"infernally" poems
.
And quiet, a cemetery of the ancients,
fondled by the coiling mist of morning,
snuggles deep in the heart of the forest,
its quintessential stillness undisturbed.
And the sun ignites the darkened glade,
with a light that transfixes time itself,
heralding the infernally ponderous day,
when life endures the basics of survival.
And the moon shines in silver shards,
slanting beams with mystical hues,
announcing the delicious dark night,
where once again lies endless sleep.
And the shades of ageless dead relatives,
gravely sit and tell old ghost stories,
silencing the cold stone walls of tombs
with historic wisdom of times long gone.
© Pagan Paul (2017/18)
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
Peter sought his merriment
While standing in the sediment
And fishing in his element
For something good to eat
He wasn't unintelligent
But suffered an impediment
Conversing wasn't eloquent
A stutter had him beat
One day, on the r-riverside
With hunger to be satisfied
And p-p-planning homicide
He cast his l-l-line
But bang he was immobilised
Attacked from the w-waterside
A giant p-p-pike astride
The struggling s-swine
The scene w-wasn't glamorous
The p-p-pike was amorous
The gossip would be scandalous
Someone might s-s-see
The struggle was c-clamorous
P-Pete was v-victorious
P-popped up like L-Lazarus
To f-f-f-f-flee
He promptly pattered homewardly
And cursing pikes internally
His hunger sat infernally
His hook remained unlured
The pesky pike had planned to be
Inside of Peter, rectally
To poke and **** him naughtily
But hang on..... he was cured!
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
The house so full of symmetry
light in every window in every
angle, 360º view around the bend
walls beginning to break from loneliness
the light awash in so many colors
on the canvas of the walls
the hill behind still wet with the sun's light
freshly painted themselves
Purples, Oranges, Blues
empty and yet so settled into the land
the house on the hill
An eternal, infernally short second as the car ride
shakes my hand and my impressions blur.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 9:34 AM UTC
I am tired of...
shaking hands,
tired eyes,
pale cheeks,
smileless lips,
stinging lungs,
fragile legs,
a mind without peace
and a heavy heart
I am so indefinitely,
so infernally and entirely
tired
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
Being Me!
Child of war.
I am not.
Gentle as a lamb.
However:
The wind changed.
Strengthening the world inside
Lest the world dare forget me.
Innocence is not my name.
A wild child in a body somewhat haggard.
My sword crops up now and then.
The temper can fly vile.
My tongue can lash as cat'o'nines.
Cast out aspersions,
Fly on golden eagle wings.
Bearing with them curses.
Blessings too, at times.
As passion flower.
Rages infernally.
As hell shocked woman scorned.
Pretty in pink at times.
Pasty.
Virtual silence ******
Never in the written word.
A vibrant life of tragedy.
On a world of pages posted.
A sow, a cow.
A box of trouble.
Her temples will never crumble.
She is strong.
Supportive,
Sometimes cries.
Regularly dies inside.
Her will will be a match for many.
She suffers not fools gladly.
Never in a daydream.
Not ever, never even in a dare.
Who cares?
If I were able to do a degree.
I'd do a degree in poetry,
Then the world would see the real me!
Bring on the high heeled *****
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
Petrified for the last time,
I cut my brittle heart out
with a pair of nail scissors,
clipping through the keratin
down to the quick —
the sharp, thick, constant sting
of raw flesh, ribs spread
to see the moist, shady maw,
the red, white, and blue
empty ring box of my lungs,
a “yes”
like soft velour, all
tumescent and convex, pressed
out with the fragments
of vitreous gifts
you poured down my windpipe
(unintentionally vitriolic),
gem shards, cold and hard,
and I am scarified inside out.
My heart, airlifted
from its zone of alienation,
wails and trails lank Titian locks,
a red forest, scorched and floored.
Still, the dead marble lump glows red
and ***** like blood under nails.
You are subdermal —
eternally, infernally so.
Put apples in my cheeks, speak
but do not
listen, I glisten —
first with sweat, then tears,
then soap suds. I shed
my skin, touch fresh markings,
milk patterns. Half blossomed
rose bud,
dismantled, curling
up on myself,
you’re out of the woods.
I pull up my hood, drag my feet
out of the mud, bind
my open chest with the rest
of my ruddy cloak and,
sanguine, let drop my spleen
into the puddle I leave
behind, all dark
with blood and bark. Your bite
is not so bad
but, oh darling,
what big teeth you have.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
There's a word in Finnish
To describe an intetion
That could be translated
Only by using a combination
Of several English words.
"Sisu" means to endure,
To presevere, to be dauntless
And infernally stubborn.
As I sit in this modern train
Feeling the rails below me,
I watch the snow
That gives everything around me
A softly curving silhouette.
The cold bites in to my lips
Yet it is compassionate
In its dryness
And never cuts me to the bone.
I listen to the language
That gave my mouth
It's sharp edges
And it's gentle caress.
As I stroll around
These streets that were build
By the bare broken hands
Of our suppressed forefathers,
I come to sense
It's deepest truth of who they were.
Our fathers build houses of wood
And cut railways in to solid granite.
These men and women
Build homes that could go up in flames
And infrastructures that could last generations.
We have always worked for the future.
I think of my brother's words...
didn't you memorize the land marks?
I did... and I realise
That in this country we survive
On our memory of how to get back home.
If you lose your way, you die.
If you get cold, you die.
But maybe what these
Children that were born and raised
Under the watchful eye of Sisu
Need to come to understand
That we are no longer
Fighting to survive...
We are fighting to allow
The warmth of our hearts
Come out through our lips
And become visible
Even to those who no longer believe
That we posess such heat.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
There's a segment of the Christian fraternity
arguing vehemently to reject modernity
saying we should be one way for eternity
until it's their turn to go to the infirmary
then stop worrying about things infernally
and start rationalizing things internally.
They exacerbate Christianity's misuse
on legislating social issues
imposing their will
through force and ****
then when they see people leaving the church
they don't think it's from all the pain and hurt
they think it's a ******* problem with the music or the youth group
maybe people don't want to go somewhere that'll abuse you.
They reject modernity because modernity rejected them
and yearn for a time when society favored men
yearning for a culture that would favor them more
and share their hatred of the person next door.
They conflate traditionalism with regression
to give off the impression
they've just been taught different lessons
and are part of a harmless collection
but it's all the same **** in different packaging
in this society they've run savagely
did they think that after all that ravaging
we'd forget through apathy?
Why plunge us back into primal schisms?
Could it be they're just fans of tribalism?
They feel their side has the right numbers
yet they're rapidly diminishing
they want the giant to awaken from its slumber
for a genocide finishing.
These people need to find a better way to live
which is apparently something Jesus can give
but I'm not seeing that on the end of their shiv
pointed at me to make me not sin
so that their side can win
at something that isn't a game
I wish they'd see it the same.
They can grow a beard and work out
they may be able to dish the hurt out
but the simple phrase "reject modernity"
simply reflects their immaturity.
Oct 1, 2021
Oct 1, 2021 at 5:02 AM UTC
I am the destroyer of worlds the crasher of dreams the inevitable that will and always have eternally be
I am a creator the beauty of life the maker of all things the eternal clock
an infernally holy device I've caused more death and pain then any man could ever dream i've achieved the highest highs of pure ecstasy implausibly i am the only plausible because i am a force of nature of essence of your very sentient being a part of the core the root cause of all in the nether and aether but to such ignorant fickle beings i am just a double edged sword another in the arsenry of the entire complexless complexness of the universe I'am in the beginning and end both black and white
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
i stare up at the same spot on the ceiling
desperate and restless beneath sweet sheets
the fan groans incessantly in my right ear
a drone that can't quite drown out the internal din
a cacophony simmering infernally within
gossamer strands shimmer in the moonlight
spider-webs interconnecting above my head
trapping my hope and retaining my dread
until naught is left but undead recollections
nascent nightmares and frightening images
a half-dozen dreamcatchers spin on twine
suspended intermittently throughout my mind
serpentine figures intertwined in the twilight
adamantine revelations of eternal return
dragons chasing their own tails ad infinitum
sleep is a tease that whispers gently like a breeze
death shares the coffin that doubles as my bed
she ***** everyone but she returns in the end
and when my time comes i'll meet her as a friend
relieved i need no longer pretend to be free
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 7:17 AM UTC
Duality is not reality
Illusory fractality
All is one in actuality
Merely flow, factually
We spew distinctions and categories
Reinforced with teachings and allegories
Form begets function and hides the true junctions
Structures simplify our senses so we do not swiftly die
To live as one, connected to all
Is oddly not compatible with life
When peace is necessary for strife
The rise just a part of the fall
There’s no reason to avoid the knife
For survival we must throttle this expanse of information
Categorize and segment
Love, despise, and fragment
Place labels of good and bad
To navigate the moral landscape
To function as one in the part of the whole
But in doing so, we split our soul
These labels surely take their toll
They hide the unity of you and me
Strangle the beauty to simply be
They keep us from being free
There is no light without dark
No flame without spark
There is no cold without heat
No slow without fleet
No better without worse
No life without the hearse
Death and life two sides of the same coin
You and I seem separate but are in fact joined
These invisible lines divide and try to hide
That we are all beautifully, inevitably, intertwined
To see past these illusions
We must accept flowing fusions
Every cause has an effect
We are spiraling specks
Coalescing and creating
Forming and making
Finally breaking
The cycle continues
Eternally, infernally
Or ceaselessly, peacefully
For me
This connection is a gift
A resurrection from the rift
The void is void when we don’t avoid it
If you are me and I am you
There is truly nothing left to do
I float and live and love and die
I find little interest in finding out why
Instead I just seek to live in truth
Love
Impermanence
Equanimity
Realizing control takes a toll
Surrendering control is the goal
We are all just a part of the whole
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 7:19 PM UTC
my lips lack the luster
to make your malicious mind
continue to crave my capricious crimes
that i inflict infernally
upon your thoughts.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
It seems I’ve been waiting for eons
One album later kings of Leon
Infernally
When you said thirty
You meant Minutes or eternities ?
But I’ll wait
So hurry up post mates
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 3:53 PM UTC
“**Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus.
Our bodies are our gardens,
to which our wills are gardeners…”
– Iago, Act 1, Scene 3 in Shakespeare's "Othello**”
*A commandment to wellness,
spoke aloud, with resolute foursquare,
of which no doubt,
upon whom the responsibility lays,
each of us poets individually
I am not a gardner,
know not the pleasure of rich dark soil
loam, cupped in my hand,
or the stroking of first blooms,
the genteel of spring,
afternoon delights for the eyes,
but for me, no elemental quivering
no instinct bids me
dig, plant, water and worry…*
but my body’s garden another matter
for pillaging insects,
the bollwevil
and other assorted devils
planted internally and infernally
breeding
the ills of human failings,
with tulip yellow couragelessness,
they infiltrate & exploit
the crevices where our fallacies
buried but unearthed
what is this longevity word?
we've live as long as intended,
forces internal,
weathered by outside forces,
gales amazing and pelting storms
within and without
combative
born from earth’s produce,
we tend our own garden unequally,
inconsistently
though gardens demand, preferring
constantly
li
loving attentions
*but humans are notoriously of poor
attention spans and we tend to tend
in spurs of moments,
some lasting decades
and thus or thus,
a poor epitaph to
our fallow falling fallen
humanity*
Jun 16, 2024
Jun 16, 2024 at 8:17 AM UTC
A swarm of blue and white
Shot-putters hurdlers sprinters javelins long and high jumpers
Congregate before esteemed guests whom the PTA did invite
To secretly scoff at losers and worship winners.
Not quick or strong,
All I could do was jump high.
Alwyn came in stone last in the cross country after long.
Poor chap – their sneering and booing made him cry.
Soon after, it was my turn,.
Third jump – down went the pole.
Alas! – one corner poked me in the back. The pain, the burn!
Need something sweet for the shock, like a Swiss roll.
Into the common room I went,
Where smoky, limp athletes unwound with a movie.
There I encountered three foes infernally-sent.
Alwyn was among them – out to get me.
“Why are you crying?” one goon prodded.
“I got hurt by a pole,” was all I could muster.
At this, Alwyn’s raucous laughter erupted and exploded.
One day I’ll get you, buster.
Didn’t you cry moments ago when they sneered at you?
So, your solution is to do as the Romans do?
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 9:49 AM UTC
Pain ignites,
Your shoulders and biceps set ablaze to to the beat,
To this resurrected tune from the plantations of long ago,
A specter that hangs over the shoulder when heard.
Up,
Down,
Hold that ****
And you start to think this Sally chick might just be a real cold *****
Up,
Down,
Rinse and repeat the pain.
It's just 30 reps,
Why is it so infernally difficult?
Up,
Down,
Hold,
The pressure builds in your muscles and your brain,
Pratcher & the Gardeners heedless of your pain.
The last chorus,
Just a little bit more,
Is it just you or is the music slowing?
The women are weeping,
At the poor departure of poor ol' Luxe.
The song cuts,
You sigh in relief,
As your body crumples on its own accord,
Sick of your efforts and insanity.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 10:43 PM UTC
Beneath a monstrous maelstrom
enshrouded with creeping dread
lightning lashes looming cliffs
where heroes fear to tread
Climb jagged razor pinnacles
past petrified forms unseen
emerge to slithering swamplands
where eyes of hidden things gleam
Across a tortured rockscape
to a yawning crumbling chasm
under a shaft of silver moonlight
stands a tree of pure phantasm
Recalcitrant to natural order
Illusive to the careless eye
Its fruits veined with venom
flesh consumed to death defy
At the gnarled writhing roots
past selves wander infernally
unrecognised they ensnare your fate -
Imprisoned in bark for eternity
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 4:55 AM UTC