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Temporal Fugue Sep 2018
Musing away at the counter
retail a nonsense type job
selling his soul, filling a hole
throwing away DNA swabs

The guy just wants too talk
he spends four hours each week
talking the talk, unable to walk
a simple man, chalked up as meek

No life beyond the moment
sad and lonely he cries
tears that he hides, alone he abides
desolate and pitiful eyes

We see them as old and decrepit
maybe memory fleeing their minds
not dim of soul, just kinda slow
their history buried, inside

Listen a moment for honor
you'll hear it in pitch, and in pride
a person of heart, and of merit
not sure if it's true
or a
lie
Who am I to criticize those who came before
Who am I, to look in their eye
of those who were better
and knew so much more
as their gifts and memory
die
:(
Anne J Oct 2018
At night I have the same dream that eases my mind,
Where my sweating arms float above and my eyes don't look at what's behind.
My neck get moist and my mouth forms clear bubbles,
And, for once, I am able to look at the sky and not feel in trouble.
My hair sinks down and with it goes my head,
And although my vision blurs I do not feel a dread.
My nose gets an overwhelming smell of salt and a sense of becoming nauseous,
But the folds of my clothes ensures me that there's no need to be cautious.
My feet slowly swing back and forth and warmness engulfs me,
As my ears succumbs to the intoxication of where my final resting shall be.
When I am able to rest my eyes and feel the clearing of my soul, however,
My eyes wake up with the sun that warms me shall it never.
A poem about a depressed person that feels warmth only when they dissolve into their slumber. I started it last Friday and finished the last four lines today.
ryn Jan 2015
Backdrop of hues from heaven's palette
Two silhouettes stood hand in hand
A pair so in love on their deserted islet
Only witnesses were the sky and the sand

Two silhouettes with roles of lovers
Frolicked forever in the setting, evening sun
Only they'd know what laid under covers
Secrets of pure passion in their blood did run

Their merriment presented bare in a playful dance
Two silhouettes engulfed in their own private universe
Kisses and embraces offered in a reciprocative trance
Dark lips matched the other's voiceless whispers

Two silhouettes then dissolved with the set of sun
Strained my eyes to unravel this sweet shadow clad mystery
Last few moments pierced through like a shot from a gun
Because I realised that one was you while the other wasn't...

                            me...
KM Hanslik Jul 2018
Keep your eyes soft and your dreams
up on the highest shelf so you won't take them down too early;
keep everything that you spill in the dark locked
behind your teeth during the day, don't bring it out before dusk;
like secrets we drip over sidewalk cracks
from cotton-candy sticky fingers and leave our names
dissolved under each other's tongues, the warmth of you is keeping me company
as I try to crawl out of my blood again, they told you to leave
a bread-crumb trail in case your heart becomes too watered down by just visiting
to even remember the vacation at all; you carry
kisses on the knuckles of amputated arms,
driving through parking lots with your seatbelts on,
collections of constellations growing
in the bruises on the insides of your thighs, reminders
of salt & the whites of your eyes;

I'll always carry you around
like scuffed knees and the last time I told you "I'm okay",
I wanna press my fingers into you until your skin is melded
with fire and scraps of things that I could never be,
I hope steel rods grow out of your bones and I hope you gather
bruises before you gather dust,
we are all a little lost and lonely but that never stopped
the accumulation of well-spent nights
coughing up new ways to spell my name
(it sounded foreign before you)
leave this on repeat,
we're going in again.
Robert C Howard Dec 2013
Above the caldera at Yellowstone,
a brittle soil-rock crust
caps a lake of liquid fire
with only fumaroles and roiling geysers
to slake its upward ******.

A single heedless step is enough
to breech that mantle's fragile seal -
spelling death by fire
to any hapless soul
who fails to guard his steps.

Fragile calderas also roil
buried in dark crevices of our psyches -
brewed of failures, slights and fears
dissolved in fiery pools
of self-consuming misery.

To dress and salve our wounded souls
we plant fertile gardens of reconciliation
with beauty, trust and charity
and kneel to gods of grace and solace.

But a despot’s practiced eye
knows how to tap our fragile crusts,
releasing acrid lava flows
from pools where fear and rage reign hot,
and reason has no district.

Friends and siblings - my flesh and kin,
this world is ours to lose or save
so let us seal well our Sacred Calderas
from bitter foes that stalk us from within.

July, 2006, revised December, 2014, 2015 and 2018
Robert Charles Howard
Apart from the Malice I'd like to Subsume
Are some Fortune's Tags which I strive to defer
And Mood the Dragon's Seasoned **** resume
Threw Slime instead; And dissolved my Brother
Shall I charge as your Fault? But then again,
Your same usual Stones pound my Bouncing Head
With no other Ritual to confront this Pain
You continue to bray; And play Mule instead
Unaware of the Grass you still do hurt
Blinded by the Light which you call Divine
Philosophy leashes your own True Worth
Sticks you in Trivia; And robs your eyes blind.
What is there to blame from such Harrowed Young
Since the Lord Philip's Man has not yet sung?
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
By David John Mowers

Oceanus, Acheron, Styx and Gyges, Phlegethon,

Phaeacians lament, mourn the loss, Scheria, dissolved in froths.

Virgil’s tale, found correct, a land too good, a nation wrecked,

Nausikaa, burn the ships; their minds released, cool airy nips,

Below the wave, watery grave, submerged to bottom, fathoms by stave,

Fathoms some more, until the whorl, descending to, another world.

Through Omphalos, to Land of Sleep, awaits a beast, where time has ceased,

Darkness here, underworld, cold and frigid, below the whirl,

In solemn grave, souls released, judged and counted, by the beast,

Deeper than, the deep itself, past drowning fairies and dying elves,

Who did mourn them? Those golden men, magic mariners, Mino's kin?

What wrong was seen? What vice not true? What awful sin? What did they do?

One thousand years, first black age, Two thousand more, to find the stage,

Cast off Aries and cast Orion, to find beginning, of Golden Lion.

Man of Heavens, Beast agrees, Bull of Sky, Ox of seas,

Land of Punt, Land of Éire, Ogyges blue, hearts on fire,

All the seashores, all the mines, Tribe of Dan, from ancient times,

Port of Sais, Port of Thera, Port of Lagash, bygone era,

Sailor’s horse, Minotaur, a lyre is crying, strummed guitar, nation dying, abattoir.

Ochre foams to sanguine depth, there they rested, where Kronos slept,

He’ll never answer, he doesn’t care, we’ll never know, if this was fair.

Our hearts in sadness, hands on the gates! I curse you Poseidon!

. . .and your Sea of Fates!
Every historical and mythological reference to the kingdom of Atlantis which was destroyed by it's founder; Poseidon. All of the characters including the archaeological agreement on the historical basis along with Geo-location as well as an approximate age of occurrence, extent of the kingdom set to metered rhyme.
Cray-Z...

You know that you are, *******, crazy?

Think up a new grand goal to meet,
then drop the blotter, -to compete.

Are you movin' on up?
to the top, to a deluxe compartment in your mi-ind?

Lenny?

Saul admired David...

"Admired,"

him.

dissolved him in, David.

You know that you are, *******, crazy?

Look at the hands, -they swirl in, ceiling paint...
Thinking like this the world is NO constraint.

Fuzzy
Futzy
Fickle
Fiber

Pick a pickle Whitley Streiber.

Gargle,
Gasp, rinse and repeat.

Then Devil for the Heaven's seat,
and find a tiny child to eat,
for tasty things water mouth with treat,
nothing stained by water's meet or tendered strangely as complete.

Crazy...

Carpet fibers tickle my neck.

I am a house.

Household item.

Bleach feels funny on the fingers,
they still won't change color back?

Think up a new grand goal to meet,
then drop the blotter, -to compete.
Then Devil for the Heaven's seat,
and find a tiny child to eat,
for tasty things water mouth with treat,
nothing stained by water's meet or tendered strangely incomplete.

Crazy you know that you are...

...is that wall supposed to be flashing?

!!!!GET OFF MY ROCKER!!!!
You cannot just dip a finger in the dark because darkness will not let you go. Are you sexually attracted to circumstance? Then I have something for you. Life is easily hardened....those that know, know me.
typhany Jan 2014
my arms remember razor blades and spiked needles
and my veins ache to feel the warmth of her
swimming perfectly through my bloodstream
and engulfing my every fear, my every desire
until i am nothing but a pool of sticky tar

my nostrils burn without the powder
flying into my brain, and dripping down my throat
keeping me awake for days on end
and opening up my mind for my pen
shaking as i hold it to the paper; scribble

my tongue dwells on the bitter taste of hallucinogens
that made me dance in the coldest rain
and swim in the smallest pools of warm blood
that erupted from the belly of an orange tiger
who held my hand, and danced to the beats

my stomach remembers the feeling of pill bottles
emptied out; the tablets dissolved
coaxing me into warm slumbers, and forgetfulness
i miss the feeling of letting go
of love, of pain, of regret
I had not told you of  this, not yet,
Until now, when it returns clearly,
Within the timelessness of interior life.
A month to the day and the memory,
Abides in its own identity, being itself.
                          
Into this now familiar unboundedness
Came a new and exquisite presence,
A force field tenderly embracing me -
Just along the edges of my seated form.
Unmistakably you. A quiet certainty.
How could I know? But I knew.
As it dissolved, a light of the palest green,
Took its place, glowing a blessing.
                        
Breathing became the intake of bliss
made into the finest substance, and
I was renewed, visited, complete.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Pagan Paul Jan 27
.
Cohesion has been fragmented,
merely an old dissolved memory.
A shroud darker than pitch black
heralds the omni-directional strangler,
seeking to crush the fragile neck
and slowly asphyxiate the minds reality.

The turbulence of mute non-existence,
trapped in an endless glass sphere,
a cold snow-globe paper weight,
screaming for the end of the world.
Terror dissipates all common sense,
the inner head explodes and implodes.

A wracked skeleton of fevered flesh,
the violated remains,
beautiful and torn,
left,
when the butterflies of darkness
******
the fire.



© Pagan Paul (2017/19)
.
Chicken Feb 17
We physically met,
our fingertips touched,

We both transformed
into previous tenant dust,

Our bodies
dissolved in the fallout.

We were the last ones left.
Johan Nel Nov 2014
Through a black little frame, in a veiled little space
I saw the sun in your eyes, I breathed the light from your face
You kept to your corner, you held onto your heart
I reached from inside, I needed your white touch in my dark
Until you let go of the world and flooded my days
You dissolved in time, I was immersed in your rays

Nothing left wanting, when I found you, I found my way
Walking freely light, united for life I prayed
To walk through the shadows and every eclipse
And continue full lives, a never-ending ellipse...
Johan Nel © 2010
Marta Mar 2018
I am sorry Mr Confucius
I have broken the world

It fell apart into ten thousand pieces
of a crystal glass
It dissolved into ten thousand grains
of a dry sand castle
It frayed into ten thousand threads
of a silk cloth

Words became sounds with no meaning
Hugs turned into meaningless sensations
Faces changed into mute colours

The terrifying truth of deep reality
The loneliness of complete unification

The old sages lied
There is no peace in truth

You were right Mr Confucius
The woman's job is to weave
I’m clearly not an original in this sentiment:
“To each his suff'rings: all are men,
         Condemn'd alike to groan,
The tender for another's pain;
         Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate?
Since sorrow never comes too late,
         And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more; where ignorance is bliss,
       'Tis folly to be wise.”
Thomas Gray, 1742
At last the sun decided to recede,
and dismal clouds suddenly appeared;
In grey-green puffs of swirling smoke,
while crystal rain fell down in tears.

The night seemed in an endless whirl,
of lightning bolts and blustery winds;
I closed my eyes when thunder raged,
and pulled the covers to my chin.

My room appeared as black as coal,
its shadows foretelling ageless tales;
Of great mysteries from ancient times,
while words dissolved into ghastly wails.

Soon awakened from restless slumber,
with profound relief at what I saw;
The burnished golden bloom of day,
as summer had turned into shining Fall.
It was impossible, it seemed to me,
that twilight came so swiftly;
And with it coolness of the night,
and relief from restless drifting.

Wrapped in a towel of perspiration,
I lay on the desert's mounds of sand;
The crescent moon became my friend,
while watching it curve just like my hand.

But whispering wraiths arrived to haunt,
my vivid dreams of black and white;
Exposed to the darkness up above,
where nothing appeared quite right.

The moon dissolved in silent tears,
while shedding its silver sheen;
And with a touch of Merlin's wand,
gathered waters so clear and clean.

The desert rain fell with intent,
to wash away my mortal dread;
Dripping down from the crescent's mirror,
to reflect upon my earthly bed.

When I awoke it was eerily quiet,
the towel around me had dried;
No longer alone in a desert world,
I reached up and touched the sky.
Calling long and deep
into the bottomless well of me,
my heart, I posed a wordless question
that water--free--be invited to speak.

So I listened I paused I listened--
opened and dissolved
fear in me.

Water of my hands
woke up, sprung up.

Water of my feet.

Water of my eyes,
my brain.

There were no parts of me
my invitation was not reaching.

Little baby faces all that water was--
and each, an innocence,
a living breathing star.

And therein
other starry lights.

Green and azure golden
shot high and all around me.

Rainbows spinning, under and over-lacing,
composed a heaven's tapestries.
Sarah Sep 2018
Growing up there was chaos reshaping the love;
it was the cycle that gave us our dynamic.
A single thing acted like a looming shadow as it circled our warm home.
It would **** them one by one into its cold smog.
I grew used to its presence;
making me numb to its touch.
I had to settle the rest of their souls by ridding them of the darkness.
I was young but I understood pain;
I saw it in their eyes,
heard it behind a smile,
and felt it with the lingering touch -
longing to be comforted.
Eventually, the shadow turn to light.
The pain dissolved,
but I still remember every situation I made right -
the memories of the darkness still live inside me.
Written 08/16/2018
Em Oct 2018
You loved cautiously
from afar
gliding your fingers through crashing waves in open sea
while you flew near water just to be safe
incase the heat of us burnt you alive,
so you avoided it entirely.

I loved recklessly
never too far
I could practically reach out to the blazing orb in the sky burning me
taking that burden of the heat all alone
my wings dissolved.

I tried to make us work
but how can I fix us if it's only me trying.

you were so distant you never noticed me fall
but only noticed once I was already far gone
you assumed I "gave up" on us

but you,
you gave up on us
by never trying.

I flew too close to the sun...
I crashed and I burned
I was alone to face the heat
of all our problems
when i burned to ash and dust you blamed it on me

~e.m
Terry O'Leary Dec 2013
Ill-fated crowd neath foreign cloud: the Silent City braves
against a sudden sullen flood, unleashing lashing waves,
which washes stony structures clean with radiance that laves.

Deserted streets, once dense retreats, spin yarns of yesterday,
with  faded words no longer heard (though having much to say)
since teeming life (at one time, rife), surceased and slipped away.

Within its walls? Whist buildings, tall... Outside the City? Dunes...
They frame a frail forgotten tale,  in carved unwritten runes
with symbols hung like halos strung in lifeless, limp festoons.

The City’s blur? A sepulcher for Christians, Muslims, Jews –
Cathedrals, Temples, vacant now, enshrine their residues,
though churches, mosques and synagogues abide without a bruise.

A church’s Gothic ceilings guard the empty pews below
and, windswept blown above the stones, a maiden’s blue jabot.
The Saints, in crypts, though nondescript, grace halos now aglow.

Stilled chapel chimes! Their clapper rope (that tongue-tied confidante)
won’t writhe to ring the carillons, alone and lean and gaunt –
its flocks of jute, now fallen mute, adorn the holy font.

Stray footsteps swarm  through church no more (apostates that profane) -
their echoes in the nave ring thin, while chalice cups maintain
a taste of brine in altar wine decaying in the rain.


No face will come with jagged tongue to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor pray for mercy, grace deferred, or beg lethean balm.


Six steeple towers, steel and stone, drab daggers in the sky!
Their hallowed halls no longer call when breezes wander by –
for, filled with dread to wake the dead, they've ceased to sough or sigh.

No cantillation, belfry bells, monastic chants inspire
and Minarets, though standing yet, host neither voice nor crier -
abodes and buildings silhouette a muted spectral choir.

Coiled candle sticks! Their twisted wicks no longer 'lume the cracks
with dying flame in smoky swirl mid pendant pearls of wax,
since deference to innocence dissolved in melting tracks.

Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter’s wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak.

Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, across a cruel moraine
reflecting white a wisp of light in ebon beads of bane
which casts a crooked smile across a faceless window pane.

Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness sleek as slate,
while lanterns (hovered, high above, in silent swinging gait),
haunt ballrooms, bars, bereft bazaars, with no one left to fete.

Death's silhouettes show no regrets, 'twixt twilight’s ashen shrouds,
oblivious she always was to cries in dying crowds –
in foggy neap the spirits creep... a clutch of clammy clouds.


No breath will come  'cross jagged tongue to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor yet redress the emptiness that shifting shades embalm.



The castle clock, unwound, defrocks! Those peerless speechless spokes
unfurl the blight of reigning Night by spinning off her cloaks,
and flaunt the dun oblivion, her Baroness evokes.

Green trees gone dark, in palace parks, where children paused to play –
now voiceless things on phantom swings, like statues made of clay,
mark marbled tombs in graveyards groomed for grievers bent to pray.  

The sun-bleached bones of those who've flown lie scattered down the lanes
while other souls who hid in holes left bones with yellow stains
of plaintive tears (shed insincere, for no one felt the pains).

The terrors wrought by conscience fraught once stalked and lurked nearby
to rip the shrouds from  curtained clouds, frail fabrics on the sky –
now wraiths that scream in sleepless dreams no longer terrify.

And fog no longer leaks beyond the edge of doom’s café,
for when she trails her mourning veils, she fills the cabaret
with sallow smears of misty tears  in sheets of shallow gray.

Beyond the suburbs, farmers’ fields (where donkeys often brayed)
exhale a gust of barren dust where living seed once laid
and in the haze a scarecrow sways, impaled upon a *****.

A silo, still! Like hollowed quill, a ravished feather’s vane,
with traces of bespattered blood, once flowing through a vein.
The fruits of life, destroyed in strife... ’twas truly all in vain.


No souls will come with jagged tongues to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm –
they've seen, you see, life’s brevity, beneath a neutron bomb.


EPILOGUE

Beyond the Silent City’s walls, the victors laugh and play...
They’re celebrating PEACE ON EARTH, the devil’s sobriquet
for neutron radiation death in places far away.
FromMySoul Apr 2017
She takes him away...to places he has never been
With every ****** releases all his pain, erases all his sin
A ***** to the battleground, a willing soldier of the war
****** as it may be, he'll always be back for more
Always be back for more...
Doesn't matter what is lost, all the years he can't get back
She has all he'll ever need....the monkey on his back
And through prices paid, all her jealous rage....she won't let him go
Just one look was all it took for her to possess his soul
Still, he believes he lost it, left it somewhere behind
But there is no seeing, for a man that's bleeding and doesn't know he is blind
All reason gone, dreams dissolved in fighting for an endless plight
Cuts and bruises, broken bones, lines blur between wrong and right
Robert C Howard Oct 2018
Above the caldera at Yellowstone,
a brittle soil-rock crust
caps a lake of liquid fire
with only fumaroles and roiling geysers
to stay its upward ******.

One errant step is all it takes
to breach that mantle's fragile seal -
spelling death by fire
to any hapless wanderer
who fails to guard his path.

Fragile calderas also roil
buried in darkest hollows of our psyches -
brewed of failures, slights and fears
dissolved in molten pools
of self-consuming misery.

To dress and salve our wounds
we sow gardens of reconciliation within
with beauty, trust and reason
and bow to gods of grace and solace.

But a despot’s studied eye
knows just how to tap our fragile crusts,
releasing acrid lava flows
from pools where fear and rage reign hot
and reason has no district.

Sisters and brothers of our flesh I pray
we find a holy and transforming alchemy
to convert our heat to light
and shield our sacred calderas
from enemies that stalk us from within.

July, 2006, revised December, 2014, 2015 and 2018
Robert Charles Howard
I decided to repost this poem because after scores of revisions over the years every stanza is substantially different than it was when I first wrote it in 2006.  Hopefully after 12 years, I've got it figured out.
Umi Aug 2018
Bodies sink into the depths,
Disappearing beneath the waves with no light,
The abyss welcomes them, offers them a new home: Despair.
Driven by frustration and the wish to return home, hatred is born.
Strong enough to break through the hellish, screaming cauldron.
This is my story too, the me standing right before you, is the one who sank into the bottom of her heart, disappearing in a hole of sadness.
I won't allow you to cross these waters, not without defeating me,
Sink, again and again, the cycle never ends, war never changes.
Even if your enemy might be your very self from the past long gone,
Give it everything you got and be ruined by the fate that chains you,
With every cycle returning, frustration, hopeless rage, envy and hatred are gaining strengh, losing more and more of themselves here,
Parts of yourself vanish between the iron bottom sound, where so many have fallen before, just to protect those who they held so dear.
But what is a war worth that has no meaning but greed at all ?
The things I held dear started vanishing long ago, rusted, dissolved,
All I am is a shell of my former being.
I am but just an abyssal.

~ Umi

- M i d w a y - H i m e -
CallMeVenus Jun 2018
Spoke to a Baphomet
Down by the willow
He was watching the moon bathe in that same river
That dissolved everything in its way

He whispered:' This is your version of Aegri somnia'

I tell him that this is not a bad dream and that
I really am shattered in thousands of pieces
And that
I came to lay my burden down

So, he offers a rope and I suddenly see a brighter season

He plays me *****, one for the shepherd none for the sheep

I asked for my own Beatrice back

she burns in a pit
9th circle - still have her knife in my back
And only then he tells me the rules-the waiting game begins only when the lights go out

But
I
Can't
See
In
The
Dark



Game over.
*Baphomet=Devil
*lat.troubled dreams; sick man's dreams
*Dante's lover, Beatrice
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