"hyperborea" poems - Hello Poetry

Part I. I tried to die in the arches of your orchard heart struggled for breath and bleeding but my blood was not willing it loves me like you never would red lead weights on the dogeared notes of last weekend yellowing with antiquity like the singing saints of Hyperborea-feigned in paper cathedrals if only we could see them once the moon waned to these tobacco-trance stains that creep beyond the door frame's edge - dreams of Apollo. You will sing in light but your eyes will burn and when the sky falls to night the halls of your arms will yearn and your song will laugh at you in the hollow of its silence if only my mouth could marry a love like that. I often dreamt of lighthouses then you came from the water's edge and brought the sea with you stupid saltwater sodium mouthfuls nothing grows from you. Part II. Summer crept in to the holes in your jeans as the sky fell to dusk we saw the sun die under waves of golden clouds summer kept us warm in to the night now only the sea sings its praise to the promise of the evening a promise that will fall with Arcadia and the loudest of silences to the archaic indifference of apocrypha-lost few others could speak in a way that grew between us with the colours of a love not yet lost. Now all my books are burning beneath the palm of your eye your iris twists and burns with the sky.

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Dec 16, 2012

Dec 16, 2012 at 3:29 PM UTC

isiah-turner

Lighthouse-Dreams of Apocrypha-Lost

Part I. I tried to die in the arches of your orchard heart struggled for breath and bleeding but my blood was not willing it loves me like you never would red lead weights on the dogeared notes of last weekend yellowing with antiquity like the singing saints of Hyperborea-feigned in paper cathedrals if only we could see them once the moon waned to these tobacco-trance stains that creep beyond the door frame's edge - dreams of Apollo. You will sing in light but your eyes will burn and when the sky falls to night the halls of your arms will yearn and your song will laugh at you in the hollow of its silence if only my mouth could marry a love like that. I often dreamt of lighthouses then you came from the water's edge and brought the sea with you stupid saltwater sodium mouthfuls nothing grows from you. Part II. Summer crept in to the holes in your jeans as the sky fell to dusk we saw the sun die under waves of golden clouds summer kept us warm in to the night now only the sea sings its praise to the promise of the evening a promise that will fall with Arcadia and the loudest of silences to the archaic indifference of apocrypha-lost few others could speak in a way that grew between us with the colours of a love not yet lost. Now all my books are burning beneath the palm of your eye your iris twists and burns with the sky.

50

Of no time and place... save for due Truest North of no time and place...a kindled air as such...never a Draconian night layeth upon...O Hyperborea. Muse of Muse...whose tacit glory begot lip and lyre...illumined wholes that sayeth verily unto illumined wholes. Unbroken gaiety...where the only obscuration's the recesses of witnesses in full bearing...Beauty's Knowing...Knowable Beauty. O Hyperborea...as light, lighteth... yet lit be not--high heaped upon high, celebrants of whir and fire... fire and whir...whir and fire! Thou danceth a sun's one-upmanship, to emblazon the dreams of Thracian peoples. That the world may know, and know well...the north wind...of no time and place--due Truest North of no time and place...be kindled by Apollonian graces. As an urn contains what's trialed by fire, as fire...Beauty unbridled...poureth forth under the Hyperborean sun... never to casteth a shadow.

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Nov 11, 2013

Nov 11, 2013 at 1:01 PM UTC

Onoma

Hyperborea

Of no time and place... save for due Truest North of no time and place...a kindled air as such...never a Draconian night layeth upon...O Hyperborea. Muse of Muse...whose tacit glory begot lip and lyre...illumined wholes that sayeth verily unto illumined wholes. Unbroken gaiety...where the only obscuration's the recesses of witnesses in full bearing...Beauty's Knowing...Knowable Beauty. O Hyperborea...as light, lighteth... yet lit be not--high heaped upon high, celebrants of whir and fire... fire and whir...whir and fire! Thou danceth a sun's one-upmanship, to emblazon the dreams of Thracian peoples. That the world may know, and know well...the north wind...of no time and place--due Truest North of no time and place...be kindled by Apollonian graces. As an urn contains what's trialed by fire, as fire...Beauty unbridled...poureth forth under the Hyperborean sun... never to casteth a shadow.

29

Can you see Hyperborea's sun, shadowless valleys where you cut word with tooth? An unfettered wound stutters, blowing null what timeless utterance it will. Where does tomorrow sleep, your prospect in stomach, cramped with fluxing zeros and ones? As soon as you spoke your abstraction was pardoned. Your home's abutted geography made its revolving bally. Dizzy you, concentric circles closing in, advising their babe press forth. Mythopoetically proud as hell of your circuit, a metaphysical luminary midwifed in an etheric manger. Shadows mark their growth about our encampment-- G*d's peripheral nomads etching story. Shelter bids welcome, unwelcome everywhere...its doors blow about as the literature of distances.

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Feb 2, 2015

Feb 2, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC

Onoma

Where Does Tomorrow Sleep?

Can you see Hyperborea's sun, shadowless valleys where you cut word with tooth? An unfettered wound stutters, blowing null what timeless utterance it will. Where does tomorrow sleep, your prospect in stomach, cramped with fluxing zeros and ones? As soon as you spoke your abstraction was pardoned. Your home's abutted geography made its revolving bally. Dizzy you, concentric circles closing in, advising their babe press forth. Mythopoetically proud as hell of your circuit, a metaphysical luminary midwifed in an etheric manger. Shadows mark their growth about our encampment-- G*d's peripheral nomads etching story. Shelter bids welcome, unwelcome everywhere...its doors blow about as the literature of distances.

18

Time is not the enemy, but a forgotten friend. Infinity is just a word from where I stand. Go ahead, time, swallow me again. Your wrath is something I can stand, though your indifference is exhilarating, so let's make amends. Whether I wish it or not, I am part of your cycle. As the day and night change they remind me of my constant revival. I always rise when the tides of change are near. I do my deed, I grind the gears, I bring about chaos and, again, I disappear. Use me as you have in eons past. But, please, assure me this time will be the last. It's not that I'm tired, it's not that I'm worn, I just want to know that I am born for something more. Maybe I want to explore, not just be an object of admiration or scorn. Maybe I just don't want to forget, as when the world's needs are met, I usually return to the chaotic primordial set. Am I just a chess piece you use, is this of my own will? I've been the beggar, the king, the jester and the shill. I've been a source of fear, the precedent of love, a conniving thrill. I've forsaken my odds, I've played with your so called gods, I've brought droughts and floods and nights oh so dark. It's been so, and now at the end of this age, again I shall start. I've lived your countless archetypes, I've been both, the bringer of death and of life. Now, I'll combine all the dualities of the mind, let the day and night intertwine in my eye. I've transferred the whispers of the heavens to the earth, I've transversed the worst, I've applauded those of worth. I've guided the weary and inspired the brave. I've flown above the mountains of Hyperborea, and I've been in exile, forced to hide in ancient, primitive caves. I've endured, yet I've remained sane. I've procured change, yet I've remained the same. I never caved, I never swayed. I've been played, but those I've played with never did have their way. You know how many I've saved. You know how many I've killed and maimed. So, please, listen to my voice, let it reach your throne of gray. This time, Time, I want to stay, long enough so I can find my true face. Long enough to be displaced, and diversify my fire until it cannot be traced.

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Feb 27, 2022

Feb 27, 2022 at 7:05 AM UTC

cigarettedaydreams

A Plea From The Beast of The Precession

Time is not the enemy, but a forgotten friend. Infinity is just a word from where I stand. Go ahead, time, swallow me again. Your wrath is something I can stand, though your indifference is exhilarating, so let's make amends. Whether I wish it or not, I am part of your cycle. As the day and night change they remind me of my constant revival. I always rise when the tides of change are near. I do my deed, I grind the gears, I bring about chaos and, again, I disappear. Use me as you have in eons past. But, please, assure me this time will be the last. It's not that I'm tired, it's not that I'm worn, I just want to know that I am born for something more. Maybe I want to explore, not just be an object of admiration or scorn. Maybe I just don't want to forget, as when the world's needs are met, I usually return to the chaotic primordial set. Am I just a chess piece you use, is this of my own will? I've been the beggar, the king, the jester and the shill. I've been a source of fear, the precedent of love, a conniving thrill. I've forsaken my odds, I've played with your so called gods, I've brought droughts and floods and nights oh so dark. It's been so, and now at the end of this age, again I shall start. I've lived your countless archetypes, I've been both, the bringer of death and of life. Now, I'll combine all the dualities of the mind, let the day and night intertwine in my eye. I've transferred the whispers of the heavens to the earth, I've transversed the worst, I've applauded those of worth. I've guided the weary and inspired the brave. I've flown above the mountains of Hyperborea, and I've been in exile, forced to hide in ancient, primitive caves. I've endured, yet I've remained sane. I've procured change, yet I've remained the same. I never caved, I never swayed. I've been played, but those I've played with never did have their way. You know how many I've saved. You know how many I've killed and maimed. So, please, listen to my voice, let it reach your throne of gray. This time, Time, I want to stay, long enough so I can find my true face. Long enough to be displaced, and diversify my fire until it cannot be traced.

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