"crystalised" poems
*Be I worthy
To hold my head above the clouds in your eyes
In a sky blue horizon
She sips nectar with the
Hummingbird queen
In moments of gentle surrender
But still I ask
Am I worthy
To watch upon thee
In these moments so sublimely tender
Spiraling tears of court room jesters
To old to perform
To young to die
Be I worthy
To hold the jewels which bind thee
To the ground
With which you freely walk
See her watching the waves
Which beckon her fate
Sweet necter of a dawn so new
Crystalised in the breathe of angels
Breath upon my cheek before I fall
Sweet mother of life itself
I be worthy
I have never been so sure*
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
The human being is an inherently contentious creature.
Seven billion rock-wall eyes;
Eyes staring belligerently down seven billion sharp noses;
Noses affixed to seven billion faces;
Faces covered in creases and scars,
Framed in unruly hair
And outlined in stark exactness
By the flames cowering in bipedal shadows.
Into the human heart is chiseled "inexorable".
We are an incongruence:
We row up the rapids,
Scale the waterfall
And taunt the oily heavens from atop Devil's Tower.
We will always get what we want,
Whether it involves killing the albatross
Or playing Gondorff's chess.
Whether we wrest it from Gaia's grasp
Or that of our more miserly peers.
Robert C. crystalised our resolve.
The riot gear-clad Blue and Green with timers in their throats
Stand abreast.
Chanting "Listen to Mother. Mother knows best.",
They begin the forward press.
When an impish grenade leaps our way,
We fling it back between mouthfuls of chips.
The barricades erected
By Mother and ourselves alike
Are many and implacable and incessant,
But they will be broken and overtaken.
They will be broken and overtaken by us,
The humans,
Because we are.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
Darling,
our truth that we inhabit under
its crystalised sky is
masochistic
undenying, tameless
thriling
Shattering above us.
Don't
be afraid
of the eyes that
stare at us
through fields
- flowers of cruelty
For tonight,
I will take your
mind
tongue
flesh
all.
you
are an octave without lines
Synchronicity
A treble-clef tattooed upon the skin of my
heart
Notes like bloodcells in my veins
I can never play you.
lie
yourself inside
and breathe inside
what I am
what I will become
neverending
&n
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 7:16 AM UTC
An angel cloaked in black.
A crystalised sinner.
But I watch over a pure being.
Someone who can't be dirtied.
Not by filth or other humans.
A completely clean entity.
I wish for revenge against God.
The cruel God who abandoned me.
Who reinforced rules.
That only help him in the end.
So I combine my filthy soul.
With a clean vessel.
Me and the purity.
We become one.
A sinner cloaked in black.
A venomous angel.
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 7:47 AM UTC
If you could encapsulate a precise feeling
Enlarge it, breath it in, hold it for a little
Longer....wrap you arms around it.....
what would it be....?
Would it be a crystalised memory?
a
Photograph worn at the edges from long ago
Held touches pristinely varnished?
a
Song captured mid verse? whose notes bear witness
Forever black stalks glooped in circular feet
Would it be....
a
Atmospheric winged horizon, caught out as a bubble
Links the past
Yet here, what would be the exact nature of your
bubbliography?
a
Winged bird, a pleasure dome, soft far off yonderings of
a
Soul searcher locating peace everlasting
But...what peace?....dare I ask you...would you give up for another
Handing you choice, choose one to......
hold with memories
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
This little Christmas Fairy
woke by the light of the silvery moon
when the crystalised cobwebs
started to defrost.
When the snail's trail thawed
on the snowy post.
When the spider's legs snapped free
of the lacy doiley hanging
She brushed her tiny teeth
with a thistle head
using minty sap from the spearmint
her face was washed with a damp petal
carefully cleaning her cheeks
and polishing her nose.
Her hair was raked with a holly leaf
and windswept when the wind blows.
Her dress was a clover head
plonked on her hair
and Santa approved.
He was in rather a jolly mood
he needed help of course
with boarding the sleigh
being a bit stuffed with mince pies
and the odd glass of stout.
well say odd meaning several.
He beckoned the Fairy to assist
he remembered his list
of toys for the girls
and the boys
and the parents
and himself.
A clank by his feet reminded him
to give the deers their boost
an old ginger biscuit did the trick
Dancer was in fact sick
of the very idea.
He rather fancied cheese
to fill his tum
Rudoph preferred sherry
the more he drank the more merry
he did not know why
he did try
once leaving it off
but he developed a cough
so went back on it
the sleigh reversed
slamming into the gear called first
it sped off into the milky way
for half the **** day
it got to its drop
with an abrupt stop
a scream and a shout
the toys popped out
and off they went again
speeding down a lane
no speed no gain
led by a reindeer that was scary
a Santa and a Christmas Fairy.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 3:03 AM UTC
Maybe thinking about it too much
made it real.
Perhaps suspicion is the creator
and uncertainty the maker.
To quote a well-worn platitude:
this is not my fault.
Or is it?
In some small part
fears crystalised, realised
just by being thought.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
A turned head to hide from your eyes,
the mistakes I am about to make.
Our inability to avoid the hurt
that drags it's way closer
with the inevitability
of rising suns
and incoming tides
is a mere demonstration
of our humanity.
And yet our very hope
defines us as human.
The positivity despite the tearing pain
that darkens to vulnerability
deepening chasms in our self esteem,
leaving us unable
to connect on any level
until we are hollowed out,
a mere vessel
of crystalised deceit
and lies,
a sharp statue of cynicism .
And then another one comes along.
And we shatter.
And the circus starts again
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
This is a story of a girl, lonely since the day the dust was given life. How deathly afraid she was to return to that dust. How deathly afraid she was to tell her family that she felt alone, even in their arms. How could she tell them she had no friends?
Those people she wished she knew, those people who she wished would just remember her name. Those people that really shouldn't have mattered at all.
*Without
realizing*,
*she
buried
herself*
deeper,
and
deeper.
Every last breath of her soul snuffed out, crystalised personalities, smiles, laughs, humanity, blanketed by false securities given by every friend she had.
Including me.
Do you still want someone to say goodnight to you? To talk to you everyday, dream of you, give you their all, to climb in that hole of yours after you.
After you realize you aren't who they think you are and attempt to claw out of your hole? Leaving them alone.
If so, the night will come, and they will return as dust upon your shoulder.
A final goodnight, a last blanket with a whisper of your name, and an
I love you. Still.
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 4:27 AM UTC