"chimeric" poems
I pulled back the thicket
Brambles and thorns
Bordering my mind
Inch by inch
To let you slip inside
Hi
I hope you don't mind
The pestilent storm of neuroses
The angry winds whipping around
Eroding my cognition
(They all say
I ought to stop overthinking
They don't know the half of it)
Pardon the mess
The litter of apprehensions
Flotsam and jetsam of rumination
Tangles of tangents
Smog of chimeric thoughts
Sticky rambles festering in the corner
Acidic drizzle
Of obstinate wayward tunes
Insecurity and fear
Eating into the pillars and foundations
If you don't mind terribly
The clatter of sleet
The noisome fumes
The skittering vermin
The sheer clutter
That would make packrats shake their heads
If you don't mind
At all
Would you stay?
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
check it out check it out
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
it's da state of this here disunion
this here bangalore torpedo seeks yer minefields
this here suffering hero
n
crows about strafes
multitudes peripherally
****** blind prophets
exclaim
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
it's nothing but beginning
of beginning & z end of approximation
time's sweet angry subluxation
universal caving in on U & U
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
when was z last time U really loved
i mean really really really loved
ha i could only hold to z imagination
z skeleton z allegory z myth
'cause everything slides & falls
screams careens outta control
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
she brought in rrrrevolution.evolution.now
is z caustic effervescence of her wit
eroding my sandy castle of deceit?
ha and repeat ha
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
forgive-me-notes are written high
on z forehead of my despair
a cursive flowing interdiction
malediction cruxifiction err-u-diction
en-passant
in each pyrotechnic moment when we don't see I-to-I
on anything relevant to what we once hoped was us
but we continue dance dance dance
perseveration aberration indiscretion cha-cha-cha
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
she said *** is z engine of z world
like engine like world like ***
like like like
could say no more
oh it's tiresome to go on
describing that chimeric uniting
flesh-to-flesh-in-flesh eliding
we all are guilty of
do not end a line with a preposition such as
that or a proposition such as this:
given angle a prove that old triangle theorem
two simultaneous loves don't make a right
cherchez les angles les anglais la bon mot
ya know
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
when i die please bury me upside down
prone to z ground making dead love to earth ya kno
while the centuries lie down next to me
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic!
chic!
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 3:14 PM UTC
So... What if I flew too close to the sun,
cimbing steadily through the open air
and my feathers all fell off, one by one.
Freedom and a reckless moment of fun
mixed with a child's propensity to err...
I know I will fly too close to the sun.
I left the earth with my song, still unsung,
drifted along, alone, without a care
and my feathers all fell off, one by one.
A chimeric mirage, to which I clung
and I pleaded Fates, my wings to repair.
So what, if I flew too close to the sun.
The journey over, quick as it'd begun.
Shining bright was the sun's terrible glare,
and my feathers all fell off, one by one.
The path once chosen, could not be undone
when caught in simple, Fates' auspicious snare.
So... What if I flew too close to the sun,
and my feathers all fell off, one by one?
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 8:15 PM UTC
You asked:
"How you came to your dead end?"
How did I?
Perhaps too much of chasing butterflies,
or maybe running barefoot in hot, avid pursuit
of those looping, berserk kites
adrift like airborne serpents
in delirious evening skies.
Then there were those chimeric rainbows -
sedately fantastic illusions of dream jobs,
and loving homes with ambrosial glows.
They all eventually led to the same prosaic end,
for, any-which-way, all roads wound up
at appropriately conventional
and consequently beaten bend.
Till the chase went on, it was the same old story -
All fulfilled ambition promptly subject to
increasingly falling marginal utility.
After all of it was said and done,
every little crown lost and won,
the agony of the question still remained
no last words arose,
to which to exclaim and say Yay!
Life had me in its hook. See:?
while this is what it meant to be free: !
✽
Fossilized in my den, I stared wistfully
at life's irrevocable loose ends
and this is how my friend
I arrived at my proverbial dead ends.
Nov 27, 2019
Nov 27, 2019 at 5:59 PM UTC
the beginning was a serrated dawn
past and imaginations folded
like the creased edges of a paper fan
raindrops were not calculated trajectories
I had once forced upon myself
but a distant memory
unbeknownst to those who never look past
the tide of their vision
impressions pressed into our days
duties followed; marching to the beat of predecessors
yet the tide rolls in
forevermore relinquishing celestial pull
twilight falls with grievances long overdue
the water births it's friction
straying from wind's course
the end was a planate dusk
chimeric chances and futures rejoiced
like the musical notes of the breeze
the paper fan now blew
Oct 19, 2010
Oct 19, 2010 at 4:17 PM UTC
i have a cut on the bottom of my foot
how, i don’t know
when, i don’t know
it merely appeared one morning
i was drowning in cold sweat
i was choking in all that sunshine
and in my transparent
chimeric dream state
birds’ song and memory
became intertwined
i think i lit a fire the night before
i think i found a begging hand
and slammed it in the door
i think i still was guilty
and ridden with malaise
i think i hung my coat in smoke
beside my crafted blaze
to cover up the stench
of my last few days
so i awoke
with this cut, as i said
barely stitched together
by eager hands of fibroblasts
coagulation had amassed
futility in its efforts
for on discovering this cut
and the soreness that enveloped it
i crushed the meat
between my fingers
until the milk of infection
and blood of my veins
flooded in release of pain
broke the binding scabbing chain
and the fleshy chasm still remained
that day i spent repenting
or correcting, i should say
for as the morning trudged along
i found the casualties of my ways:
an opportunity slaughtered
that a coward wouldn’t save
a friend beneath a boulder
in the belly of a cave
and a innocent life
in that drowsy night
found my tires
as its grave
but with all the mistakes i’m sure i’ve made
with all the morals my moves degrade
with all the arrogance i parade
and all the faces of my charade
i know a hole of regret
where my heart should be put
yet i only wish i was not beset
by this cut upon my foot
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 10:11 PM UTC
The Farside's Face.
The wish of a painter or poet is to transport
the spirit's deep emotion by pausing
in awe at day or night's high-vaulted scene,
transposing its beauty to dreams,
then viewing grass as more than green.
An alchemist with no interest in gold
invests time between folds,
finds in the sky thermals on which
to soar on fancy or some surreal whim
to make jasper of sea, jade of dawn
and perceive gems hidden in flora's form.
A seer catches the farside's face
and traces that world in sentence or paint,
chimeric in nature an artist
whose eye encounters rock gives it heart,
transforms by description
accepted mundane into mystic meaning,
adds soft to feather, colour to blur
and improves the initial by seeing further.
It is said that fine art opens doors
to show the extraordinary as but normal,
for the good poet or painter
ranks as foremost importance a felt magic
when met with empty paper or canvas.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
The sun casts long shadows upon the lawn
As a man races for that distant point—
a heedless body of effulgent brawn,
brighter still than the gleaming stars at dawn.
In him the earth and heavens are joint,
like a chimeric animal, a faun.
But only insofar as he is free
from the accursed gleist and its petty plea.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC
it is very dread
when the chairs, chimeric,
sun an afternoon.
eclectic cats also
partake, but
as they sun;
their dread looks
upon the chairs
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 4:37 PM UTC
I heard you whisper pulse into placidity
lay words into the earth
river to rhapsody
drum devilline deception
summon veiled depravity
I’ve no shame in temptation
only in myself
Chimeric savaged soul
captive silken suffering
rabid nirvana
flood my bloodied conscience
with rosebud delirium
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 12:11 AM UTC
When the Flamingos return home
with their pink flourish flaring up the horizon,
my shadow grows taller, stranger.
At an untidy pace, it grows,
swifter than my feet,
outsmarting my sanity.
With contours blurred to a hazy oblivion,
a stranger to me I become. I search me
hiding in the shadow of a Chimeric illusion.
My impish shadow plays hide and seek -
long in the morning,
weeny at noon,
weird again in the evening, but
never it leaves me!
When Flamingos return home,
it cruises with the setting sun
across the mystical waters
beneath the earth
to return to me
with the blissful colours
of a new dawn!
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 4:02 AM UTC
I Entrusted you
With My Being, My Essence, My Life.
Displayed my Chimeric Tormented Spirit—
Bared my Skin and Shed my Soul
I showed you the depths of my Hurt—
An endless Chasm—
Suffocating Wretchedness,
Spoke to you of True Pain—
Endless torture; boundless ruptures
Tumultuous Lightning Storms
Within My Chest,
Of Sorrow Simultaneous—
Drowining in Tears
Too Bold to Shed.
You viewed my sacred landscape
Riddled with War
Ravaged by the Merciless
***** by those who plant
Seeds of Birth...
And still Brought only
Death.
My Blackened Heart further Decaying...
In your Hands—
A Testament to My Desolation
My Wrath.
You Squeezed—
Forgetting you weren’t the First—
To
Attempt
My
Annihilation.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 2:11 AM UTC
The wish of a painter or poet is to transport
spirit's emotion
by stopping in awe at night's
vaulted scene
and viewing grassland as more than green.
An alchemist with no interest in gold
takes up better investment,
finds a thermal to soar on fancy or some
updraught for imagination
to make jasper of sea, jade of dawn
and perceive jewels hiding in shape or form.
A seer catches the farside's face
and traces that world in sentence or paint,
chimeric in nature an artist
whose eye encounters rock gives it heart,
transforms by description the seen
as mundane to have mystic meaning,
adds soft to feather, colour to blur
and improves initial by depicting further.
It is said that fine art opens doors
to show extraordinary as but quite normal
for good poet or painter
ranks magic as foremost importance when
met with blank canvas
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 5:28 PM UTC
I had Your
Hand
But
You're eyes can't see me
The locket
I never got to give you
Would have held
Our Secrets
Had i got the time
Time Fell off,
the Veneer of our love
the body
Of our Chimera
Teeth, Fallout,
We cant share these,
the body of our Chimera
A Siamese foot out of the casket
the dependence of mind
the body of our Chimera
I lay on,
Top of you
coddling our parts pressed
together
trying, Melt in you
or just fall out into you
mixing waxes from two evils
our sick busted brains
The body dead
of our Chimera.
I hold our throat together, so it falls not apart, no words can come out, trapped, in the forest of ivory monoliths and the strongest miscarriages, and you pull back the hammer, we fall to the black.
OUR MONSTER HAS DIED.
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 10:18 PM UTC
Last Winter,
the coldest place to be
was perched upon that balcony,
testing the frigid air.
You could find me overlooking there.
Watching my breath linger, then fade,
the figures of people walking away.
Expanding with strides unbroken,
their anachronistic spots of motion.
Fervent still-lives swapping each second,
flashing, their haystack destinies beckon.
Each step they continue, each foot they shrink,
"tiny infinities" I like to think.
Again, my old listless demon calls,
and the day's porcelain sky begins its fall.
A thin coat, a chimeric chair,
you could find me overlooking there.
With hands loafing, catching snow,
I'm pretending I'm not below.
Oct 27, 2020
Oct 27, 2020 at 2:37 PM UTC
Dried ink, cursive words
chalk a picture vibrant
Maybe fighting upon a dragon mighty
or roaming a wildflower meadow
with dainty pixies
A world of violet eyes
And chimeric scripture
Better still, Adoration
sweet blushes
warm blanketed hugs
or maybe passionate anguish
sharp strokes of pain
a bitter cup of salty tears
awe of the sights
castles in bubbles
riding on floating droplets
Really, anything u can conjure
like a magician with his tricks
The sheer power of faded ink
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC