"janus" poems
I contemplate these crossings illuminated by clouds
between a shape of thought and its veils
we didn't invent a screen-reality
it was already there, in the scriptorium of mind
I contemplate this geography known only by fingertips
unworded broken lines in tense bodies
I wonder about the lineage of tears, of hopes
how we grow old in this ardour, in the burning of bridges
I nod, I frown at the glaze of time
I move to the center of seeing like a novice
I gaze at the poliphony of being
at our Janus faced trade with flames
I say to myself it's good to decenter the "I" in this poem
however, there is no purity of words
height after height and depth after depth
we betray a simple evidence: we belong to the same air
will we regret our rush towards the malaise of thought,
will we be rowing over the theft of light?
an invisible will is building up, an antifragile declamation,
the soul's defamation
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 3:11 PM UTC
There, she is there. She moves in the cold September morning
it's hours yet till dawn but she knows neither light nor dark
nor scarcely where she is. A light, a door, stone steps. She walks
straight up them, eyes ahead; her body rigid as she jerks
forward towards the door, the handle, and suddenly the man
behind the desk. He looks up, his breath stops
he sees her tragic bright eyes, he sees the blood, and
how she holds those small white-knuckled hands; he watches
her terrible face. He knows without asking, but he asks.
They are locked already into an unspeakable knowledge,
only yesterday she was here, distraught and pleading,
it was his chance for brilliance — or at least for goodness —
and he missed it. He has become her jailer now, who
could have been her saviour. He wholly understands,
and it is too late. No one else will ever come to him and say
'Help me, take me, please, before I do this thing . . .'
He will be haunted now for ever by his trial, deceptive
as it was, and he found wanting. No one will accuse him
and he can never be forgiven. His uniform rustles slightly
as he rises, his single offer a cup of institution coffee,
potion for the ****** 'Your jacket's all ****** take it off.'
Oh cry for the breaking day, the sleeping pillows shocked
by phone calls, messages, alarms, weep now and every morning
for the Janus faces, back to back, of guilt and innocence.
3.3k
Her name was Artemis.
She had a love.
Unrequited.
Not unheard of.
His name was Janus.
He was headstrong.
Never known this love.
And hadn't known her long.
He said Hello
So simple. So sweet.
It blew her gently
Right off her feet.
His shine was effervescent.
Her eyes aglow.
Her heart was on fire.
He didn't know.
All she wanted
Was to make him stay
But he was in flight
She had to find another way
It happened so fast
It flowed so fluidly
Their tale was painful
I tell you. It ruined me.
He was with a girl.
He stroked her hair.
Caressed her face.
They were a pair.
Artemis died
Inside that night
Clutched her soul
As it lost its fight.
She only wanted
The pain to end
I've been there before
I understand.
I didn't resist
When she took me here
To the open water
The blue so clear.
At the edge of the bluff
Hand in hand
I'd do anything for her.
My mirror-twin sister, my best friend.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
Janus am I; oldest of potentates;
Forward I look, and backward, and below
I count, as god of avenues and gates,
The years that through my portals come and go.
I block the roads, and drift the fields with snow;
I chase the wild-fowl from the frozen fen;
My frosts congeal the rivers in their flow,
My fires light up the hearths and hearts of men.
2.6k
I fell in love with the meaning of Janus
Bing! Gone!
I'm a fuzz
Transient ~
I know that I feel...
ZWOOPDEBOOP
DAN DAN DAHHH!
Waaaza!
What am I feeling. Doing?
Looking for comfort
Distract me
Heal me??
I can't sleep
I have long beautiful nails
Bourgeois!
He touched my feet.
I don't know.
I like cuddling people.
Just for fun...
Well, it's probably not fun,
The veil of ignorance
C
R
A
S
H
E
D
Is anyone actually happy and content?
I think we're all broken and sorrowful,
Enjoying the little moments.
Maybe it's where the stars are at.
I'm scared. Terrified.
The only seat that does not have a seatbelt in this coach is mine, the drivers,... I'm not sure what that says about how they value their employees.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
I don’t want to cut myself open on a stage,
Make my blood curdle on command.
Applaud me, will you?
This idea of sisterhood, this union
At the end of the play
One lives, one dies, and one has the glory
of letting the curtain fall down
Down on the story
Performed to move people.
I’m not a performer,
Not a thespian, actress or Janus,
I have the one face and that’s all I’ve got,
Like it or not.
My clothes are not a costume,
There’s no cue for me
That tells when to go on.
I speak now, with lines rehearsed
To keep playing the fool
The one no-one listens to.
Do you like me?
Do you like me?
Do you like me?
Please applaud.
I am not an act, waiting for an audience.
I do not respond to applause,
There’s no curtain call,
No stage light in my place
That tells me where to fall.
I can’t keep playing
Can’t keep pretending
I’m the one who decides to walk out
On all of this, now.
It’s the final call, that one last bow
And thus ends the show,
See you next week, with all your friends in tow.
A standing ovation,
A brief revelation
I don’t want this, quick,
Act like it’s all part of it,
Stumbling’s funny, err on the side of performance,
Don’t reveal the truth, don’t bleed on the stage floor,
It’s all fake. All pretend, I’m no actor,
but I perform every minute of the day.
I’m not sure my heart’s real.
Sep 14, 2021
Sep 14, 2021 at 4:50 AM UTC
Alas, I am only moments away
Be quick and painless should you be
Coward I may be but sweet
Departure will set me free
Evergreen my soul shall remain
Forgotten my name so let it befall
Go my shadows and run free
Hurt I shall no longer feel
Iapetus bids me farewell
Janus takes my hand
Keres caroled hymns of a psyche finally joining the band
Loving the way that fate has been cruel
My steps begin to falter as
Nostalgia suddenly embraces me
Once more I am at the cross roads
Played by to suffer forever I will be
Quest of mine, I failed you
Reaching for eternal bliss
Seduced to cut loose
To be far away from my own inferno
Understood my reasons will never be
Vain your pleas will become
Walls of Jericho crumbled down as did my spirit
Xenophobic our world has turned out
Young and carefree cease to exist
Zealotry towards living shall soon come to pass
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
I am Janus, born and lived of two faces.
One, a tragic Hero; who loved for all and forsook fame for honor.
A paragon whose powers and skills remained dormant, forgotten.
Created from a darkness so black that light could only ever be the way forward.
He, so loving the world and resigned to protect; would fall at the strength of his own sword to keep the Villain at bay.
His other face, the frightening Villain; he thirsts for the unparalleled fear in the eyes of the unprepared masses, who wide awaken their darkest fear before their very eyes, at his presence.
Forged from the evil of a holy goodness ripped too sweetly from his purpose, and with much foreknowledge of the searing light;
He merely wishes to satiate his amusement, by enslaving the Hero to defend against his endless onslaught.
I am Janus, cloven in two;
Heart and Soul, Mind and Body.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
(i see) two scions dance in traffic: sun and moon,
sky and stars; God’s two heirs
dancing in traffic as if they weren’t demigods but
small maya birds - transfixed
mortals, fighting to keep away from the blinding
might their status affords them.
as His children their world and its light is for their taking,
of which they can feed - or not:
they go on instead like hungry wolves, next to I, rising
(sidelined, falling) flagging down jeeps
in the thick of the Vinzons Hall jeepney stop. They bark loud
and cheerily to keep idle; from unravelling
their wax-worn strings. They are birds guided by concrete routes,
those yearning to feel its bleakness
in each syllable creeping up their gold-and-marble throats:
the soft choke of exhaust smoke
and the rosiness of their gaunt in the face of all-knowing fate:
that of snatching from death
a world not theirs. They declare: “Perseus we are not, and
Janus we choose.” They shuttlling
commuters obscure and without fuss and without end
to and fro, where they come
they spit on the universe in baggy basketball shorts
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
There once was a pirate named Janus
whose deeds were particularly heinous,
so when he was caught
the trial was short:
Two years with a mouse up his ****
Oh, the agony,
no rest, even when I sit.
Two years, a long time!
When Janus was finally free
the mouse was nowhere to see
but Janus was clever,
instead of a lever
he lured it out with a Brie.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
August nights are deceptive
in almost every way.
Chivalry may only go so far
two blocks in the dark.
Pausing in natural progression
cross-legged pavement within a 70s orange halo
to pet the neighborhood cat and to measure
the circumstances of the crossroads.
To measure up the exhausted opponents
of the oldest colosseum.
your frown spoke only negations
betrayed by your truth-or-dare eyes.
whites revealing an ancient wound,
irises concealing an urgency
that spread to me on the sidewalk
like purple chalk on the driveway
Or tendrils of ink in water.
I watch the Janus of your being
oscillate like glass
afraid of breaking itself.
The mouth that denies
is the mouth that calls its own bluff
Renouncing its resolve all over
damp trembling skin and
the high of oxytocin.
I'll... I'll see you again tomorrow?
August nights are deceptive
in almost every way.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC
Love is a whip
and life but
a flogged target
plump cheeks rosy with
regret
Anticipation
and defiance.
fate is the grease-
and the fire
And we are feeble
wicks
thus, as the candle flame
falters and spits-
I grow afraid.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
The moon wore Janus masks last night,
Winking and nudging at our daily shenanigans;
Our wrong turns, the vanity of our foibles,
The apprehension of non-events,
Poking at our comedy of errors.
Our youthful angst.
The other mask keeps an eye closed
To our secrets,
The thoughts we cannot share;
Our furcht of past to future
Since our first fires,
Since someone said, You've said too much,
Or, What business is that of yours?
I've buried my losses beneath that mask,
With all the irreplaceable loves and deaths
Of my real drama.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
On a rickety bridge,
across roaring Rubicon,
in spate, he stands,
holding on to a
Janus faced moment,
that will decide his fate,
once and for all.
He gazes at the rushing-
red waters, from the hills,
madly impatient to reach the sea,
at the earliest,
akin the ****** frenzy at the ******
or life racing towards death, to culminate, dissolve.
Some message, he has in it.He looks on, in silence.
*Two options, his mind discerns,
cross the river and trudge
to the rendezvous, where
the union has to take place,
with his sweet heart, of long years,
or jump in to the surging waters
that tempts, from the time of birth,
and submit oneself
to the hands of nature,
and thereby forget all tribulations.*
**He shuts his eyes and contemplates,
then, his moment of truth comes.**
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:09 AM UTC
We walk together—
Tempests, tears in a meadow,
One red winged blackbird.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
I Martius am! Once first, and now the third!
To lead the Year was my appointed place;
A mortal dispossessed me by a word,
And set there Janus with the double face.
Hence I make war on all the human race;
I shake the cities with my hurricanes;
I flood the rivers and their banks efface,
And drown the farms and hamlets with my rains.
1.7k
‘What a piece of work is a man!’
……… ………
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust’
From Shakespeare, through Hamlet
It rings down to generations
And falls heavily on my ears too
In vain, I attempt to probe into the mystery
Nay, the enigma called man
Both in the silence of my solitude
And in the learned circle of pundits
(Fool…..
Unable to find who you are
Can you venture to say who the other man is?)
Man is a jumble of contradictions,
I know….A hard nut to crack!
So unfathomable, so mysterious
At once a Satan and an angel
To the outer world I am someone
But in the well guarded cellars of my privacy
Aren’t I different?
Hiding my innards to light
As every other man
At times, I feel so proud
Excessively in love with my own image
Like Narcissus, the poor hunter boy
Fated by gods to languish
On the bank of a pond,
Over his own floating image!
However with all my strength within
Do I not feel as helpless as Prometheus bound?
Waiting for a Hercules to come
And save me from my plight
If Prometheus’ ******* was God willed
Mine is self willed…! Is the difference so very crucial?
Sometimes I feel I am Janus
Looking backward and forward
Into my past and my future
Never living in the present
Or am I more a Sisyphus
Eternally rolling a rock over to the hill
From where it keeps falling down
Sometimes I wonder
Amid the splendor, do I not starve?
Like Tantalus of Greece in the pool
Beneath the tree, with the low lying branches of fruits
Constantly eluding his grasp
And the water, ever receding before
He could take a drink!
As a poet how I wish I could
Equate myself with Calliope
Carving my mind on the wax tablet
With stylus, my pen and coloring it with my fancy
Or Orpheus, so skilled in music
That with my sad musings
I can make even Hades weep
And the rocks fall in line
I shudder to be a Medusa
Turning everyone to a stone
With my sinister glance!
Instead, I want to be one of the Graces
And never one among the Gorgons
Pitched in this gallery
Of queer mythological entities
I wonder how I appear to others
And whom I resemble more!
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
Forsooth, this *** of thine, so pert and tight
and Denim clad, orbs of wanton desire
that gadded man did wrest folly, and smite
wretched fortitude with embolden'd fire
of lust. verily, a janus faced Goddess
temptress to the recklings of gawded cheeks.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
I love you.
You make me smile,
You compliment my abilities
And you make me feel special,
Worthwhile.
When I'm with you,
I feel ecstatic and joyful.
Anything you want,
I am here to do.
------
I hate myself.
No-one else around,
I tear apart my own features,
I make me feel hideous,
Worthless.
When I'm with myself,
I feel barren and lifeless.
Anything that will bring you back,
I am here to do.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 2:24 PM UTC
Looking through the window
There
A maadatha
A kulakozhi
You narrate
The maadatha
Trails
In the silhouette of
The kulakozhi
The kulakozhi is swift
The maadatha callow
Unable to reach
Anywhere near
The kulakozhi flees
Abandoning
The maadatha
Poor maadatha
You narrate.
How unkind
Can a kulakozhi get?
Tell tales
And then
I saw the picture
In the window square
In my picture
It was the maadatha
Who flew away
Must have had
Enormous wings!
The guileless Kulakozhi
There it is
Hiding behind that wild bush
Terrified
You,
Beside the window
Me,
Behind the bush here
Janus faced
Anguish
With wings
And without.
Translation : Shyma . P
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
An unstoppable ancient cyclone should hold man's dreams accountable, an eternal flame if the soul, already restless to the core, wanted to flicker; perhaps no one and nothing has time to wait with dignity, and await the order of the final tests. The Janus shadow of sleeping jellyfish creeps through our rusty coils, when man can no longer possess the ability to make his active shrinking, hazelnut-brain remember - afraid - perhaps it will be swallowed up by the insidious vibration-wave of self-destructive waves.
Spread fingers can no longer, tremblingly, embrace the loyalty of the Universe, to which they once swore with the word of the heart according to the laws of mortals. The small, frayed erosion of the body has been lurking helplessly for thirty or so years and does not ask, it only acts. Behind the person's back, old love-intoxications, eternal friendships guarded with fear, when everything seemed crystal clear and perhaps even simpler than it does now, still glow like a fading ember; the continuously drifting Time simultaneously wears, carves, shapes and if the person foolishly does not pay attention at all, what could never have been born is destroyed, that the attractive ara - at that time - did not want a sweetly babbling baby because of her bikini line.
As a mortal - even so -, he has cheated himself a lot, because he has been constantly sobered by the fierce series of judgment days; if necessary, if not for the last time, the merciless, brutal whip of Reality can strike him at any time. A restless, storm-beaten soul cannot rest in peace and quiet; It must dismantle itself, as a supposedly solid cell-molecule, which is being squeezed with increasingly ruthless executioner-like rigidity by the fetters of the body's diseases.
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 12:17 AM UTC
I
Whether inner or outer, the matter is naught
Many sought after what cannot be bought
Though heart and mind is where it all lies
An impeccable vision beyond your mere eyes.
The signature mark of human kind
Dream and reality all intertwined
Cold as ice, hot as raw fire
Grand aesthetic for all to admire –
Seldom achieved, unable to build
Quenches all thirst, all hungers fulfilled
With all imperfections, itself so flawless
Rules are negated; thus, it remains lawless
Greatest of weapons bound by no defence
For it may be subtle, yet so intense
Partnered with love, a potent ideal
Beauty will call, no need to conceal.
II
Silence lay steadily against the barren walls
Aging wood, icy stone
An empty carcass rotting away
Unable to feel or be felt
Allowing nothing in or out
Though a poison seeps within its walls
Changing it, from what it was once before
Now wearing a mask as if to disguise,
The unseen horrors lurking inside
Goblins and ghouls are the least of your worry
For what lies inside is far more heinous
Beauty’s opposition, readily awaits
No longer a guise hiding the truth -
Reality is met with eager eyes
A stammering figure soundlessly screaming
Hauling chains and a mirror of lies,
Though not evil, a choice in itself
Ugliness within can often be mended.
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 4:44 PM UTC
I no longer see
The purpose of your role
When you betrayed us,
And others altogether
As if we’re lowly like
Maggots in the eyes
Of common men.
You’re no Guardian
O’ mine, whence the
Moment you laid
Upon that Hand o’ yours
That bludgeoned this
Childlike glee, wakening
A great sense in me that
You have the face of Janus,
But you do not embody
All beginnings;
It was all but nought,
Making a fool out of me
As if I’m an imbecile
To canonize yourself
As a Patron Saint of Fairy Tales
In which a venerable testament
To those dogmatic scoundrels
That borne the blood o’ *******
Which flows in their veins…
So you, are no Paragon, but a Fool-Saint
And speak no Tongues of Fire;
But full of air and a thorny tongue
That snaps like a whip
Hence, a brute, an imp
That is an uptight ****
A Guardian to the so-and-so’s.
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 6:33 AM UTC
The winter Months used to not be accounted for,
they were the annual time away from Time;
a time of parties, feasts, and, shall we say, celebration of survival;
celebrating the harvest and, shall we say, fertility;
that you and yours may outlast
the cold, dead Winter.
January was eventually recognized as part of time
and was named for the Roman two-faced God Janus;
a time of duplicity and duality
a time of unpredictability
a time, somewhat analogous to a gateway leading to a new cycle
though, perhaps also, a time for looking the other way, as it were:
I suspect that the expression "When in Rome..."
was derived from those Winter non-months of debauchery
where the people from out-of-town would come into Rome,
where the party was, company was plentiful, and it was warm,
and decide to partake in various aspects of pagan Roman life otherwise inaccessible to them
while distributing few, if any, regards for their new-found brumal unorthodoxy
and hence the expression: "When in Rome, do as the Romans."
That's just my theory on it, though.
Take it or leave it, or perhaps somewhere in between.
Happy Winter!
Time to drink, feast, **** and be merry!
It's only Human, apparently!
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
Comedy or Tragedy
smiling frowns
wicked clowns
up - DOWN
Dark - Light
wrong - right
rude - polite
weakness - might
run - fight
Blindness - Sight
healthy - sick
slow - quick
thin - thick
pierce - nick
wax - wick
the flames will lick
Flint or wood
Evil - Good
all that can be understood
without God
without Christ's Grace
there is the evil
Janus Face
SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/14/2016
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 2:23 PM UTC