Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb

Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life

Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,

The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,

Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles

These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,

Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,

Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,

Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting

Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.

O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,

The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks

Glittering
Glittering and digesting

Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.

28 January 1963
zebra Nov 2017
i felt like talking that night
reciting poetry to your big blue eyes
and raw pink mouth smiling
high as a wind whipped kite
discussing
art, ontology, and existentialism
sitting like lotus
at the
Cafe Figaro on McDougall st
in the west village
belly of a ghost
lost in a vagrant memory

afterwards
we went to a
little one bedroom flat in the east village
haunted by the vapors of its history
a slight stench of ****
and dingo tongue
dripping toilet
all peeling walls
intimating births, cheer and squalor

after a hot bath
of lathered torsos
we followrd each other naked
winding around a table
into a swaying bed
that beckoned
**** here my darlings

and i licked and drank out of your drenched
rose red blossom for hours
it licking back
I salvaged the loneliness
of my soul between your thighs
like a desolate dog whimpering
thanking God with every graze and ******
of your all supple shifting limbs

your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company
in moon rise
summer balm

we looked in the mirror
reflecting on my glistening face
all red raspberry
my lips like blood hydras
laughing our ***** off at how artsy we looked
smeared
with your rouge painted thighs

appearing as if half eaten
you growled swallowed and
licked big butter piggy
till your nose ran like the Ganges
gagging
eyes bloodshot pools of fire
cooing and oowing
driving me maniacal
with every ****** of your wild flicking tongue

we poured our selves into each other
viscous creels gushing
coursing like slime silver
radiating

and finally used to the marrow
we found ourselves drooping sails
our eyelids  leaden
the night mist fell upon us  
muttering shadows

and our *** shriveled
like cast-off umbilici
and we fell to sleep
steep steep
buoyant
like two buttermilk clouds
adrift

your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company
in moon rise
summer balm
*** *** ***  love memory fiction nostalgia
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
i never understood why people misunderstood writing with needing company, writing requires blanks - the internet bypassed the whole escapade of writing, automatic publishing, inevitable "company", writing was always and only always aware of blanks - but with the omni-literate populace writing was a homeless man's painting at the end of it - no blanks were filled, the man writing was a blank awaiting the daily tabloid to wipe his *** with... because isn't poetry associated with tabloid journalism these days? sure, we can keep Dante Shakespeare and the peddle-stool... modern poetry is a bit like tabloid journalism, hand-in-hand, the classic piece of journalism surrounding Titanic... Gabriel Rossetti... the classic bit of journalism when Versailles' intrigues were the rave and needed hush hush correspondence tactics... i'm not suggesting that the modern aristocrat can write code... but as Louis XIV said... power in appearances... and so it is.*

if a king could become a pauper like
in a fairy tale, then i'd choose to be pauper twice-over,
**** the king and his entourage -
i thought i lived in democracy - apparently
i live in placebo democracy -
to prove god at these times is to ***** **** a king
who thought that a mediocre son
of a doctor would churn the ambitions of
some courtesan for worth of being replaced -
if indeed an attack from aristocracy came -
if only from such heights i'd submit to the
crucifix ****** - such that from such resolve given
i cannot resign to penitent odd-job as a bank's cashier
for mere acknowledgement of a crow
as proof of authority, or a slick tongue -
as said unto Nigel - me, you, duel, Hyde Park -
but i guess the polo match of a son of a murdered mother
mattered morer - you could play that bit out
with Mary Antoinette - to mind the matter further,
i made cats my Hapsburg Monarchy,
i cleaned their **** more often than keeping
the words of a £10 banknote true -
i guess once you expand social class populations you
can stretch Armstrong your influence in them...
polite society and a few buttons of gold to keep them
hushing and jesting at being short of breath - ah -
it's no more elocution than it's elocution -
allies in Ireland - the wait for the hangman -
as long as the church stands and isn't filled with
lesser vipers than the carrier pigeon sellers of the synagogue
i guess we can sentence a few more operas with
castratos beyond the sopranos - but what use from
a dead lute player or a living one constantly antagonised
without commune? cheap labour? cheap joke?
crown in the gutter on a quasi-copper penny - no more than
a king's head in the gutter akin - and they thought
democracy worked - they really believed it -
but kept a few kings on the spare should democracy
become too chaotic and unbelievable -
what is it a few ***** here, a few ***** there and no
taste in ****** - wasn't that akin to Martin Luther tempt?
what of the great Hydras of history?
you already cut one head off, two have spawned,
cut the two and we will enter an exponential phase of
tactic - is my language so ridiculous because it's
not taught at school - how long will Shakespeare
talk to us with his ancient yarn ball of a tongue?
is my tongue so complicated as to be easily misunderstood?
of course, unless someone paid you to misunderstand it
for no worth either understanding it or misunderstanding it...
the damning essence in me is Hindu,
that i rather cherish an animal over a human -
for sustenance or company.
kj Foster Feb 2016
No Titans left to slay,
Constellations left to claim.

The temples of gods,
swallowed under eons.

In an age without wonder,
to be born with the heart of a hero,
is to be cursed in a time without villains,

Destined for barbaric purpose,
in a world without adventure.
Armor swapped for silk,
Surrendered swords to philosophy,


Still I believe that somewhere,
between closed eyes and open spirits...
The ancient battles still rage on,
flashes of wars without names.

Where blood shed for valor,
Paves paths for all nations,
to the hall of heroes,
and an eternal feast of celebration.
From the depression of the distances with respect to the horizontal and the planes that separated them from the surface, below the references that came against, single sediment had been destined towards the high eminence, before the fossal of megatons of aldehyde below the bilges of the final base, where the seventh rings of the goat ibex were perforated, all in the antipode of the Constellation of Capricornus; where the goats were enraptured in the binary of Wonthelimar, behind the floods of absorption that took the Diadocos far from where they should never have left, in order to extrasolar wishes and never to come. From the node of the supreme and poked aldehyde of the horn of Amalthea, with the bizarre analogy of Zeus and Wonthelimar, both mammals with milk from goat's udders, one from goat from Mount Ida and the other from Aldaine in the Alps, with milk from ibex and In the face of Amalthea that appeared in the fossal, all the Seleucid generals had already vanished, starting from the Viper Typhon, who in the retracting sub-mythology of Capricornus was transmigrated to Wonthelimar, swollen with the aldehyde transmuted into this alcohol and into the udder milk of the Ibix that He lactored, while they were all carried away as in the chambers of Auschwitz, in distant lanterns and lamps of the Calypso that he dismissed them, leaving them with the escorts of the ibex or goatfish in laudable stratagems, which vanished them away from their desires from a new polis or Nostos Patrída, sprinkling them with goatskin and flourishing essences of the kashmar of Zeus' nurse; Amaltheum or Amalthea.

The Iberian rings from the medrones in advance reached the two final ring nodes, here Wonthelimar intimidated them with an accurate adjacent bleat of the kashmar that rubbed their back, before the newest and last lux of Amalthea that vanished into herbaceous fruits that always He carried the barefoot medron with him, to start with the antlers dumbbells and re-transport them defeated to the species of snake that frightened the pastoral god Pan who shepherded, and then he submerged in the water after becoming Capricornus Ibex Fish. Being aware of this and of those who refused to continue listening, Ibics rings were unleashed until the seventh medron, feeding back with Wonthelimar who ad libitum created Venus in triads of Zeus. Wonthelimar and Amalthea were remote in the eighth and ninth medron of the antlers, they appropriated to each the portion of the Parasha or Parashot of the Torah, and of the thirteenth Shemot so that their dualities and fumes from the unbreathable fossa would remain under the possessed surface of the pendular property balance and positive-negative gender correspondence. Right here Amalthea transmuted her mercy to save the world with her lactation of syrup and honey that was not in short supply, and that was extrapolated into a future abundance of food and nectar, making up for crusts that were uneven in average terms. From this bezel, both beings of the goat genome contributed to the pole of goodness for each one at the end of the benevolent cuirassiers of prospering, and not from the opposite that would lead them, even though they were dissimilar causes, towards a retrograde event that was not a consequence of the becoming of the plagues, and of the malignancy that does not flourish with the Shemot of the Parasha, to agree and lavish themselves on blessed virtues or deliberate wicked ones.

The meaning of a relative synchronic and factotum coexisting does not redeem the disintegration of an existential relativism in Skalá, the Hexagonal Primogeniture from one of its angular visions, metaphysically transfers from its temporary contingencies after its arrival on Patmos, while the temporary Seleucid temporality vanishes, It was affirmed from a contradiction since its truth was distended in the arena of Skalá not implying being welcomed, rather it was victimized by the absurd political dimorphism in a meta spiritual state, abdicating its dispersed retrospective, and now contemplating a compromise of the Hellenic genre, to gradually rebuke the virtues of their banners, twice as good for the purpose of reinforcing the will to accede, and not perish in the attempt to lead Alexander the Great. The criticism of founding the memories are of a revived past where it was not, marking the anthropological fact and false truth judgment, in meaning and contradiction in the polarity of both axiomatic genres, but that is saved when quantifying in who has to defend himself, if seeks to abrogate itself, in the entity that is characterized by induction and attraction of egonies and not of exo-egonies, thus describing it in the theme of "Do not support egos that recriminate other characters of frustration and empowerment of a Vernarthian logic split into Vern-narth. Vern has etymology of Bern or Bern olive tree of Gethsemane and narth of the ordinal scale that speculates its nickname in millions of northern sections of its origin, which subsumes the truth and the criterion of apocalyptic parapsychology, re-life of quantum historicity of the metaphysical and sub-block. -Mythological of Vernarth in his identical.

Everything seemed a strange self-annulment from a clear and understandable limit, but Wonthelimar rose to the surface of the Állos kósmos, finding himself in atmospheres of truth and reality of a Cantabile, who decided about the horse Kanti coming with him towing him from the Erebo de Chauvet Bilocated. As a musical and festive ending, he received them on the upper plate of the happened gestures, where a cabaletta rendered parts of a Cantabrian aria, in sulfurous and remorseful cavatina married with the cross emotions of a finale who sponsored expressions and festive Templar tales, with the descendants of Zeus or minor children, or grandchildren after this had to give him milk and honey but with báchkoi. Among the couplets that received him, some came about the smoke of terror that was confused with the dustbin of a Cavallo or horse acclaimed Kanti, with gasping bustling from a cardex, containing all the repertoires of a cantabile if this scene were to be repeated in The same epic allusion, and in random consequences, that go after a cavalcade that is not abstracted in real characters, but more in conformity with the well-deserved place of epic imaginative beings or in the operatic psychotropic of a duet, which would go flagellating in individuality and in each which is not content from another section of the Cantabrian.

The Universality of emotion and feeling is a tragic Parodo emulating voices of all those who sing from a cantabile galloping in their voices to the beat of the heart in some, and at the same time chanting stanzas and antistrophe in reverse epic and tragic lines, for the purposes of the coliseum that diametrically obstructs the Hellenic choir, which is attached to the intervention of the Hexagonal Primogeniture that was already beginning to rise in height, and in the prayers of Saint John, the Apostle and Prochorus from the captaincy and the ode that would begin to stanza, from the west to this and the antistrophe would follow with Vernarth, Wonthelimar and Alexander the Great from east to west. Ad libitum of their enjoyments, they were eating Greek snacks or Katogorias on the way in bases of Almonds, cinnamon, olive oil, sugar, and sweet wine that they carried on their backs in Rhytas shaped like the horns of Zeus and the Ibix of Wonthelimar, which the same Procorus carried on his golden back. The meaning is affirmed as a meaningless infringement of laws of temporality, and truthfulness at the expense of short evidence, and of facts that vanish in the light haze of causalism and not of effectism, when the adjective or noun is made of a strong verb in the Metabasis and in the imprecations that Vernarth gave.

Vernarth's metabasis: “the verse and the adjective will be subsidized by the noun in the construction of Állos Kosmo Megarón, from where mathematics will immaterially explain sap suckers under the noun in liquid milk of the color white and of the high nutritional value in female lactated, and of mammals to feed their goats or ibex. The soul of this prerogative implies that the verb will be to promote species rather than a nutritious milky elixir for Zeus, and the candor of his **** will tend to the bipedal or quadruped subject self-procreating from a Milky Specie. (Milky species).  Being ****** into milk by self-procreating snitches. Vernarth says (give me some milk, and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not a whole of which I never thought...!)

Amalthea in rituals and relics from prospects of demigods was purposely cordoning them off in Mycenaean deities, from a contemporary Westerner comforting them near a hippocampus; with signs of ibex Capricornus, rapt at the nymph that spoke from Mount Ida in Crete and that she made congruent with the constellation of Capricornus, more precisely in the Cornucopia making this heraldry of Wonthelimar with Fortune, Abundance, Occasion, Liberality, Prudence and Joy. In a woman sitting on a throne, a young nymph with a flower crown, a naked woman with one foot on a wheel and the other unstable, a woman with sunken eyes and an aquiline nose dressed in white, two faces from the past and future, a woman happy with the exuberance of the Cornucopia with children and a palm leaf. Being the abundance that in serial Amalthea bordered all the ladies in different esoteric and Mycenaean prosperity, constantly shining with radiations on the present in the Unicorn Ibix, which Zeus left after breaking its antlers, unleashing kindness and plethora in fruit buds, and vegetables that were appropriated in the Fortune of Wonthelimar reissuing what in their domains they can do, and now in Patmos with its Cornupia being transferred from that liquefied shaft honey and milk cultivated with attributes of herbs contributing to the leisure, peace, and relaxation of the cosmic world that ascended in Wonthelimar as Ibix in advance of Capricornus, from where the Auriga always broke into his expeditions with a trajectory towards the eighth cemetery of Messolonghi, where he brought it from the Capella Star for the femurs of the Diplodocuses who seconded Drestnia to watch over the hydraulic pits of the Koumeterium from Messolonghi, before traveling to Tangier.

The entire herd went back to an ancient promontory that was halfway up the mound towards the black styes or abscesses, in the central intuition of the fossa that began to dissipate towards their backs. Amalthea extends into the Állos Kósmos, which came in zoomorphic receptacles collecting the announced blood of the animals that flowed in black planks from the vortex of the fossal, towards the liminal or transitory sleeper of the fossal that oozed acetosities of the Aldehyde to be transmigrated after the bilocation of the Chauvet cavern. All wore willow halos on the crowns or diadems of their caps, including the proliferation of phantasmagoric Allies that went in rows from 780 to 680 BC. C., with fortunes of the Cornucopia that arched in magical arches due to the dissociative changes of the universe, as well as the circumstantial creed of some omnipotence that will cause emotional transgenerational transgression, in the rain vessels that they made fall from the Ombrio de Zeus, in a daily latticework closing the spaces, and only leaving for some intruders and onlookers to see his flashing Astrepé. Right here the diádoc fossal vanished, when it rose above the horizontal that poured into the Chronic Vernagrams of parapsychological personalities of ingenuity classicism and in Astro-concomitance, which would rethink everything that is past and future from a Vernagram, which is more than a compression of a mere future of the quantum spaces and the sacred medrones of the Ibixes with their direct relationship with Capricornus. Diverse capital moments were treasured in the breeze of the Vas Auric that was traced from the opposing moraine that fell in lapse-time, through the labyrinth in storms and thunderings that became planetary with the Lynothorax cuirass that Alexander the Great accommodated in the festoon border of his Aspis Koilé, kicking copiously as a sign of shaking the head of the gods who deceived him to be alive, and who was now reborn in the faith of Saint John the Apostle, favorite of the Mashiach and where he will have to wipe his face with the shroud of Veronica Before entering the Állos Kósmos Megaron that everyone built, in favor of a Panagia or Temple, unlocking the majolica that seeped out from the rest of the transmigration, and his own in the configuration of a corpse with a tricolor gesture.

The presumptive eradicated the side of the forearm rots that was being restored in Wonthelimar's laps, which helped him get up and catch his breath while the Katogorias snack filled his mouth with nectar and almonds with Macedonian Psiloi combat tactics with serum and flames of Alcohol dripped from her nostrils and sinuses in the sweet wine, which in pompous dilemma defied the judges of her life in the choir of the Bilocated Epidary Theater on Patmos, and in the ***** dry Kashmar of the orchard with the pale faces of the grotesque, that rested in the memory or Mnmosyne and in the fauna of the Thracian and Thessalian helmets.

Alexander the Great says: “here I agonized and now in the fresh waters of the springs of the Lerna, I will also marry the glorious mystay and bákchoi, in the memories of Vernarth seeing him besieged by Achaemenides in the stooped position of Dario III, to come purifying and sustaining of my limbs, learning to walk and speak in Neolithic techniques, which extruded me from the Lerna by barriers of the moon that shone from the bronze of my Leonatus helmet. Thus I could see that Vernarth, fought alone against thousands throwing fire through his mouth and his eyes, separating the waters of the Falangists, who plowed like ships deforesting the Persians, and leaving them in their mud, imposing glorious Hypaspists who unbolted from their back some arrows with heads of snakes and Hydras.

Vernarth watched as everyone climbed the Profitis Ilias mound, two hundred and sixty-nine meters above sea level, where the monastery of San Juan is located; here he was suspended in his solitude after everything that happened at the end of the moat that definitely I would return without the Diádocos, with a hint and its functionalities. From here Helios became genealogical, who snatched him from the kingdom of dead flowers, which were to be assumed from the Olympian where he will join him to the essential of Aïdoneus; immaterializing in the darkness of dizzies and the flowers that died in the genealogy of a new species. The scenic swept its cognitive and ferns with more than three hundred frank species that frowned like the enemy of an evil friend, with seedlings that expectorated from the resonance of the bushes that invited to thrive in the salty ripples that made a dreamer fall asleep on top of the kerchiefs or brambles that memorialized Gethsemane, burning his face and hands with psalms, telling him about his Baba. For when it is a luminary by night and by day, they will compare it with the white grayish drupes and mops, like those of the Bern orchard of Olives, in aqueous and resinous colloidal, which was crowned in harmony and syntropia in Vernarth activating intellectual conscious plantations, which will restructure its balance of ultra Hoplite, in metabolism of the Lentiscus flowers, with great brotherhood in the Olives that each time exercised the gift of bending their oleaginous self-species, towards planes of the Cornicabra olives, with large branches and high tree altitude that fruit within of the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko spin, juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, which with large branches and high tree altitude fruit within the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko line juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, and with polyphenols in scale geothermal energy that still leveled the Ponto Sea towards the tectonic plate to give it the flavor that was owed from remote prehistoric times.

Patmos was aborted from an immanent consent and new force of the impending enemy in Pythagorean perorations and an offending thought. From this prerogative is born the generalized punishment of sub-mythological ethics in favor of legacies of allusions to reorder or defragment the enslaving and demolished bio culture, which would begin from the establishment of the Vas Auric found in Limassol, which took possession from Rhodes with clean scenes from Tsambika monastery. The epic ran like icy cold down the shoulders of all those who sweated for the generation of cops, and in domestic evasions in superior lordships to Hades or Wonthelimar itself, both sons of flocks and goats that nourished them by providing them with a mountain perspective, as a magnetic pole towards gothic energy that ruled more in the Magnetic North Pole, and the geographic oversize that reviled latitudes in riches that would dismiss Borker and Zefian, as masters distributors of the ethics of the Áullos Kósmos of Patmos, redeploying thousands of dead from pre-Hellenic times, so that they recirculate through the roots of the Kashmar, re-sulfurizing cinnabar saps as the germ of the subterranean Acheron, which consecrates the living and the dead in the eternity of the infinite Duoverse Universe. The order will lie in semi-shadows that even in the dark provide the pleasant warmth of camphor, with advanced Horcondising formulas, which will appeal to hungry souls by suppressing gifted energies, and by inseminating them with ovules without originally conceived organisms.

From Hylates, Cyprus; Zefian came by order of Vernarth, assisted with the extension of the earthly laborers of the Attic Calendar on the twenty-first of September, from the device of Apollo at the site of Boeotia, and especially of the Boedromion. The arrows that Zefian brought had an instant Boedromion crossing the lines from spring to winter, with seven arrows that Zefian threw into the sky and never fell, but if portentously received in the virginity of animals. The flora with seven golden arrows of the Chauvet de Wonthelmar cavern, condoned the exhaustive end of the fossal where they still remained, in a gesture of tenderness and relative Mycenaean genealogy, from Crete the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree was approaching, originating in the Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points, begin with the first two arrows that they put on the string of the bow, each one flying north and south trajectories and the other two that were once again attacked with the east bow, to shoot the arrows of east-west with southern magnetism limits. Zefian's imagination was of proportions that were not limited without wandering from their phalanxes when they pulled the string, like joys of a ghostly existence that pushed him in each bolt, presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate the Állos Kósmos Megarón, for belated courts imposed from a cosmos, which he led by insisting on his will and from a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, such as Vestal Virgins of Roman bilocation, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-tale alive that rebels in the arrows that they had not yet fallen and did not know their whereabouts. As plates or serial hosts, they were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burn contravened Duoverse to the divine celestial origin as a parameter of *****-ovule, rather in aeonic instances in the fireplace of Hestia, running in eternities towards vast volumes of light-years, where eternity has no measure, let alone the existence that begins and ends born from a homozygous arising without a Universe, to hatch from the branch of the Heterozygous Duoverse, bringing different unions of eternal cells by universal divine decree, and not the union of disparate cells. The science of the Mashiach came in these divine arrows that marked the points of the cardinal in the numinous and exclamatory expansions of the exiled universe of Vernarth, towards the perenniality in itself, but being heterozygous for a world that would begin to live in non-organic cells, but yes of divine composition, over saturating the limits of the origin, and destiny of syntropy of the conscious actions of the metabolism of the Alma Mater and of the great doors when losing the bodyweight of the physical-ether, but yes from the platform of the Mashiach that will take them hands without leaving them abandoned, showing them that they were no longer children born of ovule-*****, but rather in the luminous matter, envisioning expansions of prayers beyond from the universe, where it will accompany them in a multidimensional plane..., and will have no end from a human scientific conception.

Wonthelimar says: “Since the omphalos was swallowed by Cronos, Hera's elegy was unleashed, for not raising her son Zeus in free clumps of goats and Ida's honey. I in the Alps went to the herd of the Ibix like a Zeus saved from the darkness of Chauvet in the mountains of Gaul. There are chisels that cut stones in beautiful whirlwinds, but I know that a lot of cosmology would not speak of the Mediterranean Cornicabra and its olive drupe, nor less of the Cornucopia that sinks with sumptuous and ephebian flavors in the fruit, and the greenish heraldry of the binominal that is disturbed in its phalanges eating and sipping honey, in antler pots with pride of the Ida and the Vercors massif”
Wonthelimar Amaltheum, Állos Kosmos Megaron
zebra May 2017
are you my lover
in a dark heaven
come to me my beloved
kneel at my feet
naked
as i penetrate your veil
that shrouds cryptic ravenous ardor
and ask of me
your hearts desire

dissolution you say
that i may be eternal
for loves sake
bowing at the knees
as you tremulously brush and sweep your fragrant  hair
over my thighs
and run your pink tongue across
my butter filled velvet sheath
our kisses will be born over and over again
a spinning ring of desire

are there not the debts of love
will you promise not to anguish to much
as one harm heaps upon another
you swear to give yourself fully
thrill to kisses crepuscular
aching to be bitten and bitten
and bitten through
your scent
blood perfume

everything about you excites me
long stretches in a stained white gown
wet summer fruit
and spilling seed
your body filled with waters mellifluent
and lush
yield unto me
you are a titillating voluptuous awe
Palisades
of wild torments
dancing on a floor
that melts scorched feet
from
hallucinations invisible shadows
of burning witches *******

sweet girl incandescent
brooding
ridge pole bending
throat swollen parched
crude hair pulling
Medusa vipers in the grip of a god fist
loving you
with a hard drubbing
your all squeals and caresses
stay with me through the long night
of tender kisses and worship
and then prepare for release to paradise
shall it be fast
spiraling
will you spread wide
and plead
for all and more

what does it matter
fluttering with wild abandon
in the temple of rituals dark
to see you writhe
inviting ruin
we are a party of hydras
writing in blood and thunder
in the book of wonders

our hungers endless
Gods and Devils
thrill to our theater
of mortal coils unraveled
in the thick torture tuileries
of Dark Heaven
Tryst Aug 2015
Thy tallow flame burns brighter than the rest, my love,
Warming the jealous heart within my breast, my love!

Thou art the envy of all lovers' lovers eyes,
Thy whim commands me unto thy behest, my love!

Arcadia proffers to thee her beauty throne
Where shepherdesses gather to attest, my love!

Wild winter plants her lilies over autumn crown,
Setting pure ice born crystals for thy crest, my love!

Yggdrasil bows and offers thee a fledgling branch,
A gnarlèd sceptre, life and spirit blessed, my love!

Erato guides old Argo unto Colchis bay,
Thy stately robes to fetch from hydras nest, my love!

All-seeing Delphi Oracles gaze heavenward,
To beg thy wisdom (or they lied and guessed), my love!

And I, your humble servant Tryst, declare to thee,
Thou art my sacred never-ending quest, my love!
zebra Dec 2016
Spirit is a unified field
infinite
in a state of perpetual expansion
seamless bliss
beyond the slings and arrows of creations drama
pain and pleasure
disappointment and gratifications
we live
in the
zim zum
A cauldron
hollowed out
of the the self effulgent light
the source
formless
the theater of creation
a dark space of dynamic geometry
of fractious binary forces
a merciless churn
an atrocity for the evolution of individuation
pistons in motion
a cacophonous feng shui
a tangle of webs
a grand illusion
of energetics
kamikaze planets
hideous cruelties and voluptuous pleasures
a swarm of form
hydras in heat
countless lights casting inestimable shadows
a war between heaven
absolute order
and hell
absolute chaos
our lives
a medium
for the gods of struggle
until our heads a stone

the exit door
is pure spirit
spiritus...breath
breathing made conscious
the big hush
the royal yoga
waiting for the guileless
Michael Stefan Apr 2020
Oh I can't stop these words
tumbling and falling
from empty spaces in my head
as they ride the wicked helix
from here to hell and back again
on fettering wings like bats
that get caught in angel hair spaghetti
that gets flushed down the toilet with all the other
goldfish crackers

Each shouting head
surrounds me in rings of fire
with one desire
to watch me burn
as they hula-hoop with rubic's cubes on boomerangs
set for mars or maybe Seattle

Sometimes it's just this way for me
with my mind floating free
like butterflies in nets
or sickly flies in butter
waiting for the spread
but you know it's 10 to 1
and I'm about to get knocked out
I hope you didn't place your bets
on me

I wish the endless stream of consciousness
didn't feel like emptiness
with the only ears that listen
are glued to my head
like Halloween costumes
when Jason stole my candy, called me a dandy,
and ran the hell away

It's really hard to describe
when words won't take logical form
like being gaslighted by my own brain
who wears red ribbons
and plays with ***** of yarn
on rolling farms
as the cow jumped over the moon

But if you think that the cow
was a sight to behold
my imagination's untold secrets
got something for your mental circus
I just saw purple hydras on amino acid trips
riding unicycles
wearing diapers
hanging out with Picasso
who said
"What does this poem even mean, bruh?"
And just to let you know, I was not on drugs for this.  Sometimes my brain just starts racing and I have to put what I'm thinking down on paper.  I hope it wasn't too confusing.
Sir B Jun 2013
There stands a lonely warrior
Unheard of.
Unknown of.
On his ships mast on the Mare Nostrum

He dared to endure it.
He dared to land into the sea of the Gods.
He dared to fight back their demons.
On the cost of his life.

He was the most daring of them all.
He was the beginning of his kind.
His courage was unmatched. He was better than Ares, himself.
He was going to defeat those demons. NOW.

He would defeat them,
but not just yet.
First he had to go through the sirens.

Their beautiful music
ohhh, it would enchant any sailor.
His first test would begin if he could get past them.
Their music would tear his heart apart
and if he landed on the shore
He would be ripped apart.

Next would be a few water monsters
Hydras, few land monsters
Then the demons
He would be prepared for them.

HE would take them down like.. Julius drinking his wine
But until he reached them.
He had time
Time to *prepare himself for what lay ahead
Inspiration from Percy Jackson series, though changed if you read the book. Also symbolizes my life a tiny bit! :P
Scott Lasley Aug 2010
Today is the day
i dream of you

Today is the day
i feel your hands
completing mine

Today is the day
your head leans against mine
as we watch Helios
caress Gaia with his hearthy fingers

Today is the day
i kiss your lips
to the sounds of white and black
clapping and cheering—
We’ve done it!

Today is the day
i press my body against yours
with a meaningful presence
of two companions like
two stars colliding
into a great Nova

Today is the day
We walk along the polished
floors of Magic Kingdom
Our child leading Us in a
panicked frenzy
too busy to listen to Our
calls

Today is the day
We smile down upon
Our Grandchild
who giggles and kicks
in an adventurous dream
of Hydras and
Knights and
Maidens

Today is the day
We bolster one another
as Our bones cease to
carry the strength
they once did
but will always
carry the
Acherous Tenderness
that engulfs Us

Today is the day
We are forced to part this world
as life has but a brief limit
the tears shed
and the melodies of life belated
as Two Doves
leave this world
for another journey ahead
for Us
once lost, but now Found!
(c) Scott Lasley 6/30/09
William de klerk Sep 2019
As Atlas attempted to seize the heavens
he learned to bare the weight of the world.
Such is the cruel fate
of love to scorn turned.

And what of all the legends of old,
of hero's tales from bronze to gold.
Why instead of stone statues
are cement hearts held
in every man's chest
while we lay old stories to rest?

The songs of sirens
swapped for plastic promises,
Heads of hydras
exchanged for two faced friends
as our magic morphs to cheap tricks,
all that managed to remain
Is an Achilles heel for sincerity

So when two souls like worlds collide
and create a place of bliss,
too often one bares the weight
of both worlds, with the burden
of unrelenting loss.
John B May 2016
We the people lose

There will be talk of War

But you drink the water

You will wallow through grudgingly

And show that you are absolute slaves

No longer able to acquire your freedom back from the corporate masters

This boost of confidence will be costly

As hydras Ego grows as does its avarice

As does its boldness

To all you who haven't found means to live outside the system

Or better yet to siphon off of it

I genuinely hope you rot and die

For what harm you do in your cowardice
For the sake of Humanity's very survival, let it be visible, let it be violent, let it shake the sleeping giant, untill it wakes we're in for it.
keneth May 12
i discovered you in a scroll
and during the beginning of my journey, too
and then the slow, slow crawl
to forgetting the warmth of your enveloping tune

so much has changed
i don't know my name, rediscovering earth
to my own principles, i'm estranged
but i never forgot my birth

how you nourished me in your melodic womb
and held me while i fought hydras and shapeshifters
how you leaving the room
never meant you never left a lasting fever
im graduating. met joan pre-pandemic when the foundations of my journey were shaky and everything was not certain. now that my journey is nearing its end, so much has changed save for the uncertainty and my love for joan.
haley Feb 2020
obsedian satin your voice caresses
a midnight castle
spires austere, shadows of incubi
godless
like scaled hydras chained and bound
in a cold cold room
the empty space blanketing a supernova
dark and shawl-like
blinding for thousands of miles
deafening but muffled by the trenches
i wonder what winter will bring
lies can buy eternity
but nothing fools the harsh mistress of time

— The End —