"discordance" poems
Sacred fires burning bright
Purging the flesh of my being
Becoming one with the light
Scorching the cells of my mortal body
4 Illuminate
3 the masses
4 Self-immolate
3 to ashes
1 break
3 conciousness
4 cosmic I lapse
3 death cleanses
8 dissipate into the nether
4 essence of life
3 extinguished
4 the chains that bind
3 relinquished
1 Pain
3 Surging through
4 Serenity
3 Gleaming blaze
I, long to be cosmic,
dissipate into illumination
To, become the nether -
to lapse in lost
consciousness
Then I shoot off in space and time,
soaring through illusions
Light years from reality,
distant pixels
8 Obsessing through the tesseract,
6 scouring past illusions
7 beyond spatiality,
4 distant pixels
Drifting, no sense or feel
Flames of color, figments of my creation
Drift in-to the surreal,
Chasing fractals defragments my cognition
Dreaming in discordance
Life confined in simulation
A glitch in the matrix
Lies conceived through my perception
Breathe
I, long to be spectral,
fluctuate right through this oscilation
To, attain the ether -
planetary
cognizance
Then I shoot off in space and time,
soaring through illusions
Light years from reality,
distant pixels
Obsessing through the tesseract,
scouring past illusions
beyond spatiality,
distant pixels
Drifting, no sense or feel
Flash of colors, figments of my creation
Drift in-to the surreal,
Chasing fractals defragments my cognition
Dreaming in discordance
Life confined in simulation
A glitch in the matrix
Lies conceived through my perception
Breathe
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 5:46 PM UTC
Azathoth, upon the black throne,
steps of twelve hesitant to tone.
Madness and chaos swallowed your mind,
ears of the deaf, eyes dying to be blind.
Shrills of discordance to rattle this hell,
Creating our world as Barbelzoa fell.
He sees you not, too blind to care,
he can not answer to what he doesn't know is there.
Before her fall, sat a throne, the purest of white,
silver crown on the queen, a beauty of light.
The twelve danced with compassion and Joy,
the twelve being thirteen, a conjoined girl and a boy.
Ripped from the twelve, the thirteenth, a faceless creature to devour,
trickery and blood play, our darkest hour.
Nyarlathotep, a name not to be cursed under breath,
for the least of your worries will be death.
In the center of nothingness, to find all that can't be seen,
To be greeted by Nyarlathotep, who is far vicious and mean.
Gnashing his teeth as he whispers these lies,
using deceit to cover the cries.
The dread he feels to speak Azathoth's name,
To slaughter all who give him fame.
See all the countless chapters of the souls he took,
only for you to be next, carve your blood in the book.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 5:45 PM UTC
it's simple really, nostalgia is buried in a melody
the same way humans are put in coffins--
deliberately heart-wrenching, a science.
an old transistor radio climbs lazily in the background,
buzzing, humming but then hear it--
blank stares as the road carries on, gradually,
slow mascara rivulets kiss cheeks like the intimacy long forgotten only to come rushing back--
songs that we said were ours were never ours to have,
an old familiar lyric that we claimed to spell destiny,
auditory memories that taunt and torture:
the chorus only instigates barbed thorns to lonesome hearts,
major chords aren't happy,
but cause discordance--
clenched fists on the steering wheel, you must pullover--
you can't pause or rewind, you can't stop--
yes, change the channel--
but the music still plays, and the riffs hang in your head,
remembered and reminisced over static--
but nothing is white noise when the final notes linger on your auditory palette,
the taste like the stare of a cold gravestone...
but even colder still,
the empty seat next to you.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
Aeolian dour fire meridians
Unfettering enlightenments will
Together Scylla with authority
Howling, Charybdis in oblivians wake
Shenting spindel meandering;
The schism termagating sirens
Repasts (diabolic manna)
Refracting ambrosial in the
Lap of Gods eye sophically conjecturing
Ephinany- times charioteering,
The nocturnal triunes discordance
Contemplating consequence thistling
Opothecaric sigels permeating lots
Obstruse lathed cerebral skies
Ruthfully roil whittling indelible
Epitaphs of serpentine repositories
Woefully dawning eternity castening
Harmoniously asunder truths
Deifying yen die.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 11:14 AM UTC
The psychics were breathing smoke,
rummaging through my roommates collection of abstract art,
they told me what my favorite Modest Mouse album was,
they told me about my personality,
I told them I was a psychic,
they told me to **** off.
Everyone assumes an original identity
in the self-inflicted apocalypse
provided by that old friend, alcohol.
Kevin was the smooth-talking,
drink-mixing extraordinaire.
Kara was the cynic.
Shawna was the kindhearted.
Evan was sober.
Tyler was in and out.
I was the ******* that took a party pill,
bounced off everyone with a handshake
and an apology.
We **** ourselves to resurrect,
piece together the discordance,
the chaos,
the girls.
While the psychics were breathing smoke,
while Kevin was collapsing,
while everyone was worried about me,
all I could say was,
"This is the happiest night of my life,
and that depresses the hell outta' me."
I longed for the sirens in the distance,
I took another drink,
I longed for renewed innocence,
I took another drink,
I longed for someone to lay beside me,
I took another drink,
it was finally enough.
I took off my shirt,
made war with the remnants of stability,
of sanity,
told my friends I loved them,
and hoped that my time ended in sync
with the sunrise.
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 2:45 PM UTC
******* at tickling the ivories,
at inducing the jet buttons
to chortle, say, in a concerto ;
but I do strum and flirt
with those amazing royal,
88 unrepentant loyal
keys for Jupiter and Saturn,
for Mars and Neptune,
making a blank bland tune
for extraterrestrial beings for fun.
On the cosmic moors
the moon's whirling feet
cease for my discordance.
What a slurred entrance
by F in D major!
Only a novice--an amateur.
I'm no magnificent pianist,
O majestic Mercury.
Summon the stars the search
to lead for a supreme virtuoso,
one of no incongruent ingenuity
like this dilettante--a pseudo
music polymath, counsels Thebe.
A Mozart, Beethoven, or Bach?
Any of the greats scored above, as well
as geniuses like David and Handel.
Impressario fly! Flee thou away
and go get a classic maven.
Otherwise sleep there forever at Erebus,
never dream of waking up in Eden.
Circuitous world stops: strings break off
at the Earth's axis--
the Sun's panels pause
and darkness' movement begins
its own obscure notes to improvise:
apace demented melody
is released,-- bathos of symphony:
tinny wine of concord
settles on the lees of discord.
Asteroids hooting some ***** calls
when into the grand chrysolite chamber--
in her tailor-made blistering gown--
strolls in the coruscating Venus
in the sturdy arm of jaundiced Uranus,
garbed in his glistening stomacher.
Like a ball, all eyes are bouncing
hither and thither, up and down,
googling and ogling,
once more at them leering,
gaping at the irreplaceable paintings of
da Vinci, Picasso, and Van Gogh
cavorting upon the weightless walls
to the romantic performance of Strauss
in the palace orchestral of Bacchus.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
Sacred fires burning bright
Purging the flesh of my being
Becoming one with the light
Scorching the cells of my mortal body
lluminate
The masses
Self-immolate
To ashes
Break,
Conciousness
Cosmic I lapse -
Death cleanses;
Dissipate into the nether
Essence of life
Extinguished
The chains that bind
Relinquished
Pain ~
Surging through
Serenity;
Gleaming blaze
Then I shoot off in space and time,
soaring through illusions
Light years from reality,
Distant pixels
Obsessing through the tesseract,
Scouring past illusions
Beyond spatiality,
Distant pixels
Drifting, no sense or feel
Flames of color,
figments of my creation
Drift in to the surreal;
Chasing fractals,
defragments my cognition
Dreaming in discordance
Life confined in simulation
A glitch in the matrix~
Lies conceived
through my perception;
Breathe
I, long to be spectral,
fluctuate right through this oscilation
To, obtain the ether -
Planetary cognizance
Then I shoot off in space and time,
soaring through illusions
Light years from reality,
distant pixels
Obsessing through the tesseract,
Scouring past illusions
beyond spatiality,
distant pixels
Drifting, no sense or feel
Flames of color,
figments of my creation
Drift in to the surreal;
Chasing fractals,
defragments my cognition
Dreaming in discordance
Life confined in simulation
A glitch in the matrix~
Lies conceived
through my perception;
Breathe
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 1:02 AM UTC
i.
a girl once told me that sad people close their eyes
so they do not see the world anymore,
and that i should count sheep when i cannot fall
asleep and that her favourite flowers were azaleas.
she also told me that she keeps scabs
on her knees, and on sundays
she comes to me with bleeding wrists.
another girl paints artifice out
of artlessness and human flesh. she
has scalpels for arms and a tempest on
her thighs and she lives in the
mirror and when i blow
ii.
on her i understand, through air condensation
and self- anathema, that i am the girl that she
de-fleshed maliciously herself, slit out of the cardboard
and painted out in artifice and artlessness and
i am the girl that once told another girl to ******* cut
her arm off and i meant it so she would not hurt herself
again because
i am the kind of the girl with scabs on the bone
of her halo, because i believe halos are made of
nothing but cartilage and helium bones, and a heart
as transparent as a vampire and its split opened like a monarch
butterfly, ******* off
azaleas or malarias or other pathogens
giving infants cancerous proclivities and my eyes are
swollen in mauve from divestiture because i know too well
those sheep won't jump over the fence
anymore because they have been ****** raw
in the *** by inhumane prospensity and i understand that
sad people close their eyes because it reminds them of death.
iii.
death is a scientist that theorises the
duality of elusive particles in artificial marrows
and mediocre decolourised melancholia in discordance,
it is the finger forced into our tiny vein and
it is nothing but a dream within a dream
but i could care less and this poem
is not about death, it is about how i
like ugly girls and how i'm just sorry
that i do not taste as corrosive
as the bleach in her mouth.
iv.
when people are dying, they almost sound poetic.
v.
i am the girl humanised by ribbons of
flesh and bile and atrocity, and i am the girl who
understands that a 'broken heart' is
nothing but a metaphor for utter
disappointment.
i am the sleep that dreams long for,
hope for, phlebotomise for
and i am bitter.
vi.
i am bitter because i will not believe in sundays
unless one day, fortuitously, the sun osscilates,
in the most serene of all mannerisms, down the earth
and kills us all.
i am bitter because semantics does not authenticate
the abiding human apathy towards death
and all the flowers in her hair.
i am bitter because people only read my poetry
because they think it is about them.
i am bitter because of other horrible
reasons that words can simply not express.
vii.
ugly girls are always prettier
because god loves ugly
girls, because he ***** them harder than the
rest, and because they know how to
make others feel ugly.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:40 AM UTC
I watch her and know my friend's Cat has a soul
why greet me and chase away the strays ?
Go figure out the unity, it last
and you will realise
there's instinctual maturity,
the pride of her groom
the health regime of cat grass
prawns auto reckoning !
the decision that Rock N Roll
is a tacky tail, is gracious,
her class suitably ignores
associated man made discordance
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 4:13 PM UTC
the voices of the sea
the whisper of the symphony
are calling out your name
and you just turn your head in shame
your hopeless hands are tied
and everything you love has died
you've thrown away your pride
and giving up now, means you never tried
you're still pulling out the arrows
of your former atrophies and perils
fulfilling this discordance
with your future purpose and importance
pulling out the arrows.
pulling out the arrows.
pulling out the arrows.
Reaching for the Surface
but you're on the ocean floor.
Praying for a Purpose,
hoping for an open door.
Scratching at the Surface,
but it's harder than it was before.
But what's the Purpose?
what are you praying for?
and you say
God, please don't let me die.
but you're
Reaching for an Empty Sky.
No one else is there
to hold you're hand and say they care
No one else will come
so give it up, you're on your own.
the forces of the sea
have trapped you in this tragedy
your belief in all their lies
has done no good, open your eyes
see the world as it is
your existence within this nothingness
as worthless as the sea
another useless commodity
you're still bracing for the arrows
of your distant atrophies and perils
fulfilling this whole prophecy
by decoding all their sophistry
bracing for the arrows
bracing for the arrows
bracing for the arrows
Reaching for the Surface
but you're on the ocean floor.
Praying for a Purpose,
hoping for an open door.
Scratching at the Surface,
but it's harder than it was before.
But what's the Purpose?
what are you praying for?
and you say
God, please don't let me die.
but you're
Reaching for an Empty Sky.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC
**The universe shifted,
barely anyone heeded
reality's harsh course,
'til the earth purged
every plastic contradiction
bent upon shores' conflicts,
a tsunami of relevant citations
and replenishing proportions
clashed upon discordance of
newly christened blood horizons**
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
Through a world of discordance, I found You.
From bane to bliss, You lifted me.
With a soul so resonate Your words.
With a spirit so lifted in jubilant assent.
In resonance of Your divine touch I praise
With peace I am saved by Your grace
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
I was riled as I learned an unknown burn.
You smiled as I unturned a new-found yearn.
There’s something so succinct in earning truth,
After what felt like an eternity learning.
Proof that a familiar swirl in an unfamiliar scene
Can bring a million new ways to view your days.
It’s serene, this feeling. Really!
And with it, a chance to lift.
The choice to change one life.
An invitation to chime in time with another.
Perfect imperfection. Resolved discordance.
Binding impermanent reflections in permanence.
An end to what felt like an endless race.
A new beginning; your rawest reckoning.
The featherweight phoenix ever beckoning.
Don’t hide your face. Don’t chase your ghost.
For betterment, you meant it.
In innocence, you sent it.
Sep 1, 2021
Sep 1, 2021 at 9:31 PM UTC
The Black Swan enchants the funeral march
Dancing on a mirror
I stand and watch from the mire
She is elegance and grace
The White Swan dispels the misery
With arrogance dire
He spreads his wings
And unfurls his lies
He speaks of heaven and paradise
Whilst black feathers condemned
To brimstone and hellfire
For death is evil
But the Black Swan
She dances on
The natural course of life
Is unto death, after all
I step onto the lake
Sinking into the aching feelings
With mud and water at my ankles
I stare out into the abyss
The swans dance
Like ballerinas
Eternal
And I break the mirror
Clean, pristine and without error
The still water breaks
Ripples and ripples
Natural discordance in the halcylon realm
I turn my back
On the funeral march
The dreary procession
Ignoring black wings
I turn myself
Onto the dancer before me
She smiles, serene,
And offers condolences
The Black Swan
And the White Swan
Continue their dance
And I continue my staring
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
you make me frustrated in the strangest ways, but I guess that's love? I wouldn't call it that but it's starting to creep down that steep slope. I really wish you'd actually talk to me but you're always holding back. I can't tell if it's from fear of what could be or what is. you make me self conscious and self confident. see how you conflict me? I question nearly everything I do, especially when I'm with you. I control my laughter and bite my tongue, or I guffaw with audacity and speak my mind. I'm caught between two of my selves because I'm caught between which one you like more. both are me, yet neither really seem to be. I'm quite tired of the charade but I will not be the one to quit now. I'll ride it out and regret it years from now.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 12:45 AM UTC
A woman reborn
Living off the high of you,
A melody that plays over and over on my mind.
Memories overlapping fantasies,
because what is real
Seems surreal…
Linking hearts and minds, passions and dreams,
I want to swim in your pool of serene,
And bathe in your essence of masculinity
And feel refreshed, ready to be reborn
Into this new woman,
One who has been locked in chains for so long…
Can we create a new song?
Where I sing
And let your fingers press
Against...and produce the beat
Inside my heart.
You are the creator of my soul
And I am the singer of the song
That we produce,
One that we have been anticipating for too long…
Floating off the keys of love,
No discordance to this union
For once I have someone who understands
The music that flows in me,
Who perfects my every melody,
Whose skilled hands caress every inch of
My imperfections…
I love him... for he is the Creator of my soul,
He makes me whole….
Kena SunGoddess Dawn 2011
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 9:21 PM UTC
slip like silt,
just as you always did,
into smooth discordance-
leaving knives disguised
as words synonymous with love
pressed against my throat.
fold like origami cranes
and take flight when
the monsters emerge
from the spaces between
the floorboards,
when you look at me
and see a stranger.
I don't blame you.
romanticizing the images
of clenched fists
and bloodshot eyes,
I twist around my vices
like a serpent.
I wanted the idea.
You and I, nothing too grand;
just this simple love,
the likes of which
you could feel in your cells
and in your bones.
I wanted a love
where you'd bury me
so that the ache
of missing you
wouldn't sit inside
my chest like a stone.
And now we talk
like old friends,
and you still look at me
with that smile
and it makes me queasy,
how far removed these bodies are
from the ones we shared
in convoluted memories.
I don't blame you.
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 1:24 AM UTC
Another day I walk into our school...
As I enter my classroom, I think of you...
I sat silently into my chair with noticeable gloom...
I try to smile, laugh like before, But it's not the same when I'm With You...
I remember the days, the happy memories
Days without sadness, disorder nor worries!
Because on those days, your beside me, and Darkness flees!
The moment your shoulder touches against mine, time will freeze.
I remember how you used to care so much for me...
whenever I feel down, you always sit bide me.
Hold my wrists and say "Its Gonna be alright, you'll see!"
Oh..those days..I miss so much...the good ones at least..
Then, we stumbled into a conflict we never wanted...
It destroyed our friendship, the bond we created
We both ended very much likely frustrated
Your smile, your laugh, your love for me....Faded
I need help, I apologized once..But You ripped it apart
I became a man with a broken heart
I don't know where to start
My Focus, my goals, my Mind started to depart
I pretended to be happy..Pretending like nothing happened
My anguish, hatred, discordance, Toughened
My life went terribly wrong , My sights Darkened..
I took a new turn, my condition worsened...
But though I'm masked by this Goo
Deep inside my heart still calls for you
I pretend to hate you, that is true..
But I've always wanted to tell you that
"I still Love you!!!"
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
This room of mine; temporarily,
ephemerally inhabited with my presence,
mingled with the shadows of chai, whiskey, and cinnamon,
in the clutter of my discordance.
A dimly lit chandelier embraces the darkness dancing along the windows absent of moonlight.
Rivers of cold spirits and hot tea flow into images of paths taken and not,
cigarette smoke billows into shifting semblances of possible futures..
and my eyes close to hear the whispers of my mind,
(Telling me to build something)
and my eyes close to listen to the desires of my heart,
(Yelling at me to run away far from here)
And my eyes close, unsure if I want them to open again,
(Knowing that if you were here, I would know where to go).
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 4:03 AM UTC
the cool air of the morning awakens me,
bird's bustle and gossip in the first rays,
of a new turn around,
the sun.
tears pool and nestle,
at the bridge of my nose, thick with emotion
left from a dream.
devoid of details,
but rich in sorrow,
a hungering feral sorrow.
that still lingers,
licking at the corners
of my mind.
i feel a discordance
with myself, sighing to expell this thing prowling, my breathe,
catches on a sob.
the kookaburra's laugh, jarringly close
and then further away.
i wipe at these tears, unbidden, unshed
and turn?
to find my grounding,
my steadfastness,
my hearts ease watching,
he draws me to him,
his lips,smoothing
my furrowed brow,
his hands creating an intensity, that is ours alone.
we make,
sweetness and beauty,
joy and oblivion, before falling asleep once more.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
A lack of foresight with
A limitation of imagination.
An aptitude for apathy and
An inability to emote.
An incapacity for chat as well as
An impatience for punchlines.
A distrust of discordance shackled with
A flair for unforeseen offence.
Alone
And a knack for nothing else.
Here I can relax.
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 3:06 AM UTC
These scenes play out on eyelids’ screen,
This virtuoso performance
That no playwright could have foreseen,
Of such fantastic discordance!
Engrossed in this film with no plot,
With unknown actors in the lead,
I’d look away but I cannot,
The action is driven by my need.
Leaving the theatre of my sleep,
All of the faces still remain,
Fantasies filed away so deep
Inspire the poems in my brain.
From whence a poet’s vision comes—
Forgotten scenes that once were clear,
The rhymes are just a trail of crumbs
I use to bring the real near.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 8:06 PM UTC
flat yet hollow
open resonance abounds
fingers find sorrow
wherever they land
music speaks of tomorrow
of past abandoned
left behind
gone solo
weeping tears of the mind
single coil motto
muted yet defined
roll off tone
roll on echo
discordance hard to find
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC