"incorporeal" poems
Oh twisted stimulus,
****** of the soul,
you flood me with colour.
I spill out across the world,
being everywhere,
existing nowhere.
Once I've emptied,
I am void.
Incorporeal and numb.
Like mist in gale,
I am rushed,
into endless sky.
Notorious chemical,
beautiful chemist,
I am lost in your constellation.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
An amorphous cave hides behind a cascading flow of crystalline blue, sparkling and shining like radiant glass.
Inside the incandescent cave, an effervescent and ephemeral scent of dulcet cinnamon coalesces into the air of the inside of this seemingly halcyon cave.
The feelings, the emotions, the sights, all too inexorable in it's ineffable reality. It calls out, with it's mellifluous and beautiful, languid and sirenic voice, incandescent with epiphany,
"Come child of man, meet me, greet me, welcome me, me as the idyllic felicity some dare to even dream of, and then let me embrace you and enrapture you and encompass you in my incorporeal and frozen, evanescent tranquility."
This ephemeral and serene cave now even murmurs and sings a tranquil symphony suffused with rhapsodic zeniths.
It... It truly was ephemeral...
A horrible shriek, a shrill and a repulsive and repugnant and rancid smell. A decrepit cacophony of hollow, anguished wailing and screaming. Pain at my soul, and a harsh, hoarse and coarse voice filled with slaughter and cataclysm. A grotesque, hirsute maladroit leech, visceral and shunned from everything and everyone, even the Earth itself...
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
Gaze into my shadowed opening,
You will see the absence of the universe.
Incorporeal spirit.
I am more than aware,
Everyone is just a door.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
Empyrean Heaven (there is no promised land)
there is no promised land)
the promise is where you stand
at this exact moment, where you
stick the landing every morn best,
best you can, assess the window’s
first delivery of the status of where
you are, whom you are, bent or *****
empty or full, impoverished or worse,
sated, foolish or brave, (dis) believing
the top of world is planted beneath your
feet; but above, at this the fiery places of
Empyrean Heaven.
Empyrean Heaven, nearest to me, thy there~thee
will find, beyond the heaven of the air and the
heaven of the stars, no land, the incorporeal
existence, carefree, know this you-human,
an unpromised state is the causal residue,
of actions between human to human,
not thy god, irony delicious, earn it
with every thought, instinct, act
deserving of this, this
“unpromised place”
G.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was, declared Saint Basil, a certain condition, older than the birth of the world and proper to the supramundane powers, one beyond time, everlasting, without beginning or end. In it the Creator and Producer of all things perfect the works of His art, a spriritual light befitting the blessedness of those who love the Lord asks of you~human.
———————
Jul 3 7:59am
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 6:34 AM UTC
1418
How lonesome the Wind must feel Nights—
When people have put out the Lights
And everything that has an Inn
Closes the shutter and goes in—
How pompous the Wind must feel Noons
Stepping to incorporeal Tunes
Correcting errors of the sky
And clarifying scenery
How mighty the Wind must feel Morns
Encamping on a thousand dawns
Espousing each and spurning all
Then soaring to his Temple Tall—
2.8k
i.
O' mine asawa, mine novel put away for millennia,
Brute man hast hidden thee from view, thou hast been burdened by men's crucifying, thy fear's art of lonesomeness; as many hast left thee, As I've known thine tears. I've seen and watched thy fear's, over the year's thine heart was bleeding.
ii.
Though whilst thou was leaking from thine wound's, I was keeping track on high, from the moon, and universal sky, from the nebula they calleth God's eye; I made plan's to cometh near. Thither below where I hadst none purpose, other than thee; I asked ourn maker to pusheth me into the sea of the great Pacific ocean, I hadst come with mine love, and incorporeal potion's.
iii.
Afore thine nativity, I hadst known thee a whilst, though as an angel thy falling to the atmosphere madeth thee forget thy memory; and divine self. Though I remembered thou, as thy soulmate from ages passed: I waited, with the great originator, I hadst beseeched him to seeing thee again; mine beloved, mine consort of other realm related. As Elohim kneweth thou was mine Filipino rose, mine all, and best friend: he granted me back heaven, as I landed into thy hand's.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley-Filipino rose dedicated
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
there are three things you know
i.
you reach into your incorporeal chest
and cradle the bird behind your ribs.
forming a gentle cage of your hands.
you bring the red-chested red-breast to your lips
and tuck the fearful creature under your tongue.
ii.
blood-crimson feathers are spilling
from between your teeth like
cherry blossoms that carpet the corridors
of your weary mind and
scar-crossed thoughts.
iii.
your fingers are wine-dark with wanting
and an unnamed, silent thing
akin to fear tears tightening paths
through your skin,
hidden by the cold
and half-formed excuses.
the official story is that you
fell.
you didn't, not in the way they thought you meant.
you'll spit out the truth one day,
choking on summer-scented feathers
and small, pink flowers that you'll
crush between thumb and forefinger
in denial of this fear.
h.f.m.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
Incorporeal wooing
-- benighted brown study,
slow to bleed,
turning on its axis,
wintergreen leaf
in free fall,
when all alone
the butterfly escapes the killing jar,
to parlously play along
this dulcet bine,
strumming crura,
like Orlando to faire Rosalind
in the Valley of Hinnom,
"a hunger uncurbed by nature's calling,"
which prayerfully ascends,
asking for cotyledon to appear
by break of day/dream.
Aug 3, 2020
Aug 3, 2020 at 10:41 AM UTC
The pool of rain shadowed the sun, dancing with a tepid demeanor. City lights' glamour reduced the light of the sun—melancholy was evident on her face, accompanied by the distinguished incorporeal's breath of air. The late-afternoon tea and dried-out smoke of snowy November.
It turned into night; the sun was still blatantly drowning in the pool of light, where a small trickle of its shadows tantalized the mockery arrayed in her face. Followed by the sickness in her stomach, pinching herself as she naively believed he loved her for all she is.
After all, he was the one who called her a goddess and even paralleled her in the universe in which Aphrodite takes part. Surprisingly and naively, still believed conspicuous lies. It scarred her. A mountain that cannot be climbed; a river where blood flows continuously; a garden full of thorns. The face of a fool.
The glamour wore off when he saw her on stage, where all of his queens and muses were. He wasn't even paying attention to her, and yet she was the only one who performed on stage—she rose and fell; she sang and moved like a goddess, surprising and naively believing he could take back her youth.
He watched her rise.
He watched her fall.
He watched her lose her life.
She hopelessly believed, with her skin and bones, that he'd choose her this time. He didn't.
Mar 9, 2024
Mar 9, 2024 at 3:28 PM UTC
no one believed in ghosts
until we realized everyones transparent
no one holds on tighter
than when they realize
they have to let go
but the terrifying part
is that im not sure
if ive ever been held
my hands are made of smoke
my heart is caged vapor
im reaching
for so many people
but im a phantom
made of lies & half truths
how can i be honest with you
when i could never admit to myself
that im a ghost
im a real boy
i chant to myself
as my strings get pulled
a marionette made of fog
the realest ill ever be
is when im spouting
the opinions of others
out of my incorporeal mouth
tying together borrowed words
with my ethereal tongue
as if i have a thought process of my own
whats it feel like to be a ghost?
id say like hell
but ghosts dont feel much anyway
were all living on borrowed feelings
donated sympathy
& hand-me-down ignorance
an army of ghosts
that cant even defend themselves
we bash each other
with words that are almost
as hollow as our chests
no one knows anything
about themselves
but everyone knows everything
about everyone else
we see through each other
but we cant see ourselves
we try to reflect one another
but the vapor is always shifting
its maddening
being so shapeless
yet so defined
i want a body of my own
i want a place i can call home
i want to not be shamed for my opinion
i want to respect others fully
ghosts are meant to terrify
& let me be honest when i say
ive never seen anything as ghostly
as this generation of opinionated plagiarists
[holyoak]
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
Your soul; all its liberation.
Amorphous,
I see it in my dreams in the form of its purity.
Crystalline.
I can never catch it
But it captures me.
My only caprice is to love and chase after it.
The feeling I feel from all your presence;
Your dulcet soul
Encompassing me,
I am enraptured, and can not let go,
You're the light
You are ethereal.
The energy you bring to me is exuberant.
Finally
I've found my felicity.
And I am free.
The way you just exist in your form ,
On your own
Incorporeal in your world.
Thanks for letting me in.
You fly and so naturally just exist,
Contentedly pleasing,
So beautifully incandescent.
In all my dreams where you are my vision,
I see you absolutely quiescent.
All your raidiance giving me what I needed.
I can't find on earth
What I find in you.
You in your power defying gravity,
In a sapphire mist, in your own portion of the world, where darkness never lives
Nor visits.
A place so serene,
That is why I only see you in my dreams.
When I am somnolent, and bound to fall down and lay silent,
Witnessing your spherical tranquility with no vestige when I awake,
You take me to my highest point when I am destined to break.
You are transcendent and truly amazing.
I love you in all your lilt sussuration.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
Through silver maple and winding hedgerow wind-songs sough April’s hearsay. In stoic silence, spring’s axes—shuttered trunks—goad their fruit’s swelling. Clouds tumble in like sea foam, blue splinters flashing out: incorporeal troposphere, a halo entrapped by math.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
Storms are raging, lightning striking all around.
Ugly faceless beasts, rising up out of nowhere.
All want a piece of me.
I fight alone, I cannot fail, I cannot concede.
I have to fight, the alternative is too… everything.
These are no beasts from a work of fiction.
They’re incorporeal but they are very much alive.
Only I can see them, but I can’t.
I know they’re there.
Anxiety, the first, scratching away at the nape of my neck,
Almost like some taloned spectre,
Cold and slick.
Wants me to scratch,
Wants me to give in.
The Low, the negative, the constant.
Not sadness but the absence of joy,
Nothing has relevance.
Devoid of rational thought,
The Low has won today.
Hopelessness, the last, like a warm duvet on a cold day,
Inviting me to lay down under it,
Inviting me hide my head under the cover and forget all else,
Too easy, there is still life outside the head.
Embrace the chaos,
Storm straight into the fire again,
I refuse to burn; I refuse to lie down,
I refuse to let it win.
This is a good fight and it’s worth fighting.
Too many have lost the fight,
Gave into the pill or the water,
My anchors are in the hearts of my loved ones.
I will survive to fight again tomorrow.
;
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC
"Don't tell me the poets ... "
I write poetry that is both incorporated
And incorporeal ... and un and un and un
It is done
On the pad : and off
Hop - Lily
On the tailgate
In the truck
Boots on the ground
In the muck
Put on your Carhartt's
It's time to get *****
Even better
Grab your Old Man's work clothes
Finish the job
That He didn't want to start
Don't tell me the poets are ******* crying
We're living
And we're dying
Careful though
The warlords have come into the jungle and slaughtered before
But we live again
A little more angry
A little less wise
--> **** **** up, juveniles
Shoplifters of the world ...
untie
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
Verse 1:
Why am I so disconnected?
My soul is screaming out to me in a passionate furor.
Sanguine and red hot flames are running down my spine;
I’m blazing through misfortune with opulent eyes.
I see death all around me but in my heart there is hope,
Time has healed past welts now the Lord shall cleanse me once more.
In time it has been revealed to me that the Lord has the sinew,
to fight off the eternal of death and the Cimmerian.
Eternity is all around me, your flames scorch me whole;
I lie on the bed covered in anxious goo.
Chorus:
High on octane, I float above cloud nine,
I have a heady feeling, and then I’m lifted into the Sun.
God has granted me the will to move on,
The Universe imparts to me an elixir to your soul.
Verse 2:
My spirit lies in front of me separated from my soul;
I’m an incorporeal being who no longer has a definite form.
You’re the one I long for and I know that you’re all I see,
“I truly wish that you would take to time to actually notice me!”
Why can’t you see that I would lock your heart away?
I’d store it in a chest full of my sacred and cherished dreams.
You’re my goldmine, the apple of my eye;
You’re that mellifluous melody chanting in my ear.
You’re a divine masterpiece and I love you with my eyes;
I wish I could eternally gaze upon you and make your beauty my muse.
Chorus:
High on octane, I float above cloud nine,
I have a heady feeling, and then I’m lifted into the Sun.
God has given me the will to move on,
The Universe imparts to me an elixir to your soul
Bridge:
Holy and pure is that pearl with your name inscribed,
Your name inscribed upon it and it befits my enamoring crown.
I want you to adorn me with your brilliant and glimmering gems;
Please complement my apparel with an extravagant diadem.
I love the eyes you possess, those diamonds that seem to gleam;
I desire your magic spells to fuse me with your soul.
I went insane for but a moment but to me it has been revealed,
That sanity belongs to the one who cherishes His dream of love.
Chorus:
High on octane, I float above cloud nine,
I have a heady feeling, and then I’m lifted into the Sun.
God has given me the will to move on,
The Universe imparts to me an elixir to your soul
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 3:11 AM UTC
i only look good in half-light
with a cup of motivation
and music scratching in the tips of my ears
bare
no ill-fitting clothes
the ill-fitting skin is enough
just the meat suit and tight shadows
curling up my legs and over my arms,
twitching as they breathe down my neck,
it’s an incorporeal kind of feeling
this is a half-living you see,
the most effective coping method, i’ve found.
shut off half your brain and turn out all the lights
easier for the shadows to find you then
sit back
relax
let the phonograph sing you to a three-quarter dreamland where only the soft satin tendrils of sound stroke the insides of your earlobes and press themselves into your palms
fall back
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
the novelty fades
along with the glamour
sprinkling down like a cheap glitter shower
a spring shower;
soft
creeping along your hairline with the smell of light lilacs in a secret garden
dribbling wonderfully through a greasy scalp
one of the most ****** showers that’ll take place for a while
leaving loose indentations and wet feet and a swirling drain clogged with six years of hair
i should have thrown myself a line
now there’s just stale-smelling rooms and a lost little creature
rich in words
shallow in talent
its mouth is a river and help help it’s drowning
my head’s turned to mush and my heart’s turned to stone
i'm a rock caught between the spokes of your bike
twirling and whirling my hair brushes the ground with the bumpity-bump-bump of each rise and fall
it's hot down here, so close to the pavement
worms are frying, they better watch out,
or the rubber sole of a midnight wanderer will eat them right up
also your feet stink I would wash your shoes if I were you
i wish i wish i wish i wish
i wish i could make words fly from my tongue and spin worlds and not cower from the unseen
i wish i could melt through carpet and slip through cracks in the concrete
i don't want to be anymore
being is hard
i would be satisfied with a nonexistence
no more bridges to burn or heads to crack
no more bleeding eyes and empty shampoo bottles that cost too much and run out too early
no music that will get old
no glasses that will drain themselves
no more trying to fix something that isn’t there
no more pathetic musings
no more tear-stained pillowcases and forced laughter through one-way glass
goodbye persona 182
you were beautiful while you lasted
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
.
i.
(Jane)
*Let me kiss you passionately,
As we stitch our souls together,
And travel heavens through these lips.*
ii.
(Brandon)
**O' amour', I canst feeleth thine wet juice
As we sew ourn spirit's as one;
Betwixt the moon and sun, ourn primal nature let's loose.**
iii.
( Jane)
*I will lock fingers with you,
With this amour as our armour,
The world we valiantly conquer.*
iv.
(Brandon)
**Land's unknown to dominate
Incorporeal is ourn essence;
Sealing the firmament by blessing's and grace.**
v.
(Jane)
*Let our love be the sunshine,
That lead and guide us abode,
Finally I found you, my Home.*
vi.
(Brandon)
**Mine sweet earl Jane
Let ourn amare be the flame's;
And the kindle alway's be the same, as the light never dieth.**
© Earl Jane - Brandon Collaborations
♥ Lovers Incorporated
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
Aluminium ladders from the attic creak during forbidden midnight ventures, whilst auditory perceptions of Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy echo within the magical darkness.
Many times, Dolly stood at the edge of the platform and articulated prismatic pronouncements, as the train hurtled along the tracks.
We must permit our nostalgic souls to remain attached by silver chords, as we travail along the corridor of indiscernible planes towards twilight.
Therefore, my slippery soul of simplicity, we must hold up the lantern in this obscure existence. Joe, I have toasted bread by the coal fire within the flickering shadows of overwhelming anticipation. Your carriage awaits.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
time dies
I sit awash in solitude
as moments fade to black
oblivion
could a thousand stars burning out
while 100 toddlers struggle to take final breaths
create a void like thisssssssssss
no.
------------ grasping at gasping groupers
------------ I goad distant relatives into diving without recycled air
bloated eyeballs remind me
of a different type of togetherness
isolation and indignation
unfettered and non-remorseful
inconsequential fallacies
facilitate fallout
and I leave this plane
regret laden
no...
she walks into walls as her strong points hide in public
incorporeal, I sit on a doughty shoulder awaiting reincarnation
doubting faith while languishing in purgatory
I realize the Catholics had it right
sexually abusing young boys
is the only ticket to heaven
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Though I tremble now, and my eyes glass,
And my words wander as they
Search for a final sense of this world,
Dare look beyond, for I remain
Young with joy and foolishness,
And I am stout of heart and limb within,
My passion undiminished, my love unshaken, if unspoken.
And when I am finally gone,
Immerse in the warm breeze between the leaves,
Smile at the robins chirp,
Be mesmerized by children,
For I will be there,
Incorporeal, ubiquitous,
To envelop you as I have in life and will always,
Without limit.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 5:20 PM UTC
;\
/
,
By Ken Sanes
It is about
a world gone mad,
which is spread out evenly
but clumps together in the place
where there were blood curdling screams.
And it is about right now
in the old house
with the creaking door
that opens
\
slowly
and the thin plane of light
that cuts into the dark entry,
landing on eyes that seem to follow you
from behind a painting.
But certainly you are being paranoid
because there are no apparitions
;
and nothing is moving through the hall.
Then again, now that you’re in, you understand
it is about love and hate, and love of death
pallor,
and the first time,
when the screams are louder
the second time,
and he is mad utterly mad
imbued with a perfect evil purified of petty motive
reveling in the ideal of suffering
and finely tuned not even needing flesh
but cold sinister and incorporeal
laughing maniacally unseen
in the darkness
with a sharp blade that
goes
/
in
& horrific screaming
,
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
One eye lined a rippling void in our favor
Two lights aimed to dither coherence astray
A spark may be one
A pyre, another
Two methods by which we may aptly narrate
These volumes which artifice rendered impassive
Some lifetimes ago
As if carved out of stone
Upon faces that masons could not replicate
We taxed ourselves harsh by indulging old spirits
But graver the crime was to give them a name
The deepest transgression of all, incorporeal
Our memories in the end gave us away
Yes, nostalgia seeps in through the gaps in our logic
To shepherd the currents beneath those blue waves
As if tides could be altered by such visitation
And oceans stood frozen with forces concealed by
Some gravities borne of celestial weight
Reluctant to wake and depart Colorado
My surrogate mother
Our canvas to paint
Expressions whipped dry by the skirt of her leather
And eardrums wrung pierced by the crags and the scree
If I leave now this portal may vanish forever
I could leave my sins here in the chill of the Springs
Release them down mineshaft chutes long since abandoned
In futile attempts to abscond the unclean
And rise to leave haunts of offenses unstated
To come crawling back from the dead
Southbound with me
Hold out, I was told
With arms to receive
You'll make sure to keep your hands steady for me
I'm soaked to the core with my soul and voice breaking
With eyes for your heart and its formless cascade
And my pail with dozens of holes to redeem
An abundance of squalls brewed behind both those seams
The light crosses your path
And you won't look away
When I question by which laws such mirrors are made
And it all seems so cruel that we're drawn here to suffer
To be teased and transfixed by what glimmers remain
I can drum up what strengths I have left to ignite you
I'll shout even louder when you forget your name
I'll relearn every way that I've known how to love you
But we're taught to process what we cannot maintain
Yes, our hearts are irreparably torn in this way
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
You have
without knowing
reached inside
and
touched my soul
awakening it
with urgent
pulsing
like an electrical
surge
I yearn to
connect
with you
completing
the circuit
My soul seeks
yours
for a rendezvous
to mingle
in an ethereal
embrace
to share
a repast
in the soft candlelight
of awareness
and
the sweet scent
of the roses
of incorporeal
passion
filling plates
with
the words
and
cadence
wine glasses
with
the music
of poetry
You speak
the language
of my soul
whose words are
garden
flowers
unfolding
pathways
sojourn
reflection
struggles
life
whose syntax
is poetry
and
song
You
more than most
have taught me
to heed
and
understand
the language
to recognize
the melody
and
to dance
its rhythm
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC