"infra" poems
Your smile.
.
endlessly,
my heart searched
for a vibe on another
heart with which to
resonate and found none.
finding none, it wandered endlessly like
Infra-red rays seeking a
suitable tempo upon which
to strike an interference.
i wandered in search of a fertile
land in a heart upon
which to grow seeds of
love, my head burrowed
deep in a shell of
restlessness...
.
but on that fateful day,
too-good-to-be-true was
your smile--- it caused
my eyes to twitch,
borrowed a beat from my heart, transforming my
thoughts to an ode-- a
prelude to better days
.
i still see that smile,
lucid--- your lips opening
like windows of love,
revealing shiny white
louvres of beauty (teeth)
which opened to your
tongue-- a valley flowing
with sweetness as it
goes down your palate
like a parting curtain
welcoming love... then
you said "hi".
.
this friendship began with a smile,
it deepened with the " hi"
.
i have tapped from the
happiness let out from
the windows of your heart--
your smile..
my heart no longer wanders, in your smile,
it found rest
.
my greatest wish is
to make this smile mine
someday,
plant a kiss on your lips,
the happiness that
dwells in there becoming
a remedy to my malady.
.
.
Chukwudera Michael
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
Among pelagian travelers,
Lost on their lewd conceited way
To Massachusetts, Michigan,
Miami or L.A.,
An airborne instrument I sit,
Predestined nightly to fulfill
Columbia-Giesen-Management's
Unfathomable will,
By whose election justified,
I bring my gospel of the Muse
To fundamentalists, to nuns,
to Gentiles and to Jews,
And daily, seven days a week,
Before a local sense has jelled,
From talking-site to talking-site
Am jet-or-prop-propelled.
Though warm my welcome everywhere,
I shift so frequently, so fast,
I cannot now say where I was
The evening before last,
Unless some singular event
Should intervene to save the place,
A truly asinine remark,
A soul-bewitching face,
Or blessed encounter, full of joy,
Unscheduled on the Giesen Plan,
With, here, an addict of Tolkien,
There, a Charles Williams fan.
Since Merit but a dunghill is,
I mount the rostrum unafraid:
Indeed, 'twere damnable to ask
If I am overpaid.
Spirit is willing to repeat
Without a qualm the same old talk,
But Flesh is homesick for our snug
Apartment in New York.
A sulky fifty-six, he finds
A change of mealtime utter hell,
Grown far too crotchety to like
A luxury hotel.
The Bible is a goodly book
I always can peruse with zest,
But really cannot say the same
For Hilton's Be My Guest.
Nor bear with equanimity
The radio in students' cars,
Muzak at breakfast, or--dear God!--
Girl-organists in bars.
Then, worst of all, the anxious thought,
Each time my plane begins to sink
And the No Smoking sign comes on:
What will there be to drink?
Is this ma milieu where I must
How grahamgreeneish! How infra dig!
****** from the bottle in my bag An analeptic swig?
Another morning comes: I see,
Dwindling below me on the plane,
The roofs of one more audience
I shall not see again.
God bless the lot of them, although
I don't remember which was which:
God bless the U.S.A., so large,
So friendly, and so rich.
4k
Our father liked to play a game.
He would count each hawk
preying, circling above veiny tree lines
graying like shadows of industry.
There’s a redtail, he would say, look
at its proud chest and talons of mastery. Our
eyes searched for the creature, noses
pressed to cool glass and 65MPH speed.
Sometimes we’d catch the bird with two eyes, one eye
or none. Meanwhile, our father never took his eyes
off the road, fixed on painted yellow lines stretching
to heartlands down New York’s I-90 West.
With age my eyes became engaged, detecting
the slightest movement peripherally. Rods
in retinas distinguished plump plumes from leaflet
tufts, razor beaks from thorny stags, white breast from
billowing plastic bags. My sideways scan
of leafy fringe is an artifact of habit
when traveling down state roads of this infra-structured
nation. I search for evidence of its natural relation,
beyond all that is manufactured by the jelly-
spine of convenience, beyond wheels spinning
at deafening speed, beyond the grubby hands of greed.
Still, our connection to place is still here and Earthly,
coexisting in delicacy, like the hawk’s nested-blend
of twig and trash. I trust there is a chance for us yet,
despite cloudy puddles of progress, despite integrity
lost in capital gain, despite a forgotten native name.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
Around a big glass table reflecting chandeliers
suits, oxford knotted ties, long tongues gathered
to move an anti-aircraft division across the western border
straddling two different opinions.
at dusk under the silk of darkness
the satellites zoomed in on the convoy
of green dressed camouflaged trucks,
Slinking down the back roads
under infra-red eyes six hundred kms
across the mountains
to take up new positions.
At dawn the satellites spoke to each other
and defied opinions made at the round table.
The longest tongue now hanging out
in sheer delight at operation well done, like steak!
Without discussion the satellites ordered the trucks
back to where they came from!
When the war began the anti-aircraft guns
were ready and waiting for the enemy
in the wrong location.
A flock of geese migrating from Canada to Kazakhstan
were met with missiles attracted by the metal tags
researchers had strapped around their ankles.
As the feathers settled into the waiting valley
two satellites in outer space
laughed at each others games
And switched off.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
Ascent
The narrow passage arched over the gaping river
like a gymnast vaulting backwards,
gracing the ground with open palms.
I began to climb--
beleaguered on both sides
by insecure concrete obstructions;
I diverted my attention to the ascending road ahead.
I continued to climb,
like a slowly chugging roller coaster,
meekly scaling up the track
with subdued anticipation.
I sunk into the road;
the sky merged with my pseudo-perpetual path, forming the offing--
where it seemed the road ran eternally into the heavens.
I saw blue reach into black in the late afternoon's
fading visage.
Summit
Gliding over the mountainous ****
I stared over the horizon
where the sun was neatly tucked
under the trees--
silhouetted against the dusky sky,
looking like fingers reaching up into the void,
accumulating like earthly pillows to a heavenly face glowing brightly.
I watched a murky blue dip into a wet grass'd green,
then a traffic cone orange,
followed by the passionate (infra)red of two lovers' entwined,
climaxing in a jaundiced yellow--
tucked neatly like a layer of film
atop the silhouetted landscape.
Descent
I wished I had
descended the adret
of my ascension's perceived perpetual offing,
rather than this gritty one--
to dip into the horizon,
where I would metamorphose
into a dazzling array of colors;
feeling myself slowly fade away
into the impending night sky.
Tucked away for another day,
sleeping under the stars,
in the fingertipped forests
now obliquely reaching into their absent luminescence
but relishing the cool night air--
silently waiting for light
to soon again
breach their gloomy shells.
[Enlightenment lingered within the visions of my ascension--
I danced with its transient spirit at the summit--
to be decimated as the car lurched downward into mortality.
I saw what could be as I moaned into the
fading afternoon's dipping colors.
Who knew the descent was the hardest part of humanity?]
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
Disclaimer to Elizabethan democracy
It hits it's head on the chamber table
My hangman, eyes rolled up behind his mask dry lips hurt the ear drums
Least this broken bridge burn under our feet
Least it broils into rainbows, blood letting its comatosis
We'll replace fear with release
And suffer this karma like a detox struggle
When the tv glares blue a displacement glares right back, legs badly scarred taken by a strong hand
Patches must be missing, infra rave lights up hollow
I couldn't even draw the pentagram
The scales had fallen on my feet
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 4:13 AM UTC
If I had the hands of the sky,
the colors of Monet's secret insight,
a pigment of an Ocean,
unsailed,
by human kind,
what color would I paint you?
How man days can I Starve,
to stay alive,
If I had a canvas,
as large,
as white,
as the moon,
how would I describe you,
snow crunches,
beneath my feet,
I light a cigarette,
breath thick,
honey,
molasses,
dog fat,
If I were to build you,
could I use the tombstone of Beethoven,
grandmother's woolen blanket,
the missing piano key,
a harp string,
moth's wing,
winter's bulimia,
night's insomnia,
a dream's last breath,
novel's,
Last line,
Neruda's breath,
Shiva's golden temple,
a goddess' breast,
the highway's Texan accent,
a humming bird's,
silent flight,
the pollen of a sunflowers,
the ****** user's,
high,
Indian's leather,
a mother's palm,
sad song,
Michigan's final night,
If I were to kiss you,
how again,
would you taste,
too many nights,
have separated my memory.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC
Throw the window open
To bring cool air to a room
Which gathered heat
With all the thoughts
Bouncing off the closed walls.
Night. The sky, a bruised purple,
The clouds faint, infra-red.
The trees are cut-out silhouettes
Placed in the foreground of endlessness.
1.a.m. The night is still.
There is the hum of a plane in the distance,
Last train now long past earshot.
Thin blue curtains play at the breeze,
Tickle my shoulder
As I kneel at the ashtray,
The windowsill altar.
Ornaments reveal themselves
In the black gardens below.
The gnome with the broken tambourine
That kicks up in the current,
The wind chime on the Apple Tree;
The bell on the house cat’s neck.
Staring into space all night
But with this view
I do not have to strain my eyes.
Do not linger on the details
That are lost in the shadow.
Always made time for the moon.
The quiet one at parties,
Only came alive at night,
In the company of those who drink wine,
Swallow pills in the morning
To see the day through.
Room scarred with scorch marks,
Stains from drunken falls.
All those endless nights,
Dead bedsheets,
Waiting for the chemicals
To push my head underwater,
To find sleep.
Windowsill vigils,
Awake with the moon.
Kept myself alive
For these pockets of time
Where I do not need to talk.
Where I do not need to move.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC
I plummet deep
inside the castle of
your self-hood
under the scorching
rays of the sun,
so that its brightness
become a witness
by forcing me to peer
at the infra canopy of yours!
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
Box Off
The black box that tells of approaching enemy missiles is turned off
The black box that jams enemy missiles it turned off
The black box that dispenses radar jamming chaff is turned off
The black box that launches infra-red flares is turned off
The black box that gives out false position locations is turned off
The black box that plots enemy defence locations is turned off
The black box that steers a course round enemy radars is turned off
The black box that sees enemy anti-aircraft guns is turned off
The black box that should save our jet and our lives is turned off
We are now dead and our warplane is now destroyed
The black box should’ve been turned on
May 7, 2023
May 7, 2023 at 10:56 PM UTC
Quale in notte solinga
sovra campagne inargentate ed acque,
là 've zefiro aleggia,
e mille vaghi aspetti
e ingannevoli obbietti
fingon l'ombre lontane
infra l'onde tranquille
e rami e siepi e collinette e ville;
giunta al confin del cielo,
dietro Appennino od Alpe, o del Tirreno
nell'infinito seno
scende la luna; e si scolora il mondo;
spariscon l'ombre, ed una
oscurità la valle e il monte imbruna;
orba la notte resta,
e cantando con mesta melodia,
l'estremo albor della fuggente luce,
che dinanzi gli fu duce,
saluta il carrettier dalla sua via;
tal si dilegua, e tale
lascia l'età mortale
la giovinezza. In fuga
van l'ombre e le sembianze
dei dilettosi inganni; e vengon meno
le lontane speranze,
ove s'appoggia la mortal natura.
Abbandonata, oscura
resta la vita. In lei porgendo il guardo,
cerca il confuso viatore invano
del cammin lungo che avanzar si sente
meta o ragione; e vede
ch'a sé l'umana sede,
esso a lei veramente è fatto estrano.
Troppo felice e lieta
nostra misera sorte
parve lassù, se il giovanile stato,
dove ogni ben di mille pene è frutto,
durasse tutto della vita il corso.
Troppo mite decreto
quel che sentenzia ogni animale a morte,
s'anco mezza la via
lor non si desse in pria
della terribil morte assai più dura.
D'intelletti immortali
degno trovato, estremo
di tutti i mali, ritrovar gli eterni
la vacchiezza, ove fosse
incolume il desio, la speme estinta,
secche le fonti del piacer, le pene
maggiori sempre, e non più dato il bene.
Voi, collinette e piagge,
caduto lo splendor che all'occidente
inargentava della notte il velo,
orfane ancor gran tempo
non resterete: che dall'altra parte
tosto vedrete il cielo
imbiancar novamente, e sorger l'alba:
alla qual poscia seguitando il sole,
e folgorando intorno
con le sue fiamme possenti,
di lucidi torrenti
inonderà con voi gli eterei campi.
Ma la vita mortal, poi che la bella
giovinezza sparì, non si colora
d'altra luce giammai, né d'altra aurora.
Vedova è insino al fine; ed alla notte
che l'altre etadi oscura,
segno poser gli Dei la sepoltura.
1.2k
Meandering streams
have cut deep chasms
into solid jagged rock,
disappearing
skyward,
up into
the Heavens.
The tinkling
of occasional goat-bells
& the twinkling
of a million sacred lights
soothed the soul.
Stars so close,
as if you could reach out
and touch them.
A brilliant night sky so beautiful,
made you realize
the sacredness
of this glorious creation.
If it wasn't for
the nocturnal copters
with their infra-red
computerized machine guns
ripping up targets,
you would think you
were experiencing nirvana,
not witnessing
such deadly devastation.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
Streams, streams
Of silly string and statements
Spoilt from the start
not a coin earned from heart
And the audacity to defend
a blood-tattered, soul-shattered legacy
an interest that serves itself to the bitter end
and a hope for mankind that dies down, yet again
A robotic, a horrific, working nightmare
Waste and filth and marketing ploys
pass the infra-red, marked with fear and joy
Happiness in the empty heart
that’s fulfilled by plastic, and
Horror in the open heart
that’s sealed with servitude
All they want is a nation made for labour
a nation of thinkers would exchange their favour
If injustice is a cause worth risking a life for
then risk the lives of the lawyers and the lords
For their existence is sitting on the thin ice of their money
funded and incentivised, they **** up bribes like honey
Streams and streams of meaningless numbers
guide our timeline like through a rolling thunder
The vibrations from the cities have formed pyramids to the sky
Dragging us up by the scruff of our necks, to comply or to die
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
The day imploded
came rushing in to remind me that the night
was but an amalgamation of those minutes
that pin the eyes awake.
I take two moments to acclimatise
unpin the pins pinned on my eyes
and the fading of the fading light finally fades and dies.
I look with infra dead between the lines
and intro sped along the times when all was well
and now it disappears into the room of absented fears
French leave for the grieving and believing I am one of them
the lonely buttered crusts of men I go on
and into further there where the sharp words cut my feet
and bleeding sorely thus I greet
the men to whom that I would speak
of better days
who in their ways have sold a million memories
to hang up on the blowing melodies that seem to crow at me
and if I listened carefully
would say but few words dolefully and this before the breakfast laid upon my lap
the dripping sap
another buttered crust
any yet another dream that turns to dust
but in the cream jug where the poison lies and remnants of the dying light prefer to hide and sit upon the milky way
the lay of it appeals
in laying down something unreal can steal this mind of mine
and use it in some future time to come
cryogenic
hallucifrenic
and I am going down the tubes
before the slide that carries me into the beginning of my darkest day
I say,
'if I would walk a second,fecund and mount the insurmountable'
would I be accountable to myself or to those crusty men?
and to the lady,she who knows where this road goes and leads me to its ending
in the twist and bend will you defend me
fight for and lend me strength?
What is the length of illness measure
what treasure does it hold and
and what on being told the answer
would I answer in return?
The fever of the brow and how the body burns
and burn in turns like you
and we together
would we be forever
severing all ties
even as the fading of the fading finally fades and dies
and can you tell me
can you tell
can you
can.
A crusty buttered dusty battered and man to whom that nothing mattered would like to know
before I go.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC
How often do we glance at the skies
either it's cloudy.
Or a bright clear pastel blue image
sometimes odd things to.
Within our vision this is what we see
are we alien free?
Unseen objects flying we just can't detect
only by infra red light.
Not by the naked eye are they visible
where they're from unknown!
One more of life's mysteries to brood
on this world to intrude!
As we **** each other and nations divided
are the skies busy?
Not with our rising air traffic but space craft
from another distant star.
Maybe from a different dimension or time lines
we don't recognise the signs!
On the internet there are many films shown
of craft flying around.
That our limited visual spectrum blocks out
observing you and me!
Is this phenomena real or simply a camera trick
surely the experts aren't thick?
Is there nobody there and it's imagination
none of the sightings real!
This I feel is certainly not the whole truth
something is very much near!
Gazing upon us as we upon ourselves spy
yet the question remains why?
The Foureyed Poet.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 6:40 AM UTC
Change Time
Do some reps miss the selling?
When they’re between call centre jobs
Not able to close a sale for B2B
Or get a Sirius XM radio upgrade
What of reps doing tech support
Fixing broken TVs and infra-red heaters
Same **** different shift on and on
Dial dial inbound joy call queuing
Sup call where’s your TL?
They’re MIA having a secret smoke
While the reps struggle on
This shift the same as before
Nothing new to learn here
They don’t wanna report in
But must or get sanctioned
They dream of a sales job
Actually being good at it
Getting top box metrix and sales
Walking with pride enjoying work
Looking forward to each shift
Not like tech support Hell!
Time for a change
Aug 20, 2024
Aug 20, 2024 at 11:11 PM UTC
Minstrels
Infra red
left for dead
finger on the trigger.
Watch them fall the short and taller stories will be told of
the Saracen and King Richards men,
infra red
left for dead
the crusade's in us all.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
Watch the camera lie,and
turn the blue into
a big red eye.
The viewfinder's a kind of
kaleidoscope,
twist the lens and hope
it all comes out
alright.
Take a picture
infra red
in the night
and in the bed.
Black and white
is, to be sure
the film that
makes the aperture,
capture
the pure,
the light,
yes,
black and white will
do for me,
the future is
photography.
But you can't photograph a
laugh or a sigh and a lie can be held
in the picture they tell us is true.
In the image I seek, there's a hint of
the meek and the wild and the
child I once was.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Comment voulez-vous que je vous croque, marquise,
Votre Seigneurie de haute voltige ?
Comment voulez-vous que votre amant cunnibale croque
L'exquis vertige que son pinceau déflagre
Quand de sa tige délicate et poetique
Il esquisse sur la toile le portrait de votre boutique arrière ?
Dans le tableau vous posez élégamment nue
Le postérieur au premier plan
Et un sucrier à fal jaune
Qui sent le vent de gingembre
Et la mer de noix de muscade
Becquette d'un regard gourmand le cul corossol
Que vous lui offrez avec langueur et nonchalance.
L'analyse infra rouge de ce charmant spectacle
Révèle cependant que l'artiste au fin bec
En vous a semé ses regrets
Car sous ce derrière plantureux de Dame corossol
Un essaim d'abeilles invisible à l'Œil nu bourdonne
Et l'oiseau a laissé pour tout aiguillon tendre
À la mine d'argent l'empreinte double de ses pattes
Comme d'amoureuses morsures
Dans le sable mouvant de vos lunes rebondies.
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 3:42 AM UTC
"I followed Him.
I heard His voice,
So quiet, and kind,
My fate is bound, to seek and find,
the Love, I sought, comes from above,
he filled my cup, to brim with love.
The truth that day, I lost the earth,
flesh decays to dust, for spirits'birth.
Lines grimly etched, in horror stay,
the final act about to play.
That crystal light, not visible to worldly men,
they reel in fright, aghast at skin,
like the portrait of Dorian Gray,
their luciferic light, shines bold as day,
starlight descending to infra red decay.
I pick up my cross with heaviest heart,
can't find forgiveness, though that's my part.
Knowing this truth, I soldier on,
karmic bound, to forgive their wrongs.
His message, I repeat, is love turned tough,
change your ways, enough is enough.
My star I found, is freedoms dove,
not our words, our actions, reveal true love."
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 9:16 PM UTC
Why the incessant heart ache
that comes with its persisting beat
the reiteration of menacing thoughts
-Inability to sit still in your seat.
a clenching jaw & those rapid eyes
implies the existence of a disturbed soul,
trapped between heavy walls of meat
at the pit of the minds' profound hole.
Are you in distress & unrest
in a state of mournful agitation
inflicted into lifes entangled turbulence
with no forewarning or invitation
unwelcome thoughts linger to & fro
pacing through the hallway of your head
from the livid past to a murky future
Your senses awoke in - infrared.
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 3:26 PM UTC