"catastrophy" poems
Nirvana - a transcendent state in which there is neither
suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject
is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of
death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.
My Buddhist Queen,
Will you take me to Nirvana?
Will you take me to that place?
That place where we’re unshackled from suffering?
Because right now, this is intolerable.
My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana
why does my heart feel so aloof
and its beats, spectral?
Why does my body suffer from rigamortis?
Why am i teary-eyed
and why did you nominate my pillows to do the ALS challenge?
Why is my room a catastrophy?
Why do my walls succumb to the savagery of my fists?
Why am I suffering?
Why do I desire?
Why is karma still existant?
My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana,
why do you occassionally take strolls down to hell holding my hand?
- d.b.d.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
You send up clouds of deepest dark despair,
And with my dancing i tried to repair.
While i dance in the light of the coming day.
All of those hearts strings broken will end and fray.
Pull back the cover and bare all to see,
Let my hands cover and retain delicate dignity.
This initimacy that belongs to you and me,
I will protect in every eventuality.
You present all to the world and its busy lover,
But never think of me laying beside you in your cover.
For the cameras flash and beauty bleeds.
And captions raise while gossips feed.
"Who are you to touch an untouchable perfection?"
"Your love corrupts like squalid infection."
"Another man to take the trophy,"
As they **** you in some catastrophy.
A plastic heart that splinters violently,
As he is left in jilted unmatching harmony.
Alone again, you sell your story,
To another scavanger that feeds on memory.
The tale thats told,
Leaves you broken and old.
While the lover lives bold,
In his world of hollywood gold.
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 5:21 PM UTC
beg the sun to reclaim my mind
seen nothing but a steep decline
ease a little from the race
uncovering pale scars to trace
swooning over blackened clouds
no one pay attention now
starved enough to feed the flame
never lasts to see the rain
scuffing up the jaded ice
breaking into silence twice
running backwards in place again
laughing at the solid bend
subtle esoteric smile
intentions make the night worthwhile
inside your blanket stare i see
the footprint of catastrophy
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 10:48 AM UTC
Spillin on the paper
Mind, I'll see you later
Over the top, Over the top
It's spilling on the paper
I am here to wait for
My Sheep herd and my scapegoats
Go 'head and stick around,
If you wanna get the blame for
My flaws and my mistakes
All that I am ashamed for
You'll feel my pain. You'll make me sane
My sheep herd and my scapegoats
My philosophy is something iller than the worst disease
Like killers in the first degree
Your gears will never turn like these
I got an appetite
I'm starvin
I'm at the top, just look and see
You gon' make it if you follow me
You just gotta catch that ill disease
Paper, Paper
Spillin on the paper
If you still fail to understand
Good luck
I'll see you later
Mind, I'll see you later
It's spillin' on the paper
So stay right here
Inside my hand
My sheep herd and my scapegoats
I've yet to wrap my mind around your funny foreign language.
That must be why I float above you
So I must be Alien
Who are you, what's yer name again
You all look just the same to me
Some ordinary has to be
Some John Doe PoP CatastrophY
Dear Mr. and Mrs. CatastrophY
Join my herd of sheep and scapegoats
I need many more
To take the blame for
All I am ashamed for
So that I might be sane for
The existence I arranged for
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
This is the ice breaker.
I am always new to a conversation,
years gone by as days slow down.
You may relate to it like a fish out of water.
Breathing under earths clear-blue surface
its hesitation of a world spinning as words are spoken.
In need of a breath of fresh air,
comparing it as a gasp of an after thought.
A finger to the mouth, a cat caught the tounge.
Separation can be too much too scorn.
This irrelevance in term we call chemistry.
The deep secrets we hunt,
for an open country we live without.
Should we walk the talk?
We swim a mile in short term.
The distance a man can take to dive
gives this enough to cancel past premonitions.
An eye length away
we go where the bible parts the seas...
This long trail for a short cut we gut from the book of trust.
We take the scenic route
like riding a bike till it ends with a flat,
making us take a bus,
till it cost too much.
An arm and a leg we kick to swim.
One or the other as we struggle,
we use a foam vest astride by a whim.
This maze with secret illusions,
a movie The Laberenth comes to mind.
Make belive...made up dreams.
Morals of fairy tales.
Stroies told.
Or this fable to tuck you into.
Where there is no grandmother to look forward too.
Who says I love you?
A goodnight that can't live within you.
Nothing but a monster that we hide from under our sheets.
We stress to the progress of nothing but a scary cry of, what if's?
For a wolf like me faking it's false teeth
turns out to be a deciving catastrophy.
Made up and unforgiving.
Living my escape.
It's the farthest away from my problems.
The least of my worries.
If you must try to unpuzzle my riddle.
It comes naturally.
You have it or you don't.
It's easy if you know me...
Jul 15, 2011
Jul 15, 2011 at 4:09 PM UTC
The stage is set and players in costume
The catastrophy unfolding in the gloom
Dancing silhouettes of daggers surrounding
The bride and groom
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
We are running, always running
The ground beneath us is crumbling
Everything around us turning to dust
The wind is fire on our backs
We're running out of time
The disaster we bred catching us
Claiming and destroying us
That road really is paved
With the very best of intentions
But the walls are lined with the worst.
The past was ours to claim
Shaping a future we can't escape
Cancerous and corrosive,
This was all our doing
We never dreamed of a present so dark
When our past was so warm and bright.
Funny thing about fate and chance
We never do realize what the cost will be
What it could be
How much it will bring us down
Into the flames of a new world order
This is our catastrophy.
Jul 3, 2011
Jul 3, 2011 at 7:53 AM UTC
The thing about being invisible is the fact that no one can see you and if they can they pretend otherwise. its a peaceful kind of lonely that i indeed appriciate but the pain sinks in and with nothing surrounding you but white walls it becomes a depression more or less a serenity and gives you more time to think about the people you loved the people you lost the people who never gave a **** and then the ones who tried. The **** you've done or someone else had done but it affects you in some way or another and how much of it was accidental, irrational, reckless, fun, with good intentions, or completely and utterly stupid and how much of it was your fault. Life gives you a gun and its up to you wether or not you're going to use the bullets. No one can fix or break you more than yourself. You have to take the chances you're given and grab what it throws at you to learn from your mistakes and to teach whatever beauty and catastrophy comes your way.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 10:27 PM UTC
*standing still
watching
catastrophy come your way
powerless
destined for destruction
chaos
it engulfs you
the only word
the only thing
solitude
it has defined you
from the start
the only reality
you’ve ever known
disaster
undeniable
a nightmare
that became reality
no strings attached
you are free
yet alone
disconnected
from the very beginning
an unavoidable obstacle
omnipresent
in your world
fatigue
but an inability to close your eyes
unfailing premonition
but the desire
to be stationary
sleep
an inaccessible luxury
one i'll never
be previleged
to have*
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
silence the everlasting
fire, and the thirst of
your skin, well satisfed.
never doubtfull, your eyes
shine of placer, desire, and
complete satisfaction.
humdty in my pelvis, the
silky and sour shine, in the
lap of this gratefull and loved
lion.
and for a minute,
just in that moment, im
complete, serene, loved, wanted,
a full beast, serened and thankfull
the sorrow, the pain, and fouling acts,
and the brutal theft, are just bumps,
overcomed, erased with the humidity
of your ***
doubtfull is the one, that
has not loved, her lie is a heavy
cross, dark, fatal, deadly, her soul
will never love beneath the divine
phalus.
in return, your eyes, truth,
love and venture, loving an
impossible, but loving even so,
stertores of your loved and
kissed ******
penetrated, softly and ferouciously,
are the echo of the fire, crashing the
sea, making life, steam, watering the
earth, generating the trofhic cicle,
of life, fire and water, steam of life,
passion between two beasts,
beautiful and loved.
your honney and your
desire, WILD, intense,
evergreene, are vitals,
for a beast of montecristo,
that just drags, harm and pain,
of betrayal, every cut, every scratch,
every stabing, made of me, the strong man
that y am.
unbreakcable, and living, loving impossibles
destroying the lies, ending the weakness
of layars, full of hate, and envy,
for losing that, holding our
lives.
after that, and for their weakness
montecristo is the winner, a beast
with a heart, learning to love, the possible
and the impossible, to dissapear in the other,
rapped in her ligth, and her beauty,
the evil and weak of the mondego girls,
only speed up, their catastrophy,
y stand alone before their mistakes, and their
lies and anathems, turn against them,
truth clean the waters, and the fire make the
steam, that generates life, makng a full cicle.
so, threw desire, and mutual passion,
impossible happens, in the name of life,
and love, the desire quimera, could never erase
the time we touch, dispise the difference
full and wild.
generating steam, making life,
roaring, ******* groaning, and
in my mind and in yours, the same
desire, the overwelming truth, our truth,
and the incompresible lie, vain, the
echoes of the false, and ther infectious lies,
corrupting wath was always life.
the false notion of love, and their
acomplisses, with her conning, and the
not aceptacion, vain or insane,
dark, crazy and
incomplte.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 1:59 AM UTC
The salubrious nature
of the climate,
could'nt Conceal the
Sardonic smile of
the Sun.
Scorching heat withered
the Green carpet on
the Visage of the Earth,
Turgid & Rigid plants
Conceated defeat to
the Harsh enviroment
and became Flaccid.
Both live & dead,
micro & macro couldn't
Elude the Vindictive
& Reprisal power of
the Earth,
Destructive habit of man
was Remunerated with
the Sadism nature of
Eco-system.
If only Replenishing was
a Custom within our
Volition,
Catastrophy befalling us
would be a Past-Tense,
Trees & Animals may
seem lesser
but there Impact on our
eco-system is Vital......!!
@miamizoliver
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
In the cold of the night,
Her fears bring her to life.
The thoughts,
The chills,
The spells,
The pills,
Can't keep her sane.
She begs the doctor to get off her back,
Because she can't pull the knife of darkness out of her back.
She claims that she's "just fine",
Pulls out the razor and draws another line.
She can't deal with this pain,
Yet I'm trying to keep her sane.
She takes all the drugs,
She follows all the orders,
But she can't be near me when I hold her.
Cause she's not her, and I'm not me.
She drives me crazy til I bleed.
"I don't want you to go away", she begs,
I compromise, saying I'll be there til my grave.
"You need to walk away", she pleads.
This catastrophy, this mess I see.
She loves me, she loves me not,
She used to love me, then she forgot.
Because of the thoughts,
Because of the chills,
Because of the spells,
Because of the pills,
She lost her grip on reality,
She lost her grip on me.
She shoved me away,
Because she couldn't watch me stay
Through the roughest of waves,
In the ocean of her dismay.
The only connection she had to life,
Was the one who tried to pull out the knife.
Me.
Myself.
And I.
And now I'm gone.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
Remember when you touched me
as I said "no"
Remember how you kissed me
with such urgency to take that first bit of innocence
Remember as I pushed you away
and you got mad but zipped your pants anyways
and the only reason I followed was because
you were my ride home.
Remember how you had THE NERVE
to ask me for money
after how you had just touched me
and the only reason I did not slap you
was because you had made that poor little girl
afraid
of everything.
But tell me,
you MUST remember when I came to realize
the man I was with was best friends
with a criminal,
a deciever,
a lousy excuse of a man whom took this
hardly-14 year old girl's first bit off innocence
and discretely- her last
You must remember the denial.
You must remember how you called me a liar,
a fake,
an attention
seeking
*****
You must remember wishing hatred upon me.
My poor excuse for a man,
but do you not remember
the beginning of a catastrophy
that only you
had the power,
underneath those grimy wandering hands,
to start ?
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
My lungs are turning inside out again-
and this poem will be void of the use of I
because it is not known to me who that is anymore.
This heart is beating outside of my chest
and my eyes can not focus on one fixed point.
It is troubling to me
words cannot express how my body is handling this.
Situational irony has always been a good friend of mind
and my emotions are diminishing further and further inside of myself.
Repression is to what my mind is prone to.
Ever since the child in me grew roots
someone pulled them out as if they were weeds
so this person staring back at me in the mirror
has always been a figure unfamiliar.
Always someone who longs to go backwards
so she can feel the familiarity of childhood.
Instead she wears a face not her own
and a body who she has trouble looking at most days.
This week the discovery was made
that in order to purge herself of all of this negativity
some weight had to be lost-
seems she doesn't know what that feels like
she doesn't recognize what that looks like-
but she makes a direct correlation between
memories and loneliness.
These nights have been mistaken for sleep
and the dreams mistaken for reality.
It's no question that identity has always been misgiven.
She makes no sense of her poems
and these words she writes down like they're her last.
The shaky hands make it hard to type
and she doesn't last more than a second in self-assessing,
she knows all too well the deep cut of judgment
but clings to the idea of contrastiveness.
Hoping that comparisons will not be her downfall
and that these words somehow make sense.
Again is something she insists on typing
because repetition and consistency is what she longs for-
but it never seems to come from anything but her own mind
and a body that is too in tune with the chaos in her bones
she shakes too much, and feels nothing all at once.
Calamity and clarity are not words she knows the meaning of-
only catastrophe
she puts it on her shelf and is proud of how she ended up with it
worked too hard on the life of others
and no hard enough on herself
but she still sees it a prize.
Even if she's not the winner-
even if she doesn't reap the benefits.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
Petals in my hands
constructed of your favourite novels.
They tell the stories of bloodshed,
the leaves lined with conflict.
Stem, twisted in contempt.
Yet the petals in my hand,
affection and care.
Delicate work of love,
how it warms these hands.
To you, I share this rose,
Made from your favourite novels.
Whilst the fiction of catastrophy lives on,
may these paper flowers show my heart
forevermore.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 9:34 PM UTC
I want to know you.
The inner depths of your preeminent soul.
The catastrophy of thoughts that reigns your mind.
The inner galaxy of emotions that consumes you every night.
What excites you?
Moves you?
What makes you feel alive?
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
It's a bittersweet feeling as the illusion seeps through.
Red runs, dribbles, streaks;
travels into the distance.
Crimson molds and darkens the stem,
corrupts the root of all that is numb.
The river flows between the northern mountains,
one catastrophy laid to rest after another.
Water dilutes the strength of pain.
also washes it away.
Another layer, dose me up
The illusion helps to breathe it out.
Black drops of intensity,
the final touch
maybe this will get the pain to stop...
Gaze at its beauty,
wash it away,
start all over; it's the only way.
Dip the pallette just once more,
Down the leg,
exile the pain.
It's all i'm asking for..
Jan 4, 2020
Jan 4, 2020 at 5:57 AM UTC
her guilty greys spoke millenia
of catastrophy and destruction. her shattered soul and tattered mind
granted shifty eyes and unsteady feet
to her lean physique.
nothing smiled quite like her in the courtroom. if ants could taste the sickly sweet scents dripping down her lips, they'd infest her entire body.
a tear on her marbled cheek ran away from her lazy eyelids like grass runs from the wind. the tear would not bow to her unending sorrow, but it was aware that it would not be missed if it disappeared.
her guilty greys were on fire in the courtroom. a wild forest fire. she was her very own arsonist. oh she basked in the burns it blessed her with. the jurors didn't know of the flames they were being consumed by (mercilessly, i might add). their bodies were too plain and too close-minded to see the in-between like a guilty grey's creation. she liked that. she liked that she was the only one who could see her own faulty destruction.
monochromatic themes, paranormal and sweet. hathi married it eons ago, when a fairy tale was merely gossip amongst the curious whispers of a neighbor.
in shackles, drenched in shame and jeers from her spectators, hathi stood proud at the prisoner's box like a mountain peak.
a smile danced a ballet across her bright pink lips, two crescent moons waxing upwards. her guilty grey eyes glittered gold dust as she opened her mouth. coughs spilled from her ashen lungs and a warm, bright red trickled down her neck.
but that would not take her voice away.
hathi would talk guilty grey until the day she died.
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 5:35 PM UTC