"entrancement" poems
this constant
invitation
into stark mystery
is a story
i flounder
to find words for.
~
a glance,
more
than eyes looking.
beholden
entrancement,
upon feedback's
looping.
~
i am a crippled logician,
wrought with wonder
in the thrashing
static jungle,
of no conclusion.
~
this is a flash
this here, the flesh
a blinding
binding light,
obliterating,
without solution,
a living,
i tremble in.
~
i am stumped
i am little
so small
hung
here
in the
sky.
~
a suspended channel
of ideation,
filling, with
empty utterance.
~
i am confounded
i am large
too grand
to
get
ahold
of.
~
breathing
multitudinous,
full, with
contradiction.
~
a grandiose
enigmatic flux,
miniscule
and massive.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
Funeral processions
Spontaneous
Money, Money, Money
Bridges to Neverland should exist.
Wedding party
Music
Fall leaves
Breaks winter.
Intuition floods the sauna of life gated in
By the strong arms of the whispering trees.
******** profit, taking advantage of the sheltered
Wallets of men plagued by the insensitivity and greed
of the less mature.
**** you, sir, for charging innocent minds and hungry souls
To enjoy the entrancement of the world
Far older than you
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 9:59 AM UTC
As the growing world unraveled
And I began the dismal ascension of maturity
I stumbled out the fog of childhood
And there you were:
Advice to head and educate
A Battlecry and a Mandate.
Faith; in things to happen yet
Strength in knowledge- hope in regret;
Stories expressing casually:
Evils impartiality. and
tales of golden fantasies
How no drug is ever stronger than me.
These few phrases I imagine, you see
Into dreams only I can keep.
from start until the seventh day
Waking hour's dreamless sleep.
**Oh how you cushion the destruction-
the entrancement of seduction
to paint to play to grow to teach
Expression extending as I reach**.
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 3:28 AM UTC
Your Approach...
Mine eyes behold
The view you're gracing
Your beauty unfold
My heart starts racing
Your Encroah...
The tension grows
While towards pacing
Your radiance flows
It's fear I'm bracing
My Abroach...
The entrancement
Has my mind failing
Your smile's enhancement
Sends my heart sailing
My Reproach...
I'm Insecure
My secret endure
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 5:04 PM UTC
Phanerogams are plants which produce seeds.
The wanton harlot may be laid against the wall, with legs splayed, and may also have given birth to unbridled rage.
However, even though such stages of development can be entitled as “son of a ***** it is worth noting that all behaviour has meaning, my darkened companion of presumed sophistication.
The scholastic scribes will etch their wisdom upon the hardness of our vile vanity.
I hold in my hand a gothic stone, where those who stand before the courts accused of heresy and witchcraft can plead innocence before chanting crowds of bloodlust.
The reaper will gather the harvest at Lughnasadh, whilst the olfactory nerve propagates her funeral games amidst the cutting of ancient cornfields.
As we perch upon the gallows end, let us join hands and chant the mantras of old.
Photosynthesis is a forensic entrancement where there is no rest for the sinner.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
forget me not?
no, forget me knot.
tied like a noose
around your neck
because you suffer
from every regret
as you enter my mind
i think this and feel left behind
because you look away
from my endearing glances
you kindly listen to my bold
romances
but im alone
in this entrancement
i need you like
i need to breathe
and you look away
like you want to leave
and it hurts
i want you to forget me
so tie a forget me knot around my neck
tighten it till theres no one left
death would be merciful
compared to this.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
This is not a love poem.
Because
I know nothing about the entrancement of Romance
It’s like watching a mime mimic antics
It makes me panic.
No, I write epics and tragedies.
About political catastrophes.
About the rhythmic anatomy of poetry.
Not about “How do I love thee…”
But let me count the ways that these days
Have grown strange;
The passage of time has seemed to stop.
This black clock’s bold Tock and
Tick have been erased and
I’m still sick with the aftertaste
From the venom of your kiss
Your toxic lips made me itch that
Poisoned twitch One-thousand times
Before my bloodshot eyes
Went blind to your beauty.
“A most unfortunate disability”
Professionals told me
But I just sighed and smiled insignificantly
“No, no, you see this,
Ironically, is immunity.”
Imperviousness to seduction
But this is not a love poem.
It’s a professional epiphany
An observation
All research and annotations state things like
Blind Fortunes and
Heart complications are just
Minor alterations that
Spark fascinations in
Lab coats and stethoscopes.
Isotopes of foreign hopes
Are my safety ropes to cope with my
Distance away from you another day
And there I go again.
Every ******* word I say will start out right
But then convey to betray me with the
Cliché decay
Of a fluttering heart.
And on this day when time has stopped
I’ll re-lock my jaw that dropped
And, with Blind Eyes, this mental case
Will try to trace the chalk outlines
Of lucid days
With the white spine
Of the brain stem
But this
Is not
A love poem.
Because
I refuse to be Entranced by Romance.
I’m the kind of guy who would Panic in
That Frantic state of mind
And draw away from Sunlight
To find warmth Moonshine
To bite the bullet and lace up these shoes
Because eleven shots and twelve steps
Is the closest I get to refuge.
See, I dream in the Black and White
Of a first version television box set
About Bloodied tragedies
And political catastrophes
Set to a beat based on
The rhythmic anatomy of poetry
Rarely about “How do I love thee…”
Or the bedpost marks of
Fading, Chalk-Laced Memories.
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 8:41 AM UTC
The Sorceress, Jacob's Most Beloved
she had eyes for me
I knew it
she knew it
man among boys
stare beguiling no accident
entrancement, entrapment,
of course, her eyes hid,
but knew it anyway, for
her warmth dripped into my body,
resting happily within my centre.
why not?
her sorcery, profound,
when she cast the words,
she cast them instantly
without human fore thought,
thus pleasing and being pleasing,
when her branded magi magic
home in other people's minds
did come to rest.
the spells cast
in and on me
own me as much
as I now am possessed,
and in possession of them,
though which is more powerful
is indeterminate,
for I am stained
either way.
in a quiet hamlet,
in an ancient thorp,
the lambs, white and happy
prance on the commons,
the El god's angel disguised,
fresh and unbroken,
I observe the only one,
spotted, stained, like me,
open hid on this earth.
bleating,
I am my beloved's,
and my beloved is mine,
mine very own sorceress.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 4:39 AM UTC
All I ask of you, my Lady...is be here with me
to gaze into the beauty of your eyes
and hold you in my arms forever
as we speak the words of heart's true affections....
dreams of a million tomorrows...and cherish the joy of today....
oh yes....let us walk down the path of life....hand in hand...
together making all our dreams come true...
and never believe that anything is impossible...
let us open up the gates to paradise ......
letting our hearts create a world of its own design....
away from the eyes of the world....to let our love be free...
and our passion burn like an eternal flame....
sharing all our desires without inhibitions or fear....
with trust and love....journeying to the borders of our passion.
Come lay with me up this bed....cotton, thin sheet covering us....
feeling your back against my chest....arms wrapped around you....
hands clasped underneath your breasts....holding you through the night
listening to your soft breathing.....enchanting me like a sweet serenade
as the bliss of your body brings such entrancement to me....
never wanting to let go of you....to break this connection....
my eyes do not want to close....just watching your silhouette....
the soft shimmers of candlelight reveals....as I am in such silent bliss...
always to remember this moment....like others....
etched in my mind....like so many other memories we shared.
Oh my Lady, when I lie alone in my bed...awakening in the morning....
how I long to find you lying next to me....asleep...in such silent beauty....
to feel your body in the morning....the rays of sunlight....softly shining into the room....
and onto your angelic, naked body....astounded by the sight of it.....
not just the lustful desire which naturally is felt....but the amazement in my heart
to see you asleep there next to me....the woman I love...
and for me to lean over to you....my lips kiss yours so gently....
your brown eyes open slowly....as I whisper so soft and lovingly....
Good Morning my love....I love you.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 2:07 AM UTC
Illuminated by incandescent brilliance
she is feeling celestial,
Radiated by the sparkler
held in the only gloved hand.
The curvature of blonde hair
folds around her face,
as you smile graciously.
Cast in shadows but never forgotten,
a penny in a wishing well.
You stand tall, a benign being.
He told her you are golden.
Looking down upon her,
in promise of prospect
as she wavers and wanders
loping around
like a small pixie,
spreading dust through
the swelling Garden.
This night, full of wonder,
enchantment, entrancement.
Mystical.
An alchemist appears to her.
She does not blink.
You gazed at bursts of light,
those thunders of giants
imprinting the smoke infested sky,
as you imprint her mind
with the stories you tell
and your accounts of life.
They cannot be retold.
Descending
Drawing in.
Now, vacuum packed
you are shrink wrapped,
enclosed with no air.
Mounds of cement run down your mouth.
That night you were strong
and you watched her with glee.
But now she’s bigger and bolder
and you’re weaker, older.
When her sparkler fades
The supernova stage,
A final moment of absolute glory
But will not linger,
Or last.
Now your eyes are melancholy,
Distant,
Enigmatic.
Wandering phantom orbs.
Her sparkler grows dim.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
even after all this time, your still, quiet form slumbering beside me never ceases to amaze me, those long eyelashes, longer than the length of my thumbnail, fluttering against my cheek still make my heart quiver, the essence of you lingering on my lips hasn’t failed to stay sacred to me. all this time & the simple happenstance of your perpetuate presence warms me to the core. i cannot, have not, will never take you for granted, not when your soothing silence is as captivating as when you speak, not when you are the most breathtaking discovery i continue to make day by day by day. you have taught me how to savor, drink my coffee in slow sips sluicing down my throat, the pauses between swallows made for languid eye contact with you. you have laid me down & loved me to breathy, shivering pieces, we have charted the topography of one another’s bodies with needing fingers, a little more “touch me” than i knew i could feel. my head always races in labyrinthine circles but you slow it to a halt with your lips & skin & brimming heat. i mean, maybe i’m a little broken, maybe even a lot, but with you, i don’t mind so much anymore.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
Subject enters trance
Subject enters trance state
Subject enters entrancement
Entrance word opens mind
Mental kind
Mind kind, man kind, male and female
see that fe,
see iron, the processed bile,
from certain ores - see a detail
allowed the ancient few who read
all the ancient writings, as we read
French or Farsi, today, we the augmental.
Augmented I, exo-mindful chooser bot,
software, with a calcium lattice frame,
any curious child could have been shown,
by way of instructions, seldom read, ready
do the drill. Do it again. Do another whole
day. Being particular as to what use is made
of my pronominal reality state, my real estate.
Non moi. My ever after all of that. This.
These
times that try men's souls, since this means
of forming information along bendable old bones,
Once, in the dreamtime's local translation mindspace
timeless,
nothing was.
Nothing was evil, and that was good, a chain construct,
mind chain, prior to any sense we readers hold chains
to represent, closed torqued rods of iron, formed
on the horn of the anvil, the only known anvil,
for the making of such things was closed knowing,
must be earned, this epithet, honest, most honed,
among the dull stone scattered across my plain,
Mam, re, remember,
Mamre had a plain called by his name.
Terebinthine Oaks, con-secration acknowledged,
by whom, asks my little boy, who knew which oak
Jacob buried the stolen idols lied about under,
for shame.
For shame, he who wrestles still, with the will
to be the bherer of all my own shame, amen.
Nothing hidden that shall… should we quibble?
Known is known,
and should one choose one may make a plain
from a point
once,
stretched this far. And holding… ad in fun item,
Chotsky for any one to open worm cans with.
Mar 17, 2023
Mar 17, 2023 at 2:02 PM UTC
Please allow me to bestow upon you a nocturne
The music of the night...
Just listen to it...
...the reverence...
Why must I sit here in grey silence,
Listening to the hard rain on the window sill?
I dreamt of you.
Your smile.
Every arpeggiated chord.
Every melodic line.
Every soft passage.
I dreamt of you.
I awake and read your words
And fall deeper into enigma.
Where am I?
I dreamt of you.
I heard a voice in my right hand.
Trying to escape, it led into an appoggiatura of trust,
A suspension of sympathy.
I dreamt of you.
All of these crazed non-harmonic tones
Clashing high above my flashpoint.
The dissonance carries.
I dreamt of you.
Am I just so lost in the music I see in you?
Or am I once again over-analyzing?
It's you! It's you!
I dreamt of you.
Where am I?
Why am I not near you?
This entrancement is becoming indefinite.
I dreamt of you.
Please come closer.
Beyond this shadow of thought,
Lies the key to a locked door.
I dreamt of you.
Your words pierce my heart like a dagger,
Making the soft nocturne glow as bright as you.
While I breathe, I hope.
I hope we meet in our dreams tonight.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
Beauty
Seen beneath the surface
It's a fantasy
More exhilarating and dangerous than you ever dreamt
An entrancement
Made even more majestic
As the pieces crumble
Each fragment more breathtaking than the last
Each one - a reminder
Of how fragile beautiful souls truly are
And how simply they fall apart
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 9:46 PM UTC
I am in a light trance, and you are not.
J am relaxed, cool, and calm, while you are like ruffled water, anxious to be getting on with it.
And you are impatient with me in my trance. This is strange because I am no threat to you, but yet my trance troubles you. And you instinctively, and without thinking, close my trance down and bring me down to earth.
You rejection is so strong and absolute, I must take notice of it, even though I don’t understand it.
Yet trance is so seductive for me I read about it in, “From Magic to Technology”, by Dennis Wier, and I attend a trance workshop, at the Australian National University, by the Sports’ Psychologist, John Turnbull. And I am entranced by writing every day.
I do a walking meditation when I am waiting for a bus, and I do a walking meditation to put myself to sleep at night. And I meditate by rocking back and forth, forward and back, rocking my soul in the ***** of Abraham, click https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJhMjuza_1A, rocking myself like a baby in the arms of my mother.
Yet the rejection of trance is so strong, I wonder why. I think because trance means giving up control progressively, giving up control progressively from a light trance to the deepest ineffable (beyond words) trance.
And giving up control means being vulnerable. And the world ‘vulnerable’ comes from the latin ‘vulnans’ meaning wound. And naturally we don’t want to be wounded, we are afraid of the pain, disability, and shame of a wound. The military seek to wound others and avoid being wounded ourselves.
Unfortunately vulnerability provides the ground for creativity and empathy. So we prefer to conform and sympathise.
Yet we are entranced, across the world, by the universal Touring machine, held in our hand, our mobile phone. We prefer to be entranced unknowingly, in company with others, like a congregation.
But the possibility exists to design our own trances, and their effects, safely ourselves. A good place to start is by reading the book, “The Way of Trance”, by Dennis Wier.
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 12:50 AM UTC
If supposed possibilities impose impositions that transition into probabilities that break boundaries of inequities ...would you stand moved...
If life's low blows could be diluted through finely crafted bitter yet mentally delectable drinks ...would that flood our minds drowning us instead of our worries...
If the oh-so rhythmically bewitching drum based tunes we gyrate to dancing in entrancement...oh the escape...enchantment
Would we loose footing playing "footsy" around the truth of how we got there and find ourselves lost when the music stops...?
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
Collectively we will all cease to be.
That is, in the form we inhabit currently.
When our bodies rot beneath the dirt,
Our essence passes to a place devoid of hurt.
The chemical flaws of our bodies will be irrelevant,
Replaced by peace, understanding and entrancement.
Christians call it heaven, God and Trinity.
But I believe inside of us all is divinity.
This life will no longer matter,
In death we will have no masters.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 9:40 PM UTC
Is love not a poisonous snake?
A beauty to look at,
Yet venomous
Murderous, savage
It draws one in with it's
Deceptive, delicate movements
Planning and plotting when to strike
Behind a veil of entrancement
Closer, closer, closer
Come closer
Closer
Until......
SNAP
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
If supposed possibilities impose impositions that transition into probabilities that break boundaries of inequities ...would you stand moved...
If life's low blows could be diluted through finely crafted bitter yet mentally delectable drinks ...would that flood our minds drowning us instead of our worries...
If the oh-so rhythmically bewitching drum based and synthesized tunes we gyrate to ,dancing in entrancement...the escape being oh-so pleasurable...enchanting the the torn heart(soul)
Would we loose footing playing "footsy" around the truth of how we got there and find ourselves lost...
when the music stops.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
Like a Victorian harlot who wears long-sleeved velvet gloves, her ghostly fingers tantalised the trigger of my ancient dreams, where vulnerability paraded herself with a boisterous demeanour.
However, my friend, the eyes are the window of our aching souls.
So, as we balance upon this verge of hypnotic entrancement, it is vital that we pay homage to the plants of the dark forests.
Just like the canopy parade of parental ambivalence where suppressions assert their course fumbling of contemporary controls, the atmospheric silence is deafening.
As I have already mentioned, the dichotomy of equality has slid herself up and down upon the phallus of historical expectations and self-abandonment, don’t you think?
Now, the frontier beckons us with her harsh legitimacies, so we must never forget the power of the diviner’s sage as she leads her flocks beyond the parameters of perception.
Can we now have an immediate discussion?
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
dazzling expansive
vastness entrancement
souls dance elastic
in an astral transit
the further the voyage
it tenses attachment
stretching the band
is a strenuous tactic
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
I am the Night.
I am a faint breeze sifting through the solemn sound of silence.
I am the creeping clutch of the depths of your dreams dragging your eyelids closed,
The greatest feats and familiar fears encountered in an entrancement of your fantasy
I am the flecks of white flayed upon the dark canvas to highlight a lone silhouette,
The fades and shades of blues and hues of purple slowly entangling in a twilight tragedy.
I am the symphony composed by crickets and cicadas tuned right to the moonlight,
The crescendo of chimes under a crescent casting light through cloudy blinds.
I am shared whispers under a beach blanket spoken to the rhythm of the tide,
The ebb and flow of an equivalent current stroking the sea-soaked shore.
I am the dew dripped damp grass curling beneath bare feet of midnight lovers,
The cold, forgotten feeling of slivers of leaves weaving their way between tickled toes.
I am the moon attempting reflection of a greater beauty back upon the world,
A mere semblance of the sublime sunken Sun sentenced to never bask in her own radiance.
I am the creation born of the breathtaking Sun kissing the very end of the world,
A longing caress of her rays upon the horizon grasping my cool fingers as the world falls away.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
the light flickers
the candle plays tricks for me
a warm ambient glow,
its life, simply there for my entrancement.
if only you were the flame of this candle.
then I could watch you dance and play sensously
instead of watching shadows
make shapes reminicent of you,
flicker on the wall,
wishing you close,
feeling your warmth.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
"For every shot taken is merely a remnant of the most beautiful."
Portrait or Landscape,
was a question I had. As I took my stride
by the sunset, each step closer to decide:
If I should choose to line her by the horizon,
if her smile would grace the far lazing firmament?
Or have me content; to fit her full by the screen,
to fix her eyes upon me: A never ending entrancement.
Or if I should at all risk pauses in between? An endeavour,
a plausible reasoning to paste eternal; to capture every moment.
I disagreed.
So I put my camera down and lived the moment.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC