"equivalents" poems
there is a darkness
that the silver song
of soft illusion lights
in symbolic equivalents
of images real
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
the breakage
at the jagged edges of the world
and lays hostage to impersonation
that resembles fragments
of smashed oval shaped mirrors
reflecting pieces of broken
brown terracotta soldiers
and causes the eyes to hurt
with a watched inner holocaust
of disturbing coloured detonations,
implosively autonomous
given to a deceived departure
a departure from reality
given by the advocacy
of ideological rationalism
that sees three kings
with blood on their crowns
in amplified convulsions
call mustre for
disturbance, disorder, destruction
and death
as blood stains the Balkan streets
and all emotional impulse
is volatilized
and a sinister, stuporous, stagnancy
stalks the land
where sustaining minds
are subject to a brutal insensitivity
that dazzles on the edge of a spiral vertigo
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
a vocabulary of incoherence
like the rancid stains of *****
that inhabit the jagged edges of the world
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
the dead re-materialise by the side of the roadside
they are visible as though seen through a spotlight
it is a brutally interrogative light
that magnifies these corpses
makes them resemble the fragments
of suicidal terracotta pots
it magnifies them as symbolic equivalents
of their real image
its beam dazzles broken glass on the pavement
the breakage an impersonation of their cataclysm
causing the edges of seeing to hurt
and hearing to submerge itself
in a turquoise blue aquarium in fear
as speech sounds a primitive retreat
in its atavistic echoes of inveterate distraction
there is a disorder of blood stains on the road
where all emotional impulse is volatilised
causing a wild distillation of programmed anxiety
which in a different vocabulary becomes
a figment of somebody else's imagination
causing a sinister, stuporous, stagnancy of sound
in palpitations, dropped heartbeats, nausea, headaches
and a foul change in bowel function
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 10:11 AM UTC
Beneath that loved and celebrated breast,
silent, bored really blindly veined,
grieves, maybe lives and lets
live, passes bets,
something moving but invisibly,
and with what clamor why restrained
I cannot fathom even a ripple.
(See the thin flying of nine black hairs
four around one five the other ******
flying almost intolerably on your own breath.)
Equivocal, but what we have in common's bound to be there,
whatever we must own equivalents for,
something that maybe I could bargain with
and make a separate peace beneath
within if never with.
3k
the wrong atmospherics of transmission
move in uninvestigated chaotic archives
red and pink turbulent storms swarm across
deep space frequencies in imaginative
currents of pulsars
that are translated into phases
each represented in diverse
conflicting modes of expression
in obsessive grooves of consciousness
cut up components of recycled narratives
audibly fixating on vibrations
that sound across the universe
in diffused spirals of manic fluctuations
converting archaic symbols into equivalents
of dust surfaces that oxidise in intermittent epochs
and deposit a rediscovered earth
an expansive transferable construction
of accidental providence
that allows for expression in artificially generated realities
hallucinated images that float
across the consciousness of the cosmos
producing visions that punctuate rational thought
become preoccupied with the conception
of interplanetary transpeciation
counting the chronological diversity
of those that occupy the black, blank
vacuum of space
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
counting goodbye kisses-
there were only five or six instances when they didn't happen
when you fell asleep during the ride (at least I kissed you on the cheek)
when you wanted to give me a hug instead-
that day you dropped me off at a party.
when you told me to get out of your car-
we were actually official then haha
and when I "stormed off," frustrated- that probably happened three times,
counting the dollars spent-
for someone who's a broke college student,
I didn't let that stop me from showering you with thoughtfulness
because money will never be able to buy a gaze from you
counting the reminders I've given you-
that we are something, special
I think this one might be the two hundredth one
counting your equivalents
I have them all saved in a folder,
and I dont ever go a day without looking at them.
counting all the times I've cried the last few months,
there were at least 133, and only one was over a movie.
counting all the times you hurt me
I stopped at 18 before I told you
I loved you-
not worth counting those
because that just made it 134-
and pain in the form of endless sheep.
so I decide to sleep instead- and forget-
and never count again.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
if you were to halt me in a street and ask
what defines a mystery? i'd have no trouble
in dropping equivalents, metonyms:
a puzzle, conundrum, crux, enigma,
a commodity beyond human understanding.
but truthfully, impartially, justly
when i muse over the question alone
the webs of instinctual response can be brushed aside
replaced with an inherent yearning.
i seek to know why perfection spawned
so intangible in an age where, like the
illegible scrawl of a faceless war leader,
each detail is immortalised
in a pixel, a photon, a sound wave.
you and i, we're not acquainted in the flesh
but the mystery continues, of how a translation
of your features on a screen can captivate me,
can steal into my heart and run away with my breath.
i would swear of your existence on the stars,
take a cosmic oath.
but how am i to know, with you there and me here?
prove yourself to me, please
to be more than an empyrean deception
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
sometimes I forget
that I am ish
as one of the sun frowning commuters
I think in their language
then every once in a mile
a rozmowa comes and
as I forget the ish words equivalents
as i stumble upon the grammar
I realise I'm a universal foreigner
of too many heimats
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 7:19 AM UTC
A final blow
It ceased the noise
Sent ripples through the calmness
It sent away
What could have been
But ne'er had chance to happen
Now endless nights
And many a drink
Have led to only heartaches
Echos, they ring
Cries, they sing
But sorrow is incognizant
Ceaseless murmers
They'll never silence
They haunt my restless sleep
They have no heart
No soul, no feelings
They'll gain no pleasure greater
That's when I fade
Out, and away
Cast into the shadows of life
The mental zodiac
Infecting the mind
Burning it up with toil
Work and wonder
Mix, twist, plunge
Down and in through darkness
Brown and green
Blended with red
Sepia bleeds throughout
Now drowned in blue
Colors blend
Feelings mingle
Equivalents were hidden
Now dug up, resurfaced
Brought into life
Once again
Winds meet
Clouds part
Opening chance
What never had grace to pardon
Has now cleared the air
I can see
What left a hole
A gap in deep dark valleys
Now left alone
I wander the world
Stranded within the forest
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 10:35 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
My frustration is my only sin,
not seeing the fuckin' sight of it will leave my chest from caving In,
only a matter of time before we even see a purge again,
except this time it won't be written with a cinematic pen,
your lives are on the line , you're steady brainwashed again,
I'm done saving people with words man,
you and you and you and you and you are all the human equivalents
of the gullible,
simply not astronomical,
Are all our feelings and emotions real,
do i really know exactly how you really feel,
well is it too much,
Is there such thing as chill,
reading the gnostic bible , what will the light reveal.
©abpoetry2019
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 11:37 PM UTC
that's the words i hear when i hear European
films, esp. in French,
Quarus! Dvór! Baganiet Buda! the cat just
escaped into the night while i was refilling my glass...
i end up feeling so outlandish, so Essex,
so ******* caveman, so Darwinism
making me feel it only writes English history...
so ******* sorry... so ******* whatever...
living in England for the past 20 odd years
makes me miss continents,
it even doesn't make me Icelandic...
it just makes me ******* sad...
it kinda makes me want to rap...
establish the special relationship with America...
well... n'ah, forget the biblical McKenzie...
sleepers sprout from nowhere,
my father played bridge and water-polo...
i was caught catching pokemon...
grew a beard and grew a satchel of fat...
**** yeah mickey mouse!
charcoal cha-cha smear and
jokinie in French i want to sink this godforsaken place;
every, single, time, i, hear, of America,
in, England, i imagine rednecks equivalents in Dorset,
never bothered to learn a line of parlez-vous...
it eats at me... the laziness... the xenophobic
cocksure libido... it ******* chokes me...
i just want them to learn French, but they won't...
they're sailing all the way toward Mars!
i hope they bring back a bacterial meteor back
to excavate an extinction...
no, next week's Sunday isn't good either,
to hold a receptive care for a lunch...
****** die;
i'm starting to feel English claustrophobia...
which means everyone has to speak English...
**** me it feels like itchy honey smears up
the **** ugh.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
*my mother likes to think i can’t see
her dabbing her eyes dry,
that long, lost love is not something that is pieced
together into the equivalents of promises
and vows
yours have been broken
mine just beginning to birth
we are lying motionless
in this game
whose pieces are pawns of fate
and cruel intentions
for the strength it took to leave
is as brittle as the ground i forged for abandonment
and my poetry is as stale
as warm beer you drink just to forget*
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
*burnt toast is beautiful
if you release the desire for softness
and embrace the crunch of life
strife is a part of our reality
so are reflexive agreements
allegories and stories
help put it all into perspective
the elemental equivalents of the big picture
furnished by our souls
merged with our goals and our desire
there are billions of prisms spinning everywhere
serenading us with their visions
unseen spirals design our chiral handedness
sadness like honey
burnt by the sunʼs wastefulness
selects its own course through the woods
stardust seeking self reflective gardens of neglected space
reserve their places at the theater
semantics are rusty
muddy feet tracking ***** foot prints around your apartment
wipe them clean upon the milky wayʼs apron
slowly i am learning to unplug my heart from the leeches
that wish to drain it of its joy
slowly i am severing all attachment to the backwards looking people
samples of their hatred can be witnessed in the morning before theyʼre awakened
theyʼve already cursed themselves
stand clear of speakers who need to be seen as teachers
they waste your time and money
surely as the sun will rise
our ascendants met in the early autumn sky
and curled around the axis of our charts
stretching their fingers like wandering serpents
all spells being cast were revoked
all shadows undermined by their own shallowness
someday somebody will have to answer all of these questions
someday we may learn why we were created
here and now its useless to dwell
on pointless tasks and queries
mend your own dresses and forget about the elections
humming is our sweetness
swimming in our shadows like cucumbers in bowls of water
sordid longing
forgot its calling and became the mourning of the trees
i tore off my appendages and danced upon the broken edges*
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 12:37 AM UTC