"char" poems - Hello Poetry

"char" poems

Here are two pupils whose moons of black transform to cripples all who look: each lovely lady who peers inside take on the body of a toad. Within these mirrors the world inverts: the fond admirer's burning darts turn back to injure the thrusting hand and inflame to danger the scarlet wound. I sought my image in the scorching glass, for what fire could damage a witch's face? So I stared in that furnace where beauties char but found radiant Venus reflected there.

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15k

On Looking Into The Eyes Of A Demon Lover

Here are two pupils whose moons of black transform to cripples all who look: each lovely lady who peers inside take on the body of a toad. Within these mirrors the world inverts: the fond admirer's burning darts turn back to injure the thrusting hand and inflame to danger the scarlet wound. I sought my image in the scorching glass, for what fire could damage a witch's face? So I stared in that furnace where beauties char but found radiant Venus reflected there.

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Sag my corpse in 32 degree weather through the city of God where paraplegics dream of running. “Oh Rhodesian mercenary,” humble my soul again like in C(hi)(ca)ongo. But remember The revolution starts on my mama’s bed at half past six. So excuse me while I smoke my drink like a Brooklyn Leftist from the 40’s tramples burning cigarettes on cold pavements where codeine and Sprite make any Tuesday fabulous because we already suffered from (and for) the goods of mankind. But before you read me the history of Hatchepsut; I learned the art of man within the confines of FCC regulations after my ‘Pa threw ******* out the window and made life in the cell not mundane by telephoning philosophical-entendres that tomorrow never happened. He too was from the blood of the ancestors whose bodies were charred on as goods— whose children now char their bodies with the goods of the goddess of Victory— the official trademark for the lost Exodus—the blood and blue moribund— sagging pyrrhic victories in 32 degree weather as homage to their charred ghost (fore)fathers who preyed to the city of God for bread

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Jun 10, 2013

Jun 10, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC

ugochukwu-charles-onyewuchi

Portrait of a milk carton as a young adult

Sag my corpse in 32 degree weather through the city of God where paraplegics dream of running. “Oh Rhodesian mercenary,” humble my soul again like in C(hi)(ca)ongo. But remember The revolution starts on my mama’s bed at half past six. So excuse me while I smoke my drink like a Brooklyn Leftist from the 40’s tramples burning cigarettes on cold pavements where codeine and Sprite make any Tuesday fabulous because we already suffered from (and for) the goods of mankind. But before you read me the history of Hatchepsut; I learned the art of man within the confines of FCC regulations after my ‘Pa threw ******* out the window and made life in the cell not mundane by telephoning philosophical-entendres that tomorrow never happened. He too was from the blood of the ancestors whose bodies were charred on as goods— whose children now char their bodies with the goods of the goddess of Victory— the official trademark for the lost Exodus—the blood and blue moribund— sagging pyrrhic victories in 32 degree weather as homage to their charred ghost (fore)fathers who preyed to the city of God for bread

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Na amiro ki basti mein rhta hu Na hi gareebo ke aashiyane mein Middle class ka hua Middle mein rhta hu Na pahali pankti ki pehali seat pr baithta hu Na hi aakhar mein khada rhta hu Middle class ka hu Middle mein rhta hu Na croro ka kabaar hai Na hi gulabi note hazar hai Middle class ka hu Meri jarurate saman hai Na luxury car hai Na nhi cycle apni bekar hai Middle class ka hu Auto,riksha, paddle chalna Apne liye aam hai Na meri girlfriends char hai Na hi single rhna izzat ka swaal hai Middle class ka hu Apne yaar,dost shandaar hai Na aasman chhuti imarto par likha apna naam hai Na hi sadak kinare bitati apni shaam hai Middle class ka hu In dono ke beech Kaat leta apni raat hu Na videsh ghoomnta hu Nahi sehar se bahar jaana muskil samjhta hu Middle class ka hu Apna desh pura ghoom lena bhi bahut samajhata hu Na sir jhukane wale log hai Na hi sir jhukane wale hum hai Middle class ka hu Sabko gale lagana hi Apna dharam hai Na hi ac mein kaam karta hu Na hi dhoop mein pasina sukhata hu Middle class ka hu Pankhe ke niche apna kaam karta hu Na suraksha karmi apne pass hai Na hi sarir apna lachar hai Middle class ka hu Apni jaan ki raksha apne hath hai Na chhapan pakwan banate apne maharaj hai Na hi khaali pet sota apna pariwaar hai Middle class ka hu Meri maa ke haath mein hi sara sawaad hai

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Aug 5, 2018

Aug 5, 2018 at 2:59 AM UTC

Middle class ka hu

Na amiro ki basti mein rhta hu Na hi gareebo ke aashiyane mein Middle class ka hua Middle mein rhta hu Na pahali pankti ki pehali seat pr baithta hu Na hi aakhar mein khada rhta hu Middle class ka hu Middle mein rhta hu Na croro ka kabaar hai Na hi gulabi note hazar hai Middle class ka hu Meri jarurate saman hai Na luxury car hai Na nhi cycle apni bekar hai Middle class ka hu Auto,riksha, paddle chalna Apne liye aam hai Na meri girlfriends char hai Na hi single rhna izzat ka swaal hai Middle class ka hu Apne yaar,dost shandaar hai Na aasman chhuti imarto par likha apna naam hai Na hi sadak kinare bitati apni shaam hai Middle class ka hu In dono ke beech Kaat leta apni raat hu Na videsh ghoomnta hu Nahi sehar se bahar jaana muskil samjhta hu Middle class ka hu Apna desh pura ghoom lena bhi bahut samajhata hu Na sir jhukane wale log hai Na hi sir jhukane wale hum hai Middle class ka hu Sabko gale lagana hi Apna dharam hai Na hi ac mein kaam karta hu Na hi dhoop mein pasina sukhata hu Middle class ka hu Pankhe ke niche apna kaam karta hu Na suraksha karmi apne pass hai Na hi sarir apna lachar hai Middle class ka hu Apni jaan ki raksha apne hath hai Na chhapan pakwan banate apne maharaj hai Na hi khaali pet sota apna pariwaar hai Middle class ka hu Meri maa ke haath mein hi sara sawaad hai

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Uncharmable charmer Of Bacchus and Mars In the sounding rebounding Abyss of the stars! O ****** in armour, Thine arrows unsling In the brilliant resilient First rays of the spring! By the force of the fashion Of love, when I broke Through the shroud, through the cloud, Through the storm, through the smoke, To the mountain of passion Volcanic that woke --- By the rage of the mage I invoke, I invoke! By the midnight of madness: - The lone-lying sea, The swoon of the moon, Your swoon into me, The sentinel sadness Of cliff-clinging pine, That night of delight You were mine, you were mine! You were mine, O my saint, My maiden, my mate, By the might of the right Of the night of our fate. Though I fall, though I faint, Though I char, though I choke, By the hour of our power I invoke, I invoke! By the mystical union Of fairy and faun, Unspoken, unbroken - The dust to the dawn! - A secret communion Unmeasured, unsung, The listless, resistless, Tumultuous tongue! - O ****** in armour, Thine arrows unsling, In the brilliant resilient First rays of the spring! No Godhead could charm her, But manhood awoke - O fiery Valkyrie, I invoke, I invoke!

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Aleister Crowley

Uncharmable charmer Of Bacchus and Mars In the sounding rebounding Abyss of the stars! O ****** in armour, Thine arrows unsling In the brilliant resilient First rays of the spring! By the force of the fashion Of love, when I broke Through the shroud, through the cloud, Through the storm, through the smoke, To the mountain of passion Volcanic that woke --- By the rage of the mage I invoke, I invoke! By the midnight of madness: - The lone-lying sea, The swoon of the moon, Your swoon into me, The sentinel sadness Of cliff-clinging pine, That night of delight You were mine, you were mine! You were mine, O my saint, My maiden, my mate, By the might of the right Of the night of our fate. Though I fall, though I faint, Though I char, though I choke, By the hour of our power I invoke, I invoke! By the mystical union Of fairy and faun, Unspoken, unbroken - The dust to the dawn! - A secret communion Unmeasured, unsung, The listless, resistless, Tumultuous tongue! - O ****** in armour, Thine arrows unsling, In the brilliant resilient First rays of the spring! No Godhead could charm her, But manhood awoke - O fiery Valkyrie, I invoke, I invoke!

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Sun swollen reddening as it sank that brutal ****** disc scored by church steeples and chimney stacks almost lost in the drifting haze of sulphurous yellow and char-black smoke. Duck boards dip into the sodden earth as men ***** along in conga lines holding tight the pack of the man in front, lest they should slip lose quick their footing be ****** down and smothered by mud. The walls of the tunnels are packed earth rich with blood and bone bits and pieces of human anatomy dangle and hang as if posed by an artist with a strange and cruel eye for detail. The scrabble for fox holes and rough scraped ditches, anywhere, below the line of fire. The ting and whiz-bang of a night of action The whistle, the dash and the forward push counted more in men than metres. © M.L.Emmett

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Nov 10, 2015

Nov 10, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC

The Somme Sunset

Sun swollen reddening as it sank that brutal ****** disc scored by church steeples and chimney stacks almost lost in the drifting haze of sulphurous yellow and char-black smoke. Duck boards dip into the sodden earth as men ***** along in conga lines holding tight the pack of the man in front, lest they should slip lose quick their footing be ****** down and smothered by mud. The walls of the tunnels are packed earth rich with blood and bone bits and pieces of human anatomy dangle and hang as if posed by an artist with a strange and cruel eye for detail. The scrabble for fox holes and rough scraped ditches, anywhere, below the line of fire. The ting and whiz-bang of a night of action The whistle, the dash and the forward push counted more in men than metres. © M.L.Emmett

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pale clouds at the summit water color sky cattle guard at wood bridge creek bed running dry split log fence downtrodden razor back in wire sinkhole on the wild plain grouse fields under fire pine bug and a lone wolf clear cut on the trail stump lake on the open range kettle valley rail raven on the hatheume slash and burn and scar blasted church in a tired sun wild rose under char thistle in the hollow quails nest sitting high carriage house at lone rock curtains of july smoke jaw in the canyon percolator dream silver sage in chapel schneider's requiem stockmen on the wrangle big horn antler chase table top at sunset deacon creek in grace quarry in a furry lines of tinted red spurs and blades and columns patchwork of the dead past the bow hill junction cattle ropes are black indian amphitheater saddle on the rack sun is at a high bake sedimentary stone three days on the morphine skeleton and bone cold water road is lonely corrals are cut and paste gone but not forgotten the dust filled aftertaste

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Jun 3, 2017

Jun 3, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC

Road to Hatheume

pale clouds at the summit water color sky cattle guard at wood bridge creek bed running dry split log fence downtrodden razor back in wire sinkhole on the wild plain grouse fields under fire pine bug and a lone wolf clear cut on the trail stump lake on the open range kettle valley rail raven on the hatheume slash and burn and scar blasted church in a tired sun wild rose under char thistle in the hollow quails nest sitting high carriage house at lone rock curtains of july smoke jaw in the canyon percolator dream silver sage in chapel schneider's requiem stockmen on the wrangle big horn antler chase table top at sunset deacon creek in grace quarry in a furry lines of tinted red spurs and blades and columns patchwork of the dead past the bow hill junction cattle ropes are black indian amphitheater saddle on the rack sun is at a high bake sedimentary stone three days on the morphine skeleton and bone cold water road is lonely corrals are cut and paste gone but not forgotten the dust filled aftertaste

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Something rattles in the soul. It must be paid attention - it is the soul, the only sure thing - and rattled in return. Slow begins the dance of tongues and hard news. I learn a thing I never wished to learn. Afterwards, a dance of tongues in the ensuite begins a sudden rapture of claiming. Nails mine, skin mine to make a pink impression on. Bile in the back of the throat, mine. Fear of death, mine. Oaths and oaths, mine, too. An exchange of humility, knee for a knee. The rigid wall at your back. The wall at your back. The night which enriches bluer out of the blue air, not the action of the world moving at all. The particles of water in a birdbath divide, decide among themselves to marry each to each, to reproduce. They become an ocean. They drown the birds. My mouth fills with feathers, teeth itch with the tiny mites running between the shafts. I am a bell, and you are a country. I am a bell and sound from far away. Hands touch the broken vase in her parts, the toes, the eyelash, the sunken wreck, the crowd of dead, the treasure. They say all this as if the map was drawn and burned and came again in char from the tablecloth to all our wonder. A single miracle can last for weeks in the mouth. Sometimes centuries. I will spend eighteen days in the void of grace. What begins as a pain in my shoulders will grow into a tree and bury me. I will want promises, promises, promises. (water, water, water) I will never be satisfied. Looking always for permanent loss it becomes easy to simply misplace. Your caution leads to strange decisions. You put your keys in the fridge. I would like to say I knew the words: I cut the lock of hair, I drew the blood. The hex was removed by faith and chaste reflection but everywhere I look, there is a confusion of hungry birds and beggars and I forget the spell, or what chaste reflection even is. Anyways, something breaks. Not my doing. Suddenly, I am just noticing sky again. I am transcribed back into English. My first decision is to wash my car, and next, to learn what faith meant to anyone. Charmed, is it? Something rattles in the soul. It must be paid attention - it is the soul, the only sure thing - and rattled in return. It has nothing, really, to say. It only rattles.

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May 10, 2018

May 10, 2018 at 10:24 PM UTC

Something rattles in the soul. It must be paid attention - it is the soul, the only sure thing - and rattled in return. Slow begins the dance of tongues and hard news. I learn a thing I never wished to learn. Afterwards, a dance of tongues in the ensuite begins a sudden rapture of claiming. Nails mine, skin mine to make a pink impression on. Bile in the back of the throat, mine. Fear of death, mine. Oaths and oaths, mine, too. An exchange of humility, knee for a knee. The rigid wall at your back. The wall at your back. The night which enriches bluer out of the blue air, not the action of the world moving at all. The particles of water in a birdbath divide, decide among themselves to marry each to each, to reproduce. They become an ocean. They drown the birds. My mouth fills with feathers, teeth itch with the tiny mites running between the shafts. I am a bell, and you are a country. I am a bell and sound from far away. Hands touch the broken vase in her parts, the toes, the eyelash, the sunken wreck, the crowd of dead, the treasure. They say all this as if the map was drawn and burned and came again in char from the tablecloth to all our wonder. A single miracle can last for weeks in the mouth. Sometimes centuries. I will spend eighteen days in the void of grace. What begins as a pain in my shoulders will grow into a tree and bury me. I will want promises, promises, promises. (water, water, water) I will never be satisfied. Looking always for permanent loss it becomes easy to simply misplace. Your caution leads to strange decisions. You put your keys in the fridge. I would like to say I knew the words: I cut the lock of hair, I drew the blood. The hex was removed by faith and chaste reflection but everywhere I look, there is a confusion of hungry birds and beggars and I forget the spell, or what chaste reflection even is. Anyways, something breaks. Not my doing. Suddenly, I am just noticing sky again. I am transcribed back into English. My first decision is to wash my car, and next, to learn what faith meant to anyone. Charmed, is it? Something rattles in the soul. It must be paid attention - it is the soul, the only sure thing - and rattled in return. It has nothing, really, to say. It only rattles.

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Rows of starched green and yellow paisley feather stalks Marching in ordered lines along the road to 57 Eldon Way Hot dogs and char burgers charge the air with yesterday's homecoming Buds of moxie memories tipping long ears to big blue Listening to the chickadees vocal pecking at kernels from the past Morsels fall to the dirt signal life again for those willing to root Pulled magpies to lines spy intimate joy-scattered seed below Promising fortunes creased by hourglasses settled sand White washed porches with rose printed borders Nestle a "his and her" swing vantage over familiar fields Imagined better-time scenes from selfie soaked movies More real than all the forgotten stones ever stepped upon Sweet tea sugar fills tall glasses of yarn spun dreams Glory red and navy rippling a windy beat To the clang of their steal pole clasp Dance Swing with them and recall a time of slower horizons Of richer baskets Of brighter springs Of longer summers Take a dip in the swimming hole Naked, together, and happy © 2019 MJL

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Mar 11, 2019

Mar 11, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC

Rows of starched green and yellow paisley feather stalks Marching in ordered lines along the road to 57 Eldon Way Hot dogs and char burgers charge the air with yesterday's homecoming Buds of moxie memories tipping long ears to big blue Listening to the chickadees vocal pecking at kernels from the past Morsels fall to the dirt signal life again for those willing to root Pulled magpies to lines spy intimate joy-scattered seed below Promising fortunes creased by hourglasses settled sand White washed porches with rose printed borders Nestle a "his and her" swing vantage over familiar fields Imagined better-time scenes from selfie soaked movies More real than all the forgotten stones ever stepped upon Sweet tea sugar fills tall glasses of yarn spun dreams Glory red and navy rippling a windy beat To the clang of their steal pole clasp Dance Swing with them and recall a time of slower horizons Of richer baskets Of brighter springs Of longer summers Take a dip in the swimming hole Naked, together, and happy © 2019 MJL

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or "let's order takeout," or "small ineptitudes in the kitchen" 1. butter lop it liberally silver clinging scrape it pan side sputters and hissing smoky? turn the heat down crimsoning elemental browning the butter 2. sizzling whites diaphanous stiffly whitened bubbles surface spatula stroking poly— tetrafluoroethylene roll the egg yolk shattering yellow 3. **** the water nothing— evaporated gasping blue effluvium windows fanblades blackened *** the bite of a char upon it tea for tomorrow

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Mar 5, 2014

Mar 5, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC

Sappho the Housewife

or "let's order takeout," or "small ineptitudes in the kitchen" 1. butter lop it liberally silver clinging scrape it pan side sputters and hissing smoky? turn the heat down crimsoning elemental browning the butter 2. sizzling whites diaphanous stiffly whitened bubbles surface spatula stroking poly— tetrafluoroethylene roll the egg yolk shattering yellow 3. **** the water nothing— evaporated gasping blue effluvium windows fanblades blackened *** the bite of a char upon it tea for tomorrow

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Cupid comes a'knocking Who is it what do you want I come bearing gifts girl Don’t be afraid open up No Cupid not again Haven't you done enough When you lit my heart aflame Plunged me into the deepest depths of pain No cupid not again No more joy turning to rust in my veins And my heart beating beaten and bruised And my eyes falling like summer rain No cupid not again I can't do this anymore Aim that broken bow away from my heart Find some other fool's door Its different this time girl This time I brought you the one With brown locks and a crooked smile And eyes that shine like the sun Open up girl Love can be rewritten and redone It’s a process of years and centuries and eons A persevering stroll not a manic run Don’t lie to me Cupid When your hands still hold the smoking gun Rome wasn’t built in a day But it sure was destroyed in one There is nothing left to give of me can't you see There is nothing left to be won You failed me before Cupid When you shot at him and missed And he didn’t care a **** for me While I dreamt of him in colours that don’t exist How many more victims will you find How many more hearts will you break like mine How many more souls will your bow plunder and defile Not anymore Cupid. Not this time. I sharpen my claws and smile a wicked smile Hone the fires burning in my eyes all the while Prepare to rip the white wings off his body Prepare to sear his halo to char Come in Cupid, I whisper The door is left ajar

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Feb 13, 2018

Feb 13, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC

Cupid comes a'knocking

Cupid comes a'knocking Who is it what do you want I come bearing gifts girl Don’t be afraid open up No Cupid not again Haven't you done enough When you lit my heart aflame Plunged me into the deepest depths of pain No cupid not again No more joy turning to rust in my veins And my heart beating beaten and bruised And my eyes falling like summer rain No cupid not again I can't do this anymore Aim that broken bow away from my heart Find some other fool's door Its different this time girl This time I brought you the one With brown locks and a crooked smile And eyes that shine like the sun Open up girl Love can be rewritten and redone It’s a process of years and centuries and eons A persevering stroll not a manic run Don’t lie to me Cupid When your hands still hold the smoking gun Rome wasn’t built in a day But it sure was destroyed in one There is nothing left to give of me can't you see There is nothing left to be won You failed me before Cupid When you shot at him and missed And he didn’t care a **** for me While I dreamt of him in colours that don’t exist How many more victims will you find How many more hearts will you break like mine How many more souls will your bow plunder and defile Not anymore Cupid. Not this time. I sharpen my claws and smile a wicked smile Hone the fires burning in my eyes all the while Prepare to rip the white wings off his body Prepare to sear his halo to char Come in Cupid, I whisper The door is left ajar

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Aba! Nasaktan na naman Ang dakilang torpe Walang kalabasan ng nararamdaman Kaya idaan niya nalang sa isang tula, na naman Kaya sisimulan na natin sa Isa dalawa tatlo Ang corny na nito Apat Lima Anim Char lang joke lang Hindi ito ang simula Sisimulan natin sa isang balangkas Isaayos ang bagyo ng iyong isipan Bigyan ng kapayapaan ang nararamdaman Para mas maiintindihan ang matinding budhi ng pusong nasaktan Sunod ay maghanap at gumamit ng mga matalinhagang salita; Punan ng kolorote ang nararamdaman Pagandahin ang sakit Para mas magiging kaakit-akit At ayon Alam mo na Paano sumulat ng tula Para sa maling tao

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Mar 22, 2020

Mar 22, 2020 at 9:50 PM UTC

unadulteratedpoet

Tula Kung Paano Gumagawa ng Isang Tula

Aba! Nasaktan na naman Ang dakilang torpe Walang kalabasan ng nararamdaman Kaya idaan niya nalang sa isang tula, na naman Kaya sisimulan na natin sa Isa dalawa tatlo Ang corny na nito Apat Lima Anim Char lang joke lang Hindi ito ang simula Sisimulan natin sa isang balangkas Isaayos ang bagyo ng iyong isipan Bigyan ng kapayapaan ang nararamdaman Para mas maiintindihan ang matinding budhi ng pusong nasaktan Sunod ay maghanap at gumamit ng mga matalinhagang salita; Punan ng kolorote ang nararamdaman Pagandahin ang sakit Para mas magiging kaakit-akit At ayon Alam mo na Paano sumulat ng tula Para sa maling tao

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~ *From the initial dawning lithium sky met infernal waters and it all went awry the light of happiness constituted halos leaving intimate words paperclipped, tongue-tied and love bruises upon inner thigh the wellspring enveloped char and holm with faint kissed alkali abating the stormy umbrage as if a softly whispered lullaby and suddenly along this watermark only you, me and the need to multiply* ~

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Apr 8, 2021

Apr 8, 2021 at 9:51 AM UTC

This Island Earth

~ *From the initial dawning lithium sky met infernal waters and it all went awry the light of happiness constituted halos leaving intimate words paperclipped, tongue-tied and love bruises upon inner thigh the wellspring enveloped char and holm with faint kissed alkali abating the stormy umbrage as if a softly whispered lullaby and suddenly along this watermark only you, me and the need to multiply* ~

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jab v wo lamha yaad ata hai aakh me aashu bhar jata , na jane kon shi manji thi wo, jispe chale the gye khi dur.. har pal har wakt me khusbo aati hai , us lamhe ki , koi mujhe de duaa, jispe bhul jau wo lamhe.. or ji lu gindgi chain see....... ji lu is kadar jindgi ki har pla mhfil sa lagen, har din mhsus ** alg sa , aisa kuch hal chal ** mano ya namano jindgi ek char phiyo ki gadi hai shi hai to sab thik or khrab ** gya to value hi ni.. ROHINI

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Feb 8, 2016

Feb 8, 2016 at 4:24 AM UTC

yadone ke lamhen

jab v wo lamha yaad ata hai aakh me aashu bhar jata , na jane kon shi manji thi wo, jispe chale the gye khi dur.. har pal har wakt me khusbo aati hai , us lamhe ki , koi mujhe de duaa, jispe bhul jau wo lamhe.. or ji lu gindgi chain see....... ji lu is kadar jindgi ki har pla mhfil sa lagen, har din mhsus ** alg sa , aisa kuch hal chal ** mano ya namano jindgi ek char phiyo ki gadi hai shi hai to sab thik or khrab ** gya to value hi ni.. ROHINI

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in the east a dry man stumbled through the lush panacea of a dessicated prayer his faith moved mustard gas. gasping for clarity, he spoke a thing no god could answer. he languished in the Eden of empirical Dodos a succulent squab in the oasis of fables. he joined the throng. his shackles were mended. his bonds, repaired. in the west - a rye bread crumbles along a path to a candy house - to a furnace of blank stares. it waits moonlit and rustic, alas - it's mad and verily cloaked in a thing no ' nothing ' would ask for. it leads to a breach. weary of " who knows ? " a truculent husk of a drought mislabeled. an actual flood. it rankles the vision... it plots despair. in the north, a gunga din fumbles through the arid Earnest of our Importance. There - we play crude brass. Profundo. at last, we nearly... and even though we wide spark the char of our scorched affair we vanquish any Southland and the warm sun frosts a glass eye like pyrite. and polly wants a lacquer, dark enough to maroon...

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Jun 14, 2013

Jun 14, 2013 at 10:24 AM UTC

third-eye-candy

Taxidermy Sundial

in the east a dry man stumbled through the lush panacea of a dessicated prayer his faith moved mustard gas. gasping for clarity, he spoke a thing no god could answer. he languished in the Eden of empirical Dodos a succulent squab in the oasis of fables. he joined the throng. his shackles were mended. his bonds, repaired. in the west - a rye bread crumbles along a path to a candy house - to a furnace of blank stares. it waits moonlit and rustic, alas - it's mad and verily cloaked in a thing no ' nothing ' would ask for. it leads to a breach. weary of " who knows ? " a truculent husk of a drought mislabeled. an actual flood. it rankles the vision... it plots despair. in the north, a gunga din fumbles through the arid Earnest of our Importance. There - we play crude brass. Profundo. at last, we nearly... and even though we wide spark the char of our scorched affair we vanquish any Southland and the warm sun frosts a glass eye like pyrite. and polly wants a lacquer, dark enough to maroon...

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little saporous pretty prisms dragged through ashen bones to place your cloying melt on my shivering paper skin: your sticky face, tongue stripping strangling, char-chipping my caramelized blisters from the burning maraschino hum. Bubbling up whiteness like our eyes unfocused, hands moving unaware spread the chapping numbness over our senses, succumbed.

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May 7, 2013

May 7, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC

little saporous pretty prisms dragged through ashen bones to place your cloying melt on my shivering paper skin: your sticky face, tongue stripping strangling, char-chipping my caramelized blisters from the burning maraschino hum. Bubbling up whiteness like our eyes unfocused, hands moving unaware spread the chapping numbness over our senses, succumbed.

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His Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven. His father, by the cruelest way of pain, Had bidden him to his ***** once again; The awful sin remained still unforgiven. All night a bright and solitary star (Perchance the one that ever guided him, Yet gave him up at last to Fate's wild whim) Hung pitifully o'er the swinging char. Day dawned, and soon the mixed crowds came to view The ghastly body swaying in the sun The women thronged to look, but never a one Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue; And little lads, lynchers that were to be, Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.

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2.4k

His Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven. His father, by the cruelest way of pain, Had bidden him to his ***** once again; The awful sin remained still unforgiven. All night a bright and solitary star (Perchance the one that ever guided him, Yet gave him up at last to Fate's wild whim) Hung pitifully o'er the swinging char. Day dawned, and soon the mixed crowds came to view The ghastly body swaying in the sun The women thronged to look, but never a one Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue; And little lads, lynchers that were to be, Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.

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They were dry tinder Cautious of the passion on the cusp of friction Back-stepping each possible spark And ignition To burn feverishly. Their retreats only added kindle to their bodies' desire Crying out for flaming tongues to lick And flicker And erupt in A blazing inferno of utter combustion. It was not the uncontrollable white heat they feared But the fear of eventually running out of fuel The backwash when nothing but Char and ash remain And the last embers snuffed out. The yearning like smoke Forever lost on the bellows of time It was not the burning they dreaded But being burnt.

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Aug 27, 2014

Aug 27, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC

david-patrick-oc

They were dry tinder Cautious of the passion on the cusp of friction Back-stepping each possible spark And ignition To burn feverishly. Their retreats only added kindle to their bodies' desire Crying out for flaming tongues to lick And flicker And erupt in A blazing inferno of utter combustion. It was not the uncontrollable white heat they feared But the fear of eventually running out of fuel The backwash when nothing but Char and ash remain And the last embers snuffed out. The yearning like smoke Forever lost on the bellows of time It was not the burning they dreaded But being burnt.

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The darkness fills my heart inside. I'm left to burn, char and die. Why does this sorrow just come to me? Why do I always pay the fee? My heart just burns, The smoke churns Darkness whispers, "Come Hither" And I'm just left to wither. The shadows hunt, Like I'm a runt. Darkness fills a void. Hell now screams, Burnt all my dreams Now I'm burnt and toyed. Hell now slithers, Come hither. And I'm just left to Wither.

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Dec 7, 2014

Dec 7, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC

The darkness fills my heart inside. I'm left to burn, char and die. Why does this sorrow just come to me? Why do I always pay the fee? My heart just burns, The smoke churns Darkness whispers, "Come Hither" And I'm just left to wither. The shadows hunt, Like I'm a runt. Darkness fills a void. Hell now screams, Burnt all my dreams Now I'm burnt and toyed. Hell now slithers, Come hither. And I'm just left to Wither.

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It hides, soothes, but scares nonetheless It is what I paint my cages with Just for an illusion of a possibility of freedom For a moment forget the manacles' caress. It is what lies beneath the garb of sanctity baring us for who we are. God or no, Noir-nothingness is where it all began And end once we char.

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Jul 8, 2014

Jul 8, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC

It hides, soothes, but scares nonetheless It is what I paint my cages with Just for an illusion of a possibility of freedom For a moment forget the manacles' caress. It is what lies beneath the garb of sanctity baring us for who we are. God or no, Noir-nothingness is where it all began And end once we char.

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Savor these hard times, Cherish every drop, For one day they'll be far past and behind. Joy is warm and sweet, Anger burns the tongue, Sadness makes its case, Dressed in smoky char. Let the others eat portions meant for kings; I am far too well With the bits I find.

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May 16, 2022

May 16, 2022 at 1:09 PM UTC

hector-oliveras-garcia

Savor these hard times, Cherish every drop, For one day they'll be far past and behind. Joy is warm and sweet, Anger burns the tongue, Sadness makes its case, Dressed in smoky char. Let the others eat portions meant for kings; I am far too well With the bits I find.

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Why does the world see me this way? My insides on the outside and nothing hidden at all, when I am only flesh and bone and a map of veins? Blood flows through me; chilled at the core but sizzling in my fingertips. What I touch will char, yet I cannot thaw myself. Clearly, this is self-reliance. I wake only to dream of sleeping again, and breathe only to shut off my wandering thoughts. My mother taught me to loathe the bitterness that she herself pushed upon me throughout the years. I will never forgive her for that. But Lord (who?) knows I've come this far. I refuse to be silenced; it is my turn to speak. Smother me with your glistening teeth: I will march on.

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Mar 25, 2010

Mar 25, 2010 at 11:17 AM UTC

imagine-aluminum-1

An Out of Body Experience

Why does the world see me this way? My insides on the outside and nothing hidden at all, when I am only flesh and bone and a map of veins? Blood flows through me; chilled at the core but sizzling in my fingertips. What I touch will char, yet I cannot thaw myself. Clearly, this is self-reliance. I wake only to dream of sleeping again, and breathe only to shut off my wandering thoughts. My mother taught me to loathe the bitterness that she herself pushed upon me throughout the years. I will never forgive her for that. But Lord (who?) knows I've come this far. I refuse to be silenced; it is my turn to speak. Smother me with your glistening teeth: I will march on.

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6.02 a.m. sunlight pries your eyes open and i meet you for the ****** time again and again nothing mends and breaks my heart more than watching you fall in love with a novel fragment of me every day 9.35 a.m. i toast bread with both eyes closed and i let them char like the edges of my heart you tell me last thursday's joke but i erupt into hilarity, anyway 3.17 p.m. nostalgia is a side-effect of forgetting you reminisce about knitting parties we never threw between giggles, i wonder how your words are needles that pick all of the right places 7.43 p.m. this world is a stygian dystopia but you, you are my sole scintilla of colour i feed you blatant lies for dinner only to let you sleep with a peace of mind 11.59 p.m. i watch you fall asleep to the rhythm of my silence there are all types of silences and distances but this this is the worst kind please, don't forget to remember me.

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Jun 10, 2014

Jun 10, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC

6.02 a.m. sunlight pries your eyes open and i meet you for the ****** time again and again nothing mends and breaks my heart more than watching you fall in love with a novel fragment of me every day 9.35 a.m. i toast bread with both eyes closed and i let them char like the edges of my heart you tell me last thursday's joke but i erupt into hilarity, anyway 3.17 p.m. nostalgia is a side-effect of forgetting you reminisce about knitting parties we never threw between giggles, i wonder how your words are needles that pick all of the right places 7.43 p.m. this world is a stygian dystopia but you, you are my sole scintilla of colour i feed you blatant lies for dinner only to let you sleep with a peace of mind 11.59 p.m. i watch you fall asleep to the rhythm of my silence there are all types of silences and distances but this this is the worst kind please, don't forget to remember me.

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If love were a flower, would she bloom wild from the recesses of my soul? If love were a jigsaw, would she craft the shards to heal me whole? If love were a sapling, would she root, in soil and rain to be a mighty tree? If love were a cloud, would her invigorating elixir breathe new life into me? If love were fire, would she char my insides and from the ashes birth a phoenix? If love were a tsunami, would plunging headfirst be worth the risk? If love were a Volcano, would it erupt violently, then subside into dormancy? If love were a Desert, would it’s heat drive away travelers, but staying reward sanctuary? If love were a River, would it harbor my life towards another direction? If love were the sun, would it pull me closer just to watch me burn?

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Jan 13, 2019

Jan 13, 2019 at 10:17 AM UTC

Love, an Enigma

If love were a flower, would she bloom wild from the recesses of my soul? If love were a jigsaw, would she craft the shards to heal me whole? If love were a sapling, would she root, in soil and rain to be a mighty tree? If love were a cloud, would her invigorating elixir breathe new life into me? If love were fire, would she char my insides and from the ashes birth a phoenix? If love were a tsunami, would plunging headfirst be worth the risk? If love were a Volcano, would it erupt violently, then subside into dormancy? If love were a Desert, would it’s heat drive away travelers, but staying reward sanctuary? If love were a River, would it harbor my life towards another direction? If love were the sun, would it pull me closer just to watch me burn?

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