"cacophonies" poems
I'm writing this poem to be ignored
like many of you
I enjoy being a poet
of keen irrelevance
a literary luminaire
of solitude
a lost writing ghost
a megalomaniac haunting himself
a waiting oracle
waiting
for the occult muse door mouse to tap dance
whispering night babble
or having a cooked chicken fly into my mouth
while i take searing snapshots
of erratic images
puzzling them into words
from boundless burdens
of heaping intestinal bluesy aftermaths exodus of conscience
bruising my self like a ********* in heat
on out of control run-on rants
and blood razor drenched mysticism
while real men drive earth movers
drink bruskies
and kick ***
hustling time share Chinese handcuff contracts
and up sell social justice platitudes
fit for pie in the sky levitating hysteria
lives shatter like red ice
in endless cacophonies of skull clobbering effacement
I'm writing this poem to be ignored
and no one lets me down
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
You give me your arm
and we take to the streets
A plethora of bombardments
stimulations and senses
dissatisfaction ringing in our ears
but only faintly––––
and the rush of the waves
bursting down their lanes
crashing into the cacophonies of beyond
but all oblivious
wonders of our bodies
demons of the mind
enticing and exciting all the feathers of the future
ruffled and untangled
purity in its core
smells and sights flashing
immaterial and immortal
from time immemorial
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 2:41 AM UTC
Close your eyes
staring at the sun
it’s dropping fast
burnt umber runs
Mountain auras
dividing shadows
lights the purple line
between day and night
Dark silhouettes
sinking deep
illuminates behind
the promise of sleep
Night stars cascading
emu peeps
between milky light
eternally creeps
Shooting stars bright
inner eye sees
cacophonies of colour
shapes our very lives
It’s dreams, it’s time
it’s endless and divine
this half way place
all here, sublime
It’s spirals, it’s dots
it’s country, it’s us
explaining the universe
simple yet complex
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 6:15 AM UTC
Film developer cacophonies, and journalistic hoarding
My friends wanted to record our last year –
Accurately – not succinctly
Abstractly – and yet, directly, bluntly
Vividly – in photography, quote notebooks, Dictaphone diatribes
That’s hilarious – scribble it down.
Can you repeat your brilliance?
If you could paraphrase that – well…what would you say?
Take another one. She wasn’t smiling.
I don’t want to smile.
My friend sidles up beside me – beaming grin
Sticking her fingers into my mouth
Pulling opposite and up
And her fingers tasted like
The musty pages of books without pictures.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
A room full of possibility
Hopes and dreams
my heart light as a feather
Rainbow cacophonies of my soul
But the colors only dance in my Dreams,
for my heart feels dark and laden with stone
Like a photograph,
so remiss of light
As I yearn with my whole self
and somehow… more
Picturing your sweet face ,
the warmth of your being
Yet here in the harsh light of truth
the door remains closed
Too hard to bare the empty promises
the ache I bare in my heart
I could fill an ocean with the tears
I have cried, begging for you
My heart yearns to lull you to sleep
To gaze into your perfect eyes
Mother and baby connected before
Being
The door lurks in the background
Does the door unlock, all my Dreams?
Or maybe…
It’s just .. another … room
Copywrite 2022
Kelly
All Rights Reserved
Jan 25, 2022
Jan 25, 2022 at 9:08 PM UTC
Nothing is simple now… and nothing ever was.
But i recall the majesty of my naivete’
and linger in the triumphant fog of my illusions
as a young man of almost a Minute.
Be that, as it may.
i am not among the Mockingjays
nor the calendars of arbitrary
Days.
I am the eclipse of insincere Living.
i blot out the None.
with blueberries from an indigo
Genesis: i stain my sky with every unbelievable Promise -
my Calculus can muster. My Love in tow.
I gather at the edgeless mist
of my Identity and etch the core
of my consecrated cacophonies
into the bones of dead whales like Scrimshaw
for deep kids.
And that's It.
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 2:21 AM UTC
I want to live in a protoplasmic land:
Where only earth's natural resources are availed...
but not any exploitable extraction from nature.
where the cacophonies of friction are unheard..
Where the toxic air doesn't seem to arouse from the rooms of renaissance,
Where the sky synergizes with the nature,
Where the oeuvre of the planet remains pristine,
Where the trees vacillate with the harmony of winds.
Where there exists no manufactured light....
But only the piercing rays of self-igniting sun to synthesize the earth with seemingly eonian brightness...
And on nocturnals,star and moon drives me,if moon masquerades,i.e.,
When the commixture of cirrocumulus clouds form an impenetrable layers of watery clouds,
let the thundering light texture me while its clustering clouds embracing me with its rapturous rain,
Let the nature do its own karma,
I am not here to meddle in nature's subtle poise,
but to infuse into it......
O'shiva pave me the unobscure and quintessential way for me to dissolve in to you,
Let me drop my essential earth and dissolve my sumptuous and non-matter soul in to everlasting you....
Let me hush in to those singular days and solitary sounds....
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
In the hazes of a distant dream land
I see you
Shrouded in the hearts of dreary dawns
Smiling
and pulling me aside you would
smell and caress me all over
a gentle wink and the lightest kisses
and the night would break the spell
On the borders of the smelting fire
A pyre awaits for the burning star
Skits on the shadows of the darker waves
Grim and tied in the locks of the hair
In the wearied low-lands of the outer earth
I see you
Spinning in the many colours of our lives
Beckoning
Child's play at the sound of the horn
Cacophonies and running home
Splintering at the daze of the day
And grinding in silhouettes
In the wake of the latest day
I see you
Eating tomorrows in the cream of love
Smiling
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 9:31 AM UTC
May morning cacophonies never quiet.
Doves coos, repetitive sharp whistles
rising and falling sounded by robins,
who seem to say, "cheer up, cheer up,
cheerily, cheer up." Jays shrieking
whatever warnings they shriek. Chirps,
tweets, titterings of so many more, combine
in crazy compilations of some
orchestra without their conductor
forever warming up days. I do not own
feathers but all my body hairs do stand
on end, flitting as if they were. Then,
woodpecker taps against hollow
termite ridden tree sounding like
the strike of a conductor's baton.
Nothing comes together. A symphony
never starts, at least not one of any
great composer's. Just the greatest.
I spring from my nest. I do not know music.
I hear it and am it. These mornings move
me to ditter about, find my way,
peck my morning niblings, feel dawn
dress me in sun, make me lust
life adorned with feathers. How
possibility wings bring.
From flock to flock, I dare to fit in.
Learn new mating dances.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
Confined to the minds barrels,
trapped inside four white, wooden walls
that wash me with light;
creating eternity. An eternity
where your face is forced forth
with splintered teeth, wood grain whispers.
Air evades my lungs
breathing in, panic, locked
away. To stay and rot. My tongue
may become a meal; I don’t need words in here.
This chambers grand design
is an endless emptiness.
My mind’s faced with this shameless
white graceless space which
aggravates my dark creativity.
This great sin in me is great and willing me
to spill the hate hidden deep.
The rays rebound perpetually. The silence
perplexes me. Perplexes me. The silence
confined to the double barrels.
Your face, perpetually, stretching its imprint
across these walls. Blurring, screaming terror.
Eyes open, burning, comfort in the darkness
learning the eyelids inner charms.
Not the vastness. Eyes open. Terror.
Tear away these fantasies;
isolations imagination identifies with my demons.
The blank space is filled with cacophonies,
agony, smiles in the emptiness stretch beyond capacity. Silence.
Whispers, these wood grain whispers splinter my eardrums.
No matter how I try to pick (axe) them out,
this imaginary pencil doesn’t dig deep enough.
I hear no calligraphy. No beauty
finds me in here, this box of light
holds my plight and creates a world where I know no night.
I hold no right, I cannot wrong,
there’s nothing left, I hold no rite,
there’s no day to escape for sleep,
no knight to bring me dreams, no left to take me to the right place,
I am so bereft of time. Am I dead?
Dying? Lying here in wait, lying to myself,
declining in health. Declining life.
The silence is hexing,
dissecting each piece of what’s left of me.
The canvas screams, it wants to know my nightmares,
to feel their bloodied paint on its flesh.
I’m the worm in the water.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
Now an annual autumnal literary festival visit
to our island redoubt,
the snow geese come honking down,
in linear formation
warning itinerant human beachcombers
of their arrival on the beach runways
of our sheltered island
This TripTik recommended diversion,
is a pleasure long anticipated by them,
seen as an intellectual rest stop,
with excellent sea snacks cuisined,
flying down the Eastern Seaboard
keeping Interstate 95 on their right,
an avian version of GPS
Our birds,
follow a minor route,
commencing in Nova Scotia,
the farthest north of all the species,
never making it to Mexico,
ending their travelogue in Georgia,
lest their true species be confused
with other kinds of Floridian snowbirds
Sit by my side they do,
one by one in assigned seats,
on the now scrawny grass blanket,
their attention span famously long,
unless a school of striped bass
seen on radar in the vicinity
I, on my Adirondack throne,
a poetry reading to intone,
with more-than-occasional audience input,
considered their right most fair
Critics one and all,
animated animal devotees of the arts,
unafraid to express their thoughts,
oft in unison or in
unharmonious John Cage
cacophonies of disagreement
Sadly, I only speak local seagull,
thus their effusive exege(e)ses and criticisms,
either damming or acclaim, indistinguishable,
their only "tell" is if
they stick around for
just one more...day...
That my poetry they did favor
was a conceit I feigned to believe,
loving their attention even if not deserved,
for in their service, and nature's too,
I am now trained to sit and wait,
a minor stitch in a famous tapestry,
for well I recall Milton's words:
*"God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best.
His state is kingly;
thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."*
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
Gold print on the china
High grade deception
You appear as a statue in my memories
I was alive
You were of wax
I was your talisman
Sent to initiate you into the mysteries of protection
Of love
Averting evil
You were my ***** and Gomorrah
In you destruction patiently waited
Discordant diatonic cacophonies
Hate for love
Distance for wanting
Love disposed
Tears for pleasure
Abandoned at the door step of Ruth
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 8:39 AM UTC
There are a few things I could probably never say,
like how the curve of your smile literally
shoots electricity down my spine,
or how your embrace is better than
any prescription a doctor could prescribe.
You are my sun,
and my moon,
and its scary because before,
the stars were like simple string lights,
and now they're cacophonies of light,
that give me hope when I think all dark has descended.
Your power over me is frightening.
It's like I'm walking a tightrope,
and you're a gust of wind.
If I have to fall,
I just pray you'll be there to catch me.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
inhale,
they blur
the cacophonies
bells chiming, creaking doors
the whir of machines
coffee, tea, voices, voices
exhale,
i am a clock in motion
ink-stained hands
the pen glides, stops
eyes closed and
time holds; lets go
life,
i'd write of the moments
where all seemed eternal
but these pauses
make us
human.
(A.H.Z)
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
Accidental happenings and spun intentions
Into something so evil
The devil dare speak the words
The anger in my soul
Making Aries burn green
Fists and kicks
None hurt worse than words
Those without meaning
When strewn with guilt
And misjudgment
Creating puzzles out of clarity
And chaos out of peace
Cacophonies of noise
Disrupting the minds of those
Who the words still held meaning
To measure into the abyss.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
.
In overcrowd of family
I was orphan. No legacy
Of leftover dream, in shut
Into indifference and colds
Unfounded, of cacophonies,
Egg of unreal yolks cracked,
Where even a heart is mute
Without ear, without touch,
When a soul is overlooked,
Like a shadow in high sun,
With parents, who seethe,
Breaking their own bonds,
In a room free of warmth,
Unbeknownst, harmony,
Let loose from civilities,
Open to rot and curses,
Hollow as any prideful
Automatons bent out
Selfless unknowings
True destructions,
Negating orphan.
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
Tears of the sun fall
dropping scalding suffering in its wake
like ****** from airplanes
its scorches land and living beings.
Crying aloud screams echo
falling like shattered trees on ears dead
slain by men, children
killing--children
I cant...
These sounds I hear
I'm going blind from screams
that fill empty space and hearts
a woeful symphony
a dreadful degree of cacophonies
conducted by inhumanity.
This is what they do
a statement repeated time again
this is what we do
turning a blind eye
is killing too.
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 4:58 PM UTC
It's been light years since my heart strings
were touched, gently plucked
in artfully arranged cacophonies of
'I love you' and
'Come closer' and, whispering,
'baby'
sweetly, in his waning symphony.
The fade-out drags at my feet,
while I move through moments now, slowed down,
talking loud,
as though words are my only means to stretch moments out.
These are the 4am secrets I cling to most,
sunlit smokescreen memories of a spaceman still haunting me, you see
no matter how loudly I speak
smaller volumes are still volumes
and his whispers were still words
like 'baby', hurtling through moment after moment
and I wonder why it still hurts.
An asteroid of his voice ricochets through endless stretches of space
and solar flares only spit flashes of his face until even supermassive black holes seem comforting,
perhaps they would transport me to a different dimension of blanket fort dreams
where I am held again, amongst whispers wistfully meant
and this time I don't forget to contain all the stars in my eyes,
cocooned in second chances on Solaris,
the planet where lost loves come to life,
where droves of the lovesick go to die.
I couldn't escape past the moon forever
but **** I could still crash land whenever
These unearthly dreams created space for me
and in that space, I found my sanctuary
realising that with all the space that I need
the spaceman no longer had a hold on my dreams.
See, love was soaring music, elevation, no metre,
just levitation, almost timeless, but it teetered
on the finish line
to be stopped too soon by a volume dial and a frown,
I bottled up from bottle to cup and kept my voice down
but time has a way of showing you
that shutting people out isn’t profound,
but the absence of sound.
Endings quietened my universe, but
I stopped believing in the relief of silence
and since,
I have become a crushing crescendo,
I think even the cosmos could hear me screaming.
The volume turns up and I burn and I glow
feasting on feelings, wasted on whispers
I'll break waves against wistfulness,
Fling fists against fitfulness,
the spaceman can fight me for all he's worth,
I will not fade out.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
Light Shows
Wafting up this hill
From the town below
The fetid air this morning,
Whispers sleepily.
We sat here with a crowd
Last night, anticipating
The finale of the Fourth of July,
Expecting colored fire
And fierceness in the sky
To erupt above the lake
As a flotilla of boats,
White and green and red markers glowing
Took their bobbing places
Too far from us to see expectant faces.
The morning grass lies matted,
Littered with bits of celebration:
Candy wrappers,
Bottle caps,
Crushed cans...
Only the motorcycle and I
Overlook the restless trees and water
Uncertain in the morning breeze below....
The fireworks this year amazed us all,
Arcs and constellations
Shattering the air
Drifting off to die in smoking trails,
Whistling curlicues,
Weeping-willow shreds of gold,
Strings of blue and white and red,
Cacophonies of power,
Echoing and echoing again.
And yet, again,
God won the show...
Sent a humble lightning bug
To fly across my grandson's path
And captured, captivated his attention.
While thundering explosions pinwheeled overhead,
An insect blinked his tail,
Walked up young Parker's arm,
Disarmed the bombing of the sky,
Attached a young boy's quick affection,
Earned the title, "Sparky,"
And hitchhiked home
To be released alive and well
On my front lawn.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
in a battle of hymns
synonymous lying
relying
on ***** thrusts,
deep fully orchestrated,
lutes and harps playing
the climbing cries to heaven,
four-part cacophonies
adapting Eastern chants
with Western modalities,
proceeding
altars, of which
ring with decepting cries
force a singular theme,
if not followed
your voice is heard in hell.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
the days i am reminded what it is to be alive
i climb out of my body through the thoughts that i contrive
there's nothing but deceit when you believe you're on your own
that life is death, is coming quick and you will never know
but there is something humbling about the pressing on
despite the state of everything convincing you it's wrong
if you can let your screaming head's cacophonies fade out
you'll taste the peace you once forsook for bellow's heavy shout
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
Twilight whispers
Dreaming fingertips
In the candle's soft glow
Sweet air, melody and harmony
Painting voices in your eyes.
Shadow dancing
With the perfect reflection,
My clear vision
You shimmer;
Fading back to blind.
Too many quiet times
Between cacophonies of silence
The hysteria of nothing
What to do
Unmentioned glances.
Gallantly standing against
Agony to be waiting
Wings of desires,
What could be
Only an apparition's dream.
What, so...
Black and white
Quietly in and out of
Softly focus...
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 6:55 PM UTC
In my search for the serene quietude of dawn
To warm with embers the cold rivers of my soul
I have forsaken your dark shores
Rising and gliding above the hills and mountains
In the swiftest speed I roared
But a giant realization had snatched me
From the mountainous caverns of solitude
Indeed as I have always known, it is
Inside the warmth of your animated splendor
With impassioned ears, I listened to
The sweet cacophonies of jeepneys roaring
In your busy streets, and the hawkers hawking
Along the sidewalks and sidestreets of life
Hustling under the red skies of your twilight
I am alive, and you are alive
Amidst the death that pervades the air
And the disquiet of the surrounding chaos
Like a dark ominous fog that rises into the stars
Destroying the holiness of dreams
Life, life, life! I screamed into the depths of your bay
Hoping to dredge from the red waters, the long gone
Where tattered dreams where made anew
Woven from the silken threads of sleep
Birthed by the once glorious rising of the sun
We are alive, we want you alive
And with our heft, we will raise our fists
We will break the locked doors of heaven
To drag out the kings to hell
And sentence them to the nothingness
We will dance, like the galaxies
Hammering and pounding the ground
Shattering the yokes of cerebral slumber
To ignite the furnaces of life
And start anew a fire that would burn
To bring the light through the everlasting dark!
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC