"divinities" poems
Moon marked and touched by sun
my magic is unwritten
but when the sea turns back
it will leave my shape behind.
I seek no favor
untouched by blood
unrelenting as the curse of love
permanent as my errors
or my pride
I do not mix
love with pity
nor hate with scorn
and if you would know me
where the restless oceans pound.
I do not dwell
within my birth nor my divinities
who am ageless and half-grown
and still seeking
my sisters
witches in Dahomey
wear me inside their coiled cloths
as our mother did
mourning.
I have been woman
for a long time
beware my smile
I am treacherous with old magic
and the noon's new fury
with all your wide futures
promised
I am
woman
and not white.
21.1k
going to the horror films
at ten years old
i wanted to be bitten by the vampire ladies
you know the ones
red brides from the netherworlds
with heaving *******
divinities of evil
with that dah look
in silky white gowns
a little messy from sleeping in the dirt
culture vulture goth girls
with upside down crosses
slags all gauzy bats in the belfry
deranged
but after all they where
dead
and dreadfully appealing
and I'm pretty fussy
so what the hell
they walked like floats
in marshy air
never touching the ground
above frozen dark crypt terrains
with twinkly bare feet
and black high glossed toenails
staring out of blood spilled eyes
drooling cloudy mouth hollows
and a yearning hungry countenance
encouraging me
to get closer
to bite me all over
pierce me
with needly fangs
puncturing little holes in tender me
making me leak like bad plumbing
until i sloped into the bog below
of course, i was panicked
all trembly
but i had a big one
for these evil shadowy ******* too
so i thought
yes
no
yes
no
yes
no
are you gonna **** me?
i asked
they drooled
ooow okay, i thought is it gonna hurt?
they shook there heads yes!
and drooled
real bad?
i inquired further
ah ha
they lingered glaring
drooling
i guess, waiting for me to make up my mind
oh okay anything for you
you dark dreamy girls
dilapidated queens of hell
with ballet derrières
"down and down I go
round and round I go
in a spin, lovin' the spin I'm in
under the old black magic called love"
after all at ten years old,
i already knew i was
a horror *****
and just a little turned on
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC
Poems, the consciousness of minutes
Plucked like corn from the ear
Of language,
Between the here and now
Of echoes reflection,
A door to everywhere and nowhere
At the desk,
An escape from the peoples,
From the abyss that fills,
From the sulfuric melancholy
Where unconquerable ruins
Lay at the foot of memory
Armed with an assault of words.
The beneficent metaphorical
Divinities of the moments we
Connect like spinning webs,
You, me, him, her,
They, poets and every one else.
We compact time ripping off
The facelessness of vanities,
Provokers of thought,
Erupting the sensitivity and
Stirring the pit of emotion.
Every poet must know a lover
To cut the cord from the ink
And commit to the experience
Of the realised, words become
What we have done.
Nouns, pronouns, adjectives, these things
Are tools to the inner soul,
We become prophetic and speak
The Fallen,
We know the children of dust
And ignite the realised poem
In each of them,
This is how poetry exists,
How philosophy exists,
And love,
And even hate.
And if these things don't exist,
Then I do not exist,
Neither do you.
Somewhere in the darkness
A prisoner of words begins
Writing the light brighter
than any under the sun.
The first of first, her hair in the
Motion as she flicks slender finger
With her eyes gushing in a half
Smile, the music on the radio,
The memory of Mother, everything,
Everywhere, poetry is life,
It writes itself!
And here in this decalogue,
Every love survives,
Every pain manifest,
Streaking in the heart the
Blood races to the fingers and
Bleeds words to paper.
Every poem is a sacrifice,
Time, energy, pieces
Of you, pieces of I
Scattered in the penumbra,
We become as crystalline structures,
Transparent translation of the
Spirit that burns.
Every man and woman
Writes the experience,
Life and its unique constellation
Of emotions, enormously
We must write the world,
The poem is real,
The images speaks itself.
Poetry is life,
Deserve your poem.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
back in the day
rocks could talk
often
they where
casual, petty and small-minded
just like us
divinities platitudes
every word a drop of manna
its magic
wow magic
so out of conceit
we made them gods
deferred to their credibility
and like idiot children
paid attention to their great allegories
a provident sea of wisdom
from the skeletons of time
we carved their faces from stones
put them on pedestals
and gave them names
the great know it alls
urns of heaven
those oracles of old
and so ensued
the epic cycle of talking statues
and thats how decisions where made
back in the day
the statues are strangely mute now
sunken shadows into earths bowels
and the age of reason
has been transplanted
by the age of
*what the ****
a new
hobbled world soul
of darkened consciousness
to cope with tentacles of complexity
and a forest of trials
where depth of thought has been replaced
and decisions are made by
the exalted
ennie meenie minee moe
method
an abstruse form of ritual magic
so from now on
all arguments will be settled
by me
sticking my tongue out
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
Perilous mornings lighting what was once a night devoid of light
as the Sun whispers to us secrets of warmth
Sunlight trickling amazement ‘cross the horizon as it is of striking blue.
You and I could walk the earth as it is painted in sunshine.
Like water on a rainy day, replenished and unsightly beautiful in mystic drip-drops.
Hand-in-hand, connected for these pines to see
with me
Lost loosely in the trees, lingering forever with you.
seasons come and seasons go
to and fro with the snow
where the other is not.
i lie sleeping on this cot.
The feat of your words undeniably strikes me off my own feet, smiling all the while:
Glimmering
&
Glistening
Glares
You,
My
Eternal
Snow-drop
“just close your eyes”
and see the sunrise
i will leave you to surmise
What divinities of love are shown to me in the eternal glory of this -- a full moon.
Love is a hike, and I like your path.
mountains that crown the continent.
camped in a forested palace
many the paths to take,
with you, though,
i shall not be lost.
for it is with you,
that I am only truly found.
The light shines back to us,
the reflections
of smiles aplenty
and laughter
on and of the water.
Nothing is normal and everything is strange.
in this moment,
in travelin’ cross this land,
in the shining sunlight,
what are we to forever share?
Grow and go unto this world
where you are free to see all there is to see
and be.
Jan 11, 2012
Jan 11, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
your lips are a sort of heaven
take that from an athiest
I used to believe in God
until he took away the one I loved most
and even though I don't believe
I hope I'm wrong
because surely someone as beautiful as you
deserves a heaven
your words are a sort of paradox
seemingly neverending, thank God
I don't know what I'd do without them
but also like a maze that I can't find my way out of
you've got my mind spinning and I wouldn't want
to find my way even if I could
and don't get me started on your eyes
because I can't help but look into them and see an hourglass
ticking down the time until you leave again and i'll be
praying to whoever will listen that I get to see them one last time
they're blue like the sky,
sky blue sky blue
I've never written words more true
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
Zen minimalist, tool
slipping words two fingers in
and seizing hold, mixing in subtle verbs
spinning worlds, filling up voids
with a tantalizing wetness
Yes, minimalist
and less is more
so clean that up you ***** *****
and speak only silence
leave them lost in awkwardness
born from want and wanting more, like
‘I know you want this
and yes I got this
minus man or wing by my side
rising instead from happy feelings, inside
sounding wise enough to me
and maybe soon I'll see exactly
what they meant’
as we drop and rise
in two time beat
knees, bent, in, weak
quivering at the seams
diving into dreams and coming
out breath stopped, heart attacked,
jagged and off
then two scenes later, maybe three tops
jumping ahead, fast forwarding to
the quick bits
the grimy bits
the slimy bits
the ins and outs
proving what drive thru is all about-
- since there's no need to waste time
on the things we can do
again, and again, and again.
Then, reverse spin
back to the beginning, cowboy
back to the drawing board
back to the sheets
put your back in it and ride, harder
calves carved in, jump the fleet
lift arms up in victory
the downward dog days are over
and we saw them coming
inhibitions released
letting go of the sweet
and drizzling, no just
jizzing all over the God **** place
hot and flustered, in our face
rushing to encase thoughts that
had always filled the space
but still, found no place in design
rather finding the time
to bleed them out, in epiphanies,
calling them nirvanas
calling them divinities
but titling them Truth.
And swearing, on your life
that that's what it was to you
and I lay there, only trying
not to believe it too.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
The past manifests as a swift wind,
pulling me into a conundrum of clouded flashbacks,
marking the timeline of my life by the phases of the moon.
those illuminated images in my mind
distract me from my broken memories.
The sun would fall jealous at how I admired the moon…
resting high on a bed of clouds, without a worry,
worshipped by mortality-
Like how my mind obsesses over the moon's natural shimmer.
So divine...
and we are just mortals…
figurines below a sky of divinities.
I admit I can despise my mortality
and my daily mortal follies...
I wonder why my house is so cold
I wonder why you are so far
I wonder why i can’t see in color anymore
And the past, it taunts my mortal mind.
It hums the sweetest vibrations of superior light,
grasping me by the collar of my flesh,
Singing about everything i once was,
once had,
once loved…
The past took it away for it's own possession.
Perhaps that is what divinities do;
Possess our mortality.
Now it’s all gone,
and i’m a bitter old soul-cluster
who despises this flesh,
and radiates red that looks like grey,
and will spend my last moments of breath
searching for the illuminated face of the moon,
to bless me with the colorful love weaved into the memories of my past.
© 2016 D.M.V
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
*creepy night river awake like a fever
as fireflies glow in furtive morse code
the eerie evening commands silence
in the hollow empty spaces yielded
in sonorous silences by a yawning dearth
of everything that's sacred, pure and sweet
once there was raw laughter and joy here
and weavers wove rich tales of fat worms
for their pampered nestlings afloat on air
once there was life and presence here
but now small spaces abound in this vast absence
of sunshine smiles and catwalk swinging
now it's plovers, owls and night jars galore
as their apocalyptic cries smite the night
like a plague in New Canaan where glory
is never too far away from the surface gloss
of a loveliness kidnapped by the salacious gods
of lewd desires and morbid libidos alive in tales
that are forever testifying to the loud presence
of envious divinities on a free ride upon our egos
everything is gone now but the thunderous silence
and the smiles that lit up our days are now but a memory
of wan looks and faded joys clad in the hollow feelings of pain
and that's all that ever remains when our futile antics are done*
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
I know what I am supposed to write,
These gods are signaling me,
I can not understand,
If I write what I see,
I will be accused of being traitor,
I don't to how to make bomb,
I don't to how to do ambroidery,
I can only spread ****** blackness around,
But my hands are too short,
Can not reach to the eyes above the cheeks,
Now I can understand the game of those divinities,
And I still can not understand their signals,
But I know, what I am supposed to write.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 8:16 PM UTC
Afear not the prison of the felons
But the prison of the spirit and soul
The heaviness of emptiness
In men’s lives
Suffocates the illumination of elation
Even around human beings
It is rare to find a circle of humanity
Only the centre of silence too loud
We never care
Silence built sturdily amongst mankind
To restrain and strangle the mind in solitude
And fading its peace away
Thus void be called my hearth
Till I embrace the shadows of death
Alone and alone the angels of hollow
Shall cuddle my soul cold
And drag me to the grave
Sing no song of sympathy
Nor thy cold condolences
When I’m gone
For thou shall forget of liberty
And venerate divinities of lonesomeness
When silence sighs alive amongst your souls
Let it not breed
And defeat humanity
Relent not to that kind of wicked war
Let it ebb afar from thy generation
And construct love and care strongly
For my children
For unity is the reliable strength of society
Let it be a custom to keep it firm
Since it takes society to raise a child
Raise them warriors
And patriots of humanity
And thou shall breathe happiness eternally
And love be spread to my people
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 5:36 AM UTC
The manifestation of matter is divinities cosmic intent
Our Universe is efficient in its means to cultivate life forms
Harnessed by consciousness, and fixed within an organic vessel
Each peculiar anatomical organism has an individual perception, and from a distinct focal point
We experience life subjectively.
Mar 23, 2025
Mar 23, 2025 at 5:48 AM UTC
Romance the divinities,
be a god on your own.
Walk the streets with radiance and fall in love with life itself.
You have nothing to live for but you,
so be as gold as you can shimmer and stay as warm as the summer.
You're a cosmic galaxy, darling.
Shine.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
*You are this certain factor
In withdrawn I love you-s,
A constant, nonpareil kick in my blood,
My veins, knowing full well
These distentions, the holy perfusion,
A cardiomegaly which ever so sweeten
Like a plump fruit.
You accentuate all the divinities
I long longed for, slowly,
Infused within me.
Now this is love,
And love is nothing else...
...but you, but God.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 5:00 AM UTC
Thread through the needle head
She out the door without a word
I am so hungry I cannot stand up right
Someone's on to me
They've got a hold of my sight
One too many secrets in this place
One too many divinities here
I swear the hare stole my pocket watch
One of these days this madness
Has to got to cease and stop
Ideas place themselves on the shelves
Where all that's left is all there is
When I listen I try to keep my mouth shut
Like a worm in the ground
Or a squirrel holding on to sacred nut
The wind makes her promises
And the mountains continue to tell their lies
The guitar lays down weary
Where the saxophone wails loud n' free
This sound is starting to turn into a fury
I tell no lies unless the barrel is a gun
Your graveyard smile has got me on the run
And all my friends tell me to stay put
But I'd rather ramble with the sun on my boot
Just listen to yourself and
There'll be nothing left to be said
A crack of the bat and I'm back where I started
Laughs of uncertainty show faces all unsupported
I can't get too close to the sun or I'll burn
But there is something in myself that yearns
For a better life filled with this and a little bit of that
Where I ask myself, "Who am I when I wear this hat?"
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 2:11 AM UTC
How do we know of god?
By word, visible presence or internally-constructed belief?
Can we read a book and know
That these are a god's words
Or sense that an ambitious man
-great or malevolent-
Created them for temporary gain,
To impress others, or for power.
Is god a grandiose representation
Of either gender, and why should that be?
The myriad flowers scattered around,
wind-blown, gale tossed
are but our planet's codes
Tree and toad
are equal products of earth and time.
Why ask for another kind of being
in a world replete
with every grim and wonderful sort,
in another realm surrounded by
other winged and chubby divinities?
Why believe that old books,
written in time and place,
are products of gods?
Do gods really write so badly?
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
The profits of words
In the night that becomes us,
We the nocturnal poets,
Divinities of the good nights
When benevolence soars
As the pen avenges the light;
Constellation of the return,
Coming to rip the hope from regret
And all dissolves into a pen,
Inklings that become the umbilical
Cord between now and then,
Present and tomorrow
Are written for the sake of hope,
Because yesterday is usually
A sad poem.
Quarter hour gone, I reinvent myself
Born from the volcanic melancholy,
The fire that burns
In the moments we want
Those moment's time,
Here and now,
Words are the quarter hour's
Fulfillment at the poets
Expense.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC
Come, wipe away my thoughts of you
Now that you are not mine
Return to visit, oh blessed spirit
Conquer the grasps of time
To commemorate the days of past
To scorn the sleepless nights to come
And establish a vigil to ever-last
How to not know pain, yet not fall numb?
Teach me your ways, as your body lies
How is it you fell at my feet, while your free soul flies?
Let me be like you--sensationless, but eternal
Ne'er again to feel the cool of night
Nor the sun's infernal
Arms of light
I long to dwell in glory's abode
To feel you run through my spirit-hair
The passion of life which death fears to part
The mixtures of ancients in the sacred air
To feel no flesh,
Yet feel all of your love
To gift you my ghost
On the wings of the dove
Every morning have I gazed into clouds
I beseech the heavens to gather them into your likeness
Placing every heart's hope in these celestial vapors
Feeding my strength and my youth into my futile madness
Why have you left me, to romance of the seraph?
You sip the caresses of divinities
How could I have been so foolish to let death in
And ****** you away with her cold, dark delicacies?
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
Thread through the needle head
She out the door without a word
I am so hungry I cannot stand up right
Someone's on to me
They've got a hold of my sight
One too many secrets in this place
One too many divinities here
I swear the hare stole my pocket watch
One of these days this madness
Has to got to cease and stop
Ideas place themselves on the shelves
Where all that's left is all there is
When I listen I try to keep my mouth shut
Like a worm in the ground
Or a squirrel holding on to sacred nut
The wind makes her promises
And the mountains continue to tell their lies
The guitar lays down weary
Where the saxophone wails loud n' free
This sound is starting to turn into a fury
I tell no lies unless the barrel is a gun
Your graveyard smile has got me on the run
And all my friends tell me to stay put
But I'd rather ramble with the sun on my boot
Just listen to yourself and
There'll be nothing left to be said
A crack of the bat and I'm back where I started
Laughs of uncertainty show faces all unsupported
I can't get too close to the sun or I'll burn
But there is something in myself that yearns
For a better life filled with this and a little bit of that
Where I ask myself, "Who am I when I wear this hat?"
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC
A thunderstorm is upon us;
It drenches all the sinners here.
You are unholy, albeit harmless.
What broken trinity are we?
A god by your name
Is not a deity in this house.
We know only one God
And you don't have His name.
In one of our divinities, we embrace.
Yours alone are softer than all others.
Our breaths shudder in the night,
My chin on your shoulder.
I, weaker than any woman,
Yes, even than the Creation Mother,
Want to be the soil in which
You ground your roots.
Oh, when you do, like asteroids
I fall from the heavens. During my descent A drop of liquid traces my spine
Leaving wetness frozen in air.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 1:07 AM UTC
Memories are made of scars
Woven into tapestries
Laid out in the darkest halls
Where schizophrenics roam
Voices sing of long-lost stars
Unique in their divinities
Written on the bathroom walls
Of rest stops long disowned
Twilight shines through broken panes
The hourglass remains the same
Forever on its side
Though time goes creeping on and on
There are no truths within a name
With violence breeding out the sane
Such darkness here resides
It must have been here all along
For the only lights remembered
Are the phantoms of dismay
The only satisfaction
Is it might not be a lie
The final dying embers
Are the fires that fuel decay
A comatose reaction
In a mind that never dies
Such dreams are never ending
Dying hearts cannot be stilled
The poison circulating
Now sustaining waking death
They rise in their descending
As in emptiness they’re filled
More intoxicating
With their every failing breath
On legs that quake and tremble
Come euphoria and pain
Such sweet inoculation
In the cure that is disease
Their bodies now a temple
To the rotting and insane
The grave’s ***********
To the soul upon its knees
Emptiness conscripted
On the question of forever
Eternity’s dark sermon
In the Chapel of Decay
Such madness now inflicted
In the Valley of the Never
Consuming the uncertain
As the lifeless lead the way
These freely bleeding masses
To a pulse remain enslaved
Vainly grasping endlessly
For lives they’ll never own
They sip from tainted glasses
On which failures are engraved
Harvesting so recklessly
The sorrows they disown
Finding false forgiveness
In their Mothers, Sons, and Gods
To ease their guilty consciences
So they can sin again
Blindly bearing witness
To their weakening facade
Giving darkness dominance
In times that soon will end
Forever so unknowing
That their lives are but pretend
So easily they free themselves
From any blame they earn
While every stone they’re throwing
Will betray them in the end
They’ll find that they themselves
All feed the fires in which they burn
While Death is biding time
From His throne He needn’t move
With the blind leading the blind
In the place where liars rule
How they suffer so sublime
Each one trying so to prove
They the only King to find
In this ****** Land of Fools
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
You are mine and I am yours
you have opened my heart to loves door
now it's the last years, I have made my mission
to in the last days have twenty twenty vision
I have that kind and unselfish love
that sacrifice to all
that part of my inner being
a quantifiable elaborate tool
I work to strive
I fight to survive
in the turmoil of life
I do find divinities drive
Does in matter
black matter
the fabric
that adorns me
Oh sweet children of Eve
as my numbers dwindle
yet I do kindle
the last hopes of humanity
The death of me
that twenty twenty vision
is not my choice
it's a time line decisions
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
green feeble breathing leaves,
under a blanket of light and thunder
with every passing tremor
from the abode of divinities,
they bathe unapologetically,
a melody cracks the humongous earth
into the notes of a lost symphony,
the rain is just a clairvoyant dancer,
foreseeing the smiles of all equals,
the petrichor transverses
the past,present and the future
in the spaces between space,
even my cold rusted heart,
breathes like a cancer dying patient,
for the last smoke in this petrichor,
and I am a child again, brisking through mud,
searching something that I do not even remember,
maybe I will find it in sometime,
in a place,where childhood went
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 3:18 AM UTC
being to timelessness as it’s to time,
love did no more begin than love will end;
where nothing is to breathe to stroll to swim
love is the air the ocean and the land
(do lovers suffer?all divinities
proudly descending put on deathful flesh:
are lovers glad?only their smallest joy’s
a universe emerging from a wish)
love is the voice under all silences,
the hope which has no opposite in fear;
the strength so strong mere force is feebleness:
the truth more first than sun more last than star
—do lovers love?why then to heaven with hell.
Whatever sages say and fools, all’s well
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
Gone long ago
Up and vanished
From here
the bewildering wildlings
Never appear
Anymore
In the form
Of imaginative
Vivid images we
Had envisioned as kids
Overprivileged to live
In a kingdom of sky
In a reverie
Tucked into sleep
Lullaby
An illusory fantasy
Story belied
By the monsters beneath
The wars raging outside
Castle walls we sequestered
Our western ideals
Civilized since the dawning
of time
Isn’t real
And revealed to the kneeling
To its old and gray
Scientific divinities
Still on display
In decay
Preservation encasing
A once upon kind
Of design for eternity’s
Undying mind
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 5:54 PM UTC