"euphorias" poems
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
...and there’s no one there to hear it,
does it make a sound?
________________________
My poetry performed—
before a crowd of johnny-jump-ups
Their faces toward me in unison—
they listen
Intense, motionless energy
Velvet applause of purple and
Yellow yelling!
Encore
of performing in the perfume
with a troop of lilacs
They will remember me
While I— await their return to May
through billowing miles
of drowsing sachet
breathing euphorias
between the lingerie of clouds
What happens after ecstasy?
Grieving in life’s presence?
Loss of mind to self-possession?
_________________
...and when my sense of smell gives out
I will hold on for a while
to the walker of hearing
trying not to stumble past
the song of thrush
beyond me in the blurring leaves
once so clearly—
crinkled, shiny, and infant green….
_____________
As a child I held on to nothing
for dear life
I could cup a storm in my hands!
Could run with the rhythm of a horse!
I could fly in my mind’s eye
if the ferns I used were only wings!
If I pretended hard enough
I could eat my own home-baked mud pies!
If only I could be—
more than a fledgling of eight
so earthbound, clumsy
_____________
But while the lilacs were out of town
thunder met the flash
and gutted summer!
I ran for dear life!
from the amazing distance of its echoes
pelted by its gentle gift
Snagged by growing things—
the clinging prattle
of their momentous tendrils....
______________
Lovers run off the path
past water lilies
along the swollen veins to the river
toward a grave and pounding heart
The Ancient Flood was jealous....
Now when the wind softens
and rain is tossed
last, and only from the leaves
may their encore be cupped in the hands
of some passer-by
Remembering—
that either because of a trifling wind
or the weight of time...
a tree fell here
clubbing the river’s bank senseless
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
long after these thousand days of
passing years, the eyes will feel a
sparking, I will remember you,
my dear old friends, reviewing
the where, the when, which will
flush, outing the whys
from my
memories
more than the poetic liturgy composed,
but what felled me to my knees,
yearning,
for the soup of love and passion,
pain+no gain, euphorias rising at the
trenching lows of depths
newly explored, hope returning after a
long time abandonment, the
excruciating ecstasy
of creating, the killing tedium of
months of no inspiration but the
glint of a possible tomorrow
but you knot all this,
so come to tell you,
long after the poem
encased in yellowing
emerald unwrapping
aging megabytes, more
than any old poem itself,
I wil remember what you
wrote in return, with insight
all we are, we are an interaction
a petrified yet living petri dish of
creatures re/anew,
r e n e w e d, and I am
young again
and the tears of yore no more,
fresh flowering droplets of
a longer than believable age,
factuals of the sweet,
you will move once
more, remaking me
your lover devotee
and I wil stumble;
the woman enquirer
am I ok, whimsy
respond never,
never ever better
my darling
and I lift a tissue
to erase the evidence
of my happy melancholic
existence, and start another
conversation with you, but no!
one of us long gone, name
erased, poems left behind,
orphaned children, them
and me left alone while
I will be remembered,
by remembering you,
our second of union
as it
reverberates, our amour
reunion is a wetting,
giving forth a burst,
a fluid sac,
again
Sep 20, 2024
Sep 20, 2024 at 7:51 AM UTC
Why dwell on the comfort
Of dusting off the adversity
That profane the corners
Of our compartments
When we can
Call upon courage
And write for those
Without the strength to crawl out
Of the hollow caves
They live in?
You
And
I
Are blessed with the curse of
Seeing beyond the masquerades
Of others
That it becomes haunting not
To tap into their souls
And wander in the
Caves of their minds
To find the reason behind
The warped interior,
The vague, and sometimes
Vivid Answers to
Why
They're sinking in
Self imposed darkness,
They feel they're slaves
To and in liberation,
They feel they can't be forgiven
For the sins they
Unintentionally created,
They feel so empty and hollow
And dead within that there's
Nothing, but dead spaces
Between heart beats,
They're engulfed in
Flames that they're turning
Everything they caress to ash
With every bit of
Taste,
Touch,
Smell
Lulling us into euphorias
Where fragments of
Sound,
Images,
Fragrances,
Thoughts,
Compound to a jungle of words
That we lose ourselves in,
Perhaps then,
We become a tad bit closer
To finding
Ourselves,
Perhaps.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
With merit badge in metallic flame
and while never failing to find a root from which to let blood flow
navigational will serves our only compass.
The woven path through wood
a rocky spillway Rapid
All to quickly dodge the occasional motorist
and fall and bathe in water warm from long summer sun
To bask in stars and feel the hum of night
Living as such revokes fear
for even in the absence of light, sight is made up for
Euphorias rationed prove a friend of adventure
and infinite exploration is chased with each taste.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
Jul 2, 2022
Jul 2, 2022 at 12:01 AM UTC
AT some appointed time the darkness interfered with us
people turned to camouflage who then could have been near to us
life became a close encounter, fringe-like and unclear to us
roaming from the places that should have been so dear to us
WE learned to take things so seriously, like laughter cutting through the air
then found irresistable company, when we called the darkness was there
allured into numbing euphorias, expensive to say the very least
each time hiding more and more of us, one more beauty one more beast
CEREBRAL escape left us delerious, pounding hard to fly away again
from a meaning that's still mysterious, sounding loud to see the day again
cloud cover draws like it's imperious, reigning over foot and face and hand
having absolutely no fear of us, leaving its' very throne unmanned
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
We are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
Missing keys,
Oh!
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded books.
The ones "watching every move we make",
The ones not there when we take the wrong step.
Which day will I be allowed to sleep in,
through sun rise and sunset...
through night and day...
Laying forever in my cold bed.
Jagged stars cutting my bleeding brain,
mistaking them for a stairway to heaven.
The soft cumulus haven was too unearthly,
hidden from all to see...
Away from dry earth and mortal bodies.
We turn to man-made bliss; contained in inch-long plastic bubbles,
To fill the great gap between reality and fantasy.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
The autumn spirit gazes through a piercing embrace
From the two hazel stones that gleam from his face.
Welcoming is his smile, a cool breeze of gentle fashion,
Warm is his familiar touch with the bonfires of his passion.
Sometimes his sky would be a storm of early winter rain,
The chill would freshen the soft caress of the morning light that came.
He's followed me throughout my life in my head,
Among the oak trees near a Celtic homestead.
In the western world we would stand in the leaves
Watching the sunset, from our hill to the East.
Sweet were the cheers that embellished his laugh,
like the smell of spiced pumpkin that cooked down the path.
All the sunshine's rays that lit the gold in his hair
Could not reflect the depth of fresh mystery in his air.
Of Gaia's many wonders, treasures, magiks, all,
None of her euphorias have graced me like the fall.
For when all of life was dying, making way for birth anew,
I found that old familiar song. Once more I have found you.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
So glad I can always escape to my dreams
Away from these people and away from these things,
Somewhere safer, unimaginable,
Somewhere where my cup isn't always full
But at least it's happy.
I can get what I want from waking life,
By exploring my sleeping life,
The only problem is when I wake
I've kind of got a choice to make,
Is it better to live or better to let it pass,
To sedate myself and live euphorias
Or wake every day to the heartbreak, turmoil and inhumanities of the waking world.
I guess we'll see.
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 11:18 PM UTC
Life has two euphorias
One is the reason we study
The reason we work hard
Dress up
And spend money
The other
The reason we wake up
The reason our eyes open
The reason we breath
I hope it always finds its way to you.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 12:29 AM UTC