"irenic" poems
Phantasmagoria, I was preached, is sin:
To clutch to dreamlings is ill-will;
To ponder about freedom is misanthropy,
But to succumb fosters good- will
An iota of irenic coexistence, fugitive,
Washes away rebellious thoughts? No!
Men, remains of flesh, tricked, eros,
Follow their desires, where the go?
‘Son, to this earth belong we, transient
Creatures are we; have to dwell on ‘their’
Wishes, weak, weary, a love-in, common-
Touch; ‘they’ have teeth and scare.’
Worm’s eye view, attainder, yield,
Stop! Cul-de-sac! Walls! Apartheid Walls!
High! Not enough to thwart efforts to
Seek freedom, e’en via blood rainfalls.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
Shadow's deep charm
Shadow living clues this servant ever bound to scattered light and real persons and things strange that something perceived
As empty and practically meaningless would make our world boring and sad without its presence and
Before slash and gore movies dulled our sensibilities and we became so hardened back then with just a shadow placed
Right in the scene it could create adequate fear what tremendous achievements impressionist painters made when they
First recreated with bluish light or sky light shadow in their paintings how freeing and extensive this touch
Meant to paintings no longer bound to in some cases drab dark black shadows but the soft shadow
Seemingly blending moon light not just sharp silver but giving a comfortable glow that would be carried
And experienced where ever the painting was displayed one of notable richness is Orchard in bloom
With poplars you’re standing at a wall with a great ornate wooden door you open and enter your senses
Are flooded as you take in this masterpiece a spell spreads over your being muted levels allow the rising
Of its central theme to move in the tender waves out of total quiet stillness everything whispers its
Voice powerful it drifts in the desert it would surely be a mirage but this is a desert of quiet for
Ennobling your irenic needs to be found not out in fields observing slow moving clouds overhead to
Soothe or a bird in exquisite slow flight but you get all of it by it being created by a master artist
Singularly For your pleasure and the vanquishing of disturbing thoughts that can take peace from us in
Hectic days that at times life must demand you look and a change occurs it’s not your eyes seeing but
Your soul it hungers for those times of retreat and contemplation it feeds on delicacies that are rich
In emotional content outwardly it does the quiet work of strengthening mind and body freshness
Develops as seeds hidden grow unseen but will provide health and nourishment in coming days
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 2:07 PM UTC
Fortify this Amozanian square,
Wherith Baldheads are anguished,
No other place shall compare!!!!
Altered skin wearers,
Sleeve wearing tribesmen!!!
Amourostity don't leave me to far gone,
Showeth me love,
Showeth me loving kindness,
Shower me thy grain!!!
And thine finess....
Fruition comes suddenly,
Studdingly the airs wind stays chill,
Dead/lock exhibitions of fan fare latitude!!!!
A blonde chapter of northern affairs,
How changeable is ones man I can smile!!!
Defilement she hath seen,
Derider,
Non abider,
Doesn't fit on thine circuited scene...
What a guise to all wherin whom sleep!!!
Guardeth thy soul,
Their mind is of allotrope,
You'll whimper as they weepeth!!!!
Flourisher,
Nourisher of nutrientral push!!!
Snappish,
Irenic, lover of pre school books!!!!
Sorceries own solvent,
Dissolvent of surmise talk,
Your a new age Delilah thou fresh smelling mucosa you!!!!!
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
I am here And so is pain
Walking with me on sorrows lane
Streetlights busted
With the memory of those no longer trusted
Potholes of misery
Echoing with the cries of good memories
"Shh darling I was there too"
I don't say the fact that nothing can save you
Sure you may be able to climb out of it
But on this road there's no point in irenic
I'll be alone until I die
" Not while I am by your side"
Oh right, my beautiful loving bride
My husband I'll be stuck with for the rest life
The thing that's been married to me since birth
Pain itself, a constant honeymoon of hurt
And yes, before you ask, pain has no gender
Congrats, everyone's thrown in the blender
Though I can't blame them, they give me company
I'm also not the one who decides if they leave
So as they drag me down this road and the road rash burns
I want to escape but we've taken too many turns
By now I'm far to lost in this maze
I'm forever trapped, counting the days
As the days turn to months and eventually years
And this labyrinth constantly changes so I don't know where's here
I stretch my hand to pains and they gladly take it with one cost
Poison seeps into my veins and I'm okay with being lost
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 4:26 PM UTC
By avenues vague and secret,
visited by devils and regret,
whither the Wraith of Manes
stands firm and tall and reigns,
thither in the dark acres stead;
and like a vapor inside my head,
lingers there to haunt and spread.
Abysmal troughs and a great deluge,
and rifts, and dens, and silva's huge,
with silhouette's none can recover
for the weeps that pour all over;
ridges plunging into Nevermore,
into waters devoid of any shore;
swells that spasmodically aspire,
upsurging in welkins full of fire.
For in my soul regrets are legion,
but it's an irenic and placid region-
because the wraith which did haunt,
is now seen as wispy, thin, and gaunt.
I wend my way straight through him,
and I refuse to ever again view him.
The Wraith of Manes is now banished,
from terrible dreams, now vanished.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 11:41 PM UTC
your skin is made of cosmic foliage —
voice that is mellifluous to my ears.
beneath your pulchritudinous image,
you're engulfed in pain for years.
i know you want to go back to those halcyon days.
love, you were irenic to your chaotic mind
because you know no one stays
and loneliness you only find.
you look up at a gloomy night sky
and smiled at a solitary coruscant star.
telling your heartfelt miseries to a butterfly —
you're a walking, breathing and talking scar.
i inscribe this poem to a quaintrelle
whose undeniably sturdy yet frail.
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 10:53 PM UTC
The Universe will not break you
It rubs sweven pain to wake you
For I'm a solivagant in my latibule
Hugging my demons in irenic rule
Humans flash in multi-phosphenes
Supernovas blending into scenes
Fighting until they are consumed
The end is stardust as assumed
Dividing the Ge Earth into stakes
And all is only you that it takes
Strangling their orenda in dismay
Then departing in the Milky Way
∴ Lyna Salman
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 6:23 PM UTC
blackness surrounds in charcoal billows,
sleepless stillness
head laid upon pillow.
isolation creeps,
though I prayed its beckon no sooner.
drifting through the limitless, barren lacuna.
metanoia of myself, induratized my mind.
though a beast, rantipole and restless
rages inside.
a quest irenic, and chaotic the same.
two sides of the same coin,
acceptance, and blame.
both
love and hate,
gorged and hollow.
cloaked over every
white pill I swallow.
to go to bed at night,
and awake with morning day.
is it to rerun through
the monotonous cycle I've built?
or to quietly keep me sane?
Mar 17, 2020
Mar 17, 2020 at 12:07 AM UTC