"faustian" poems
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,
I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!
Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,
I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!
For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,
Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!
Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,
A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!
Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,
Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,
Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!
Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;
I finagle in my filigree!
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
Exotic trollwood harlotry and mule kit blues
Tyrannical tyrannosaur traction padness
Cohort cavorts clastic and witch’s *** hues
Ontological ontogeny somatalogy fadness
Inductive endemic veracities and talus weather clues
Epistemological equilibrium’s homogeny badness
Timeless rhetorical ruminations and ephemeral exigency dues
Transcendent ascensional equivocal madness
Tactile acuity prescience capacity intrepid intrigues
Mystical symbiosis dharma sensorium sentiment proselyte
Torturous tractive prosthesis umbrage ultraism colleagues
Newfangled nocturnal nonchalant nether nestle neophyte
Top notch topography tortoise trauma fatigues
Faustian faux pas foist felicitous fealties socialite
Agnate nous ontological ontogeny euphenics in league
Mentalities evocative introjecting sycophant eulogizing apposite
Mystical terrestrial equestrian tellurian tableau
Panoramic imagery empiricist
Evocative exserted apomixies’ ethereal should show
Ontological somatalogy lyricist
Reflective refraction remissions opulence could know
Theosophy theophany epiphany equilibrist
Magniloquent inductive extrapolation quantum back ***
Transcendent nimbus nimiety exorcist
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
Descry the glittering sand,
Every coin is vestal, unused.
He cast unto the well,
Uttering a spell
That dwindled on his aching lips.
Amiss, his voice does not graze
Her conscious divination.
A thousand times again,
He strives-
Just for a spare thought.
But the fool, consumed, controlled
Wallows in the walls
She sculpts around him.
He begins to work away the vines
Of her honied tendrils.
Yet, each finger twined of gossamers,
Drenched in delirium.
Nay, she rejects his presence.
But grants her endless visitations
As a specter, with a Faustian kiss.
He drinks of her,
To parch his arid throat.
Remote, he holds the seed
Which festers within.
Forever.
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 9:00 PM UTC
*i find the crow more eloquent,
more treacherously abiding
a fulfilment of aesthetic investigations
when walking, the crow
more beautiful than in flight,
unlike the sparrows' comic grounding,
with its epileptic quick-step twitchy
caoutchouc trot... poetically drawn
as: huh?! huh?! chirp. huh?! huh?! chirp;
really quickly.*
the only way to transition back into
the humanities from learning science,
******** p... chemistry and physics,
from these two into the humanities:
because you wrote a high standard
sociology essay plagiarising trying to
beat the anti-plagiarism logarithm
imposed... and that camus' l'étranger
also written to a 1st in the degree hierarchy...
the only transition from the sciences
to humanities is with philosophy,
which is a qausi-humanism...
mind you... edinburgh is the last gothic city,
and scotland the only place
where university can be like high school,
diverse, equipping you with many choices,
you can major chemistry, but understudy
computing, french, history, sociology, etc.
so in the background you have my favourite
theorisation: friedel-craft's alkylation & acylation /
effects of substitution on the beneze ring properties:
ortho (β) / para (ν) directing goups...
meta (π) directing groups... ipso (α) directed
at dislodging the algebraic x already attached...
i was never going to write cute poetry...
lessons in inductive effects of σ-bonds orientation
controlled by resonate (of) π-bonds...
the faustian myth continues without cute goethe rhyme.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
I want to be Paganini
I want to be Alexander the Great
But I'm only Pagliacci
A Faustian soul in sorrow and hate
And this is not a surrender
I will never stop fighting this war til I die
But passion is burning my heart to embers
Smiling wide hides the chaos inside
Aimed for the stars
Just to crash upon the moon
And reconstruct my broken pieces
From the ashes of my doom
I am reborn through death and madness
Scion of Nihilistic Sin
In my wake, I leave a trail of sadness
Soon all will hide inside THE GRIN
Choirs of Damnation!
Your Maestro has arrived at last!
Majestic Orchestration,
Barking dogs and shotgun blasts
The sound of frenzied feet as they pound the city streets
It's a symphony of victory against the riot police
Fear me, heroes
For I am near thee
Come one, come all
Hear ye, hear ye
The Jester dances on your Graves
the Joker wears the Crown
And the man who has the final laugh
At last will be the Clown
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 8:05 AM UTC
we were older then. you with your horn-rimmed glasses
sleek as Hermes, resting on your button nose; dazzling.
your eyes were smoldering echoes, far off on a quest for
visions. mine
were nowhere
to be seen.
we poured over volumes of antiquity, blazoned with rich
art. Faustian marvels, leather bound and noble.
we traipsed the gallows of Dry Humors, lording it
over the gremlins of our isolation.
we had not been formally introduced and everything
was formal. we haunted the halls; our school of fish eyes
sparkling; weaving like serpents in the heather on ether.
we roamed the hallowed ground on secret missions
without Love.
then i asked you out. and changed the world.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
In a strong marriage, a long marriage
much cannot be said, should not be said.
The spots on one's skin will be wisely ignored.
Differences of opinion are tolerated, not debated.
Your memories may disappoint your partner
as not those she has selected, refracted.
Over dinner for two at the Mill on the Floss
it could be dangerous to compare wills, losses.
Or it might result in belly laughs, Shakespearean
revelations, the night he got us lost in the woods
or she peed her pants at a party. The marriage was Faustian,
in a good way, like going to a job in the Garden of Eden.
Having survived 25 years, knowing 50's impossible,
what else do we know? Raised 2 boys, painted 3 houses.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
Every razor thin
scarlet slash
is another
broken promise
sparking across a prairie -
Brought to life
as consuming fire
becoming merciless discord
in a broken tooth wasteland -
This upside down world where nothing turned
out and we’re just wandering -
I drift dragging drudgework
fish hook chains
in sidewinder fashion nightmare
searching eternally ****** rivers deprived
of justice on scales and fins -
I'm trying to understand
myself
so I can stand myself
and stand on my own
so nothing owns me
but the last time I saw something real
was you -
You were trapped in a sterile lab coat reverie
your tears stinging traces of honeywine and blackmail -
I remember your hands still so delicate
even with wear from bleach soaked
loyal test subjects -
Those siren voiced synths that are
getting harder and harder to spot
but you showed me how the seed numbers
reveal patterns as revealing
as their camera flash gorgon clothing -
They're just too typically perfect
and in that false perfection
total ugliness -
In the moments not framed by bloodlettings
and love letters
I am ****** to hear the constant rattle
of the existential conundrum corps
Keeping time with a self-loathing decadence -
Filling my mind as I root
through Faustian bargain bins
trying to reclaim that time
you first let me hold you and
my mind just...
…cleared.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
Again, you came, and love is what you seek
I seek
Again, you left, and love is what you stole
I need...
Our love was Faustian
And I was your Lucifer
I gave you my world
But you struck me down
And cast me out!
Was my light not bright enough?
Was my flame not hot enough?
To illuminate and thaw your black and frozen heart?
I believed in you
My shining star, you fade so violently
My world has descended to grey
My future has disintegrated
All because I believed in you...
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
The carvings on their arm were the output of
betrayal. Yours of unhealthy obsession. Others came along;
one comes from loneliness, the other from loss, and you
no longer feel estranged.
In fact, you are welcomed
in the society of deranged and uncouth.
The razor blade in your suit pocket
doesn't seem too dangerous compared to their
bleach, venom, and firearm.
You felt your existence became the very dawn of you;
the immoral depiction of Faustian love,
the very one
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC
Each death of another year
Brings lives lived in higher resolutions
This next year I promise to
Finally embrace my dreaming madman
Let my ears ringing be a sign that I need to listen up and maybe even calm my mind more
Stop expecting some grand vision to reveal itself and to keep reminding myself that hallucinations are not something I really want
I promise to sit my *** down and write when a poem comes to mind
Not days after where my mind turns to a rusty endless machine of impossible gears that serve no purpose but to clank together and make useless sparks
I will nevermore worry myself that what I have to say doesn't matter in the long run and that my speaking up doesn't always take the spotlight from those who deserve and need it
I will continue to resist being some tragic Faustian punk
I will remember that some things I can not ever begin to understand and just because I love someone that doesn't mean they have any obligation to love me back and that's ok
I will acknowledge that not everyone "gets" what I'm trying to get at and that's fine too
I will write some poems that rhyme ******
And I will probably cut down on swearing
And I may even cut down on soda or whatever you want to call it, but I won't tell anyone whether that is followed or not
I resolve in the coming year to breathe in and breathe out the beauty of the world around me and surround myself with whoever cares enough to ask me who I really am
I am going to let everyone know who I am respectfully regardless etc etc
I will be honest with my shortcomings, my defeats, my family, and anyone else who asks
I will finally learn the names of all my coworkers
And in this coming year I will finally tap into the holy poet Saint Daniel Robinson that I know lives and sleeps deep down in the disaffected hermit *** Daniel I feel I am today
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
I'm in love with summer.
Standstill air,
dandelions drifting
the weight of the sky
pressing white heat.
Cold, waves beating the shore,
ceaselessly into the past,
of when I was drowned
in your dreams.
I'm in love with autumn.
Crisp air,
Nudging leaves off gnarly oaks
and tall, regal cedars.
Lost in the anagram of colors,
I see fire,
I see blood red.
I see a Faustian bargain
but we won.
I'm in love with winter.
The biting cold in my fingertips,
the solitude of confinement,
walls of windows show snow
that blankets every edge.
And the birds that have left,
to warmer places.
Opportunity, that's what you said.
And your bags, and you,
were gone in the blowing snow.
I'm in love with the spring.
The clear blue waters,
and ferryboats beating against the current,
the gardens bursting into light,
the promise of growth and
of future
and of hope.
but, I guess, we weren't meant to grow old.
And the sight of spring flowers
and trees with bright green buds,
makes me sick to my stomach.
I am in hate with the spring.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
What is the difference between
Verbatim and Vitamin? hmmn
Perhaps it is the fITe within
Or the beta, - before hand
This lense flare, without a care
For every Faustian Recluse
D-&serve; but a singlefinalfatal sear
From solar contact to lack of h-ear
There is little wonder to the webster's
Perpetually lacking lexicon...
The Roman Frankenstein that IS
Protestant English.
From the truest intention of any scribe;
Can not run.
And as for those hospitals and serums--
Another handful for another animal...
I am but a wishful poet
Walking the shore for the beautiful bubbles of the water twin;
Sand Crab.
"To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill."
[I give my glory
to the glory
of nature]
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
Am I not your root, your source?
Do I not bite into your being?
Did I not draw you from the depths of Hell,
Out into the vast light of atmospheric health
To be born of more solid stuff, oh Auburn Queen of Fall?
Before you plunged us both back
We were made of the same solid stuff, the same self.
We were one once, you and I.
I traded in God for the first you,
Shortly after time began.
I felt your eyes upon me, oh Amphetamine Queen of all I've seen,
And all the places I have been since time immemorial.
Yet now, now alas, for this grey shadow,
Once a man, would sign any Faustian pact again,
And act protagonist to any ****** Marlowian tragedy!
Tortured with optical touches
And words unsaid.
The composer of commotion strange
Inside a prelapsarian breast
Has left me fraught throughout the ages.
And still, I'd fall nine more satanic days through Chaos pure,
If it meant landing any closer to you.
Let us go back to Paradise, you and I.
What is lost can surely be regained.
Here's to new beginnings...
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
Exotic trollwood harlotry and mule kit blues
Tyrannical tyrannosaur traction padness
Cohort cavorts clastic and witch’s *** hues
Ontological ontogeny somatalogy fadness
Inductive endemic veracities and talus weather clues
Epistemological equilibrium’s homogeny badness
Timeless rhetorical ruminations and ephemeral exigency dues
Transcendent ascensional equivocal madness
Tactile acuity prescience capacity intrepid intrigues
Mystical symbiosis dharma sensorium sentiment proselyte
Torturous tractive prosthesis umbrage ultraism colleagues
Newfangled nocturnal nonchalant nether nestle neophyte
Top notch topography tortoise trauma fatigues
Faustian faux pas foist felicitous fealties socialite
Agnate nous ontological ontogeny euphenics in league
Mentalities evocative introjecting sycophant eulogizing apposite
Mystical terrestrial equestrian tellurian tableau
Panoramic imagery empiricist
Evocative exserted apomixies’ ethereal should show
Ontological somatology lyricist
Reflective refraction remissions opulence could know
Theosophy theophany epiphany equilibrist
Magniloquent inductive extrapolation quantum back ***
Transcendent nimbus nimiety exorcist
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 1:05 AM UTC
#
#1
I’m no good at merrymaking
I do it alone
I do it dark
And I go at it with rabid excess
I am fellow to it
Until morning
And I make the morning hurt
A mark is embed
#2
Amoungst great company
I am dog unwanted
In the comapany of one
I am villain bird
I am influence
I hit a drinking partner in the weak knees of weak truths
And things go madly south
But tonite I am alone
As I ought
And not sought out
#3
Astray from the fireside
Into the woods
In the territory
Where I fear to thread the pathways
I shall recover my work
In the graven woodland
I shall face myself down
And bed darkness
Where I am truely wed
#4
Thriving and well hausted
I strain and clamp upon the energy
I face my enemy
My power
I bide from his readings
I make ****** pleasings
Form verbal greeting
And extend a hand
For this
The first of many a meeting
#5
Upon this connection
This Faustian reflection
I make the primal
The woe in me
And the red wash of ravenous pages
My activity
My moulded tool
My rage
My howl against creativity
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 8:14 PM UTC
Gates imagined in times
past
open here and we pause
is this the life well spent,
or the life un-examined?
Are we Faustian Fellows or mere mortals
dreaming
rockstar vibes on the boulevard
select/apply
brakes. (witness, we saw it coming)
What good can come from this?
Is
here some secret place?
What keeps its secret here?
he emerges rather as a master syncretist of widely divergent materials and as a devout theopantist
From <https://muse.jhu.edu/book/37533>
Artistic Intelligen-seers build cumputorionic
putahs
for the pew-trade-ification
easy as pi t' lie about knowing
as goatphorgoneconclusions, leading
sheepish men astray
afar from the madding crowd
screaming out loud
for christ's sake (really. What's that mean?)
Christmas is christ's cause, I would think,
given proper cause determining algorythms at some time after my
toddling twos expecting, child-like
survivability
equivalent -- equal in balance factor
twixt why and how and try and
umph
needed on the uphill side of every vibe.
Has Christ mass more meaning than
anointed (oiled-to shine-or-burn, per hap)
message/medium,
a class of good
news, a whole bunch of new good
ideas for things,
witty inventions with the best of intentions,
Christmas Time!
Peace,
on earth, good will to
ward men,
the idea of god as truth life and the path to next; and man, wombed and un, recon-
conciliated, with no con-sessions to bogus-science but to learn
to use the food we eat. learn
to chew our mushrooms with a touch of lemon,
lemon tree, so pretty but impossible to eat,
Ah, why,
ya jus'asker what she knows,
she's sure to show you
wisdom wisps, entangled in your hair…
take a taste,
now, hear this, peace, I give, I loose
as
oil on the water, but with the best imaginable
outcome
not good as men measure;
good as you measure good,
good ideas you make do
good, sometime
thereafter your arrival as the hero in your story.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 4:52 PM UTC
I asked the devil
What will this
Get me
He said
Anything
On the bottom shelf.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 6:08 PM UTC
I got a phone call from your mother today.
Her lips were pursed and candied, I'd say.
I couldn't see her between the borders of states,
but she told me I should let go of the blame.
She called me up to build me higher than I've felt for the longest day.
We spoke a while and dreamt on a nostalgic plane.
She told me sweetly that her memories of her daughter
involve me, too, in some way.
She lingered with each breath as if to sigh,
before she told me she used to lie awake.
Rue in her wrinkles for having turned me away.
From your funeral that long-gone but not forgotten day.
Her sighs turned to shudders and her facade of being a mother
shattered like chalky, kiln pressured Ohio Valley clay.
She sobbed through hysterics and left me feeling desperate
of feeling a similar love for the ghost I'll leave behind
with a note lengthened in a shakily scrawled essay.
It was pure and powerful to hear the shake.
In her voice as it pronounced my three syllable name.
Hoping she got my number right,
not knowing there's a reason I've not cared to change.
Today I got the answer to a question I never thought to say.
Speaking is important to lighten how the emotions weigh.
She told me I should let go of the blame.
But you knew me best, better than they.
I can't quit the blame.
But I can lie to her for her own sake.
So she can move on and feel less of the dismay.
No parent should ever outlive their own flesh given.
The sound of her voice like a subdued painful frisson.
I told her a lie to keep her spirits intact.
To keep alive a promise whose corners are bent, but without crack.
I know you'd let me out of any dotted line I signed if I wanted
free of your Faustian contract,
But I digress,
I'm a mess.
Full of shame for how I handled you and your name.
I've written and talked about you like you were an old flame.
I tried moving on,
but all the old noises I hear them new, and all the same.
Your ghost has followed me because I asked, and you came.
I love you,
I miss you.
I'll come play with you in space.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 4:03 AM UTC
I met Him at the crossroads,
Where he asked my soul away;
Naivety took hold of me
And strangled me to say,
"All to do,
Is sign this through
and through, and then
My wishes will come true?"
The smile that embraced
The warm flesh across his face
Digs deeper in my mind
As I replay this (all the time):
Where did I waver,
Trip and cave into desire
deeper than my own
morality?
Maybe I'll never know,
Might as well give it a go,
And enjoy this whole no-soul
****
It looks as if
I'll be dealing with it
for quite a while anyways.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 12:26 AM UTC