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Nevermore Apr 2015
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?
To my geisha. Welcome. (Watch your step.)
Wil Wynn Jan 2010
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!
bex Aug 2017
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?
Rewrite
Chandra S Nov 2019
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.
Inspired by the question in a poem by Inner Incognito at https://poetizer.com/poem/555814

WELCOME

Sad you are?
Join the club!
I think you'll find there's plenty of

like headed minds and wandered souls
On the path to pay the toll
But like all paths we're headed down
If stayed the course you'll come around
So pick a seat and tell us friend

How you came to your dead end.

© Inner Incognito, 2019
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
Aiden C Oct 2010
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
©Aiden Crowe
In that sacred instant, the lacerated Marie approaches her and invites her to settle on the table that was also fractured, both of them sit arranging the items that were still intact. Marie calls him Lazarus and he admits it with a gesture, he takes the ointment and places it on the table near the feet where they had left the icon on the table. The innopia of time was accessed in the source that was overflowing with ciphers, which mediate between the anointings of the omega liturgy that arose in a chimeric, which arises from the same temporal support from the ruins of Agios Andreas to Bethany, to its An iconographic extension that gouged the ointments that were overthrown by the gutters on the faces of both, Marie and Lazarus, but also Simón bilocated in Lázaro himself. The embalms and musks spilled everywhere, even reaching the crest of the Estinfalos that dated with the desire to free themselves, since Ayia Andreas rarely tried to trap them in the conferred of María, Marta, and Lazarus, with the triangulation that was content with the balms for the head and the blessed feet of the Lord, when pointing out that he came from his head and that he incarnated the Seventh Heaven, that his feet were already set in the house of Simon the Pharisee and not in the house of the Brothers of Bethany, joining with Mary Madalena as the unified professed of Bethany in their hearts. The anointing inked the sky of Jesus with his head of red blood cells and vapors of Lilies, and the ground crowning Limbo on the third day of Anastasis.

Marie's anointing witnessed the flood of seven soulless beings, who vexed her island in the disciple, who apprehended herself in the affection of the Bethany brothers, anointing her looming and faithful ***** Lazarus, anointing him without measuring or excepting the amounts of incense that They fell from the head of the icon, which spilled it from his hair on both of them who were posthumous minutes of Kairos, containing the bequeath of a fractured poly Christ and completely replaced as a saved icon, as it did with Lazarus of Betania, now Lazarus of Spinalonga. The afternoon was getting dark and the perfumes lost their effect, both of them having to get up from the table, similar to an improvised Matakis, with great similarity to a majestic quadrangular triclinium, for furniture that was made of living flesh to heal them in the interval of the hours. Lazarus lacerations starting on his left leg. Everything was already a post-Betanian conciliation, which foreshadowed guarantees even beyond the ascended soul, with bread, jugs of wine, and swift prayers of cheers, which led them out of the conventual of the island, towards the aggregates of the Estinfalos who called them to crown themselves. over them, anticipating the premonitory and appropriate musks to say goodbye to this Expiring Cenacle between two entities, rising in the bronze elytra with the others to rule their true owners.
Anastasis
Mike Rollain Apr 2016
Perhaps I was too anxious
Or too overly ambitious
To become the amber bedrock
Of her vert ontogeny

And for that---
Well, I'm not sorry

But I do empathize

And I did reluctantly accept
This recurring role of
Achromatized apparition

A character deftly commingled
With the unfocused backdrop of
Her callow vista and your
Chimeric vision

Distanced
Marginalized

Even forgotten

And yet
Still present

A mutation in the code

A defiantly epigenetic zero
In each infinite strain
Of blinking ones
Audio: https://soundcloud.com/mike-rollain/epigenetic
Lendon Partain Dec 2019
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.
Becoming one with your partner till it kills you to death.
Fay Slimm May 2016
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.
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
bulletcookie May 2016
Opaque, this darker dream-
Curls smoke like in thought
migrating to wispy seems
seeping, accumulating aught
no exit, zero visibility, fog rock
rolling past and whether foul
Ideas escape into this chimeric night
hungover precipice looking out to see
Land **!, out on open main's might
till morning winds from tempest seas
sail our vessel clear, reef and rock
rolling in crested white, jet black waves
scrolls this lemniscus day's clock
feeling shivering cloud bank gray
as bell peal tolls a breaker's pull

-cec
M Padin Dec 2016
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.
(c) 2016
Avery Smith May 2019
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
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
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!
Fay Slimm Dec 2016
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
Tiana Lloyd Mar 2018
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.
fatdogz Oct 2020
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.
Written to unwind after a stressful day, thinking about willful ignorance and avoidance, and about how it's about time to grow up and stop doing all that.
Seventeen special K
vanished into thin air
in one fell swoop life savings
fraudulent fiend did clear
yours truly duped
courtesy scammer with consummate flair
rowdies in peanut gallery doth jeer
raucous insult to injury outware
any remaining shred,
where peace of mind concerned
unraveling threads feeling victimized
Harvey Specter's lobbed hand grenades
fractured, exploded, destroyed... psyche
how mean spirited and unfair.

Amidst din in noggin
analogous to tower of Babel
meaningless mysterious cable
enclosed holding key
to deliver remuneration
bringing tears of joy
and Hollywood ending
to torturous surreal fable
decrypted applying
following conversion table
7.15 6.21.14.4 13.5
fiasco from fraudster
(fiendish) frazzles father
would elicit flickering salvation.

I still haint reckoned with reality
and shake me head in disbelief
mourning forsaken legal tender
while yours truly merrily
strolling along information superhighway
unexpected encountering grief
sorely missing nest egg
linkedin with devilish scheme hatched
when computer hacker
impersonating Apple technician
lured me into a virtual net.

He (who spoke
with a clipped English affect)
his trust earned,
though no questions I asked him,
thus never double checked
truthfulness of authenticity
regarding his being credentialed
by Apple Computer Company
only after the fact painfully learning
checking and savings accounts wrecked.

Expertise with fleecing
sheepish folks like me
most likely found him laughing
all the way to the bank
donning poised demeanor ernest and frank
allowed, enabled, and provided
being emboldened, empowered
to pull off heist,
which legerdemain possibly refined
playing many a boyhood prank
pull the wool over my eyes
and extracting legal tender
he slyly, knowingly,
and deftly did yank

key personal information
compromising willpower to remain alive,
whereat suicidal ideation
(via prescription medication overdose)
teases as modus operandi to escape
death by a thousand cuts
unsure how I can weather insolvency,
a bitter battle to survive
and bear witness to monies thrive.
unspokenwords25 Aug 2018
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
multi sumus Mar 2022
Hello everyone!

Multi Sumus here!

Got allot to share with you today
(and yeah there's a poem too, jus' bear with Us)

   We've revamped the Multi Sumus Facebook profile to help you better navigate through all of this cantankerous information.

Okay!    Let's start with the main profile:

   - All links are now located in the intro section.

   There's an Instagram where you can view some of Our photography, Feel free to use them for prompts, backdrops or whatever floats your boat. There's no copyright, Just tag Us in the post, We would Luv to see how they inspired you, We'll be adding more so check back often.

   Just started a Tic Tok profile where you can hear what these convoluted writings are supposed to sound like. (COMING SOON)
   We're working on the the sound quality of the space as well as setting up for video production and such, i'm not that technologically inclined so there's a steep learning curve (hahaha).

There's a link to Our book       - MSVol1 -
  (if you thought what We post on Facebook is mind bending this will surely keep you twisted)

   When you visit a different profile you'll notice they are now color coded

  • Black and White for the main profile
       (that's me personal stuff)
       https://www.facebook.com/multisumusinq/

  • Pink...ish for the - AmareAnnales - collection
       (the ongoing communications to "Her")

• and Orange for the PoetPromotion page where writers can post links to their Facebook pages, their books wherever they're sold or just promoting their work.

                (NO SINGLE POEM POSTS)

  Just submit a post, and every so often (follow the page for notifications) We'll create an ad and promote the page, It's that easy

   • Acid Green for - inTheRabbitHole -
       (Which is now being presented on Amazon Kindle Vella!  Stay tuned for more on this)

And speaking of, upcoming episodes of

                       The Rabbit Hole

               will include interviews with

                            Hello Poetry's

               "Melancholy of Innocence"

                                  AND

              ­­     "Toreinss Pinwinkel III"

There's also the "Slaver" episode ******* up...
           (yeah, its gonna be one of those ;)

So you see there's allot going on around here and We hope you come join Us.

Alright, a poem inspired by...How 'bout writing.

                            - ∀ sumus -

we are loomers...

   From the gossypium fields with hemorrhaging appendages exuding the very essence in dedication to our craft.
   With yarns contorted we weavers of words in warp and ophidian weft bereft of reticence, thus the enshrouding canvas unfurls.

we are mariners...

   Stationed firm before the mast with murderous cascading quills and weathered eyes toward the horizon.
   Sirens assailing thus seized the vessel amidst the vast and ohh what treasures are found within the abyss.

we  are  kraken...

   Indwelling the mirk of gall so as to conceal.

   Bear witness unto our wake for in tremble and awe the heart is found and by fathom the asphyxiate descent doth commence!


we!   are!   gods!

   For it is by our command the titan's spurn unleashed.

  Visceral architects of chimeric wonder composing metamorphose sentiments in the minds and mouths of man.


   And with these inscribed parchment monuments

                      if not only by our own...


                        we are remembered.

#To those tethered to the pen...may your wells never run dry#

   And if you enjoyed this piece and are looking for more jus' tap that little puzzle box in the top left corner...

           "We have such sights to show you"
Chimeric and illusory
My vision a child
Eyes full of wonder
Hope is like light
In the dark of possibility

Begging from fates
Befriended by muses
Lips gone cold early
Strangers sleep in my bed

Seeing behind
Is a trick and no magic
Belief is a construct
Alone in our minds

Demons rage and rotate
From pole to pole to pole
Further destroying the field
Laying me bare to the sun

Where all of my doubts
Become memory's bad dreams
And morning reveals that I'm usually still
Quiet
Alone
battle scarred shocked and weary
after a solid month of them
non-stop noise the cannon carry
cannon carry them
carry until the trenches fill
with brother's blood soak the hill
with death dis-ease and disentery

the hero's task at length is laid
yet insanity instantly draws his pay
in far off looks and broken gaze
it be death alone
death alone that saves
legion eyes focused far away
as millions board the ferry

infinite naivete;
its innocence
the ancient bloodsnake craves
blind as it ingurgitates
its own dark hind yet hesitates
in fleeting dawning awareness bites
infinite in rav'nous appetite
sating only lust and what remains
hell's own night joy's light's bane

for apathy and avarice
it's deception's pillow and its grace
deaths own mask; its hidden face mercurial and at once chimeric
camouflage concealing its concealment a passive weapon
chameleon quite as colorful
and as so quite as perfect

a last murderous salvo comes
dawn a fiery hour too early by one
in it's childishly entitled insistance
as we slough off our own skins
and eat kippers with them
from dented tins
our elegiac last breakfasts

and alas again forgetting everything
of nothing's own self-importance
we burn and die in last morning's light
as the band of gathered idiots bind
a consensual last query to send into the vast distance

we would give in to this abhorrence without resistance?
Mote Mar 19
what’s it like, god asks.

god, who will never know blood. who will never know meat. who will never wake, one day, teething. animalic. mawed

i don’t know, i say.

i’m not honest. chimeric, my body coils around a clutch of eggs. i will test their shells, one by one, with the tip of my most solemn tooth

before i remember what i am.

— The End —