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fray narte Jan 2022
the stars weep over all the terrible ways i have loved you —
dress you in their light caught
in my aprium kisses and cigarette daydreams.
empty my ametrine veins,
disembodied to hold your bones together —
kiss you, break me, leave me
burning and trapped in a lantern room; watch me
sink ships to come back to your arms; you've always waited.
and they all still weep and fall
over all the terrible ways i'll still love you

long after they die.
Anais Vionet Feb 2022
He stakes my arms to the wall, with binding hands.
I feel his desire through the strength of his grip, he
presses against me and I can’t move. I meet his eyes.
He smiles. I smile.

We kiss to form a scabrous, common bond.
I feel bound up in him and we remain, as such,
too long, too rude, too rough - and free for all to see.
It’s enough to draw curious eyes and jealous sighs.

We stop for air, to reestablish equillibria.
Our immediacy is too giddy - we’re too flushed
for words - the libidinous overtures of ***** birds.

It’s just a kiss, or two - too few - measure them by
pleasures blush - but now, we to the dance floor rush
to join the crush - YES, fun is enough.
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic.  Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness.  But what of stint-ness snities?  Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums.   Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied ****.  Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums.  We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture.  And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums?  Do we only dream about dexterous articulation?  Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary?  What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton?  We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache.  Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology?  Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward.  Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective.  Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable.  Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue.  Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh.  Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered.  Infusing all with the capability of  aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others.  I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection.  Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony.  Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual.  Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist.  We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
A dream I had about explicating eventuation evocative's expletives.  The amalgamated anathema android.  The cure for pseudopodia interruptus.  At those plastygoop nosed gumby ******* ***** mongers.  Teleportation's telepathic tout will augur the demise of the shallow water scrod ******* dogs.  Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma.  Enigma entity's identity crisis on the futurity fatidic.  Grimacing gremlin greaves and gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts.
Rangzeb Hussain Jul 2010
VI

“Hearken, all ye there!”

Seis Seis Seis Seis Seis Seis

It began, as these things tend to do, with a quartz encrusted howl,
Lamenting under the crystalline shadows of Leda’s heartrending growl,
Her ravished moon bled and sank into the vocal cords of guilt coated cowards,
“Come back, come back! Oh, frivolous sanity thou art truly unjust, most unkind!”
Right here in this lonely place did my Darling dear spill devotion onto spiced dust,
She swayed on the rickety ridge surveying her sapphire kingdom’s splintered trust,
There it lay glittering, her city of cities, nothing now but a jeweled corpse.

V

“Know ye not of the oft-told tale of the drinking-well at World’s End?”

Cinco Cinco Cinco Cinco Cinco

My Lady who did fire the lyre of Orpheus, she weeps there in the misty chilled cold,
Wild it is, all about her the night wind nibbles at the skin clothing her fractured soul,
Cacophonic waves of regret silently scurry to labyrinths entombed with truths bold,
“Come back, come back! Oh, to my tempestuous ***** hasten with thy canticles!”
The symphonic fingers of fog pluck a requiem upon her autumn flavoured hair,
My Queen is attired for her banquet at tables far beyond Persephone’s desolate tears,
On the precipice her figure rises for the final faithful leap into Styx’s stratosphere.

IV

“Behold now the dread eyes of Hades, see how they hunger blood at the boil!”

Cuatro Cuatro Cuatro Cuatro

Carnivorous tasted memory plagues the betrayed Minotaur’s desired deliriums,
On these haunted shores I clutched her close and eagerly inhaled love’s elusive serum,
Legend has it a suicide was here on this very cliff-top, ‘twas a true Roman centurion,
“Come back, come back! Oh, let us under Demeter’s enchanted orchards lie!”
My obsidian-eyed Beauty gathers her eggs and over the fearful edge she unfurls them,
Closer to the dead of Euphrates she steps, I to madness hurtle as one condemned,
Bind savage Cerberus for the solitary reign of the wolf is fate for all hanged men.

III

“Prometheus thou hast drunk Pandora’s poisons, what sayest now the Titans?”

Tres Tres Tres

Golden fleeced days into the fleshy ground of Morpheus’s realm did seep away,
How well spent they were not even immortal Calypso shall decipher nor say,
Would that mine myopic ears had been shorn and tossed into Pompeii’s crisp clay,
“Come back, come back! Oh, gentle Maid no more, I beg thee stay awhile yet!”
What was it? Was it me? No, no, it could not be me for I was Achilles buried asleep,
How little we then knew, we two did partake of the stinging, you the wasp I the bee,
Mayhap ‘twas this unlocked the plumed towers to thy curled universe tunneled deep?

II

“Therefore did the Serpent spake and pronounce a judgment most nefarious!”

Dos Dos

She thinks back, my Lady fairer than Medea, she remembers a time happier,
Really there was, hear yet my credo, once upon-a-time there was no doubting terror,
But then a thing did into our guarded haven breach and wreathe about my treasure,
“Come back, come back! Oh, let me slake my thirst with thy honeyed spirit!”
My flesh did crawl, my fangs grew sharp, my spittle ran down and my fur stood taut,
The jawbone stiffened and all the while I burnt like an infernal phoenix caught,
Oh, my sweetly crazed fruit, did I for real the horror upon you wrought?

I

“Would that thou didst offer me thy riches upon the hour of the violet twilight...”

Uno

Wolfsbane moon, high above it rose in that final cracking of sacramental bones,
My Lady much wrong did you I, forever for this will the beast in me atone,
Now, at this baleful hour has the wolf left you on the edge of an embryonic cyclone,
“And so to the Elysian Fields where insanity fertilizes the soul do I embark...”
You cross the Rubicon and glide into the obliterating arms of Plutonic eternity,
The wolf, me, is left clawing your hooded red robe with absolutely no certainty,
I see you sailing upon Neptune’s trident, forever adrift on oceans of eternal cruelty.

N

“Seekest thou sanctuary in the hinterlands where the man with one eye is King?”

Cero...

pretium libertas est nex**



©Rangzeb Hussain
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphoria of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix is pandemic.  Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness.  But what of stint-ness snities?  Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums.   Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied ****.  Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums.  We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture.  And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums?  Do we only dream about dexterous articulation?  Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary?  What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton?  We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache.  Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology?  Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward.  Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective.  Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable.  Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue.  Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh.  Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered.  Infusing all with the capability of  aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others.  I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection.  Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony.  Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual.  Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist.  We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
A dream I had about explicating eventuation evocative's expletives.  The amalgamated anathema android  The cure for pseudopodia interruptus.  At those plastygoop nosed gumby ******* ***** mongers.  Teleportation's telepathic tout will augur the demise of the shallow water scrod ******* dogs.  Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma.  Belligerent barbarian berserker.  Enigma entity's identity crisis on the futurity fatidic.  It's graspy greedy on the stingy frugal aimed mingy minions.  Spatiotemporal telemetry tactician's proximity parameter's perimeter peripherals.  Propinquity habitation's harbingers of harangued.  Terrestrial equestrian tellurian's terrene.  Grimacing gremlin greaves and gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts.
PurplePanache Oct 2018
Oh the devil hath found
                                          Interpreting perverse anomalies
Oh the devil hath found
                                         May you sphacelate you worthless antiquity
Oh the devil hath found
                                You reek of cigarettes and unfrequented deliriums
Oh the devil hath found
                                          What pandemonium!

Oh the devil hath found
                                           An oasis in a wasteland
Oh the devil hath found
                                           A humanoid dichotomy
Oh the devil hath found
                                        A sought after moral wreck
Oh the devil hath found
                                           Love.



........................................................­.........................
....Que le diable et son amant se chargent........
................................................­.................................
Brandon Mar 2012
Pharmacopoeias
Pseudo psychedelic phantasms
Kaleidoscopic deliriums
Mushroom acerbic cloud igniting
Truth denying exposition
Chemical makeup
Dressed to ****
From seed
To harvest
To market
To dinner plate
To grave
In wooden box decaying
Infatuations with infrastructures in frustration
Genetically modified bullets
BT Corn ripping organs
Exposing the explosion
Imploding on a sunny afternoon in March
Ants on the streets
Trampled by elephants’ ***** in the parade
Rats in slavery’s maze
Corporations’ corporate mandates
Sold out government conspiracy
To cover up the conspiracy of conspiracies
TV eyes ratted out you and yours
A fist-full of dollar bills
Some odd change to clink in the wishing well
Monsanto seeds die at plantation
Reincarnation of a deadly virus
Sow the soil and reap rewards of petulance pestilence
HR B Jan 2011
I want to hear the words
that come out of your mouth.
I wish I could see them forming in your brain
then coming out a little south.
I would crawl into that cranium
and be surrounded by your deliriums.
I would stroll around your memories.
knock on doors that lead to your own realities;
the malleable perceptions that you resort to during deflections.
I want to see what you see
and hear sounds through your ears.
I want your nerves to be mine,
get familiar with your gears.
I want to know the back of your hand
like I know my own.
But I wont enter your heart.
No, I'll leave that alone.
The asylum for your darkest parts is not mine to rearrange.
Nor would I if I could, there's not a thing that I would change.
© wordswithmypulse
You haberdashery hauberk harangue of a hornswoggling hiatus .  Your arrogantly delusory blasphemous dementia of odiously ominous diabolically grotesque gives me a decadent distraughtness of desultory debauchery and ghastly gnarly abysmal abjections .  It causes hysterical deliriums of maniacally macabre .  My swashbuckling surreptitious spatiotemporal telemetry tactician is tacitly inured in a phantasmagoria fantastication of fabulist façade fantasias .  I could positively kithe a futurity cudgel phantasm and bonkers bluster boggle with your phrenetically frenzied phrenic and forget my phyletic you preterit rendition autonomy equilibrist .
A slightly humorous and cynical look at the martial arts stance.
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphoria of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix is pandemic.  Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness.  But what of stint-ness snities?  Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums.   Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied ****.  Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums.  We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture.  And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums?  Do we only dream about dexterous articulation?  Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary?  What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton?  We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache.  Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology?  Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward.  Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective.  Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable.  Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue.  Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh.  Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered.  Infusing all with the capability of  aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others.  I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection.  Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony.  Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual.  Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist.  We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
A dream I had about explicating eventuation evocative's expletives.  The amalgamated anathema android.  The cure for pseudopodia interruptus.  At those plastygoop nosed gumby ******* ***** mongers.  Teleportation's telepathic tout will augur the demise of the shallow water scrod ******* dogs.  Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma.  Enigma entity's identity crisis on the futurity fatidic.  Grimacing gremlin greaves and gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts.
Poetic T May 2016
The door never relinquished its grip,
baneful whispers knocked endlessly
non where heard but some screamed.

Clamouring upon senses worth, edging
them towards deliriums shade. Wishing
to open lingering to be again rebirthed.

But wood inscribed knots hidden where
eyes did not linger, few could see what it
forcibly entombed, kept forever concealed.

There are many bushes that linger outside
its view, these are the souls that dared to
knock once now obscured.

It will keep knocking on the veil, waiting
for it true intent now cunningly revealed. 
Who will be its bearer, who will keep it entombed.

*"Can you hear the door knocking will you
seek its shrouded truths,
Don't seek what other do not hear, for what lingers behind this place will be your downfall
fray narte Jan 2022
the quiet thinly films over these sheets;
i press my cheek on the pillow — soundless, it hears me.
i rest my dusk-dimmed mourning on quiescent tiles,
and the crickets cannot stand the
silence — it recognizes now the thoughts,
much better than poems can.

i have taken this wordless fall,
hands tied behind my back,
feet tied, tongue-tied
down these sweet, senseless,
daffodil deliriums

i have taken this wordless fall
away, unseen, i land in grace —
this is the last noise i will ever make.
Andreas Simic Jun 2022
Laying in my cozy bed,
I oft wonder
why?

why am I here when others not?
those that make a simple mistake
and perish, yet I am here

a friend telling me
“you have more lives than cats”
not a consolation to my deliriums

The plethora of experiences too plentiful
to parlay into one poem
sixteen at last count

multiple careening crashes, a gas tank explosion,
illness, being hit by a car while standing at an ATM
the litany long and varied but one stands out

playing on a recently unfrozen pond
raft fighting as it were
young hearts being foolish

falling in backwards, a non-swimmer
it is so cold, frost bite pins & needles cold
I am going deeper and deeper

it is getting colder and colder
darker and darker
until it is totally dark

no lingering thoughts, it is over
then a pinprick of light
drawing closer

it grows and grows
until I am in the light
it is oh so warm here

the lack of sound creating
an incredulous peacefulness
for a fear filled life

can I stay forever, please
except that is not my destiny
not that day or those others

rescued by a neighbor’s father
delivered unconscious to a mother
still questioning the why

Andreas Simic©
When dark clouds descend on her eyes
Her pale skin exudes a cindery sadness
Pints of bloods flow out her vein
The stubborn poet breaks down.

All his creative resolves deliriums
Adorned garlands of his mind
His visions beyond the present
Mock him draws him in her pain.

What remains of him is not a poet
Not one looking down from a pedestal
But a mere mortal brutally battered
Brought down to earth crushed.

For the swells in her heart
Her futilely seeking oasis
Wind drift to no anchor
His poetry is a lavish indulgence.
You haberdashery hauberk harangue of a hornswoggling hiatus. Your arrogantly delusory blasphemous dementia of odiously ominous diabolically grotesque gives me a decadent distraughtness of desultory debauchery and ghastly gnarly abysmal abjections .  It causes hysterical deliriums of maniacally macabre .  My swashbuckling surreptitious spatiotemporal telemetry tactician is tacitly inured in a phantasmagoria fantastication of fabulist façade fantasias .  I could positively kithe a futurity cudgel phantasm and bonkers bluster boggle with your phrenetically frenzied phrenic and forget my phyletic you preterit rendition autonomy equilibrist .
Retrospectively retroactive autonomous avarice.  Oneiromancy's apotropaic orthogenesis overtures, futurity fatidic elan vital's apotheosis.  Hegira to Xanadu.
Honestly this is supposed to be a comical look at a martial artist contemplating his stance.
Brad Lambert Feb 2014
I say, status seems pychic– How! Za-zoo! And how!
O' that brain be electric as a buzz!

I'm all a'fixin' to be boxed.
These joints are a'sprainin–
Winter wind snakes done
constricted and strainèd.

Out of place. Almost out of time, I swear:
Never enough place, barely enough time.

Korean girl's all a'watchin' to see
how I sip hot tea... Out! Get out!
I got them delusions, deliriums–
All's done. I'm diluted, sayin':

“Medicine for my grievin'–
Aye, my confidence has been gone.
Never did speak of leavin'–
I met him at the ditch at dawn.”


And left unsaid was better yet,
coos all a'whisperin' by waters.
Water's runnin' thin now.
Creek's gone, ran dry.
He's a man of stature,
he can't just go!
Anthills and ant
burrows 'neath
sands gone mad–
O’ bore teeth! Yea!
Where's the meter
meeting the rhyme
when your bliss'd
metronomicist
loses pace
and dies?
Slows
and slows
and slower yet
his heart does beat
and the last of his words
do run across his teak frame:

“O' bore teeth!
Bearing ‘em all;
All is a'grinding!”


It’s but a machine to keep one’s rhythm,
to help one maintain the desired beat.

She kisses me on the forehead.
I return the gesture on her cheek.
He whispers to me through darkness:
“There are many worlds we’ve yet to see.”

It is thoughts like that which grant me focus.
Where all’s good and wishes, like prayers, be lent.

My thoughts lag behind, weighted by you.
I strain them through hot water for tea.
She watches as I drink. I waited for you–
Drank it by the ditch in the morning.

I fend off these demons in the courtyard.
Winter spells done summoned my greyest thoughts.

Here all's good! Yea, all be lent–
I tacked your name to the corkboard.
Alas, none was meant for you–
I fend off thoughts in the courtyard.

O’ that mind be broken, still-painted grey!
Not much I can do but keep the winter at bay.
Haven't been proud of a new poem in a while. Let me know what you think..
yasmin xu Aug 2014
nuances. paper flights. deliriums.
you could buy loneliness in a bottle
of wine, and i'd draw a map
of this world on your hands.
i've got a past like a shadow
that follows me around in my head.
brown eyes. tambourines. broken bells.
like your voice in my ears, and they snap
at the sound of glass hitting the floor,
that spills liquid all over me, soaking me
in your intoxicating sadness.
Sydney Feb 2015
world arches back
relaxes into new found worth
a painted dust
falling from hard-baked earth

specks of life
lie scattered round
like soft shells on the sand

waves lap at shore
to taste its past
and swallow hidden ecstasy

the beach lies rough
a dusky place
a heaven for the beaten
but lingering on
like sailors songs
are thoughts
of sweet deliriums.
thoughts for the last lines?
(unedited)
splash into it -
   blue raspberry universe,
sugar stars skin-drizzle
   a frisson - you generate
  
a thousand deliriums,
   delectable therapy,
web-caught but purified
   by bubblegum ellipses -

a secret (let's keep it),
   a fantasy I dare
not name as I taste
   the alphabet on your tongue -
Written: July 2023.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. Feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page and Instagram page can be found on my HP home page.
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic.  Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness.  But what of stint-ness snities?  Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums.   Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied ****.  Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums.  We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture.  And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums?  Do we only dream about dexterous articulation?  Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary?  What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton?  We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache.  Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology?  Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward.  Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective.  Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable.  Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue.  Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh.  Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered.  Infusing all with the capability of  aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others.  I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection.  Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony.  Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual.  Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist.  We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
A dream I had about explicating eventuation evocative's expletives.  The amalgamated anathema android.  The cure for pseudopodia interruptus.  At those plastygoop nosed gumby ******* ***** mongers.  Teleportation's telepathic tout will augur the demise of the shallow water scrod ******* dogs.  Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma.  Enigma entity's identity crisis on the futurity fatidic.  Grimacing gremlin greaves and gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts.  Sentience's evocative eventuation's inevitably irrefragable!  The thought of such infrangibly sublime surreal.
David Betten Jan 2017
CORTÉS
            How now? What’s the debate?

AGUILAR                                              The­ Inquisition:
            It’s linked itself with tethers to our church,
            Like two, aloof, reluctant mountaineers.
            I fear, when that unholy office trips,
            And plummets in the popular regard,
            Its drop down estimation’s precipice
            Will pull down our religion in its tow.

OLMEDO
            We cavil, boys, as if there were two Spains.

CORTÉS
            One good, one evil?

OLMEDO                              Not so simple. Yet,
            One, global-bent, one isolationist,
            One liberal, one counter to reform,
            One, eyeing Greece, one stirring with the Moors,
            Who, like the fatal twins of Oedipus,
            Will not consent to reign in tandem more,
            But rather wound each other mortally.
            In Europe, there’s a word in currency:
            Renaissance- It is not a Spanish word,
            And there’s a reason.

CORTÉS                                And it is?

OLMEDO                                               Some flaw
            In Spain’s own character that’s culpable-
            Catholic fanaticism, feverish pride,
            Or warped deliriums of vanity.
            We thought we were the new elect of God,
            Mistook our patriotic egoism
            For fealty to the church. Hence, our divorce
            And isolation from the rest of Europe.

CORTÉS
            No, it’s not Spain, not Catholics, nor our race,
            But frailties of the human constitution,
            Which frequently reverse the gains achieved
            By previous generations, in the name
            Of progress, culture, and civility.                          Trumpet is heard.
            A parley sounds! See what those Mayas want.
From my play in verse, thefloralwar.com
You haberdashery hauberk harangue of a hornswoggling hiatus .  Your arrogantly delusory blasphemous dementia of odiously ominous diabolically grotesque gives me a decadent distraughtness of desultory debauchery and ghastly gnarly abysmal abjections .  It causes hysterical deliriums of maniacally macabre .  My swashbuckling surreptitious spatiotemporal telemetry tactician is tacitly inured in a phantasmagoria fantastication of fabulist façade fantasias .  I could positively kithe a futurity cudgel phantasm and bonkers bluster boggle with your phrenetically frenzied phrenic and forget my phyletic you preterit rendition autonomy equilibrist .
A slightly humorous and cynical look at the martial artist's stance.
Maggie Aug 2017
I fell out of love after one short ****
smears of crimson lust
exhaled across a bed panel of muted ebony
crumbled to cinders under the mechanical mantra
of *** for the sake of ***
a clinical coreography

don't you need
the fire when we ****
the chaos and urgency
of lawless wildfire smoldering the insipid
of howling fire trucks plunging down the purple etchings carved by our nails along the seams of our skin
i do
I subsist on the intensity of our denouements
our breathless deliriums
that we choked tonight with spent minds

you told me you were a rose so
bleed
bleed scarlet
bleed scarlet lechery
and repaint our carnal canvass red
Jonathan Moya Feb 2020
I can’t remember when death
turned moments to memorial,
gifts unfolded to blessings.

The tan slippers of Christmas past
snuggled my mother’s lost toe
so the others never mourned.

Those mules never left her feet,
even on her final nap.
“Bless me Papa,” her last words.

I don’t know if they were lost
or she was buried with them.
I thought they were forever gone.

And then twenty three years on
I gifted my friend some pair
my new wife found on last sale.

She wore them, a sacrament
to  follow from home to ward
bequeathed from last breath

thru the fragile bruise of time,
the visions of Christ near her,  
repeating deliriums

of cold, cold, cold: hot, hot, hot
and I love you, I love yous
until lost in all the moves

from ICU to hospice,
unable to find others,
a new fleshy blanket I

draped around her cold/hot feet,
until it snuggled just so right,  
perfect as a thank you.

Five days after Thanksgiving
she passed away and I took
the cloth home to wash and wear

to find my wife had found it
and regifted what I could
not own to her sleeping soul.
Go ahead and try
to sell to the sailors
a blaze of deliriums,
or any sort of thing

The stars fell for the illusion
and I would too
if I could believe in their lost reputations

Raw with grief
they thought me mad
so let the stars divide
in this withered sort of dream

All the elements combined
to forge a rare thing
reeling against the heavens.

What have they been doing
in the mist-filled wilderness?

I could have amazed you
by lighting it in the dark
where I felt a soft helplessness,
and the flames might conspire
to miss me too
but somehow, we are all more wonderful (pretending)

Over my sailor’s head
all the seas laughed and laughed,
and laughed again
nothing left for me but tragic flowers
and wreaths.
I’d call that foolish

I’d prefer not to become
another one of his
tho I’m sure
that I will read about
what happened tomorrow

The inner doors opened
and he retraced his weary steps
along the (gangplank)
but really, you should have
a lady’s mind like mine
arranging my morning alone in this room
a face to the ground
quite motionless

Sitting so nicely
they hadn’t guessed
what unfinished tragedy
by which the dead
argue with history

We danced until his last hour
when as if by magic, darkness came
and in a low voice he whispered
I am brave
they were vicious,
hateful , cruel,
she  naive, the loving fool,
they ran rampant, they gained ground,
the others sought the, rich ,cool ,sound.
They kept coming with bait,  gbh, truth serums,
for innocent and purity, unjust deliriums.
They held her up, like a trophy bound,  
and gagged,
the posts they sent, instantly flagged.
lies in the mud, dragged.
Light comes from above, eternal, unending,
penetrating rays, with love, all tending.
Truth dug deep, down in dirt,
speckled with blood and *****, her shirt.
Her shell undone, her tale unfolded,
her words unfurled , they felt scolded.
They hurled their fire and brimstones,
their mirrors, they shattered,
with their homes.  
They screamed 'you get what you deserve',
first time, she found comfort, from their words.
She no longer notices them, like many times before,
had always shut,  that mocking mobs door.
stretched upward shoots, found home in still waters,
three lotus blossomed,
Her gentle hold, for two daughters.
after every fall ,it's opposite spring
find comfort in the words you get what you deserve
know I am a lady, and also a king
know my own actions revealed my true nature
will always stay small and humble too
forgiving, loving, eternally I go
the dragon underfoot, I feed kindness for the lesson it bestowed
I need that dragon when I act in a flash
inner brain compells us when we are uninformed
inner brain begins and ends all the storms
that little dragon had to be born, long may it last, because love is supreme, the  ****** Mother is the Queen who teaches us how to love.
She is a warrior of Love, the strongest on earth, As much as they try, True Love cannot die.
The table is 3-D, and
So is the orange on it

The canvas is 2-D, but
The orange in it is 3-D

If not for mind’s multi-D syndromes
What sanity in this swirl of deliriums (2019)

— The End —