"ecstacies" poems
Esoteria, this marble body wrought of burden
Of the Halcyon days, breathéd in these coarser ways
I peer rapture ‘pon the retina at what you sought
And won to capture.
I see my kind and its soul in artful craft and oil
Marvel at an author’s hand the suffuse horror
Beauty demands. How fickle the smoke of
Inspiration. My torture scratched half on leaf
Come as these came, fleeing we for it Eden
Burned and pacified this trembling hand needn’t pacify
The true desire of my own a prize for heart
‘gainst, I know the pillar lone.
So ebb and flow melancholia go, ‘twas that despair
Walked hand-in-hand down the ****** gates, no worse
For wear, that belle danseuse undone and bare
Morose lines drawn away in the scope of stare.
My future was so painted thus, these seconds were
A stronger pulse, no stranger to my wicked book
But I know difference; set I to find the charm and
Awe her radiance inspired.
Lo, it was not painting nor poetics, but the hand
Sleepy eyes, such confound this tongue and scene
Pathetic—this waylayer of my woe escaped
With the point of her toe, blind to things as I and drapes.
More joyous I couldn’t be, before aesthetics
As such let be and seeking to seek her out
As fiction demands content, I stay devout
Between pillar lone and the crashing wave of dreams
Come pouring forth. Shall I mar this angel,
Crestfallen, who, nay, suffers for awe?
Yes, I must for fear of my echo’s mate so cherished
Is fate for beauty so raw in moment’s time I’ll speak of love.
Her gaze is passed from room to wall as a spectre,
I, unseen and all, reach out, frozen as David to
Frustrate a period in done, unfinished verse
Still climbing, but to now a leveled curse.
‘T’is fitting a hand as mine would rightly ruin
No eye, nor brain, nor mouth a cage, my hex
An artist seeks Elysium so truth to coincide—
I’m vexed—as love and word step from my life
In tow, they from the page.
Perhaps even these can’t sustain the ecstacies
Ecstacies of the unlovely as I at portrait’s gaze
Stand and profane a sacred she or there,
Genius in the gallery still prey for Esoteria.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
When the moon faints into the dark
There comes a girl who sells sunlight
Wearing dark bruises into her scratched skin,
Followed by vicious wolves with ****** teeths,
To ward of the gloom
To paint the dark,
For what was been painted on her colored hopes,
Was Labyrinth of suffering
She stoles the sunlight from the day
At least the sun doesnt mind it,
She bends to the peoples who needed the sunlit jars in the moonless dusk.
For their darkling shore of the heart
They try to go to her,
But is held back.
There's a girl who sells sunlight
Dipped in lefted ecstacies
And fades
As None had a strength to
follow her into the dark
Oct 9, 2022
Oct 9, 2022 at 3:18 AM UTC
Convulsing Pleasures
My woman passed me by
Some years now
Years ago, yes
I suppose
I believe in the wilderness she lived through
Winds that haunted her explicitly
Insisting on delivering anguishing pains
Somehow, un-nurtured, unrestrained
Exactly as her will, lust and flesh were
Well, for me, I - unbelieving - saw it too
Wherein threats threaded their fearsome paths
Gathering ever mightier forces
And exploding within all her convoluting
And yet expanding endlessly passions
Within violent quivers and contortions unseen
In God’s history
In one finale crescendo, I swear
Fearful, it can be to you
But fear not, I say
Fear her not
For, you know naught of her carnal resilience inner
Triumphs savagely over her entirety and existence
And what then
Will you think as you behold
What then will you dare to relate unto unknowing others
Will you, can relate on her
Her pleasurable gasps of madness
Her convulsing, frenzied satanic sublime ecstacies
What, then, can you dare say unto people
I know
Nothing
Perhaps
Little, or else
Insane fugitives, eternal
We too shall
Forever be
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 5:45 AM UTC
Gold plated taps
dispense gold plated water
baths with gold plated soap suds?
yet producing the same
**** of green back arrogance
and shine.
The blue black lambhorgini
controlled by road signs and speed limits
but the ego driving the wheel
cannot understand
four wheels and an engine
bursting its brain in the undercarriage
collecting accident cold hard stares
All those lovely women
don't love you - lover
its the cars and the feeling
the shades of pink and purple
that drive their own ecstacies
up the wall of your waiting
Tonight
you will sleep alone
wondering where your woman went?
Don't ask me. I don't know.
a ******* from a man-eating tiger.
Author Notes
OK.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ag
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC