"illusionary" poems
Your soul buoys up a body of mine,
leaving imperishable marks of an illusionary joy,
holding me through a lagoon of flowers,
embracing me in a verdant of sigh;
my soul becomes your captive while my body tells a lie.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
Sleep, dearest creature of the night, you who adores the shining moon, I said to myself as the music began to echo through the room
A nyctophile blood ******* devil, gifted black demonic wings alike a bat when it flies, strengh beyond reason and a tongue full of sick lies,
Yet a ray of sun may be lethal to you, burning you away as if you were paper caught in a firestorm, an inferno of heat, vaporized at last,
Life force relies in blood, impurities of constant change I need since I have already passed away theoretically I am most likely already dead
A music box plays for me alone, transient melodies from the recurring memories of a brighter, vivid past, to which I am are unable to return to,
Ahh, phantoms, a nuisance of the mortal life I have escaped alike the shooting stars over a clear, living,traveling, dark blue night sky
Have I toiled well, hard or long to achieve heaven, yet have become stuck as the devils tool in a illusionary world with no end ?
Flowing water seals me away, I cannot cross when it rains, and need a polite, kind invitement to intrude and cause wicked bloodshed
Sleep, so I may can be innocent until the sun has sunken down to rest,
Slumber, the world of dreams is free from weaknesses to purification,
With great magic, comes a devils recitation, engaging in a distant dream far beyond the grasp of my crimson, blood drenched hands,
Unable to advance, shadows of those who have forgotten the fear of darkness spread and creep around, hidden in nights embrace
Empty consciousness I am attracted like a fluttering butterfly to the gentle reflected light by the full moon in its fullest sensation,
Raise this song of love and paint it in a moonlit night for me,
Dance with me, until we aren't part of this world any longer, dear,
Sounds melt into silence, structure forms within chains of destiny,
Even if tomorrow were never to come, I couldn't care less,
For now, just let me rest my eyes
~ Umi
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
Antimatter mirroring our existance on the pathway of a reverse world
Imagine it, time stands still, halts without a will to continue its flow if it were to possess one to begin with, and everything is but fragile,
Illusionary moon, shine on in this distorted realm in which not even gravity is reliable or even trustworthy at this point, up is down here,
An imperishable night caught under a spell of eternity, uninterrupted
Everlasting, permanently shining, the fake moons appearance is clear,
Unremitting, sweetly told as a if it was a lie, the rumours of this world spread more likely like a disease through the ancient, young earth,
A line parallel drawn to ours, a dimension coexisting without sense,
It appears to be fragile, like a newborn child, the smallest disturbance would mostlikely ruin it's balance, bring tremor upon it wretchedly,
But where that life sparkles as then fades, two dimensions surely would overlap, of course, maybe it will be the world you inhabit, no?
In the realm of the dead, a loitering, lingering darkness thins the borders of reality and illusion, causing them to exist as one, now with the same heart and soul, a fantasy heaven which became reality,
After all, that place is only temporary,one surely could even call it a;
Short living eternity,
~ Umi
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC
The melody of the strings of life
a substitution for the institution
take my arm, let it reach a far
in creativity and sensitivity
beats bouncing the zombies
from the graves of impotency
created by mundane manipulation
mutilations of the happiness we long
as we capture the tides of everyday
The harmony of the universal love
screaming with a tantalizing mission
a remission from the decay of the society
sugar coated with lengthy dices of lies
then iced with laces of illusionary secretions
tis' me who embrace the skin you wear
as we seek a new phase of revolution
solutions that are delusional and waking
rising through ever dense curved valley
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
My brother whispers goodbye with one last glimpse,
and I haven't seen him ever since,
My sister succumbs to the pressure of life,
and she felt the caress of our mothers favorite knife,
My father watched his family twist,
So he found his own way to sink into merciful bliss,
My mother fears being ignored,
So she sang a song, tuned to a heartbreaking chord,
And my friends won't look away,
But I know they want to be free someday,
Of the pressure of their homes,
Look left, look right, we're all alone,
And we take refuge in our sanctuary,
Even if it is illusionary, even if it's just temporary,
Just to reveal our hidden thoughts,
To finally talk about everything we lost,
To maybe discover next times price,
To come here maybe once or twice,
But in the end, we'll always return home,
Because despite everything that everyone knows,
Home will always be home.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
The dermatologist demands a pre-summer scan of my visual delights fully magnified.
Peering into places where no one else has ever peered, even me, reminds me that this is a potentially "disruptive" process.
Eye don't know what his eyes have seen.
He works in silence pin punctuated by the occasional mmmm or throat clearing rumble.
Snappy removal of neutrally colored gloves signify conclusion, he opines as follows:
"Were you aware," he inquires, "that the lines, the furrows on a your forehead correspond to the life your have lead?"
"You have three, deep deep tracks, and that's a fact."
Yes, eye know,
and each one is a tree ring notation
of my existence.
Each a different year,
each a different moment fearful,
a death and a birth,
a passing, a regaining.
No, not children or parents,
illusions.
Markers of our lives are the
birth and death of our illusionary,
our revelation minutes, that measure and scribe
what dug those furrows is now officially,
no more.
Until we start anew,
a different Pretense,
a channel commenced to commemorate.
Living the dream, they say,
aren't we all, eye think, and so inform him.
The doctor did not bill for this
visitation.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, happy August:)
purple moons and blond twins soon
talking horses and no gravity forces
jumping on cars and livestream of stars
blue dives hope and carrying yellow soap
the never ringing phone had rung and infinite questions in the air hung
mystic eyes danger and love of my life a stranger
I represent Lady Dream
and her fake lashes of gleam
a fantasy
hidden secrets in her world reality
in every color deceptive
subconsciously destructive
choose your perspective
she is not new
my haven in hours of few
on the mind
never understand what you find
now I sleep to see her poisonous skies
not to rest that one for the one who dies
nightmares my addiction don't be scared
called unravel of fallen hair
might do her a night stall
yet she leaves like a swift and crawls
now I know her stories are coming back in fear
been there done that since the end of last year
like signs flooded in clear waters
better than drowning with unknown ocean callers
I greet every era illusionary welcome
I carve every ranger in memory then run
walls in paths they deceive in glisten
the ferris wheel hangs and listens
sometimes we don't talk anymore
she throws ventures then struggles in store
masterminds wrapped around her finger they strive
Neptune rains diamonds and they cut like knives
she thinks before the sunshine we play a lying game
and I play along in absolute shame
she comes back with a curious mystery every night
and hello! sweet poetry from under my pillow then ignites
------ravenfeels
Aug 6, 2021
Aug 6, 2021 at 6:41 AM UTC
Hello Poetry
Yearned.
Ached.
For so long, for a community,
That values the ineffable wonder
Of a wordsmith's creations, intended to
Repair himself and the world with bullets of
Verses.
And here you are.
Like/Dislike, matters not,
So long as we value each others work,
And the the heart echoes within
What the eyes read and the mouth whispers.
The array and disparity of your names,
A delight,
Each name a poem
In its own right.
So I resubmit a question for your consideration,
The answer is now known,
The answer is all of us.
May 2013
---------------------------------------------------------
Who's Who In Poetry
T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers, tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.
Each a troop,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.
All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to rabbled boors,
imagination suppressors!
World:
cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.
Poets!
Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.
With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with **** empathy!
For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.
When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
tastes his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
and becomes one who was,
yet is,
because of you,
in poetry.
---------------
Postscript (1/25/17)
Even more true today, than four years ago.
Thank You.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:40 PM UTC
A mysterious island stands morosely free,
in the midst of the deep blue sea.
The waves crash upon the shore
covering the evil and all it's gore.
The brown leaves slowly fall,
from the tree that was once tall.
The beauty that lies in seclusion
is merely just an illusion.
Look at the sun shine with all its glory,
the rays trying to tell us a story.
Illusionary beauty that drifts between light and dark,
is a transient allure that will set; leaving a mark.
Clouds of birds rise from the tree
chirping noisily out of key
warning the poor young boy that within
the island was filled with sin.
Behind the rocks lie serpents slithering,
above the trees the eagles are soaring.
To all appearance the island is interesting,
hidden from the eye, evil is lurking.
The island is like a scary dream
where the birds will bitterly scream.
Trees cry out of fears
yet still, no one hears.
Shadows are bright,
grasses are blue,
nothing is right,
no one expects it to.
However out there the world is even more menacing,
destruction, corruption, the world is shattering,
enveloped in the arms of so much wrong
tell the island it did belong.
W.H.Y~
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
**WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF CASUAL ***
True romance is dead
it is buried in the dense rocks
eroded from the cliffs to the valleys
it's silenced in the pitch of a symphony
It's a poet dream
to write sweet sentiments
kiss in the nothingness
sketch love as if a masterpiece
Now a Tinder
where you can plunder
curves and bossoms
with no responsibility
Then Ok Cupid
where conversations
tender and ponder
before unleashing the game
There is always POF
where fishes dare in a swim
kissing and pinching
punching and finishing
True love is an illusionary debt
a cheque in deficit
An emotional injustice
the unrighteous pursuit
It's a poet's dreams to love
count the stars and watch the moon
nurture emotions and connections
The probability is the world won't let us
It won't let us be
Ladies just undress and expose the jubblies
Men just undress and measure your *****
the world won't let us be
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
In my chaotic illusionary reality
serenity was shivering,
dreams were drowning.
Then came the bamboo being!
The bamboo being dancing with peace
& praying for my dreams
to rise,
rise above my imagination.
Down south he resides,
in middle of a river.
He gave me a new perspective,
an outlook to live and love,
to which
I was blind,
I was deaf.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
Glitters and red meters
givers and received perceivers
usher the gift of illusionary display
vision all the aspects of reality
Signal the surreal posts on trees
yank and spotlight my dreams
walk and split the glass panels
wagon us from societal ice
Glitters and red masks
course every vein of our being
pour the red wine and misplace
protrude every nautical sense
Read my palm, contact the wizard
grab my sight, take me to the moon
contactless,eventful and tasteful
contactless, easy and resourceful
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 4:49 AM UTC
Life have my heart drenched;
In what, I do not know.
Often I feel lonely; like branches laying on shallow water.
When the water is muddy, it’s difficult to see my heart;
When it pulse, ripples arise.
The moon is my sole partner;
Yet extending my hand — like life, illusionary.
Water paved where we stand,
Like sand, time drips through our grasp.
We as people are no different from common grasses.
Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 10:38 PM UTC
T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers,
these tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.
Each a troop,
in the army of orphans,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.
All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to the rabbled boors,
the imagination suppressors!
World:
cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.
Poets!
Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.
With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with **** empathy!
For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.
*When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
taste his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
becoming one who was, yet still is,
because of you,*
because of poetry.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
The path of
A peace warrior
Is often misunderstood
This power, focused intention
Must be endured
By the peace warrior
For she is commited to peace
To love, to that above
To us
She, the warrior of light
Of sanctuary, peacefully
Outstretched before we
Lined with sparkling things.
She guides thee,
Her wings light and free.
Soaring through the heavens
Watching carefully, closely,
Whole heartedly. Dipping
Fingertips, sensory system abled,
Deep into the surface of the woes
The heart aches
Soothing through the presence of self.
Energy focused, clarity surfaced.
Stand the tests alone...
Until another from the Sun arrives
Open your heart, for the
Unity is the rise, the prize of the day!
Nourished just under the presence
Of skin,
Just beyond the weight of wind.
The system that touches us all,
Releasing all degrees of separation.
Illusionary precognitions.
Only One.
The peace warrior knows the way
Her counsel gathers round her
And fixes to smother her burn,
Only to encourage new light
To emit.
Squeezing out the rays
The ways of the
Peaceful warrior,
To be spread along with the wind
And the breath of God.
I welcome all that is within.
I set myself on fire!
Focused on the light
I choose this path
The steps clearer now
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
Sweet lips encrusted in sugar from the hot doughnuts at the steam fair.
Baked in the dusty sunshine of an August afternoon in North London.
I would roam these streets from childhood into adulthood,
Drinking £2,50 wine at bus stops only to get thrown out of the pub for illusionary bathroom shots
Our real crime? Being too young.
Since then, i have drunk Spanish manzanilla in an old tobacco store room
Transformed into a house where wafts of old book smell mingling with the scent of baked terra cotta and lemon trees sweeps down dark corridors revealing hidden gems of traveled souls.
Where there are streets that belong to Phoenician women , Arab traders , Christian crusaders and now the Spanish folk
All these names we go by , yet still human we stand
Up on roof tops, smoking sneaky roll ups to the elegance of storks
Building nests on church domes and castle walls
Monuments to remind the future
Graffiti on the natural landscape , the ruins read " we waz ere"
From shores of the Atlantic to shores of the Atlantic
Brooklyn rises
The night bus to eat pizza alarmed me
How were the buses so different ?
London's told you where you were
New York's Made you suss it out for yourself
In the company of a Father i hardly knew and the Mother of my new sibling
Child ,
Who will you become ?
Shaped by the contrast of your parents skin , your curled hair yet to emerge from fresh formed follicles
Rest easy ,
This world Ain't so harsh
I found God at the bottom of a bowl of noodles
Simply sitting there , lazing about as i licked my lips of the residual chillies and sugar
I deal in the order of paradoxes
Born by the sea only to grow up in the 'so called' luxury of the cities jungle
Although, resting now in the moon soaked mountain air ,
no city can compare, to the fragrance of flowers that bloom and scent only for those who brave the night
I used to be afraid of the dark ,
Now i make love with it.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
*In the guise of friendship
Like an apparition, he appeared
Extended the hand of friendship
Eloquent words mesmerized her
Smiles galore, her heart enamored
His words spiced for right flavor
She trusted her heart in his custody
Unaware of his sinister plans
So well disguised in masked lies
An illusionary world seemed perfect
Her heart kept beating for him
Only at her lover’s whims
Never realized her heart was seized
Because love came in hellish desire
In a masquerade, hiding his plans
Her heart was played with, forever*
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
Shhh. Tell no-one. The dragons are sleeping
like baby lizards in their caves. Breathless from
a day of pillage. Restful after a time of destruction.
Somewhere, on the other side of the hill, a boy
is playing in the woods. Caressing his manhood,
he becomes a symbol of self appreciation.
Be quiet. Don't disturb the boy in his game.
It is his only means of achieving satisfaction.
A reaction would disturb the molecules from
their expected conclusion.
The boy does not realize how close he is
to potential danger. If he awakens the
dragons, he awakens his death.
Shhh. Tell no-one. The dragons are dreaming
of future conquests. Illusionary REM's of human
body parts dancing in their heads. Helpless
after a day of mass frustration. Hopeless
after a time of complete desolation.
The boy is finished his game. He smiles
to himself at his clever disguises. Yesterday he
was a soldier in the war of indifference. Today
he is a hero, a legend in his own mind.
He screams in abandoned pleasure. He
yells because he can. Racing through the woods
until he comes upon the entrance to a cave.
Takes a breath, than slowly enters in.
The dragons are no longer sleeping. They are
preening their scales in preparation. Their red
soul-less eyes look at the boy. The boy, with
his brown empty eyes looks at the dragons.
None of them make a move.
Each of them recognize the emptiness of the other.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
As I was searching for truth, I realize that nothing is true.
And so it leaves me only pain, I could escape but what is the use?
It is all temporary.
Well, what could one expect out of an illusionary world.
So I cease my search and shed my feathers, lay down still.
Till time itself runs out.
Till the stalking man comes and he takes me to its darkness.
The stalking man was my shadow, my playmate, my truth
He invites, lures me but what is it that pulls me from behind,
It is frightening how an illusion can have control.
But my playmate calls, pleads and lures again
And again.
Pulls back the illusion
Am I to be stuck in this tug-of-war?
To be pulled till I lose my sanity.
The illusion spoke; it is all a part of the game it whispered.
In a voice so surreal
That I walked back inside the illusion.
Lost my playmate,
My shadow,
My truth,
The stalking man.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 4:07 AM UTC
An illusionary sleep
Has taken over every soul
Eyes wide open
Yet the vision is blurred
Every step is a stupor
Across broken paths
Not an inch of freedom
Spaces are traps
Detached from the soul
Every waking hour a tribulation
Truth swept under the delusion
Under an unknown spell
Magic wand instructs every move
It’s time to wake up
From an illusionary sleep
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC
when you only
see the world
through the prism
of an Instagram filter,
the spectrum's
overshadowed
by black and white
vignettes.
brick-by-brick
you build that wall
around yourself,
closed off to the plight
of every one else.
who needs borders
when you refuse to see
beyond the periphery
of your iPhone's screen?
refugees? border patrol?
endless war?
merely fragmentary
snapshots
in off-kilter
snapchats
casting grim light
on contemporary
outcasts, rebels
built to outlast
the vitriol leveled
at modern-day martyrs
by tyrants and overlords.
'cause when you neglect
to read the passages
of history, you scapegoat
the brave, can't see
the forest for the trees,
reduce the complex
to Manichean binaries
of Good vs. Evil,
Left vs. Right,
an infinite etcetera
of demagoguery.
noses glued
to illuminated screens,
ignoring the visionaries
for illusionary fantasies:
one-click—purchased
happiness, bread
and circus.
advertising
has us chasing
a feeling fleeting
as a riptide when we
ought to be rallying
on the front lines,
punching Nazis.
a black bloc
tossing bricks into
storefront windows.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
*"Be the harpooner of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody, comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders into crinkly eye-lined smilers."*
l<>|
writ many years past, just another dusted off phrasing,
composed from life's lecture notes, collected by eyes tired
from the hazing,
eyes wearied by the addict-strong,
incessant observational needing,
of celebrating the loopy,
they who make this planet
capable of laughing at itself,
a helping habit for mutual survival...
*should you spot a man ungainly wrought,
weighted down by a harpoon cross
cursed 'pon his Cain-marked back,
you need not move to the other side,
'tis only a make-believe poet,
with his recording device,
seizing your rhapsodies to rhyme,
his collected artifacts, your crinkly smiles,
his meat, his metier, his chosen career,
a comfort caresser of your illusions into
a shapely sculpture of words for you to keep,
a token of your now examined worth,
a celebration for the keeping...*
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
Your just sad,
stupidity of the most flamboyancy
you throw your arrow's
catching others off guard,
showing them the illusionary's
to something fake.
Oh no you don't!!!
I'd **** for much less
but I'd **** you slowly painfully
if you stick me with that!
I'd hurt you and make you suffer
slowly- meticulously
like you've made me hurt, cry,
die a bit each time- so many many times.
time after time I failed & fell prey to your games...
your sick mind must be wondering
what next you can do
to me
Baby baby baby...........
I'm no longer blind to your wicked deeds
and all your silly schemes.
I got your number
and yet you still
think your gonna fool me,
Not this round and never again,
you should be ashamed of yourself
for the misconducts and falsehoods you
and your magical arrow's have
shown so many, not just me.
all kinds of being from ever walks of life,
all around the world.
Your silly & sad really,
and truth be told someone
must have ruined your love long ago
I heard ya momma did you in and for what?
Beauty is only skin deep or so they say.
she must of hated that your love was given
to someone else!
Did you do it, huh did ya?
Yo you fucked ya momma
huh?
Your a stupid bastard- yes you,
Kama, Amor, or so they called you
MR CUPID,
I hate everything you claim to stand for
if you understood true love
You'd know ya arrow's cause lust & desire
not love,
not even real infatuations.
you've did your damage
and if you stick me again
I'll **** you!
You don't inspire romantic anythings.
You wreck happy homes
given young girls false hope
false wishing and dreams.
Cupid
you son of a ***** leave me be and go away.
Cupid
stop playing go on now get outta here!
Cupid.........
’’’’\̵͇̿̿\з=(•̪●)=ε/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿’̿’̿
Goodbye...
Man I swear.........
Cupid must think I'm
Stupid!
Always Me Ayeshah
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 10:57 AM UTC
There’s nothing to hold on to
Or things which we can take with us
Fleeting moments of the surreal
We magnify the perceptions as we travel
Nothing more than a realistic mirage
Travelling through the tunnel of time
There’s nothing to accumulate
Our souls are free, without possessions
Do not hold it back with shackles
Time will wither away in an illusionary darkness
We travel with an anticipation of being immortal
Truth is we are always free
Often we have to listen to our soul
Leave possessions behind and look ahead
There’s eternity looking at you with eagerness
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC