"fissured" poems
Eyes wide
you do not allow
oblivious sleep
shadows branded
on my retina
reveal all contrast
tattooed on my shoulder
a skeletal hand
*this illusion
pins me down*
your questions
have no answers
questions remain
asked again and again
*I swear
I know nothing*
You say everything
*is immaterial
subjectively real
ideas existent
in the mind
of the perceiver
I am*
(you insist)
a true believer
Parched and shrinking
I ask for mercy
you bring the cup
to my fissured lips
but it is empty
a vessel of air
you murmur
*there is only enough
for one
what will you give
in return?*
Heavy metal
arpeggios of wind
head bang
petulant faces
inured to rain
a repeating refrain
in falsehood
lies your truth
but even you
cannot halt the dawn
a dark horizon
pulls the strings
powerless
you sink
behind the cloud-
wall of your storm
is it safe now to close my eyes?
three times whisper
*be gone
bright fiend*
a weary incantation
spell of protection
the yawning wind
done with howling
hums reassuringly
*“a change is gonna come
imagine
peace in our time”*
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 9:58 AM UTC
I am wrapped in her algid arms.
I am lost in her evocative glare.
I stand, environed by the Keres,
Those dilapidated demons.
Azrael, my craven shadow, clings
To me as a vulture stalks its prey.
Thanatos does each step possess
Forward into this acidulous air.
Fissured masks release languid screams
That fall upon pallid faces that have
Long since wilted in her Stygian womb.
Enervated laughs drone in mangy ears.
I stand on the periphery of this
Asphyxiating cistern. I ambulate
Across this sable field that shall
Become the executioner’s blade.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
in ashes hidden, smoulders god of love
from matted dancer's focus conflagration purely come
continues still perhaps in empty homage
of a sa ta na ma
personage of ((Shiva))
white bones pierce the sky
in upward curtain-seethes of heat
beyond imagined burning hells...
the triad ventures into zero-zones of anti-life,
sands of absolute defeat.
shadow trust imparts
a silent teacher's mantras;
soothing psychic words,
"Bala" and "Adi-Bala"
carry over dunes of morbid thirst--
the gape of ancient serpent-maws
choking dust of frightened, elephantine skeletons
fissured by immobile sun--
their inner sound become cool water of a summer stream
in timeless desert, traverses strain of royal line:
god-fated tutelage of seedling savior,
lightning skill with bow and virtue sinew
shining arms horizon's arid form:
despite begrudging honor kings expect
when offspring given after years
in hard-earned sacrificial grace:
yet still obeisance ends in facing demonaic rage
to which is pitted youth to slay--
despite allay by symbol feminine,
as if to question her abode would conjure her
in dire storm and quake announce gigantic step and hairy gulf--
with arrow sprays destroy Thataka's trident, curdling throat
the slitting of, rejoicing pantheon proclaims heroic,
forever railing under epic breath of tacit page theodical:
"we gave you progeny, now grant us our theocracy;
before your son our asthras lay their weaponry"
.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
untimely orifice,
subtly trodden
on whetted stones.
an oasis of
nostalgia splurged
into your wake,
tissue plunging into
an indefinite praise.
the echo frayed
your form and
saturated your
sunken flesh.
a fissured whispering
of distinguished life.
even you knew more
about fluttering eyelids
than my mind could
sort to decompose.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
there is a tree
growing in this
womb
its roots cracking
from fissured earth
the trunk, in layers
unwrapping
sprouting solid
from ancient rebirth
Breathing light
into branches,
unfurling -
not always
with ease, yet
always in a rising,
not always in comfort
but in the end
a widening,
lit horizon
of past blood lining shed
of crimson cycles renewed
of old patterns,
gone and dead
of mosaic seedlings strewn
and now before
sacred eyes
a photosynthesis occurs
revealing leaflets, tender
reaching into
grounded universe
I am a star-system
a stellar orbit landscape
a singing cosmic rune
a ring of phosphate fire
under tourmaline moon
rubies, garnets, onyx
all pouring from this
innermost, feminine cavern
liquid gold, in lava form
precious metals,
a righteous storm
wild dancers
around the blaze
swaying magic
in midnight haze
and here I stand,
in uterine gleam
the fruit of my soul
the queen
of my
dream
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
Yesterday she was nowhere to be found
In the earth or under the earth.
Suddenly she is all here - a bright soon
Of a tomorrow in earnest and potluck joy, embers and pyres, iris and the merriment of ochre.
A star groomed by outer space - spilling wet ash
And fissured out by the tailored saw of the wood.
Now something is stirring in the smolder.
We call it a girl.
Still wowed.
She has no idea where she is.
Her eyes, chalcedony stones, explore ripening doomsday and an ivory moon rock.
Is this the world?
It confuses her. It is a great numbness.
She pulls herself together, rousing to the new weight of things
And to that maternal figure nuzzling her, and to her down burrow.
She rests
From the first infinite shock of light, the empty laze
Of the curious and their curious questions -
What has happened? What am I?
Her ears keep on inquiring, blissfully.
But her legs are impatient,
Mending from so long nothingnesses
Her tiny hands are restless with ideas, they start to try a few out,
Swaying this way and that,
Grasping for balance, learning fast -
And she's suddenly upright
And stretching - a giant hand
Strokes her from top to toe
Perfecting her outline, as she tightens
The knot of herself.
Now she comes to -
Bold, beautiful - Argentina
Over the weird world. Her nose
crimson and magnetic, draws her, consciously sounding,
A petite yaff, aimed towards her mother. And the world is warm
And gentle and softens her daze. Touch by touch
Everything fits her together.
Soon she'll almost be a woman.
She wants to be a Woman,
Pretending each day more and more Woman
Till she's the perfect Woman. The immortal Woman
Will surge through her, weightless, unbound, a twirling flame
Beneath silver gusts,
It will coil her eyeballs and her heels
In a single outlaw fright - like the awe
Between mortar and firework.
And curve her neck, like a crocodile emerging from the placid pond
Among lilies,
And fling the new moons over her shimmery banner,
All the full moons and the dark moons.
Booming, ineffable delight.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
Beyond my existence, they spoke.
Inscrutable of my mind to understand.
Within their dauntlessness, I realized;
I have been incapacitate word by word.
I felt the agony of my emotions.
I hindered my pride of being sturdy.
The depression empowered my strength.
The glint from my eyes turned into broken crystals.
The bright blue skies are now somber.
Earth's flowers and crops withered.
All the lands have fissured.
Every river had bifurcate into multiple streams.
Generally, I am known as someone strong.
I am capable with any misery.
But now, all my journals have faded blank;
Thus, I will await a new chapter.
I am going to disregard my past.
I will mold in my hands a new and better future.
I will make the skies blue and the plants alive, once again.
I will be strong.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
Tavy CleaveWhen I walked along your leats;The hawk soared the sky,Singing it's song like prayer,Cutting through blue time.Round your corner of hill majesty,Tawny colours grew;Grass: dun as a horses back;Cleaved hills knitted my fissured flesh and heart.Empted I approached:The blue river of you flowed through me,Where echoed waterfalls reached deep pools,Sweet wild songs rose to the top of your granite shoulders.
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 1:19 AM UTC
I am an
emotional
archeologist
digging d
e
e
p
into the contours
of the heart
trying to discern
what spots
need tender healing,
how to treat and
soothe its
fissured parts
I am a soul-mind
excavator
discerning
temperature and hue
measuring the depths
of textures
as we get down
to the root
We work hard,
my team and I
mapping earthen layers
we use the implements
of wisdom
to try and heal
this pain acute
and as we gently
cut through the strata
of history, of scars
I know that this
explorer's work
is worth it
for we will reach up
to the stars
So we continue on
in patience,
into the
blazing core
like truth-warriors
like healers
unlocking secret
ancient treasures
that will rise up
to the
fore
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
Memories crumble to dust
Bricks of remembrance
Thrown angrily from the windows of my eyes
Shattering the glass seven floors up
At the bottom
The feet of those on the first floor
Had to walk on shards of regret
A treacherous, ****** movement
And in the end got no where
But back to the stained carpets
Screaming inside the walls
Of a house
Not a home
The second floor
Tenants fell to their knees
Begging for the first floor
To relax
The commotion was just
Too much too handle
Rattling the weakened, buckled walls
The third floor
They were frightened from the up rise of chaos
Got sick to the stomach
And doubled over in pained retrospect
Because they left their windows open
And swallowed air
Instead of pride
The fourth floor
Was broken beyond repair
Cracked right down the middle
Blood seeped from it's fissured walls
Like an arrow wound to the heart
Those inside sprawled in puddles of conflict
The fifth floor
Was out of bandages
For the fourth floor
They used them for mouth covers
So the sixth floor above couldn't smell
The lies on their breath
The sixth floor
Always did hold a nose in the air
But that couldn't hide them from trouble
They were stuffy, and often full
As though the tears that often ran down the bridges
Were more than the emotional pressures
They could carry at once
The seventh floor
Was tired of everything
Constantly red and with teary eyes
They stared down upon the whole scene
Disgusted with the image presented
So they threw the newest memories out
And watched them crumble to dust
Seven floors down
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
I wish every bump in the road
Was a towering alp
Face lit by the sun
From basement to scalp
Should each crack on the asphalt
Become deep fissured cleft
I wouldn’t care much
Or feel particularly bereft
If the train should pass
Across the tracks on our way
My hand could stay in yours
While we wait the delay
Anything to keep you
From leaving much too soon
Another hour, minute, second
Just a handful or teaspoon
Dec 27, 2023
Dec 27, 2023 at 4:07 AM UTC
Mama's in the hospital again; this time she's a saint.
Seeing Jesus in the laundry,
she strung my little brother from red overalls,
pinned his palms to the clothesline.
Martin's small, bare feet kicked his dissent
until his weight brought him to ground.
Now Daddy's in the kitchen making waffles.
His wrinkled trousers wear yesterday's doubt.
All us kids at the table, hands pressed
on knees, trying our Sunday best to not see the images:
the glazed panes,
the way the butter slides and dips,
how the syrup pools.
My gaze falls out the window at white sheets snapping
on the wire. Disappointed angels, their great huffing
wings strain to flap away from here.
I want to say a prayer but my mouth is full
of statues. Fissured
words scrape across the plate. I swallow
each one, sticky-sweet, unyielding,
with eyes closed.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
Of this verse
The core, the middle,
Is marked on its palm.
No riddle
To be guessed in a lyric
So brittle,
Whose task
Is to hold in place
The fissured parts
Of a gypsy's fiddle.
LazharBouazzi, April 4, 2017
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC
We are e(i)ther
On top of the world
Or pi(c)king up the pieces
There is no inbetween
No sh(a)des of grey
O(n)ly black or white
Only euphoric or broken
(T)hey say you should
Love deep(l)y
Or n(o)t at all
But i(s) it possible
To lov(e) someone too much?
I'm not sure of an(y)thing
All I kn(o)w is
I don't think I'll be able to
S(u)rvive
If my already fissured heart
Cracks clean in two(.)
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
I'll fall asleep very soon
I'll not collect my ruins
My eyes, my soul
not alive enough
not bright enough
I've sinned so much
I'm unraveled
I'm unforgiven
I'm warped
I'm unforgiven
Unforgiven.
I'll learn to breathe very soon
Maybe I'll collect my ruins
My hands, my lungs
Not trembling enough
Not wavering enough
But fear is potent
I'm unraveled
I'm unforgiven
I'm rattled
I'm unforgiven
Unforgiven.
I'll learn to fall apart someday
There might be no other way
My bones, my heart
Not strong enough
Not fractured enough
Maybe I'm an abyss
I'm unraveled
I'm unforgiven
I'm fissured
I'm unforgiven
Unforgiven
I'll learn to live someday
There might be no other way
My soul my scars
Not bleeding enough
Not numb enough
Maybe I'm alive
I'm unraveled
I'm unforgiven
I'm undone
I'm unforgiven
Unforgiven
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
On my way from you,
taking the last trip down your steps,
I slipped on ice we'd watched freeze from sheets of sleet,
from sheets of jersey cotton.
I caught myself,
but not before thinking back to that fall evening,
to the warm rain that oiled the top of the stairs across town;
back to when, on my way to you,
I left him
and lost my footing.
Grace aside, these moments
parallel in a way that fissured not bone,
but my psyche--
defining at once
this new she who sought one,
despite she who belonged to another.
Oh, the things she did say,
this foreign half of me,
as, descending your crystal-coated staircase,
she heard herself, for the last time, speak.
We had both fallen so in love with the sound of her voice.
On my way from you,
I caught myself,
and let her, broken, fall.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
*how a glutton hearty turns a hermit lean
a bully back thumping to a sage hand folded
unresting motor mouth to an understanding silent
busy brain frenzied to a deep contemplation calm
mentality moronic sick to a pool placid of balm
springy intent violent to a relaxed peace uncoiled
hates grey many undefined to one love united
mind monkeys warring to peaceful doves flying
a black heart fissured now encompassing all open
O divinity fill me till I'm nothing of here anymore!*
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Droplets of a black swan's fever sweats
coat purplish nightmare blisters
Reminds me of nights before
I forced my eyes to sometimes drift
through broken down envy telescopes
opening pathways to fissured late night ruptures
Blotting out black plague garlic mask threats
no one left to speak ill of these mass grave
injuries
Our blight flag battle standards set for
miserable whiskey soaked duelists trudging through the snow
past careless crossroad wasps' nest dissection
a Glasgow smile cut in a hostile makeover struggle
makes for uneasy amends
when my copper cable pirate princess
holds the offending knife
pulled across like a dishwater blonde's drag on a last fix
I know I'm hard to follow but no one else
will take the torrential reigns
to leads us home but bitterly so
Who do we end up with in heaven
if no one likes us now?
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
Intwined in sweat soaked
fev’rish delusion
A rav’nous serpent
coiling illusion
An ouroboros
slurps its slith’ring self
The prism lies fissured
’neath a cracked ice shelf
where flaws like veins branch
blood of dark gods flow
a heaven lost in smoke
nothing good here grows
Atlas underground
sinews straining stiff
auguries of beasts ablaze -
Spare a pity for what if
Apr 22, 2022
Apr 22, 2022 at 11:10 AM UTC
Eyeglasses old on wetland,
Footmarks deep in fissured sand,
Tidegreen takes all.
(c) LazharBouazzi
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
Renegade crows
swagger ashore
lifting unlucky tritons
high into the whirling
wind, dropping them
to the rocks below
shell is rendered
to fine dust
revealing the mollusk
vainly hiding
in the fissured whorl
of what was once
Home
now a splintered chamber
with no exit
from which to squeeze
into the minute space
between falling
and breaking clean open.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
Fissured seams-- shutter widens and catches
Black foreground on sky
Whirlpool current
Order
Yawning underneath
Swallows
Handel-- Cargo taken whole
Into those eager stomachs
Once more-- for all time
Greedy serpents misspend hate
With whips
Bloodying their subjects’ once dry mouths
Who offer,
with that salty ocean
Apéritif-- to quell nothing
Their meal won't be had
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 5:40 PM UTC
i said you think you're invincible,
mind is a machine you said, it does
not need rest yet with all
this labour you still
reside in feeble fissured skin
features lacking in outline the
eyes that soak pleading excuses
for delirium to do more labour
of correcting what is
faulty the machine does not
function when it is faulty
but you believe, you said,
if it runs for long enough
it will fix the bugs somewhere between
the night and the morning
then i see it and i see you
fretting down the wires
gusting the leaking chip, i know
you will scope the circuit again
so i leave a trail for you to follow
but when you picked them back up,
you said you are tired
of cleaning up after me,
i said i think you are tired
Mar 8, 2022
Mar 8, 2022 at 3:18 AM UTC
Through fissured blinds,
sunlight cuts
my toenails in half –
rosy polish
and pastel skin.
I recall a blade
once used against
my thigh,
until I left pale
hues for scarlet.
If possible,
my veins quiver,
and I recognize
a familiar yearning
from days past.
These thoughts are
sour grapes
that I must wince at,
even when the
flavor isn’t so bad.
My mind is a weapon
that wrestles itself;
I am on a seesaw,
teeter-tottering as
a toddler might.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC