"chasmic" poems
How could I spell out love when it is absent of her name?
The way her eyes reflected a sunrise, the envy of Eos
She was like honey in the sky, the amber of her energy enraptured me
I was bewitched
She was a masterpiece drawn with starlight, unfathomable beauty
An ivory sculpture crafted by the hands of a god, masterpiece of Hephaestus
I remember the time I was blessed by that smile,
A vilified promise
The scent of patchouli and the taste of my favorite tea
Like ambrosia for a mortal, that sweet taste of paradise
Sunflowers and the many other favorites that she gave me
Stolen without a word
She used to call me late at night to talk about her day
But the days for me got longer, I couldn't keep her entertained
Such a coldness hid underneath the warmth I thought she gave me
Gone like a ghost in the night
I thought I was breathless because I loved her, now I’m suffocated by the agony
She was killing me underneath the sweetness, constricting like a boa
And when I close my eyes to see the memories lapse she's still in them
Haunting me like she wanted
Eros' is golden arrows struck me hard and shamelessly
Through my heart and left a scar, chasmic and wide
Her toxic serotonin left me high, addicted to her energy
A limitless euphoria
I spoke to the gods above and I told them of my love
What a liar she's made me out to be, the clever snake
I begged that Aphrodite let my words reach her
But they fell on deaf ears
Now I pray that Anteros relieves me and hears my plea
Unravel these feelings in my heart, lift the anchor of her name
Don't let me be the sole carrier of the blame
For the ruin that remains
Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 7:42 AM UTC
To soak up the dirt is to soak up the stories.
My story is grime pushed into the cracks in the concrete
From all the crusty hobos and sweat-sheened showgirls.
My story is glitter from all the strippers and their grinning patrons, and
***** spilled liquor, and ***** from those who have sought a cure.
I am nourished by pain, and also rubber from the wheels of souped-up sports cars
Driven by men with chasmic souls. The oil from a billion french fries
Palliates the sting of alcohol upon my fractured, ***** skin.
The filth of the cigarettes and of the **** smoke,
Dank in the air, and heavy, slathers on another coat.
I see all things and I hear all things and I know all things.
I can see up your skirt right now, you precious little object,
As you flee the casino like a gull from a shark’s open jaws.
Your nightmare is right behind you, and he’s starving.
His humanity has been chewed up by the worms of his rancor,
And all that remains is an animal with hot blood on his brain.
In the alleyway I hear the pop and crack as stiletto gives way to concrete
And bone gives way to undue stress. His smile is unhinged as
Stifled screams and muffled gunshot atomize in the black air.
A decade later, the mops of sad janitors cut through like razors,
Making clean spots more unsightly than the ocean of grunge.
Surreptitious blood spatters, long since scrubbed
Still glint under blacklight. The chalk outlines have absorbed
Into my unholy black skin, and though I was drunk on your blood,
I still remember cradling you as you died.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 1:57 AM UTC
My insides are freezing, every ounce of passion I have is boiling down to nothing
Echoes of chasmic silence have me surrounded
I am overwhelmed by this sudden surge of intense self-loathing
By the strong rusty winds, my existence seems grounded
I am turning cold and fragile every second, and all I long for is a wake-up call
A call harsh enough to burn my freezing insides
I am sick of the urge that wants me to hit my head against the wall
Cause now I am well aware of how in my head, the demonic hurting creature hides
I breathe in fear, it rushes through my blood so I could feel it in my bones and veins
Anxiety is like my shadow that lingers with me everywhere I go, I feel burdened
Feels like I am getting drenched alone in the nagging emptiness,
the whole of me drains
Even in the happiest of moments, everywhere it just pains
Oct 2, 2021
Oct 2, 2021 at 5:27 PM UTC
I have gold coursing through my veins and silver flooding in my lungs that turn into richened glitter with every exhale
My mind is a garden with exotic fauna to leave all who enter in awe
My words are like the sharpest blades that pierce into a battlefeild of whirling lies
My heart is a chasmic void to trap you in my sweetest lullaby
For my poetry is the wing of a butterfly and a drop of poison all in one
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 11:38 PM UTC
from the ground, the earth seems so far around,
climb a few rickety stairs,
you see, distance just gets shorter,
seems like the distance between us,
the chasmic, drastic drop in pressure,
floating in the air separates two mountains,
remove the pretenses,
smash the awkward in the gallbladder,
there is nothing removing one from all,
realize now, we're all so tall.
this place is just a stage,
a stance to find your feet and grab your heart,
everything we've ever done is a masterpiece,
and on this thin needle we can see miles,
but not the reason for our smiles,
empathy is wasted on those,
when you can't read your self,
so take this heart of mine,
and hold yourself tight,
because this is about to get tremulous.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
In the darkness of night, or by the light of day
Waiting for hours with nothing to say
When wonder turns worry and knowledge to doubt
The truth becomes lies and silence to shout
The louder the cry the more muffled the plea
Lost miles away from where we should be
Open and honest and ugly and raw
Without wasting time with the hem and the haw
Memories fight oversights hidden by masks
Begging a thought is a torturous task
Still waiting for a hint or a clue or a sign
That the strength of a heart beats the power of mind
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:29 AM UTC
stepped on a sidewalk crack
seven year's bad luck
If it is chasms
Y'all desire...
sidewalk cracks freeze me
in bad luck repose,
firefly-in-a-jar trapped,
hole'd enough to breathe,
but no prison break escape
come to live
in my little space
these chasmic concrete cracks
my enclosure, my true cell immobile,
it is what they mean when they say,
"have you see his pen?"
boundaries man-built
serving a seven year sentence,
bad luck my only laughing friend,
my midnight to moon
fiend~companion boon
washer dryer closet n' bed
all in a three by three metered space,
my sidewalk castle
now a nyc tourist attraction
rain and shiner, the sidewalk cross
mine alone, even the pigeons
stay away, not so stupid as they look,
fair game for dietary consumption
technical setting details of no matter,
but they come by the thousands
not to see, just
snapping tapping taunting the
immobilizing invisible chasm crackled
sidewalk poet,
writing poems by governmental command,
literarily and literally,
for all to see
seven is not eleven and someday
only time will know, and advise
when cursed lifted, then,
he will never have to
write poems for the public's
insatiable need to
mock and ridicule
ever again
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC
Words ,
What do you make of it?
So saccharine
So chasmic
Yet
So raw
So excruciating.
That It guzzles your heart bit by bit
Words,
What do you make of it
When you see them caper
As you see your feet in rain
Or when you witness it
Spanking scorn on people’s mind
And forcing them to spend those sleepless night,
Why so confusing are them words?
Why the scent of them arouses a writer’s heart
And becomes a cause or,
An apocalypse.
What do you make of it?
When it pushes you to the apex
Or drags you down to the burning fiasco
And you think it Is fix
Words, that makes schadenfreude
Alive,
Death scary
And life so obsessing?
The base of hopes,
Wings of imagination
The eyes of love
A scent, of imagination
A magic
A poison
A tower so bright
Somewhere in horizon
Words,
So many yet so little
Things to say
But, words are them
What do you make of it?
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
Shh
Wandering tongues lynch themselves before thoughts can slip into words
pupils impregnated by motionless anticipation
and the fluttering of flies on the corpses of stomachs
don’t stutter
don’t stutter
don’t stutter
shhh
Calm
let glands spew waterfalls down brows
and browse for options yet remain still, remain silent
I was always taught to
shhhh
retreat to familiarity, fermenting in the stagnation of bedrooms
and errant thoughts, and regrets, and remembering
I don’t think this is going to work out
I dont think this relationship is healthy for us
I think we should
shhhhh
close mouths so the belt welts bruise less
You are simply fleshwounds to blues and blacks that bubble beneath skin
eyes low, chasmic, crimson, grin and giggle
follow footsteps to paper faced ledges and the defiant plume of burning leaves
Ive grown to love
shhhhhh
Schwinns and wind, and ballooning confidence
headphones hugging haphazard hairs scent of remnant shampoo particles
and hungry breath, peppermint camouflage so lips can kiss scars
craving solid land while lost in waves of stone
distant skin and grin and eye contact
Ive grown tired of
shhhhhhh
winding car rides, surrounded by noise
playing the quiet game
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Of lavender, golden meshes--discerning
Goddess gargantua.
Lamp of fig tree and Roman chorus...waves crest
in a moonlit white as to knit the sultry
gown of your being.
Never once did you recant the definitions of love
and beauty, they stay and fever...dally the same
breath to deliver.
Here and there, wedged in towering hearts
they sway and splay forked flames.
You are signaled blatantly, and in
secret as holds the tolerance of those
you madden.
Venus...crash landing, riveted Xs cringe
and ripple in anticipation--marked and
moving, your children pass the ardent
thorns of beauty...clump, swell and
spill ****** roses.
You'll always seem uncollected, unstable--
your constitution's chasmic rift
claims...those you've landed upon.
They mouth love and beauty, wound and
bisected, their livelong day thrashes
to unify that breath...just to
sigh as if to say they see you.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
How many miles stand
Between myself and the end of time
The edge of space
It crushes me like chasmic pressure
Dividing and devouring me whole
I am swallowed into eons
And digested into molecules
Like reverse osmosis of a soul
Stripped naked and clean and pure
Only to be
Dumped into a landfill
A waiting line
To start again, to try again
And this is
Where I meet you
And you meet me
And I witness our repulsive quantum entanglement
The one that pulls my discordant little heart
Straight into my constrictor knot of a stomach
I often find myself awaking
Into another dream
Of a dream
I once had
Where I was floating
In the water
There was nothing above me
There was nothing beneath me
It was an isolation of my incidental world
A realization of simulation
And then something touched me
I am stuck in this
Mariana Trench of universal consumption
Where something follows
And lingers behind me
Like a shadow that's not
Quite a shadow but rather
A friend
Or an enemy
Only time will tell
We are part
Of the same brush stroke
Made by the
Same artist
That we will never meet
Or know about
Until the painting is incinerated
And we become the same ash
The same particles
We began with
To begin with
I am an
Unidentified flying object
Up here looking down
At my reflection looking up
And all I see is
Nothing
And everything
And you are somewhere in between
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
Take flight! Bright Iris, cirrus sunken cloud;
Paint heralds through azure unblemished skies,
So all may witness your wild repose avowed,
Reflected and collected for reprise.
I rise, soft solemn dreams with you so high,
And oft decry that chasmic space between,
Where spread across angelic wings we lie/die
Our temporary deaths down deep ravine.
Now over the rainbow Destiny she stirs;
Her prismic glances scatter spectral Sun,
And Moon with endless eternal eclipse,
Awaits the Synchronist to come.
Awake! Dear dreamer you alone I see;
A ghost, a dream, the rise of Mercury.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 10:47 AM UTC
I have an unusual friend. A small man with charms of a gentle redneck. He holds court in his garage for his acquaintances, those free or at large. His demeanour is rustic, but his wisdom self-taught. His name is Byron ( I know, it's too good to be true), not lordly, but Byron likes the girls and light brew. Byron says, “I'll kick your *** every time we play golf. Not yet. His voice is chasmic and often influenced by distractions. And then on a cold, witch-tit, heathcliffe driving winter's day, with the wood stove well-fired, a rascally friend opens the door, and Byron yells, “Shut the door. Do you think wood grows on trees.” On leaving the same day he advises me, “Don't slip on the ice. It's frozen.” I didn't tell you Byron has one eye. Better yet, a patch on the other. He looks more like post Frodo ignoring the “Don't run with scissors" warning from Mother Baggins, than he does Lord B. I dropped my pipe once on his garage floor. A special pipe. It's my bowling pipe. I don't smoke tobacco. Byron thinks it clever to call me at work and tell my secretary he and I are bowling after school. Byron mixes metaphors. So, my pipe has dropped. Byron says, “ Let me help. Three eyes are better than two.” His cleverness can backfire. I tried to be sensitive, but there was neither an honourable or dishonourable way out. Byron hung an oak wood sign near his stove. He makes his own stain, and rubs it evenly in circles with his wife's old nylons. “It's great for the *********** he'll quip. The two ***** of the sign are joined with leather straps and stainless steel studded to the wood. The letters painted within the stencilled lines are a dark, rich mixture. The joke. “Lift flap in case of fire.” Normally one lifts the flap. “Not now stupit. In case of fire.” I discreetly pointed out the t.The sign quietly disappeared and was never mentioned again. He'll never kick my ***
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
We now return
to your regularly scheduled dream.
Do the math: ducks in the pond
swim upstream to spawn supreme.
Then pay it forward
as a string of numbers.
Continuous in series,
strung out and unencumbered.
There's some **** saxophones
lifting off in tune to the rhythm method.
Save the soft jazz for when you're really in the mood, and read a bedtime story instead.
Vision begins when the lids
are closed and threading the daisy chain.
This is where we
place the refrain:
Caution--unstable, but microwavable.
The lines blur
where the vertical and horizontal collide.
Can't stand the swimming in the head,
yet enjoy the peripheral ride.
Hypertext Transfer Protocol Secure,
even as far deep down as this chasmic seabed. Living with technophobia,
But married to sensory overload instead.
Making new babies in safe mode.
We lose sight when plugged too long into this hub. Just another anxiety in need of a pill
--join the club.
We meet where there's free Wi-Fi
so battery life doesn't drain.
This is where we
repeat the refrain:
Caution--unstable, but microwavable.
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 8:22 PM UTC
Everyone loses their way
Lost in their chasmic minds
Lost in their bismol worlds
Lost in their abysmal emotions
Some find a light to guide their way
A melody; a sign; a feeling
Others search for a distraction
Someway to forget the failure and lose the guilt
But for me, Hermes guides my path
Like a soul into Hades,
He always brings me home
Back from my friendly worm named Loneliness
Back from my terrible sense of direction
Back from my endless attempts at self sabotage
He makes me see the truth; the reality; the destination
Everyone is all so full of deceit and corruption
Pleasing themselves by pleasing others
Becoming someone else to be above all others
Blinded by envy and seething with a jealous rage
They hold out their open hands to me
But he whispers in my ear
"It's all a lie"
And I keep my hand down by my side
And watch as they go to the next person
Holding their hands out just the same
And chaining the gullible fools with honeyed words and empty promises
Binding to them now like a contract over their souls
Enslaved to the whims of the corrupt
He has me dream of lands across the sea
Speaking a tongue that is not mother to me
I fall in love with these foreign things
The sights he sends me, the sounds, the smells
All the excitement of leaving to somewhere new
With no fear of the unknown, trusting only
In the path on which he guides me
I see it now, so far away
I reach my hand out and I feel it on my fingertips
I close my eyes and the words slip into my mind
With every phrase I learn, the freer I become
And I walk his path with knowledge I am safe
In meditation he guides me
On a starlit beach I find myself sinking my feet into the sand
Swiftly he approaches with a grin
He holds his hand out to me and I feel at ease
No strings or "you-owe-me's" await
And with winged feet he sends me back
Gently placing me in my body
And I awaken safe and sound
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 2:56 AM UTC
I can almost see it
like a distant illusion
a nocturnal distortion
you, beside me
with stars in your eyes
like nebulas well disguised
and I don't know
the proper name for them
I can almost see it
like a premonition
of a self demolition
you, carrying the weight
of the world
as if it will make
you stronger
and I don't know how
to tell you
it only makes you ache
I can almost see it
or feel it
like I'm hugging your
bones goodbye
for one last time
but it's not crushing you
as it would crush me
I reference chasmic pressure
but I don't know how else
to call a void what it really is
home
I call it home
to wide eyes and slack jaws
they don't understand
there is comfort
in nothingness
there is a choice
in no choice
and there is a risk
in taking no risk at all
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC
A shard of vintage hope
Stained with no scope
Painted for an antique emotion
Which was drowning in a deep ocean
Woefully against all of my notion
On the edge of a chasmic cliff
A forlorn shade of my soul, stands stiff--
She stares down in the fathomless abyss
Not fearing the abysmal crisis
In which, she will plunge in a gorge of vices
Flames dance and flicker towards her heart
And, breaking the iron-wrought cage apart
Alas! To only find a ghastly grim cavern
Engirdled between lungs and ribs,
Her once-alive heart--was torn to shreds
All whilst, a monster gently caressed
Towards the harrowing path of an eternal rest
Aug 26, 2024
Aug 26, 2024 at 9:56 AM UTC
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
please
bear with me through
these turns,
for I believe it gets
much better..
i need help.
..much better than this
winding Caltrop
Way
please help me mind
these twists
no..
"not the TWISTS!
the twists betwixt
the ends gone
listing on
a list of modes or
measures—
lest my brooding
BOOM.
So vast,
and so cosmic,
so chasmic..
circumstasmic?
Could any of this be
happening?
Happenstance?
Perhaps a
dance—
a DANCE!
of eloquence enlisting—
of parables b'twixting
between..
..or was it betwixt?
betwixt!
the twist is
a'mix the
boundaries amidst
the sounding
absentees amiss
and all their revelries
gone missing,
they're so lost
among this misting lee."
**i came upon this sanity.
alas!
this simple explanation,
what has brought me
to my knees
at last—**
for
this hope so fixed
to kiss me,
as would bangles
on the wrist be,
then went
"begging and
dredging and
picking and *******
through grand affair in
blissful beds
of rose and posey petals
pushing hedgerows!!
more and more
a bushless exposé
as days count down—
a maze a'drowned
in *thornful
sortie*!!
scornful,
hastily adorned and full of
fate-encrusted memories
of a trustless
misgiving.
My sin has shone its boldness
and has left me living cold.
**please, god,
don't let me
die this way!"
this heart,
o lord,
it yearns
away..**
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
Walking down the street with beads of sweat and agonizing anticipation
involuntary smooth muscles clenched tight
I walk with a robotic posture
Almost afraid to bend
in fear primordial and ancient in scope
of a shame known by all but spake by none
Burst through the swinging gate born of coy mystery
chasmic porcelain, grit lined
a benign stench under the surface that treads on the minds invention
the coffers line the walls spattered yellow and wet
chambers pestilent and poorly designed
with cracks peered through by perverts and the curious child
I sit down
A pinch and burn and then
I am instantly filled with relief twice fold ancient and primordial in scope
I sigh
and then of course the wafting and comfortable smell of myself
Then a rush of cold water by the premature mechanism
of faulty eyed modern laser beams
I hear the door latch next to me
the spattered burst of spice and rank *****
a redolent splash and froth of exotic fury
the sounds and smells of a sick beast
Folded paper and a scratching scrub of cheap manufacturing
appearing from my mausoleum of privacy
fear tingled spine hairs stand straight at the sound of the latch again
my own eyes betray and my neck cranes
to exchange an awkward glance and uncomfortable smirk
I wash my hands metaphorically and otherwise
In case you haven’t noticed I’m taking a ****
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
'
*Heart tattoos and hidden scars,
bumpy rides from Venus to Mars.
Hunters and heinous jungles,
oceans and other bungles.
Who brings this beauty
amid our chasmic chaos?*
___ ____ _____ ✒
○●
°
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
This cradle of sweet remembrance
is ours to recollect
under a myriad of unknown stars.
Your hazel eyes bore golden flecks,
your cheeks blushed crimson
above the scars.
Every bit of flesh in your body
speaks of our nostalgic yesteryear,
it mirrors the chasmic depths
of a love beyond celestial spheres.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC
And the one and solitary way of telling another's true death was in their eyes. A chasmic color of some sort attributed, to prove a loss of hope and a gain of want. Had it never came to flesh and bone, it was not a death, but a hopeful wish for the soon to come. Now leave the flesh unturned and welcome the new rising hope, the blessing of the east.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 9:10 AM UTC
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 31
BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem
Me, As Ummah Thurab (Badshah Khan),
I faithfully represent, the complete creation of my Divine Creator.
Merged seamlessly within my eternal love and noble soul,
My noble soul can’t depart from my eternal love.
Nor my eternal love from my noble soul.
With eternal love and noble soul, As me;
Faithfully representing to the visible universe,
A complete creation of my Divine Creator
As my noble soul is properly formed,
In chasmic love of My Beloved Love!
Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem
Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 3:28 AM UTC