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Arianna Oct 2018
"I'm leaving now."

                        Li­ke a tree?"
Conversation with a very dear friend. :-)
The Sphinx Sphanther, an ailuralien
from Slazenger 7, Ulthar System,
surveyed the vapid dullpink lunascape
of Smars. As he scanned yonder scanyons &
clabby tableland of Smartian terrain,
his 8ft henchbot, Ernie, numberwanged
'23467 097
11.' The Sphinx Sphanther's binary-brained
blabacus of a hotchbot robutler
doubled as personal security,
equipped w/ chainsawwindmillstars for hands.
But scant call for slicing 'n'dicing crowd
control here: Smars was desolate as smug
snow, too xeric to dessicater to
desertcraturf - in that, arid aphex
of its counterpart thru the quantumgate,
unsparticulate Mars. Sphinx had been there
too, long after the novalia cleared
by the Elon Muscovites for dometown
of New Creationham instead became
obumbrated by proxy war, a mauve
Somme for drones. The Zeta-Reticulan
barhover he'd met centuries later,
at Sagittarius Bolognaise, had
divulged he'd been staking out the Terrans
for millennia, concluding that quite
clearly they weren't Kardashev calibre:
' The Terran jackal apes could never build
fair Isratin on Mars's blank red slate,
but desecratered Earth 2.0
w/ telefactored lex talionis.
Palasraeli peace-world a daffy god's
dream.' But no roseplated, plaintive past
of lost races & their last, lost chances
would weigh on Sphinx Sphanther over 0-
g 'n' ts - least of all, kamikozmic
Terrans, ghosts of toddlers before his time.
Besides, he purrferred the splanetary
systems in his home universe, S-side
of the supersymmetrical stargate.
Even planet Smearth, whose gnomes salivate
for colloidal silver & often ate
salvers. But multiversally treasure-
hunting catman was not on Smars for smurrks,
nor to holoholo like a stalko
thru the pink pother, a fishbowlhead space-
*** w/ the best seat i.e. the worst seat
in a stadial sandstorm of foxglove
fog. In whirbles pulsive, Ernie's clicking
clock breath axlegroused, '23824
71719', as the Sphinx
Sphanther fremescently urged the servo-
droid to 'move your chrome cuirasse!' Which encased
Ernie's one lung of mesh & blexcroid heart,
repurposed by a gizmomancer from
silicone garage off Milkomeda
magic roundabout. Or was it spaceport
at the Smilkomeda?  Whichever,  the
Sphanther had long ago evolved beyond
flying saucers of cream. Caterpillar-
tracked calculator w/ a sporknose &
whisking shuriken fingers, Ernie creaked
futuristically behind its feline
master, as they descended in oblique
Indian file down scarp of Mountbattern
grink, for now the Sphinx Sphanther had bird's-eyed
some bearings. Manshaped moggy & lotto-
machine-A.I.'d adjutant had for days
yomped the candydross regolith of Smars,
a desert every bit as brass monkies
& indistinguishable in aspect
(save to areographers) as ******
tundra of its supersymmetrical
sister sphere, yet pink as amassed honkies
(tho' ofays blushing ashen w/ gammon
guilt). A holo-map Ernie projected
from its cyflaptic eyezor had led them
this far, but now the Sphinx Sphanther relied
on the sort of stillicide scholarship
a cat gleens from spacerats (w/ translation
bracelet bangling his back, a caudal wire),
because Ernie's pirate-ninja meter
was in emergency credit. The pair
hinterlunged on thru tayammum douches
of inextinguishable pink, spinning
powders, smaze of Smartian haboob, until
Sphinx Sphanther sphied, sphorry, spied his wrecked grail.
'Initiating sleep sequence passout-
code: rats apollo defile robot tide,'
catman commanded his lollygagging
tincan manservant to take hard-earnied
standby. Then, before Ernie's spangbolts could
cease squeaking, before its hi-tec bits quit
bleeping &  the combined constadrone of   
mechanical chakras was susurrust
(engulfed by speckled banshee breaker of
nominal boughs, wolf sough of Smars booting
alien sandcastles), the Sphinx Sphanther
in his eagerness nearly lapsed into
quadrupedal ignominy, as he
raced towards the ruins, object of his
enantionautic planethopping
over 8 & 1/2 lifetimes. Not much
remained of whatever edifice had
once graced Smars, a primordial witness
wrought in masonry as lurid as some
Lovecraftchild of Liberace, its pink
pillars & pink hunky punks bubblegum
rubble now, vividness conspicuous
against the grink sands.These Smartian ruins
were only slightly less ancient than God
& his blue hypernovae toybox, or
Tohu wa-Bohu's pantherine absence
before that. The Temple of the Dark Lord,
Yod-Coalescence, indisputably
a stripling of deep architecture next
to the Sphinx Sphanther's incomparable find.
By the same token, the fabled Terran
city of Dubai would be an ****
baby of steel & glass next to this site
of cosmic heritage, this exploded
damask rose of a UFOpolis,
stone petals shed by flower of dust. Engraved
on block immemorial, poking out
of a sandbank & imbued w/ forlorn
fascination for upright ****, such as
xoanon of Eve might hold for Conan
the Slybrarian, was maxim in long
dead tongue, the long dead sense of which rendered
it accidental koan, dumb poem
by anon culture that might as well be
entitled 'Sirenen Istigkeit'. Food
for thought anorexic Time, bulimic
Space inedibly graffitied on Smars:
'Nulla Dies Sine Linear B'.
Under cured Klyntar yurt later that night,
whilst Ernie hummed w/ Atari sheep sprites,
the Sphinx Sphanther dreamt of mighty works thru
the wringer of longslid signifiers:  

The barhover hovered above
membranous whatevers of mise-en-dream,
before the scene settled like anarchic snow.
Smickey Smouse was on a mauve rove
one smauve Tuesday. As Smickey
scanned yonder young scones,
young dust granted him edgehug.
Ernie said : Numb blah, numb blah, numb blah!
They certainly weren't in Snorwich, Snorfolk, anymore.
They hinterlunged on thru candybrass
of dross monkies, pinning spowders,
until Smickey Smouse smied, smorry, sphied
the Temple of the Dark Lord,
Pantherine Absence.
Smickey Smouse said: Wait there,
I'm just going for a quick Slazenger-7.
Ernie said: Skoda codas.
Elon Musk divulged he'd been
staking out the Terrans
for millennia & concluded they were in
emergency credit.
So they descended a serdab
poking into a sandbank,
its venom curd of darkness
further diagonally desecraterd
by Ernie's sadotronic **** attachment w/ knobs on,
thagomiser **** or Oumuamua
of steel & glass.
Its mace ***** drilled down
until Smickey, Ernie & Elon
were 3 spelunking sphinxes,
spelunking deeper into the recesses
of the alien sandcastle,
by the light of Ernie's eyeflaptic cyzors.
But you can't holoholo in a fishbowlobowlo,
lavalampadomancy of a daffy god's dream.
They longslod into the long dead clock breath
of Ozymandias' unconscious.
Should a cave-in cave in,
a hi-drama-gen bomb bomb,
quidzinc Ernie said: Inadjuvant Elon
Rifles should have hired
ghosts of toddlers  
for our pirate-ninja security.
Above them,
the embitteringly bitty yonder
stretched lone & level,
a ventriloquantum of solace on a grink brick
remained undiscovered & unsquandered,
waiting for a greater translator .
Ernie said: edit to bore life dollop a star.
Ernie said: Numb blah, numb blah, numb blah!
Arianna Oct 2018
"... I am old now, as the poets have warned.

The courtyard smiles still as in my youth,
Immune to the ravages of Time:

                     Pomegranate trees swaying
                     In perpetual motion,
                     Lush, and beautiful like flute girls
                     Unfettered by "the weight of years"*;

                     It laughs in garlands of ivy
                     And now, as then,
                     Sweetens my tears with roses."
* = "the weight of years", a term I have encountered several times in translations of Euripides' work; the phrase resonates. :)
Lyn Senz 2 Apr 2018
by Danny Smith

The old man rises from his chair
gently cursing the ache that crept into his bones
when he wasn't looking

His slippered feet scuff the carpet
making a journey they know without him
to the window

He watches down on the cars
as they flash through the rain on an urgent journey

Leaning forward to rest his forehead
on the cool damp pane that shields him from it all
his prison wall

The cars seem to softly merge
as fragments like a broken mirror
tease and torment

A lifetime of dreams and tomorrows
that somehow became painful yesterdays
much too fast

Squeezing his eyes tightly closed
he remembers her face and the soft scar on her cheek
a perfect imperfection

The laughter and cries of children
running to him with chocolate smeared mouths
grown now, gone now

All of them to different worlds
ones where he was afraid to travel to
out there

Plenty of time to make it through
but the nights seem to skip the sunshine days

he shuffles back to the chair
lowering himself with limbs that can't be his
removes his slippers

Reaches for the polished shoes
years old but hardly worn and still uncreased
laces them

Moves slowly through the house
turning of lights, collecting a wallet
a pack of cigarettes, a photograph
pocketing them

The old man stands at the open door
just a fragment of someone elses memory, as he walks
into the rain

©Danny Smith
one of my favorites. it may be the only
copy on the internet. I couldn't find it.
it used to be on the 'Poemish' website
which is gone now. He had maybe only
12 poems in all that he submitted, and
they were all good, but sadly this is the
only one I decided to save. He lives/lived
in England as I remember.
Arianna Dec 2018
"... the flare of incense

                    singeing my nostrils with ash,
                    crawling warm and orange along my skin,
                    seeping sweet sandalwood into my tongue,
                    crackling, pop!, in my ears,
                    eclipsing my eyes a shade darker

          dances with visions..."
Arianna May 23
"Dream and reality split,
and the ghost of fear walked away
still lying by my side."
The subconscious can, on occasion, be quite blunt.
Louis Verata Dec 2018
The river will cease
Just like Crete
The ocean’s tides and waves
On land there is no to be
One can proclaim
“Nothing is created nor destroyed”
A rather compelling case.

Yet memory
Thoughts are soon to be forgotten
Like it never happened
Oblivion does not discriminate
She does not hate
Nor retaliates
For she conquers all.

Lets artists take the fame
Saints to be prayed
Wars to take place
Atomic bombs to take shape
In an instance
The gods will proclaim
“Oblivion is here to stay!”
Obscurity her only way.
Arianna Jan 21
"... pelt to pelt, gentle caresses
flow in streams
over gold and silver-spotted tresses.

The stars drown,
a radiant blur,
in their reflections,
shattering the face of Night
against the warmth of feathery skins
and the softness of rosy tongues
collapsing into dream..."
Arianna Oct 2018
"... pluck the rainbow from among the clouds and,
unraveling its brilliance,
its rays enfolding...

Arianna May 2
"... the old tree spirit sighed and said:

"The path of unconditional acceptance is lonesome.
Beware the expectations of your heart, lest disappointment drive you to hypocrisy.
Look not to others; rather: search within,
for the wisdom of Understanding abides there without end
Arianna Nov 2018
"As Yeats once dreamt
Of an isle in the water,
So we now dream of an isle on the moon:

               Golden over your galaxy, silver over mine,
               Perhaps we'll plant sunflowers in her craters sometime."
For a Shy One. :-)
Arianna 1d
"... wind whistles cold between us:

I touch you with satin,
          but it tortures you
          with trails of garnet-studded thorns.

Retracing the flowing paths of your form,
I scour beneath your glacial snows
to kiss the scars hidden beneath.

Digging gently my grave
between the hollows of your arms,
my lips memorize the warmth of your heart,

resting silent, skin to skin,
nestled among your branches,
I rise to meet you

at the crossroad of Breaths,
exchanging dewdrop sonnets,
on my tongue bearing gifts
          of  F   I  R   E..."
Far from perfect, this, but oh well... ;-)

Mazzy Star - "Fade Into You", "Bells Ring (Acoustic Version)", "Into Dust"

Florence & The Machine - "Only If For A Night", "What the Water Gave Me", "What Kind of Man"
Arianna Jun 3
"... broken reflection

                    reflecting brokenness;

            fragments of a face,

    shards of a person litter the floor...

What... does Light sound like
when it tears apart,
powerless against the Will to Destroy
severing photons from photons?

How does it sound:
the wailing of reflections,
mocking parodies
reduced to shallow echoes
ripped screaming from their glass prisms?

Bleeding smoke and nothingness
from jagged hatchet cracks,
cinder parrots,
screeching crushed
          to — ?..."
Arianna Apr 16
"Lava consumes the city
with incendiary kisses,
toppling the wooden bones of a thousand-plus-year life affair.

Somewhere behind
we join hands, and
I realize
just how lucky I am
to have met with a lionheart so pure.

A notion strikes
of heartache
as a symptom of needed healing.

My heart seethes, primordial and volcanic,
at your words of hope for a better world
waltzing 'round an axis of Love.

This, your vision, resounds through caverns,
echoing back with a certain despair
I didn't realize lay waiting there,
feasting on hollow magnolia trees...

Incendiary kisses,
swaying down the street:
     a fire-breathing,

Fear manifests fury
at hopelessness,
whispers foreboding
at Time slipping through sand,
and the possibility that the magma
oozing towards us
might petrify you
just as it has done me."
a.k.a. "A Little Love Letter"

Still, the skin remains rosy and soft beneath igneous scales. :-)
Pea Jun 2016
xvi. where do you go when your house isn't home?

i ******* crawl out of my body, swim infinite miles of the ocean, stretch my neck to the skies, replace my head with the moon. i ******* yearn for your presence, try to break the mirror with my weak stare, can't go further, fitting room doesn't fit whatsoever, all the buttons escape from my ***** and hair falls like tiny dandelions in a rainstorm.
i grow potatoes in my mouth, when i speak i smell of my root, when i am on my period i talk about stomachache at dinner table, when i search for space my tummy is the balloons at pingkan's 8th birthday party which i couldn't bring home. blow the candles i forgot to make a wish for a moment the fate seems seamless, bright red lipstick, brown mascara, outfits i can't ever wear to school, or to be honest, not anywhere because when i try to walk, every step is a ******* hysterical cry, when i use my toes every cell in my body violently shakes.
my house isn't home. my house isn't home. my house isn't home. my house isn't home. my house isn't home how do you know that? how did you barge into my clichés? how dare you claim something that even i won't bring myself to think about?
i ******* crawl out of my body, not as soon as possible, i do it right now, right ******* now so i know the years i've spent trying to nourish the flesh i don't really own are worthless, the years i've devoted myself to my worldly lover are the ones that have been consuming my tiny soul, if you ask me now of course no one is satisfied, no one is satisfied until i don't want to call you mine anymore.
i ******* crawl out of my body.
in a desperate attempt to make the hideous pleasing to watch, i sell blindfolds on the street, i light the matches in the rain, i dream of dead grandmother and christmas feast. i turn into a cold statue, i left the tenderness for stupid microorganisms, my divorced bones blame me for everything i did not do. i used to do the right things now i just do nothing, it's ******* useless anyway, i can blink five thousand times and still believe that time is what the clocks and calendars say. (my grandmother was a buddhist.)
i ******* crawl out of my body. i don't want to experience this anymore, i am not into this kind of thing, i long for your presence, all i've got from this building is an infinite count of absences. my body is a building, it has no level, no room, no door, no window, no furniture. my body a giant concrete boring box, i do not even live there anymore, nobody lives there anymore, they are all gone to a poppy field in the middle of nowhere (actually somewhere, only that i am not invited). i ******* crawl out of my body, did that answer your question?
i ******* crawl. out. of. it.
with all due respect, please just kindly shut the **** up
Arianna Mar 25
"... staring, staring
at the rippling surface gyrating closer,
winding slow, swollen coils
about my neck.

Panic flutters to life,
pushing feebly against the tranquility
immobilizing my limbs.

I often dream of winged horses.
And observing the darkness overhead,
the phantoms of dreams and life merge their faces,
flirting coquettishly with a nightmare.

The golden thread between us tightens,
and I know you're waking up.

The movement travels through the maze,
tugging heartstrings in seismic waves
like those that lap the rocky shore
where I've dreamt so much of winged horses,
and pondered furiously an arcane memory
of prancing cloud to cloud through the Northern Lights
somewhere, sometime
Arianna May 15
"You stir within a halo of sunrise,
eyes dim and dreaming yet
as morning eclipses the shades of yesterday...

• • •

and quells the scars of maddened flight
what ravage the last snow of winter..."
Loreena McKennitt - "Full Circle", "Samain Night", "The Mystic's Dream", "Caravanserai"
Arianna Oct 2018
"I glance:

           and the blind


                                        waning gibbous

                                                       shadow dragon

                                                           Leers back..."
The moon looked like a half-opened eye the other night, and it's stuck with me. *shrugs*
avalon Jun 2018

“it certainly slides off the tongue, doesn’t it,” i say.

her eyes are the darkest shade of blue i’ve ever seen. remarkable. “no,” she says, chin up. “neither do i.”
Arianna Dec 2018
"A rustling festers high in the trees:

                    Is it the brewing flight of ten thousand sparrows,
                    Or merely the soft-spoken falling of leaves?"
Arianna May 14
"... A name of one beat,
you said you've been
"looking for oneness all your life."

So if words indeed work magic,
let me caress your name upon my lips,
savoring it as a rare pearl upon my tongue;

and with singing
exhale the last stones: side-by-side
stacking our fetters
into stairsteps,
climbing towards infinity together..."
Arianna Dec 2018
"... suffocated passion,
Bursting forth at last,
Simmering away between skins in ⸺
Tears? Sweat? ⸺
Or does every pore on your body weep, my sweetest love,
From your heart?
Aye, and my body cries with yours,
The crooks of our knees braiding tight,
Crushing this hollowness of expression...

Watching the pain leave your eyes
In sparks flying
Like fireflies,
Scattering embers across the sheets
As blood and pus
Gush forth from our souls
And into the Open
Between us:

          Open arms, open legs, open hearts,
          A Pandora's box of open wounds
          Emptied at last of evil;
          Kissing, licking
          These ointments of desire;
          Baring all,
          Bearing all of these burdens
          Together ⸺
          Old injuries closing over..."
Arianna Dec 2018
"Kneeling, I kindle the fire 'gainst the draft,
Hands hovering, gliding
Spiders, pale, over the hearth,

When suddenly, the Moon leans down from her eastern perch,
Wandering, paler still, between the columns,
As if to inquire:

               "Was it not enough, the light that I gave you,
               Though the Sun itself burned through me?
Setting: Antiquity, some temple late at night. :-)

It's utterly random, but I have similar thoughts when I listen to music while taking walks, as if I were rejecting the beautiful sounds of leaves, birds, etc., and sometimes pure silence that surround me, a sadness and frustration at depriving myself of them, and the profound peace I have experienced in allowing their spell to calm my mind.
Arianna Dec 2018
"... afternoon sprawls, yawning
                                                stained-glass kaleidoscopes
                 through the shadowy silence,
                                          around the echoing pillars
                                of the cathedral, humming
        with a thousand voices for the thousand faces of Love..."
Ensemble Organum - "Jube Domine silentium":


Ensemble Organum - "12th-century Polyphony of Aquitaine"

László Dobszay & Schola Hungarica - "Genealogia Christi"

Carlo Gesualdo - "Madrigals, Book VI" (performed by Ensemble Métamorphoses)

Palestrina - "Missa Papae Marcelli" (performed by The Tallis Scholars)
July Flyerie Oct 2018
So consumed with desire
To write down whole of you
In the ink of love, imagination and freshness.

And then, feel you again
As warmth and memories.

A dire need of a fragment, a real you.
I promise it won't take long
Just the touch of the spirit to dream along.
Can't let somethings in life to grow in reality, only can shape them in my imagination, where it grows and lives by my codes.
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