs geomancy's indications
Demagoguery's ostensibly intuitive impetus coordinations
Extravagantly exorbitant panaceas appreciate exaggerations
Prolifically profuse profundity's autonomous gestations
Empirically emulate epistemology's exogamous creations
Intrigue's imperative promulgation's quantum fecundations
Fealty's ephemeral enunciation's explicit complications
Hypercritically exponential prophylaxis protocol's interpretations
Sacrosanct unary's preternatural predilection's extrications
Eventuation's evocative illuminism avant garde's ostentations
Corrupt costume counselor's indicative explications
Assimilation's synthetic synthesis' ascensional implications
Ominous phenomenon portrayal detinue's integrations
Umbral ultraism's penumbral platitude's objectifications
Futurity's spontaneous flamboyance's apotropaic expiations
Nov 30, 2024
Nov 30, 2024 at 12:02 AM UTC
The 'Bleak Weald', 'Dusk-Woods', 'Grove of Screeching Wights'—
A land of many names and many routes.
While veiled in gloom and dusk, with looming heights,
It ***** the ashen tears through creeping roots.
The grasping claws of forests, seeking moon,
Would turn around at slightest sound to pierce
The hearts; for those who dare disturb are hewn
And strewn apart for augurs' sights to pierce.
The pilgrim hastens into darkened woods
And stumbles fast through death, awaiting prey.
From satchel worn, returns the stolen goods
To woods betrayed—the moonlight, craved and prayed.
Thus, 'Bleak Weald', 'Dusk-Woods', 'Grove of Screeching Wights'
Became the Twilight Woods of sage and sights.
Feb 19, 2025
Feb 19, 2025 at 11:36 AM UTC
The only one along this road…
riding shotgun through my mind
Tomorrow waits for someone else,
lost wanderings consigned
Forgetting what the moment augurs,
living in the past
Confirming what I’m most afraid of
—behind whoever’s last
(The New Room: January, 2022)
Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 12:02 PM UTC
The drums of doom are echoing
Across the barren hillsides.
Heavy carts on wheels of hatred
Loaded high with steaming tubs of vitriol
And the ugly trolls who brewed it,
Are rolling down the twisted roads,
Toward a city newly named Perdition,
There to dance the Sarabande
While flocks of screaming Peregrines
Circle through the storm black clouds
And all the shutters are nailed tight
Against the wind that that rattles doors
And augurs the millennium.
ljm
Feb 15, 2024
Feb 15, 2024 at 11:01 AM UTC