"epochal" poems
She couldn’t sleep so she wrote
Of her abiding love for him
Forever and a day she wrote
On white paper with a pen
Words like infinity
Undying, unrelenting desires
Efflorescence, epochal, perpetual and ambiance
She says love is like a flower
It changes the mood of a space
By its fragrance
And it lasts forever
Never giving up as it
Continuously blooms
Knowing no measure
She didn’t fall asleep till after midnight
And loved him all the while she wrote
Dreaming of flowers, eternity, time and space
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
have you ever noticed anything that sent you spinning
off into the empty infinity of blossoming cognizance?
pupils dilate,
sweat beads,
words collapse back into what they imply; we only know
because we watched the footage.
yes, we watched it together
and yes, it is the only father figure that pays for her own dinner these days.
i wish i was worth forgetting in the future.
i wish people didnt feel they had to be anything but here.
i wish people would teach their children about how i could market loose teeth to coastlines.
im laughing at your puzzled aura
from the next epochal shift.
(man enters and exits stage right, nervously)
it's deep is a depth but really nonsense.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC
More economic problems
On the way
As I read in this article today
Here it is
You can read it too
I'm no financial expert
But world economies
Seem *******
Lol
“I think it’s pretty obvious that the top is in,” the Reagan administration’s OMB director said Thursday on CNBC’s “Futures Now.” The S&P; 500 has traded in a historically narrow range for the better part of 2015, having moved just 1 percent higher year to date. “It’s just waiting for the knee-jerk bulls, robo traders and dip buyers to finally capitulate.”
Stockman, whose past claims have yet to come to fruition, still believes that the excessive monetary policy from central banks around the world has created a “debt supernova,” and all the signs point to “the end of the central bank enabled bubble,” which could cause a worldwide recession.
“The larger picture has nothing to do with the jobs report [Friday] or even the September decision by the Fed,” said Stockman. “It has to do with the the fact that the world economy, including the U.S., is heading into what is clearly going to be an epochal deflation to the likes of what we have never experienced in modern time.”
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
Time an temperature...bottom right of
tele-visioning screen.
And now...torrent crystallized vertically, horizontally.
Fixity of the epochal grope--aegis to the
refining floodlight.
Reflected back to virtual reality, Jacob Boehme's
pewter dish.
Numbing, the iced pillow of cold illogic...slid
the presented head...melting.
Warming up and up to harmony and chaos--
reintegrated by and by Now.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
throw me your Pacifier
drop me a Heart
a packet of Jokers
flutter, as Jacks
queens & kings Fall
laughing in Jest
wanton stares of Rapture
plea for my Muse
she keeps the Sluth
from this game, of Cards
don't leave me Loose
craving my Queen
a charmed Epochal
smitten twice, Bitten
you be the One
captured me First
classic queen of Hearts
painting roses Red
lost in your Wonderland
© Sia Jane
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
Time to distinguish the linguist from the clown,
the smile from the frown, the man from the town.
There's no way upward and no way downward,
just a longshortnarrowwidestraightwindinglightdark
path ahead. Dreams of tomorrow's epochal moments
spin me with dread. The lead of a bullet elsewhere
punishes bone as a kid somewhere else does a runner
from home, yet I sit here alone saying little doing less.
My memories are fragments, my best answer's a guess.
Is the world really more of a mess than it was yesterday?
I guess that depends on what you like to see.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 4:01 PM UTC
in this world of orchards mound,
exalted thoughts and want unbound
i will lasso the stars and bring them to your fingers
soak them with rose water as they linger
but i’m not real
a phantom seal
of grey dust before the sun
a fallen orange peel
"and when you feel,
it will **** you every time”
a fatal light peeking through nimbus clouds
deep azure, tears collecting in the fount
i will stir the halcyon seas epochal
pour them in the fountain of past festivals
but i’m not real
a trembling hand, puerile,
before a golden web spun
to the ring of a peal
"and when you feel,
it will **** you every time”
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
I found the two-headed baby deer dying
on a bed of soft pine needles under cover of an overturned oak,
not five kilometres from my cottage,
Its lungs still pumped,
Its crimson heart beat weakly through a thin,
translucent skin,
that decayed before my eyes,
until there was no skin,
and all the organs lay warm and still,
in a heap upon the earth,
like waste.
A god evaporated.
It is human nature to disbelieve
that one may be witness to epochal events,
so I did not believe that I,
of all people,
should be witness to the death of time.
Epochal: the concept itself is dead.
How lucky we were
to know time at its cleanest,
and most linear!
We know now that such constant linearity
was the consequence of a living entity,
It followed the creature like stench follows a skunk,
and we basked in it
as if it was the natural state of the world.
No more.
Time no longer heals,
Things do not pass,
Or pass only to return.
At first we believed this would be manageable,
Yes, we thought, we will relive our pain but also our love,
Everything shall be magnified!
Welcome to an age of great emotions,
a new Romanticism!
Yet we overestimated how much we help,
failed to accept how much we hurt.
And we did not realize the nature of evil,
which accumulates in a way love does not,
To re-experience our love is to know it,
again and again,
at the same intensity,
but to re-experience pain is to increase its volume until it overpowers us,
deafening us to everything else.
I will never forget the creature's eyes,
full of hatred or hubris,
yet seeking aid it knew I could not give.
How does one save a dying god?
It was not my fault!
I was but a child asked suddenly to solve a deathbed equation
expressed in an undiscovered mathematics,
I had to fail,
yet in failing I have brought it all upon us.
I relive it constantly,
Every time its eyes are louder.
But it is the hour for my afternoon walk,
so I will take a pause and enjoy what remains of living.
I will go to my favourite spot overlooking the city,
and sit on the iron bench,
from where the view is magnificent,
Above me,
the clouds will form,
a tangle of pain and human corpses,
and I will sit and ponder until the first blood drops fall,
Then the screaming will begin,
the final storm will rage,
Beating, crimson corpse-clouds under a thin skin
of dissipating reality,
raining blood until we are left
warm and still upon the earth.
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 1:38 PM UTC
Recircled czars drenched
In the blood of despotic swayers.
Encircled proteges with the
Aura of treacherous thorns
Keeping vigils in the basilica
Of authority
Year in,
Year out .
Selfsame partners in politics,
Selfsame partners in crimes,
Selfsame partners in progress
Selfsame partners in poor
governance,
Setting subservient subjects
In perilous bays of hopelessness.
Scale of disengagement
Dangling carrots of
Intimidating threats.
Recircled ideas.
Recircled inhuman governance.
Recircled personages.
Recircled wasted years.
Deluge of prognostic plans
Sinking boats of tale.
Decades of experience yielding
Inexperienced tzars.
Torn garb of treachery
Covered up blazers of falsehood.
Stench of stasis enthroned on the
Stool of power, wrenching
corruption from the grip
of guilt.
Populace sitting on sulky
directing the horse of
hardship with the
wailful whips of
perseverance.
Epochal terms of wastages
roll in
and
roll out
like a spiraling
viperine grass
snake
beneath the
hybrids of weeds
on a crest of
spring cress.
Yet, promises promoting
Superannuated gains of
Effortless dividend.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
To strangers
He’s honesty
To friends
He vaunts
Gliding with speech of bawdry
Making brand new old haunts
And she’s the trickster
Sleight of hand on herself
Making everyone her best friend
Leaving room for no one else
It’s a habit, a curse
Which sunk deep early on
A sultry cadence, with hushed lips,
Most still sing along.
And to this moment, and many thereafter,
The song is less song
Like breathing but apter
No longer putting on airs
I watch and I listen
To a gaunt anemia
Passing on my tongue
To the liars
Whom I know I’ve stung.
See how fiercely engaged
They are in their tricks
Yet condemning those abreast
As “lying *****
I watch like birds
They hum, the tweet
When falling from their hands
All those loose leaves
And quills at the ready
Their account of their lives
Too boring by action
Behind those marbled busts
And epochal fictions
Lies the rest of a person
Who is still languishing but
Singing along
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
Vast dynamic catalysts
inaugurated biochemical
(biological), geological,
and/or meteorological
processes, that didst
wax and wane
since time immemorial
before this "FAKE"
pencil neck geek NOT vain
poet law re:hot bubbled
outa (Compton)
primordial ah stew,
(ward) uber urbane,
sans global Pangea some
bajillion years presaging Ukraine
chiseled terra firmae didst reign
from hydrosphere,
(setting the stage
for Matthew Scott
Harris to markedly twain (train)
his thoughts), wrought variable dramatic,
epochal geographic upheavals
(recorded palimpsest like)
across global terrain
catastrophic, dramatic, epic forces
rendered prehistoric creatures slain
extinction, though billions of years
survived Prince sip
pull purple rain
skill little till lee (skeletally),
within said dam hint
(sediment) permanently preserving
an impress'n quatrain
jam packed with species, some
of which flew like a
donny soaring plane
signaled onset and demise
of supposed pseudonymous
terrible lizards with bulging eyes
"NON FAKE" special effects,
but actual - no lies
wooly alive paw lick
tickly incorrect, tough,
winning ignoble dangerous prize
huge, out of control, trumpeting,
who eve vent chilly gave rise
to Adam Abel bodied
**** sitter ably reduced
cane raising,
(yet most fearsome) size
a totally tubularly err wrecked
primate nada so wise.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 3:06 AM UTC
Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
recalling how I felt like an ***
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
(as a heavy metal kid Rocker)
toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, *****
and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down
(grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
by the instrumental
Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School
(mud flapping, ornery hearing,
and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire
to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,
cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
(ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)
with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
could easily emulate
****** pucker earning pass
to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting
angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
with rites of harkening
springtime Renaissance Faire
solar rays golden raiment
splays rainbow fragments off
beveled, bellowed, and
bedecked polished flare
audiological sound waves trick
saw toothed reflected
silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
epochal feast to hear.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 3:12 AM UTC
i'm not just a process,
i'm not just a day
i'm not forcing myself
to dream away
and away
i'm one of so many dreams
of a powerful mind!
VANITY, VANITY, VANITY!
SUBLIME just doesn't COVER IT!
To heave forward and think
My life so important
Even goddesses die
And it took so long a Time...
What is born next?
Why fear such a thing?
My lovely toy humans,
What will happen to them?
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC