"cyclopean" poems
In blood, a precious cake dancing
aflame in whirlpool of
cyclopean darkness.
The triggers of sanguinary
guns are tumbling down tears,
sorrow and grief in gush on
the cliff of darkness.
The moon, a crimson cake of
venom toasting blind sun in
gory rays as stars twinkling
blood at dawn.
The orphan profusely wailing
for peace in her own bizarre
carnage in bazaar of iniquity
and rivers of blood.
Let the world stop this blood
Lest this blood stops the world!
©2018 KAYODE STEVE ADARAMOYE
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 4:55 AM UTC
Through the fields of stars and through the black forest,
And always West, trailing behind them a glowing disk,
With their frizzy coats and gnarling smiles; the heroes try to **** them with meteors.
Scattered shards of stone-fire bits, and the ashen paw prints evading it,
…and the horse shines upon Lykaon’s grave.
Howling are the wolves of Phanes, their number growling with the rains.
And matching windy howling screams, with hoots and hollers inbetween…
The great horns point at the wolven den, from which Fenrir’s gaze sees all man’s sin.
And the flames of Cerberus lick the hori-zon;
…as he descends into Hell’s cave,
And the Drakon hungry for lycanthropes, he hunts the plains of Hades;
But the cunning beasts avoid him while calling out to the moon, over their master’s grave.
Calling out over Lykaon’s grave,
Cyclopean-cotton collects, a smoking pillar covering guide. Obscuring the light and now they are vexed, as the Lykos struck down, they have died.
And their flesh is what the Drakon does crave, as they are devoured on the stones of Lykaon’s grave,
…at that place known as Lykaon’s grave,
Struck down with asters
and gobbled-up,
over Lykaon’s grave.
Wyrd-wolven stars at night
…over Lykaon’s grave,
A werewolf at,
The entrance,
To the cave,
And that King,
…who stands before Lykaon’s grave.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
Spearmint altoids and espresso
doubleshot headphones
hardly used Palm(seems not 1 for organization)
Empty jewel cases strewn over
the pine expanse3 monitors burn, an insistent
cyclopean glare w/the accompanying mice
notebooks' aged paper curled
'round circuit board controller cards
and holographic stickers open
hard drive aluminum platter white
cordless phone 2.4 GHz
floppy discs USB
milk glass opalescent bag
industrial lasagna fork canted sideways
tomes beckon
Cybershock
Snowcrash palpitations
PANIC! k_trap trap type 0x000000E flickers
attempting to dump 32 years
physical memory
Failed!
User I/O = NULL
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 5:13 PM UTC
On hitting the abyss, I stumble on gold
of inestimable diamond-emerald.
Tell them not, if at all you know the secret of my treasure in the treasure.
I know I have amazing fortune of
priceless cyclopean value to
mesmerize many generations into lulabies of the unknown.
I know only the deep calls to the deep!
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
Scarecrow shuffles
through cyclopean tunnels ceaselessly
searching for someone
to reap
His scythe a sharp scimitar
slices through the air
like a serpents tongue scenting
for the death pheromone
Slowly someone stumbles
in a drunken stupor
a listing ship
heading to its berth
Black Cat crosses your path
unnoticed in the ***** fog
Marked now
it is certain
Scarecrow will surely come for you
poor drunkard shall not see the morning.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 5:35 PM UTC
Rivers dry up, except
The Mississippi.
If/When
That particular long and wide
And fat and deep
Body of Wa-Wa
Completely dries up,
The World, as SK
Was fond of saying of
Roland of Gilead and the
Shadowed Spire,
"Has moved on."
Monstrous
Glaciers partied hard inda
MIDWEST!
For, like, endless freezing
Nights and equally
Chill-laxing daze,
Man! Man? Dude!
Dudes? Little dudes
With spears takin' on
The Mammoths! No
WAY!
Way.
They'll not outlive and
OutLAST US, My
Frozen Bros!
(But we had fire, the roasting
Kind and the hot burning
Coals within our spirit,
Fire to perpetuate our
Species through endlessly
Cold nights and days)
Whoo-Hooo!
Dude! You plowed
DEEP last night, Bro!
What's that stuff on yer
Brow. Sweat?
Hey is it me or is it
Hot in here?
Dudes? We're like
SMALLER
Irregardless, or
Re, the You SSS of
A has a large dent
In its midsection.
Because those partying
Glaciers were forced back
Into polar hiding, shedding
Great earthen chunks of their
Fatty selves, carving and
Slashing
The most fertile watershed
In the country.
Their ageless and
Timeless enemy, that
Bright Yellow Orb,
Opened its great
Cyclopean eye, and
Focused, yet again,
Blessed rays of light
Heat, and life.
The melting...
Water lying on the ground,
Unsure? How about we start a
Pool? I bet it'll pay
Off to flow on not-flat ground, the
Pool collapses and begins flowing
With purpose, streaming
Together as a larger
Body of water:
The Miss
'Sippi.
Any number of
Numberless great and lesser
Lakes up North
Decided to be hole-
Y. Gravity
Did the rest.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
Serrated dawn
Carnivorous night
Who's teeth I fear
But do not flight
I welcome thee
Cyclopean spire
Carcosian sea
Hatur's eyless ire
Becomes me
With stars of ebon twilight
and Aeons countless
Nyarlothotep's sight
I make for the Mountains
of Madness
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
In the dark
Driving
Glance up to see
In the mirror
A following bulk
With a single head light
Its cyclopean beam
Is tracking me
Driving alone
On this dark route
And I shiver
In my seat
Sensing a monocular malevolence
Behind
Almost animal
A robo-creature
Stalking me in my tin box
For miles the lone yellow shaft
And its anonymous source
Sweep an unnamed fear into me
And when the road widens
And it passes me
I am genuinely surprised to see
That its driver has a head.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
and with strange aeons even death may die."
-Abdul Alhazred
Piercing light digs itself into my eyes
A spread of bird calls funnel past open windows
I lift my throbbing head off the splayed pages
It seems that morning breeze has been perusing my book
The Necronomicon
With groggy effort, I go about my daily routine
Brushing leads to breakfast which leads to brooding
Today is Saturday and I am beyond unimpressed
Not many activities catch my eye like they used to
I think I’ll go for a swim
Thankfully, the empty lap pool provides a haven
Loneliness was never an outstanding issue among our family
That pervasive sense of dull dread invades my heart, yet
There is a thin verisimilitude between loneliness and contentment
I muse upon the power of individuality while submerging
Half-past 11, I notice some peculiar glow spreading in the lanes
Emerald ooze steadily overtakes a pair of arms and legs
It is not long before this strange goo overtakes my skull as well
Instantaneously, terror plunges deep into my amygdala
I assume sounds of thrashing water and stifled screams
How does my body drift deeper than physically possible?
When does my mind disconnect from our tangible world?
Just why are suction-cupped serpents binding me?
Questions spill over the brim and are not met with any answers
Nonetheless, I embrace impending death
Visions assault a cloud of sensory panic
The chlorine chaos takes on saltier flavoring
I see images of cyclopean kingdoms draped in sea growth
Stupendous beings lumber with apocryphal disregard
To these incomprehensible entities, I am dust
They relinquish me back to my microscopic world
I do not know why the cosmic horrors revealed themselves
All I am aware of is that this was a mere glimpse at true evil
One born millennia before the most ancient of stars
One that will persist millennia after such bodies have extinguished
I sink back into the water, exhausted
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."
-H.P. Lovecraft
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
His love for her's like the touch of Midas
Feelings that really made her feel golden
He gave her what she wanted, what he has
Only to prove his love to the maiden
They lay on the vast expanse of grass aye
Talking 'bout melodies they've listened to
Time never mattered, for them it's a lie
They ne'er chased their moments—they don't have to
Though years of their lives had already passed
They still found on each other's arms their home
He remained to be her love, her Midas
He remained with her even after gloam
Cyclopean stars, European skies
Serves as their children with love in their eyes
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 5:37 AM UTC
I tried to act confidently,
but it came up like a faux bouquet,
presented steadily with bowtie fixed,
yet shoving,
“here!”
“take them- what are you waiting for?”
And no reply.
(And no reply).
And-
Why is it so difficult to be myself?
Do I not love myself?
Is this some sort of congenital disease-
some inertly cyclopean phenomenon-
where I am victim to my own constant surveillance?
Hyper vigilance- or vanity?
Which is worse?
Would that I could break all of the mirrors hanging on all of the walls-
all of the windows with all of their reflecting-
Would that I could kiss myself, feel myself, touch myself, know myself,
then maybe I could know you how to love me.
How to love me?
With that inquiry left unsatisfied,
am I left flitting from void to void?
Though in some spaces I stare into the Quantum Sea and say,
It is but the stuff of me!
And,
I shall never die!
But that is not the same-
it is not the same
to know thyself in a flower
as to know thy hand-
one is weightless,
the other is responsible.
I fear the mirrors.
I want to fluctuate invisible.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
The pantheons demand the poets limn vision
‘Motionless inside dreaming still shores,
—I sleep lucid, prismic eternally awake.
In the absence of beta waves, alpha
—echoes unfold stretching into theta dives’.
Galactic chrysanthemums implode tearing—
liquid waves into writhing silver storms.
A thousand moons of mercury evaporate, reappear
and explode into black diamonds spray-painting
—cyclopean skies.
A supernatural alchemy beseeches, whispering inside
—my bloods dying, resurrected—breathing magic
that sips from rich ****** rivers; rushing through
distant canons of twisting blood vessels;
whereupon a billion red cells form aromatic pools—
igniting into an endless sea of bellowing fires.
‘Orphic, I am enchanted tasting a sorcerous nature,
angels conjuring eyes—burn mortal tinted memory shores,
bestowing ashes of what was, what is—the ‘I’ exhumed,
—raptly in deaths breath to unseen wisdom’.
Dust devils transform into ether crystal blown screens—
—bending, jostling, wrapping around nameless fluid planets,
luring my eye forth into dimensions lost, pulsing—
—only in sirens earendel song.
In black diamond stars, ‘spirits dream in frenetic pulses,
the cosmic lotus-eaters waiting in sky pearls—
—purveyors of ethereal dreaming, poets weaving
eternity before mortal life.
© ASPAR (A Sol Poet Arnay Rumens)
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 11:27 AM UTC
My voice got lost
In the echoes of your betrayals
Or were they mine?
Somewhere along the lines we committed crimes
Now you're just showing off love
I guess I was teasing first
Connect us and were a terrifying cyclopean dread
Powerful enough to tear the world asunder
Tear us a part and we'll always search for each other
Soul mates it is what we are
In the echoes of their betrayals
I do not have a voice
If all you hear is silence
Then know that I am still searching for you dear
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC