"iconography" poems
We're told doomsday is inevitable
& that one day the largest star will obliterate the only home humans ever had
Most fell for that myth...
For your eyes are an iconography for eternity.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
Nails the length of javelins click on countertop
with the speed of a coked-up woodpecker
as this goddess of the night with bullets
of caked foundation sweating from her forehead
awaits her fifth free Long Island of the night.
Safe to say, she's a little high maintenance,
like all treasured centerpieces
of a local museum deserve to be.
She is your generation's Mona Lisa, trust.
Her sneezes will be dissected for coding.
Like the rust on buried Babylonian armor,
she lives sandwiched between myth and reality.
A Frankenstein of queer iconography,
door-knocker earrings designed by Adrian.
Stilts for heels clack on blinking dancefloor,
balancing a hermaphroditic echo
that charges through hieroglyphic binaries
with a four-on-the-floor precision.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
The dream state number one
The caught artist within the vortex
A drowned state and lost soul
As the eyes swirl and look up
And look up until they drop
A strange aridity covers the flesh
Gauze revealing the idea
Leaving enough hidden.
The final trip - californication?
The restaurants’ in New York
Blatantly bare. Now Iconography
Undersigned scarcely unmade up
The deep eyes plundering a life
Through an eye for art maybe
Taken from the mesh.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 6:31 AM UTC
When the shadows overtake me
I hope my throat is already slit.
/MERCY.
I've learned by now
That fast and painless
Is a concept of fiction.
It wouldn't matter
If you were to tear out my heart
Or rip out my spine,
It's all death just the same.
If you choose to take my life,
Don't take mercy into consideration,
Because mercy has been long lost
On those already rotting
In the graves dug in their minds.
/CONSUMPTION.
Peace from the darkness
Has taken the shape
Of your hand on the goblet,
With all my absolution taking the form
Of your loving embrace.
Let's build up our legions,
Show them the light in our gospel,
And convert them to our truth...
Such a beautiful proposition,
If we could work it out ourselves.
Wash over me with your holy sermon.
Let me absorb all your light.
Reconstruct all my arrogance
Upon the backs of the broken,
Just for the rare opportunity
For such a picture perfect landscape.
Monarchy never looked so stunning.
/EMPIRE.
Drowning is becoming an art.
Deeper and deeper
Into the depths do I venture,
All the while indifferent
To my lack of oxygen.
I'm plugging in plot holes.
I'm re-founding Byzantium,
And all for the iconography
That has left me
In such a state of marvel.
I don't want compromise
Or pity of any sort.
I just want you in tidal waves,
And to get pulled deeper
Beneath the whole of your personality.
In a modern world
So short on imperialism
Why was it so easy for you
To colonize my heart?
/TRANSLATION.
For the first time in years,
I need no translation.
I speak clearly, openly,
And without filtration.
She both listens and hears,
And that's not even the beginning
Of her infinite positive traits.
She's a modern masterpiece,
So above modern art.
I want to dissolve into her brilliance
If for even a moment.
/RECOIL.
I have nothing to fear.
I am the God of Death...
I am the shadows
That haunt even the deepest corners
Of my recuperating mind.
I'm gaining back the strength
To show the world once more,
That there are better, truer
Forms of evil in our control.
I am the culmination
Of the lives I have taken,
And now I choose to never
Be frightened by fate again.
I am the God of Death,
And now I choose to live.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
The child in the the gallery cafe
Was underwhelmed by her
'Children's Lunchbox'
She sneered peeling wafer thin
Ham out from between bleach
White bread
Stares despairingly at the
Cardboard, itself adorned with
Animal iconography for her
Enjoyment
She feels patronised and no
Longer hungry
Pushing both the apple and juice
Box tumbling to the floor
She makes for the door
Her mother still unaware
I have a duty to alert her
But I just watch
She bursts out onto the
Street as I reach for her
Juicebox
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
A biography?
You dare speak the word?
Nothing but iconography
Simply absurd
This is nothing
But an eloquent display
Of petty posturing
Not my forte
So speak your incantations
Your brazen bitter biography
Drizzle it in honey
And paint me a picture
Of who you would like to be
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC
This place is time...
as this body is mind.
The sun's only a
kernel of truth...
lent to ever greater
truth telling.
The Candle that lit
the candle can't be
found...only the
iconography of a native
surround.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
Western man is not a Stupa
To observe architecture is not to be
Even if you know why it was built that way
Or what it means
The iconography symbolizes our differences
Rotating to the East where the morning sun is seen
Relics of the death of desire walk freely inside
It’s shape
Earth
Water
Fire
Air
Space
The purified elements
Unknown to those who watch the sun set
And to those who remain trapped in their desire
And so
Do you **** or do you love?
Can you be both or neither?
Can you suffer without desire?
Can you desire and not suffer?
Can you love suffering and hate desire?
Will you die by desire
Will you live by suffering?
Without desire
You cannot love
Without suffering
You cannot feel
Are you afraid of pain?
Is pain life or death?
Do you understand the things you say?
Or what you wish to be?
The mountaintop is so lonely
It causes pain in those who need you
Yet
You
Avoid
Suffering
Is this life?
To eliminate
Desire?
Will you dig
Until you cannot see the sun or the stars?
What did you prove when you became immune
To passion?
Is it
the way
to end
all desire?
To end
all need?
To end
all experience?
To end
all feeling?
To end
all touching?
To end
all wanting?
To end
all expectation
In you?
I cannot end desire
Or suffering
Because
I cannot end life
Can you?
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
Refusing to accept
stupid initiation, failing
to stand by stupid techies
till perpetuity and this
stupid tap-to-talk still webs
hardware and software of
lame and naive stupid
buttons and clicks
that were resonating
but blinded by denseness of
the insight and out of sight,
of foolish solace.
But
somehow stupid techie,
slithered, release sweetly,
uttered senselessly,
creating sensuous
Iconography.
© Feelings Coated
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 8:36 AM UTC
Awake or asleep it doesn’t mean a thing
There is an empty space between everything
We are carbon copies of cosmic iconography
And the dawn plays tricks on our vision
Swollen objects appear to arrest our women
Until we give them lemon and ginger in their water
A hegemony of homogeneous sums
Those Suns and daughters quietly shower
In the waterfall of their parent's fading laughter
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 9:45 PM UTC
Dull raindrops leaving trails down the glass
As they land in my mug brimming with
Feelings of missed opportunity and swatches of colors
That have all bled into something of a cloudy grey
Clouds that hold demons at bay behind sheets of rain
Fires that burn in the cold quiet mornings
Pronounced and protruding slowly it comes to me
Sinister thought crimes that etch themselves woven lines
Plots long forgotten and discarded memories
Pronounced as it seems, still slowly It inclines
And out from the shadows painted by steady hands
Carved out of mistakes, they know from the memory
Creatures are calling me, out from the darkness
Festering innocence offers me a reply
Each one was made from the stroke of a pen
And what sort of unknowns have I begun to deify
They were made for me
They call my name, still taunting me
All I can do to stay here a while more
Ending my efforts in each ignored symphony
Along the back wall and in every corner
As soon as my back is turned, they all start whispering
I try and hide away
Still, I hide away
The forest is shrouded by miles of brickwork
Fast talking incongruity
Of iconography, smoke stacks birthing machinery
That's how it starts
And here I hide away
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 3:43 AM UTC
Run it back
Fuel the ice in the chamber sockets
Deliver fish to bears of intent
Watch a salad become a man
Position the camera gingerly
Record your iconography
Melting now, a glacial hare
Vast and galloping
Laughing in a pattern of mystery
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC