"chimeras" poems
(Mangroves shake the boy
Rapture tempts his will-
He will not eat tonight.
Only blue shades fill
a hole so deep
covered
with
ashes
he
eats
- Himself -
an ardent fill
of bruised light,
like chimeras on
the mantel.)
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
a carnival of hords in withering grass
the high priestess tongues the beast
wet mandible
on a dragging
death gowned doll
like a cyclone coils paradise
trans mutative
prismatic unfurling's
passed bones of confusion
passed scorched refuse
of radiating spiraled phantoms
the more gods, the more demons
battle angel symmetries
in Taoist jaws
galactic lurking's
into parametric infinities
escalating war like cloud light
rush glittering arms of affliction
exhalations like upleaping sail fish
drizzle sooty rain
shellacking tinsel rhinos
on hieroglyphs of the barbarous
a transfixed guttural prana;
apostasy
between advances and retreats
in chimeras earth quake palace
death: a new begining.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 7:51 AM UTC
The fog shall not lift...sapphire, ruby,
emerald studded chimeras roam the
primordial soup.
The hysterical triad of a bleating goat,
lion's roar, dragon's inflamed screech.
The implacable lot of sublime vision...
reels the shadow of a halo.
The shadow of what's opaque...an
ominous drumbeat of the collective
unconscious.
Pagan hybrid...chimera--sulphurous
manacle of delirium, pomp and glory
of madness.
Releasing opiates within the plush
chambers of your Gaian skull.
Lunar stone's throw to quashing tides...
bone-fetching chimeras 'neath their
moonlit charge at flesh.
Chimeras, no mere inhabitants of an
exotic petting zoo...pattering the early
puddles which became The Face of the
Deep.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
Borne into a frenzy
of sleepless black nights
that coil and surround me,
where chimeras and serpents
glide like paint,
in the sea that separates
the mind and the horizon.
I flail and sputter,
treading naught
but black water.
Just leave me here for awhile.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
Too much time at hand
To see my life unravel.
Although I travel eyes to ground,
I seem to get around quite sound.
So it seems my life's a Monet,
Money killed me in a way.
Chimeras cannot fill my belly,
Soon my soul must get to selling.
Govern oceans with the moon,
Until our axis turns with death
Gravity will leak its pressure
As lonely lovers live as lepers.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
O front facin camera
Ayn Randian terror
Yet another Selfie
Of but another Narc-y
Glory to Me-ism
Duck face and pic-ism
Photoshopped pics
Of inflated lips
Capturer of Chimeras
O Front Facing Camera!
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:49 AM UTC
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
in a land of shadows and chimeras,
Buddhas, who seek the Buddha,
yearners, strugglers, dying persons.
Still with the last breath
hovered around from mists,
through the woods the morning star shines,
the red blood flows out of the heart,
that there beats and will beating eternally.
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
sparks of light from nowhere,
like lightnings flashing through the universe,
again go out in the nowhere,
which lays its blackness comforting and motherly
yet at the last sigh around us.
Life, which, forgetting itself,
sees itself in the empty mirror
and doesn’t know, that the mirror
is in every fiber of its being
- not here or there
and beyond the great gate of the here,
through which it becomes itself
on the middle of the threshold a gateless gate.
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
- A thunderclap!
A fall from heaven to earth!
A cry from earth to heaven!
An inconceivable moment of glory!
And only peace – unpronounceable holy…
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2014
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
I filled three trashcans, granted the bathroom size, to the brim with crumpled college-ruled cursive, failed attempts at the marriage of language and vision, all the things in my mind I could not put to paper. I couldn’t find the million-dollar words I wanted.
I Google’d the “100 most beautiful words of the English language.”
Efflorescence. I would have liked to use that one. Or maybe petrichor.
Chatoyant.
I tried to give mass to chimeras.
They grew old easily, floating down a temporal lazy river.
Her tissue-paper dreams were torn by the hooks of hometown love.
My metaphors fell flat.
I tried to envision Parnassus, something like rolling hills dotted with vibrant flowers, plants with names I do not know lining the slopes. I am not familiar with Greek foliage. I imagined myself climbing, turning over rocks in search of inspiration.
I found only isopods.
Between 5/4 inch margins I constructed a paper balloon, my papyrus mausoleum. Here is my embalmed work. Blank. Blank. Blank.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 10:35 AM UTC
The singing rotted chimeras, of the oozing blood church
Sing their disemboweled hymns, as the somber bell chimes to the dead
Along the pews are dried blood bibles, words of horror and sorrow
Written by men who thought to play God, and reap the values of the meek
As the suicide clocks strike their hands, and the blood soaked ravens take their flight
The blackened sun sets on the streets of acid, and the blissful dread plays as a music box
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
Voices in the dark
like Spring-heeled Jacks ,
run down a grimy slate roof
into a filthy gutter
filled with the tears of Saint Sophia .
☆
Dust , dirt , insects
and the remains of dead
forget-me-nots ,
the only images left to
a diseased mind .
☆
They run over and over
in geometric perfection ,
☆
a cataclysm of holes .
☆
☆
☆
2
No light for his lantern ,
hope forsaken gloom ,
then run down
tormented avenues
to an empty field ,
under the moon of
Mars in September .
☆
Under blood red stars ,
without truth or meaning ,
the tower of his wasted
dreams ,
and the chimeras of his
past ,
gather now around
and begin casting lots .
Oct 16, 2024
Oct 16, 2024 at 6:13 AM UTC
How can the public be so judgmental when all they know is lies.
I'll be that failure I wear that title well.
I won't cast a VOTE I'm not part of their lies nor do I support the whole deception.
I need to see the place beyond the ice where giants still build pyramids and chimeras all fear the wrath of God.
I'm headed south for the winter and to save myself from this system I'll never be apart of without a number around my neck and shackles across my heart.
I need to be where corn is eaten three times a day, siestas are expected and people are the color of the earth.
I want to die amongst the depleted Monarchs and the migrating
Quetzal Hummingbirds.
I wish to put my mind down for its final rest in a place where lies are not respected and the truth is nothing but the truth.
Somewhere thats far away from here.
A place that does'nt feel the need to claim its self the freest of the free while chained to things like laws, debts and the television screen.
I'll be where I don't speak the language and the people don't care.
I'll spend some time in old Mexico drinking away all my bad
memories, dancing with ficheras, making real Love to ****** and finding a way to start over.
A new way after I break free of the lies, bring myself to an end and build up the courage to leave you all behind.
So I can start myself anew.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
We are not many,
Only departures fill the meaning of the stops,
But we occupy enough sits to be a few
And for the distention of a silence of simple sounds.
The dimension of the others
It´s not much more than departures and destinies.
For now, we are only illuminated
By the last orange lights of another village.
All of us abstain from the others,
Not too much,
Not to the point of forgetting from the their presence,
Until the next straight road shrinks us
With one more gush of blackness.
(Warm lights
Emanate a comfort
Shared by all.)
The journey stretches along the premature winter night,
The bus goes embroiled
By the sequence of light and darkness
And we go with it.
Each variation in the spectrum of luminosity forms a layer,
More the layers, more the bus is light and darkness,
Thicker the journey and the denser the enchantment.
The countenances gain new expressions
As they cross the contrasts,
Though the looks never fail to gaze the vast night.
The looks…
The looks on the scattered night,
The night profoundly diluted in the existence of things,
That form the whole.
(Fingers on the glass
Searching for memories
- They only want life.)
One by one, they leave.
The sleeping consciousness wakes up,
From the breaking out of the world,
For the bus stop.
What do they take with them?
Where and for what they go?
Do they really want to go?
They all fade away in the distance.
There will be no one who wishes,
Like me, an endless night
So that the bus can go without destination?
Time does not even have to stop,
Just a single belonging to that bus.
I should not say it,
However i only want the outside life outside of me,
A mutual indifference
Than can fall asleep all the fatigue and exhaustion.
Let me turn into a silent echo to resound indefinitely,
In the vastness of the night.
(Eternal night
Raises chimeras seeing
Some solace.).
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
It’s morning. I woke up. It’s hatefully grey.
I’d close my eyes and go back to sleep.
Thoughts wander around me like chimeras
And weave their nets from all sides of me.
I think I’ll make one of them just a reality:
I’ll make some coffee, there’s no other way.
The day won’t work out without coffee.
And there’ll be a mess in my head anyway.
I’m up. What a nebulous nasty morning.
It shamelessly drives me crazy at all.
And why did I suddenly feel wholly
That I know all about myself?
What a fool?
What a phenomenal wacky silliness!
What a criminal irrational nonsense!
I thought that tomorrow is really fatal
As it was in the same way for years.
And what is in point of fact?
Where’s tomorrow?
All colors around me are totally dim.
I try to find my previous strong energy,
But only monotony is all-around me.
It was so simple yesterday, but now it’s ugly.
My coffee’s sneezing. It’s got a cold.
Well, I’ll go to live just like that, don’t look behind.
And I will live as long as I can, with no support.
May 2, 2025
May 2, 2025 at 5:46 PM UTC
Soon those dreams will dissolve around you
The chimeras fantasies will reach their end
Your clothes of splendorous adventures will be torn and burned
And you will be left to face the cold, pitiless mirth
Reality will engulf you, naked and defenseless
And mock for those careless hours you spent imagining
Those hours you could’ve spent preparing
For the day you would have to grow up.
But you did not
And now
You are alone.
And the inescapable truth is this
No matter how much they tell you they love you
Or how much they show you they care
People will always leave
You will always be alone.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
With your will, refuse to speak
I'll make use of twisted alchemy
Drawing chaos under the sun
Now my love, you are my gun.
I'm always saving you
from the interests being twirled
into an wicked engraving.
There is no desire for rules or fame
Emotions are only for taming.
Chimeras never dream,
but its not as bad as it seems.
How could I do those things?
We are different beings.
I'm a Leviathan, but i cant do everything
I don't have a remote control for your wings.
And baby please, don't get hopeless
You'll make all that hard work and money useless.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
This being
That's Forgotten, with feeling,
Among words and
Remembered in pictures;
Mistaken as something
Other than himself.
Digging deeper into the volume of his petty mistakes;
At a home smoking a hash pipe,
Imagining all at once
With his splintered third eye:
Dragons and chimeras.
Smoke screens and warpaint.
Red plume warriors on red sailed
Boats to islands
Where sorceress' haunt;
Purple hued hearts galore by the
Sea.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
I sail on a river of chimeras
Where a moon kiss embraces
My lacerated shadow.
Imbued with rage,
Drowned in sadness,
I attempted to tear the night apart
To steal a star
That could keep me company.
Yet, this tyrant existence held me captive
In the solitude of a fog
Tinted indigo and orchid.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
hypochondira and hyperactivity,
misguiding nouns.
*vinum bonum et suave,
bonis binum, pravis prave,
ave mundana laetitia!*
łyski - whiskey -
łysy... itching to slap a skinhead...
so the question:
what are the ad hoc parameters of
cogito ergo sum?
i so wish to be given an
ad hoc clarity for certain maxims...
in most instances they're bibles,
obscurity riddles them a hymnal status,
and that said: holy.
i wan't to be given the ad hoc
instruction manual for certain
eurekas...
i'm told that the already stated
prefigures subjectivity...
and that the subconscious
isn't merely a bystanders' experience of
puppetteering...
insinuation sphere...
just like i might add third party
inquisitors demanding of me that:
every dream has a hidden meaning behind it.
so many have died trying to
create the uncoscious contraceptive...
this mental *******
this exploitative subconscious insinuation
puppet motivation...
the subconscious only exists
to create the other's drone capitalisation
of fragility...
the synonym of the subconscious
within groundwork of making choices,
acknowledging ethic, is insinuation,
spies and the alphabetical fixation on
subversion, and all other subs- congregate.
and it really does sound like nonsense
once the enemy's tongue is waggling...
some even called it the
omnivore safehaven...
when in fact so much was prioritised
for dietary requirements...
that became bouldered
anorexic grey-areas;
synchronised skeleton army
tugging the chimeras of crimea,
shortened to the word: Krym.
knowing this tongue, i should be apt at
forging any and all ethnic linkage with it
being expressed: i should be gagging
for a forthnight spent in las vegas!
but there's me, dreaming of a tartar steak.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 2:11 PM UTC
When what we see is real,
We sculpt perfection
Refined chimeras,
Hunt us by night,
Masked behind shadows,
Of trees along the road to a cemetery
The lady in a white dress,
Bare feet, boiling skin
Her long dark hair
Slutty all over her face
And a butcher's knife,
Shining under a moonlight
That is not blood, right?
And why is she walking this way?
Aaaaaaaaah!!!
Am awake
A tapestry of mosaics,
Of Autumn leaves,
Floating down calm waters
rays of a morning sun
The lady in a black dress,
Out the river of youth
Her crystal skin,
With a radiant smile
Colourful eyes,
And wet golden hair,
Down her shoulders,
With splashing waters
As she walks towards me,
And lo,
Am awake,
This time,
For real
Am I happy or sad?
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 5:32 AM UTC
Lying lazily in the venus chamber rose-tinted and arabian damp,
the rifle rests nearby, and twilight the color of corpses glows in the blinds.
Beyond, chimeras velvet mechanical gnaw and bud,
spilling out babes crazed and crucifixion stained.
And I know I was spilled with them,
with my back scarred with phantoms of missing wings.
But just like my seeds are boiling in her tatooed altar,
my plot is defining itself.
With my lungs rendered sore by the milky smoke exhaled
and lingering like ghosts of melancholy, the chamber fades to black.
Then my skull begins turning with the planet's core,
and into the alien forest I go, hunting for another kiss.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
i hear the chimeras sing, a painful echo across the skin
the floor seeping with oil, bodies slowly rising from it
the sound of agony and hurt, becomes orchestration
as a world becomes nothing, and its life merely decaying
man and its greed, infecting the soul of gasping air
my eyes blackened by the melody, as the hum begins to scream
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 2:43 AM UTC
I am from whimpering Willows
From hidden fields and the dark moonlight
I am in the words dripping like the dew of grass
(Glistening, bright in the morning sun)
I am from the veins of the creeks
The haunted shack
Which held foaming dogs
And kindly ghosts from the past.
I am from bleached walls and late night visits, the impatient inpatient
From those crème colored walls where Horae’s heart was my only solace
I am from the scream-filled rooms and the silent nights
From six feet under to lost in the clouds
I’m from the Father of None whose heart I knew so little about
And the chimeras that danced in the nighttime to a darkly song
I’m from slashed papers written in crimson
And the soft light of dawn
From the life, my grandfather stole
to the body in her casket, cold
Under my bed lay Eros, daunting, but just, all the same
And I kept my weapon upon my desk
armed with thoughts twirling through my anxious, little head
I am from the locked doors without keys
And from false loves and false visions
The delusions of the mind and of the heart
I am from the green shining jewels of Hope
From a childhood cut too short
And an adulthood which came too fast
Born to name which was not my own
A life I would never live
From the bright white buildings
A dry throat, blackened vision, a blackened eye and a bleeding heart
In this world, I exist
And in The Separate, I used to live
But all these sleep filled nights have made me sleepless
The fuzzy grains of static fill my ears, my mouth, and my eyes
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 2:26 PM UTC
Anything, to feel nothing.
I used to wake up, six in the morning. Just enough time to smoke one before class.
Made me feel nothing for about two years.
Till my chimeras found me, through my buzz.
Tried pills, didn't work the way I planned.
First time in my life I felt even more than I was used to.
Got scared.
Maybe there is no medicin.
So the shrink gave me some medicin.
Made me numb for about six months.
Untill I lost my believes in placebo.
Tried ******* my feelings out.
Dug up some more issues.
And now, I've been sitting here, for the last two hours.
Staring at my wall.
It tells me in a foreign language that I am strong.
I painted that **** I believed in it.
I'm not a bit stronger than the substances inside me.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC
My dearest friend I retrieved my old
fountain pen today to pour, on canvas
note papers my doubts, feelings
of dire necessity for I, need of you a favour.
I confess I find myself confused, in the mist
of nothingness unable to decipher my scope
at a crossroad blocked, in front of a sign
which says ‘Stop!’ .
Buxom lands enticing with chimeras
on my right, nature’s might sparkling splendours,
colourful vibrations I perceive, notes of purifying
silence echoing the songs of inhabitants untouched,
by mind queries existential enquiries it feels,
beautiful and lonely over there. Then again,
I see buildings reaching for the skies
on my left, lights bright, people frantically in motion,
they seem to have a purpose and a mission,
places to go, things to do, dreams to make come true.
Some of them create oeuvres revealing grandeur it feels,
challenging and crowded over there. Yet ahead,
of me are unfolding sceneries of possibilities awaiting
as I loiter and expect, your card a few words
I beg of you of inspiration but, please hurry my friend
as a line is about to turn into a jam, behind me.
My precious me I received your letter
with affection comprehending qualms.
Do not dwell any longer for your confusion
is unfunded. The nothingness you feel
does not exists all is, perpetually becoming
including us human beings, fragile creatures
uncomprehending the essence of our journey
yet eager to select, a direction giving sense,
of control not of purpose. Though you are
at a crossroad know you are not compelled
to choose, you can have it all by giving up
control, let your spirit lead you where it wills
and bare in mind, to be happy and just all the time.
Treat your likes with kindness and keep smiling,
look forward for what you call “ahead” is only
a matter of perspective. Yours sincerely, me.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 4:43 AM UTC