"chronos" poems
The holidays are upon us
Time for family and fun
Some families put the fun in dysfunctional
But if yours is not one
Take comfort in this jewel
If your family put the FU in dysfunctional
You're no different from Gods that rule
Chronos, Zeus, and Aries
Make you brother, uncle, and mother
Look like happy fairies
Dysfunctional also spells love
If you drop the dysfunctiona
And add the OVE
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
Midnight approaches
Tick tick tock
Won't someone stop
The Doomsday Clock
From striking oil
Drilling rock
Thirsting soil
Aftershock
Deserted hourglass of sand
Shifts to resource hungry hand
Tyrants of time assume command
Greed consumes
This wasted land
First come the roaches
Tick tick tock
The bugs can't stop
The Doomsday Clock
With beehive brains
No voice to talk
And droning minds
Comprise the flock
As lone wolves feast
On sheep they stalk
Then fear encroaches
Tick tick tock
Too scared to stop
The Doomsday Clock
As violence claims
Each city block
Blood drawn on streets
Like sidewalk chalk
When Hatred's loaded
Gun is cocked
Beyond reproaches
Tick tick tock
How could they stop
The Doomsday Clock
When despots trade
In human stock
Waging war
Upon this rock
As profits slaughter
More livestock
The end approaches
Tick tick tock
No hope to stop
The Doomsday Clock
As poisoned skies
Corrode this rock
With toxic lies
Controlling hourglass of sand
Clenched by Atlas choking hand
Titans of industry command
Still Chronos rules
This dying land
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
the tessellated tile floor of my existence,
once alabaster white
has sullied under the steps
of a muddied life
spent wading in the river bank
attempting to coalesce
a series of seemingly random events
into a fabricated web
spun of the finest thread.
only to find the ephemeral now
a fractious flowing river
so violent and cold
from the melting spring snow,
whitewater breaks
against primordial stone
like titan thunder atop olympus,
rattling our bones
because legends follow entropy
but chronos begets chaos in mythology.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
This empty ***** bottle,
has been cuddled and swaddled and squandered.
In my ***** it seeps to every dame between,
a dad and not knowing her own preponderance.
I **** I **** by the ****** of my hilt,
of the sword of unrighteous, self help,
and filling their wombs with guilt.
I've never helped anyone all of my life.
Though they would tell you different mistruths,
of their positional view, so skewed by proof,
undo, that I sent them through.
It's a fun house of lies and mirrors shaping figures,
of veneers, so botched that plastic surgeon quacks wouldn't own up to
the scars.
I ferment peoples living.
I turn drunk ****** into angels.
I mask charlatan as queens,
and poison my own gut with the fakes in my head.
Crops die.
Crust subdues verdance.
Chronos rhymes the days and night.
Course subjugation to penance.
But now I seethe my own head into my throat,
and end in ink wrote as prose.
Killing beauty. Art.
**** Art.
Today is.
Death.
Tomorrow's not life,
nor living,
breathing nor breath,
oxygen's just a molecule,
it causes no spark,
except in molecules charged,
with dividing and subdividing,
and rejoining and conjoining into something that can use it.
happy flights :)
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
THE woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;
Yet still she turns her restless head:
But O, sick children of the world,
Of all the many changing things
In dreary dancing past us whirled,
To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,
Words alone are certain good.
Where are now the warring kings,
Word be-mockers? -- By the Rood,
Where are now the watring kings?
An idle word is now their glory,
By the stammering schoolboy said,
Reading some entangled story:
The kings of the old time are dead;
The wandering earth herself may be
Only a sudden flaming word,
In clanging space a moment heard,
Troubling the endless reverie.
Then nowise worship dusty deeds,
Nor seek, for this is also sooth,
To hunger fiercely after truth,
Lest all thy toiling only breeds
New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth
Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then,
No learning from the starry men,
Who follow with the optic glass
The whirling ways of stars that pass --
Seek, then, for this is also sooth,
No word of theirs -- the cold star-bane
Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain,
And dead is all their human truth.
Go gather by the humming sea
Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell.
And to its lips thy story tell,
And they thy comforters will be.
Rewording in melodious guile
Thy fretful words a little while,
Till they shall singing fade in ruth
And die a pearly brotherhood;
For words alone are certain good:
Sing, then, for this is also sooth.
I must be gone: there is a grave
Where daffodil and lily wave,
And I would please the hapless faun,
Buried under the sleepy ground,
With mirthful songs before the dawn.
His shouting days with mirth were crowned;
And still I dream he treads the lawn,
Walking ghostly in the dew,
Pierced by my glad singing through,
My songs of old earth's dreamy youth:
But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou!
For fair are poppies on the brow:
Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.
2.1k
~I remember...
~For my two sisters
Future lovers
Are not knocking on my doors,
No line ups
Around the corner
Of my house;
The ladder to my window
Lies injured
On yellow
Lawn
Not nurtured,
Down bellow.
On the Queen Anne arm chair
Ashes of my
Fabulous years,
Wireless affairs,
No strings
Unattached
To my violin.
Sketches in the ****
Of lovers past
Are shivering,
Longing for my tapestries,
Trying, in vain, to hide
Under sad sepia.
Portraits, I promised
To paint
To Dorian Gray.
May still age
Given just a little
More time.
On the stage
I, Manon Lescaut, die,
Only sixteen -
Poor Knight De Grieux
Just another year,
please,
That I have not for sale
Anymore.
Pastels and aquarelles
Turned monochrome;
Chronos
Doesn't stop here
For a single moment -
Walks all over.
In the middle of my chaos
23/7
(What's an hour glass
Or more?),
Sleeps
Master Behemoth.
His fur coat
Once luxurious black
Has specks of grey,
One white whisker;
So are three of my hair.
Wise
Sybilla?
I don't think so.
It's not what
It used to be, my Master
Let's go out
To the open
Let's breathe,
Let's see new cats.
On the chopping block,
Let's lose our heads
Let's get lost.
Let's elope together
The weather
Should be
Just rainy-fine
For the Requiem,
For the funeral.
Tree Sisters gone
To the Cherry Orchard,
Uncle Vanya, again,
Left alone on the estate.
Seagull, before rain
Flies over my head
For the last time.
Author Notes
Two of my sisters are gone already.
Anton Pavlovich Chekhov's plays:
Three Sisters
Cherry Orchard
Uncle Vanya
Seagull
...To name just a few. Manon Lescaut by Abbe Prevost, two operas as well, one by Puccini, one by Esprit Auber. "A woman like Manon can have more than one lover." The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 2:07 PM UTC
God-King of the Heavens;
usurper of the throne of Saturn-
his Father,
the Titan-God of Time and Agriculture.
Saturn:
the personification of Time.
Also known as Chronos; Odin.
But, back to Jove-
that is to say, Jupiter:
archetype for Masculinity.
To some, the true Patriarch.
He's said to have once called himself YHWH,
but some know him as Yahweh, Jehovah, or Allah.
Others swear he goes by Zeus or Ammon,
and yet others, by Thor.
Or, perhaps
that name brings to mind
the largest planet in our Solar System.
The fifth from the Sun,
and largest by mass and volume:
Jupiter alone has 2.5 times the mass
of all the other planets combined.
It has a diameter of roughly 11 times that of Earth,
or about a 1/10th of that of the Sun.
I venture to say
that the Scientific and Mythological namesakes
both tend to have a similar temperament
and gravity
for they who are caught
within his sphere of influence.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
"Lost in time, and lost in space, and meaning."
In the deepest damp trenches,
frigid air freezing jaded breath,
in clouds of caricature.
Where the lines blur
between mind palaces
and the lonely depths of outer space.
Where the wolf longs for forbidden paramour--
the moon.
Dented and worn,
battered, weak force,
caressing sweet dewdrops
that sear fevered flesh.
In these pits
Chronos sleeps,
light bends and refracts.
Whispers dance on bleeding tongues--
What is life to the leaves and grass?
Have the birds no concept
of solitude of the mind?
Not even Helios at his sharpest
could blanket the edges and hone warming craft,
to slip behind barred doors.
How frail one must be,
to seek the hollows of the earth--
to bow down to Erebus, to kiss his feet.
Lost in meaning,
and fumbling clarity.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
Her chariot
glimmering off
feint blue dust.
Lighting up
dwarfish torches
in the night sky.
Selene rests above
in her crescendo;
shrouded by
a gentle
spectral shawl.
She watches me,
as my weary back
relaxes on
a lonesome headstone.
They keep me company.
Selene,
a silver flask,
and my revolver.
"What could I have done
to change this fate?"
Selene remained quiet,
and stared back at me.
"What is life's essence?"
In which, still,
she replied
with silence.
The bitter
winter zephyr
rustles against
my flowing locks.
She smiles at me.
She's beaming.
She basks me
with her radiant presence.
"How did you get up there?"
Her eyebrows
arched at me.
"How did you folks
become haughty
and powerful?"
In which, still,
she replied
with silence.
The gentle winds
turns into
a roaring behemoth.
Vehemently howling
amidst pine trees
which surrounds me.
I took the last sip
of bourbon
from the ol' tin.
"How could man
swim against
Chronos' current?
How could man
muster strength
against the Fates?"
For the nth time,
she replied
with silence.
The frigid muzzle
nips my forehead.
Sweat trickles
down my temples.
I could hear
my own heart
drumming.
My hands
are shaking---
almost vibrating.
My breath
releases
sullen spirits
from this
broken vessel.
Before I closed my eyes,
Selene gleamed at me,
before hiding behind
her faint shroud.
I bowed down,
said my final prayers,
and concentrated
on my friend's
farewell kiss.
"So, long, Selene.
When, I, wake, up,
I, wish, I, would,
reek, of, sunflowers."
---
---
---.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 12:13 AM UTC
I am the wind of thought
that flows through time.
I am Homer and Achilles
Sophocles, Shakespeare
Verdi, Ibsen, and Williams.
I flow through the generations,
following imagination,
leaving dark Chaos to rule the past.
I am Zeus and Hera,
And deeper, Mnemosyne
Ananke
and
Chronos.
I flitter it seems as I pass
from moment to moment,
memory to memory,
soul to soul.
I am
Cleopatra, Jenny Lind, and Jolie
teasing, singing and dancing
to the delight of the Muses
I am Jesus and Buddha
Epicurus, Epictetus
Even Chinese too.
I am Descartes and Newton
Einstein and Plank
Math and logic
Love and hate.
I am God.
I am the wind of thought that flows through our minds.
I am the wind of thought that flows through our time.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
Forcibly removing wisps from fruit soaked heads.
Curling into melted breakfast.
Willing to line the lateral.
Cracked soup pouring, selfish.
Grinding halt in whole old text.
Pre-youth in use lost in chronos.
Trigger a lament looped put new, lude.
Masses of self-titled separation.
Entangled in sandstone, origin archaic.
Natural disaster of a birth-right in shards.
Trees growing limbs in lungs producing rust.
Forever dystopian dust in rungs of a ladder.
First hurt by ascending sequential first love.
Content with enough abrupt living daylights.
Apex green latex sunrise painting me from inside my blood.
Obtuse.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
Vermilion teardrops:
falling in waves like
anguished petticoats
rustling down the year's
corridor into winter;
the palace gates are bare
arms, living kindling
unscarred in pools of fire -
with Chronos' breath to set
the mood,
glowing in every torch
the charred remains of
a living kingdom
fall to ash.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 8:48 AM UTC
Everlasting
sentinel of forever
keeper of time
lie with me
in the forest sometime
let the droplets
of memory
**** the nerves
of my consciousness
along with the many
summer songs and
midnight rains therein
everlasting
lover of infinity
timeless and prime
sigh with me
in a melodic mime
dampen my senses
denude my mind
free me from
the utopian paradise
of realistic sham
everlasting
master of moments
endless and divine
eternal
immortal
celestial
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 12:23 AM UTC
We were on the phone when you said it,
the proverbial observation that time
speeds up and slows down depending on the activity.
It is believed that summer vacations go by
in the millisecond it takes to blink.
By that measure then seasons could change
in the months spent at a dentist’s office,
if a baby is born in the morning
his parents will find him middle aged by the six o’clock news,
and you will surely go gray in the centuries
it takes to file your taxes.
It was then that I remembered the way you looked
last night, your very own contradiction.
You lay there defying the familiar axiom,
a little god on a downy throne,
the sun awaiting the command perched
vigilantly on your softly parted lips.
With each breath clocks fell motionless around us,
hourglass sands poured out singularly
like the carefully rationed drops of a leaky faucet.
I watched as you slept there, entire eons passing
with each rise of your chest, small forevers in each fall.
In that moment there was no history,
no sound beyond the simple sighs that escaped you,
each an iron cable fastening me tighter
to you in this seamless moment, no light
except the dimming flicker of the last stars in existence.
I watched time not tick, but slide
and curve over the gentle dip of your elbow,
sit cross-legged sipping tea around
the perimeter of your navel, play cards
on the smooth musculature of your sturdy calf.
It is this image of you that now pulls me
from my newspaper crossword, makes me
rest my spoon back down in my half-eaten cereal,
and has me relive each brief infinity
before finishing my orange juice.
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 4:32 PM UTC
They come to the Garden
One by one.
With a gentle lion by my side, and a
Brilliantly colored peacock strutting
Close behind me
I meet them each night beneath
The beaming smile of sister moon.
I shake the stardust from my hair;
I am the creature that absorbs all light;
I greet them as a man, though I might easily
Descend from the currents, gently coming
Down, a creature on the wing.
They come to me mute, tongues silenced,
And I see the desperation in their eyes.
They come to me because they have
No words.
Far below the surface of this world, at
Its hollow core, Chronos keeps watch
on his giant clock.
He strokes his long white beard, and
Sips the steaming contents from his
Jewel- bedecked goblet, the clock resounding
with every tick and tock and the inhabitants
Of this lost city let it rule them with its
Rigid demands.
The clock tells them when it is time
Time to sleep and when it is time to rise.
It tells them when to eat and when to make love.
It even tells them when it is time to die.
And should one try to break free of the bond
And the weight that keeps them enslaved
Their heartbeat, loudly beating its own time,
Would be silenced by the others who fear
Its heresy might lend itself to chaos and
Threaten their order; or incite the old god's
Wrath.
In all that dark and stifling world there
Is only one place outside of Chronos' reach.
It is my realm; a place untouched by solid
Things, existing only in a thought, a wish,
Or a dream.
It is a Garden where we, the First dwelt,
Naked and innocent before death appeared
To stake its claim.
And I, a descendent of that primordial couple,
Am a creature of infinite faces and unknowable
Names; and each night they come to see me,
Bringing Gifts, simple things made by grateful
And earnest hands.
In return I give them a word, a word never
Known to any in their world.
This word comes to them like a whisper, and
Grows in their minds like the fruit of
A Timeless Tree.
I am the one that pulls words out of that dark
Place; I am full of words, the last of my kind,
A race that had made our Kingdom out
Among the far stars.
My kind were the keeper of words and in our
Minds were kept the history of worlds
Both ancient and new.
The lion purrs, yawns and stretches. And
The peacock spreads its plumage like
A dark and shining rainbow.
And I bestow on them the Gift.
Words.
So filled with power.
Of magic.
Coming up and out
Of the Mystery.
Naming things.
Rooted in the
Glowing mists of dream.
Priceless, a great and shining
Gift: words.
Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 9:05 AM UTC
i look up from my porcelain throne
in the fifth point cafe 42 minutes before the am’s fifth point
crown all whimsy-eyed and thrown
and see "the end is near"
so i think to myself
“me oh my oh golly geez
whatever
will i do in sight of these”
the ends
of the tp roll, that is
i look up from my pew
and there’s too much **** on the ceiling for one sheet
i stammer
then i realize, that’s not a ceiling,
that’s the sky
and that isn’t ****
those are scars
scatting stars
scattering
i stammer, “fuck-it”
what am i worried about, one last sheet
those chronos blast-holes
they’ll wipe themselves out
heat death infinity splitters and all that such sigh-fanciful nonsense
and so cheers, to life
the ends
to that which must overcome itself
to the earth, "good night-boons"
to the sky, "good night, moon"
i blink once more and
“sea-ya, night-time crouch-joys“
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
Crushed by the perplexity of Chronos transparent
Awakened to destiny Ananke, forever adherent
the Titans birthed the Gods without peripheral vision
who against the odds, would free the cycle from its own attrition
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
Maybe it is the wrong time
for us
or maybe
It's the right time for the wrong people
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
Somethings are well worth the wait
Each passing second
Each tick
Each tock
is a sour note sung
from the face of the clock
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 7:17 PM UTC
I don't have any photos of when I was young
because they look like Chronos holding a gun
I just need slow-mo or time totally undone
or maybe I just need to hold onto someone
because I can't hold on to the before
after bombing all my bridges with C4
so now I walk on the sea floor
wishing I could see more
but all I see is myself as an aquatic gorilla
after spending too much time with Poseidon
precariously between Charybdis and Scylla
as pictures make me look more like Joe Biden
while I feel like I'm the one with the trident
but I'm just Janus' migrant
and that guy is a tyrant
because no matter which way he's facing
he can always find someone to replace me.
So I don't ever take pictures
because they give time a fixture
from which to taunt me like a trickster
showing me the different colors in the mixture
like a lowkey Loki
giving me the okie-dokie
luring me into moseying moping
leisurely leading to rope-a-doping
a mirror-morphed bizarro-me dope fiend
wanting to stay in a Kumbhakarna dope dream.
Time is a sausage link
clogging the gothic sink
of a drain we all would think
seems as fast as goblin's wink
so I try to focus on the myopic pink
but always end up finding reasons to drink
the ambrosia of a nova from Krakatoa
the ebbs and flows come and go with intensity
brought by the power of Jehovah
as well as two cameras with which I can see.
Aug 20, 2023
Aug 20, 2023 at 9:52 PM UTC
Time is the hourglass, the day and the night.
Time is the infinite, the dark & the light
Time is existence you cannot reverse
Time is precious what could be worse
Time is the constant, the here, and the now.
Time is The past, the present, the future endow
Time is the Clocks on the wall
Tic tock tic tock
Time is The old man who knows it all
Time is the Zodiac like the Yin and the yang
Time is the space where the travelers hang
Time is the 24 hours in a day
Time is the history that won't go away
Time is short, time is long
time is right Time is wrong
Time goes quick time goes slow
Time can stop time can go
Time is the essence that waits for no man
Time is the Greenwich and the meridian
Time is the second the minute the hour.
Time is the gong in the bell tower
Time is the Chronos the god with the scythe
Time is the woman who gave birth to life
Time is here there and everywhere
The End
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 6:45 PM UTC
A Poem-tribute to Star Wars.
"Those manipulating the takeover of Humanity will fail."
Catherine Austin Fitts
Forcefully
Recklessly
You’re spreading your tentacles
into galactic territories
Like a stubborn octopus falsely
Believing owning the whole sea
You spur chaos and personify chaos
To shrink the celestial Chronos
To usurp the balance of the equilibrium
But arising from the ashes of chaos
To look at you straight in the eyes
Standing flat-footed on the Eternal Light
Dusting off the false paradigm
Of life and death
The real heroes of humankind
Here they come
The rebels
The revolutionaries
The true believers
The freedom fighters
The peacebuilders
The radical thinkers
The justice warriors
The non-conformists
The non-conventionals
The Most High God worshipers.
Here they come
You enrobe yourself
With the magnificence of your pride
Skillfully branding us as the enemy
But what we see
Between the heavenly opaque veil
It’s the fall of attraction.
Your arrogance
And your self-aggrandizement
Against the Truth
Are color-coded keys to your downfall.
Here they come
Watch what happens
You didn’t see it coming.
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 9:16 AM UTC