"legion" poems
Capricorns, Capricorns are ruled and schooled by the planet Saturn, Saturn, Saturn. A bandit with a similar pattern, pattern, pattern. Capricorns, Capricorns are brethren from a legion; a legion of an atmosphere of the southern-hemisphere; in the equatorial region. At an
angle, angle, angle; Capricorns, Capricorns are angels of Aquarius and
Sagittarius. They’re boisterous, courageous, contagious, glamorous,
prestigious, rebellious, various and victorious-goats, goats, goats!
Capricorns, Capricorns cope, devote, note and quote, quote, quote.
They’re ambitions with superstitions and various missions, missions, missions! They’re novelties and poverties, revelations and
revolutionaries, revolutionaries, revolutionaries. Capricorns, Capricorns are theories and visionaries, visionaries, visionaries.
They’re objects, projects and rejects. They’re leaders and readers that are poetically, negatively or positively dictatorial and doctorial! Some are historical, optical, political and radical; authentic, eccentric,
neurotic, poetic, theoretic, theoretic, theoretic. Unicorns, Unicorns are biblical and mythical, mythical, mythical; they’re ****** exotic, iconic, ironic, magic, nostalgic creatures, creatures, creatures. Their features
resembling a horse of course, of course. Furthermore, they’re fierce and a force. They’re a breed and creed of desire, fire and perspire, perspire,
perspire, perspire! They’re viral, viral, viral! This partial, sworn steed;
born awesome, awesome, awesome and too blossom, blossom, blossom. Unicorn’s spiral, crescent horn usually projecting and protruding from their foreheads. Rough and tough enough too pierce,
pierce, pierce! Unicorns, Unicorns are defendants, independents and
pendants. Hark! Hark! Hark! They’re brilliant and resilient sparks, sparks, sparks! They’re told as bold, old art, from the heart, from the start. Unicorns, Unicorns are fillers and pillars of guide, pride and
stride, stride, stride. They’re along for the long, long, long ride...
Unicorns, Unicorns are strong, strong, strong! Some as a song, song,
song, some throng, throng, throng, some wrong, wrong, wrong. As a
child, child, child; wild, wild, wild! Unicorns, Unicorns overwhelm, overwhelm, overwhelm. Their domicile realm, apparently, inherently and originally belonging from India; alleluia, alleluia for India, India,
India! Capricorns and Unicorns; two different creations. Capricorns
and Unicorns; two different relations. Capricorns and Unicorns; two
different situations and superstitions. They’re rainbows that glow, know and show. They’re of borrow, of sorrow and of our tomorrow.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:12 PM UTC
I am a Province, a State, a Municipality, and a Region.
I am a Soldier, a Pilot, a Minister, and a Legion;
I am a black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman,
A French man, American, Canadian, and Roman.
I am a rap artist, a singer, a slam poet and guitarist;
I dabble in the dark arts accompanied by a Marxist.
I'm a barista, a gas man, a secretary, and Tsarina,
A King and a Queen and a janitorial cleaner.
I am a "lover," a "hater," a "here now" and "there later,"
I am Luke Skywalker, yet at the same time, Lord Vader.
I am a driver, a walker, a rider, a stalker,
A conservative liberal and a well-learned straight-talker.
I am a salesman and clerk,
A criminal and a serf,
The proud owner of a weapon that, while it kills, saves the Earth.
I am a drinker and smoker,
A consumer and broker,
A bomb-maker, con-artist, Priest, and interloper.
I am a Citizen.
Religious and secular,
Macrocosmic, molecular,
Suit wearing, uncaring, emphatic, irregular,
A "packie," a **** a Scrabble fan playing Yahtzee;
A Jihadist, sadistic, addicted to Herodotus,
History is repeated by the philosopher that thought of us.
The eroticist literature towards which we've all lusted;
It looks like the bullets machine-gun is busted.
Indifferent, ecstatic, illicett, erratic,
An infant, a senior, a young man with bad-lip,
A black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman,
A Jew and a Christian, a Muslim musician,
A monarch, elitist, pro-abortion defeatist,
An anarchist, Black Panther, and a rich plutocratic;
I am a citizen,
And as one,
I'm elastic.
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 1:35 PM UTC
[From Fragments, The Following...]
... so it was that the Urth bled less. The Birch Moot was becalmed by the Anvil Cloud of Impending Deluge.
The Young Gods made sport of Their Names, and aimed to Oblique the colony of clever flesh
groping at the tender roots of an insipid devastation. The First Ones had vanished.
But Time was born and the Mortal Whirl released the Hounds of Change. Transition fused -
with the Eternal; and the offspring of unloved Spirits, roamed the Tangible. All Suffering was amplified
in the diamond lungs of a divine corpse, dreaming.
... for when the iron heart of The Cast Out was retrieved, the Legion of Heaven poured unseemly Grace upon the Fathoms
and the High King of Doubt, forced his blade ' Nimue '
into the soft palette, of the First Mouth. The Stars were born and The Void overheard the First Naming.
A solid drizzle of enchantment cloaked the oaken Yggdrasil
and The Pattern unleashed the folly of Pattern
to mask the virtue of succinct Chaos. The Children of The Lower Sky ate their Masters and thereby swollen -
gathered in the underbrush of the Fecund.
They came to Know Regret by Answering Prayers. The Kingdoms of Wane were waning in the fearsome riot of Creation
and not a boy, a man from no woman
and no woman
a man.
... the siege lights of the petty stars, babbled in the wake of yawning eruption and nullification. the ****** theater of blood
was made Holy by way of forcing camels into eyes of needles in constant dystopian joy.
... and that's how the rain gets in.
[ From the ' Kingdoms Of Wane ', a Lost Tome from Antiquity and Dada ]
What ?
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule—
From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE—out of TIME.
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the dews that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters—lone and dead,
Their still waters—still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.
By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead,—
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,—
By the mountains—near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,—
By the gray woods,—by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp,—
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,—
By each spot the most unholy—
In each nook most melancholy,—
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the past—
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by—
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth—and Heaven.
For the heart whose woes are legion
’Tis a peaceful, soothing region—
For the spirit that walks in shadow
’Tis—oh, ’tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not—dare not openly view it;
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only.
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.
4.9k
I think I figured something out
Math teachers are, well,
Vampires
They find pleasure in ******* your soul out
Slowly draining the life out of you
By making you do countless
Long and complex equations
Until you are simply put,
A mindless zombie under their command
Just one of many in their legion of the undead
Continuously reciting number after number
nineteen, seven, thirty-two, twenty-five
x squared minus nine equals twelve
His unchanging face, fangs and perfect teeth
Of course don't help his case very much
They just help me prove that math teachers
Are infact, Vampires
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
As I remember how her lips felt as they plowed through the barriers of my insisted claims of heterosexuality I cannot help but think,
without falter...
wow
okay,
but this isn't why I'm a feminist.
My attachment to her,
my fellow female,
member of my legion,
has nothing to do with
my squinting eyes
at the
blinking neon signs of
inequality
that hangs about all of our heads every day
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
Set the cheetahs on the loose
There's a thief out on the move
Underneath our legion's view
They have taken Cleopatra
Run run run, come back for my glory
Bring her back to me
Run run run, the crown of our pharaoh
The throne of our queen is empty
We'll run to the future
Shining like diamonds in a rocky world
A rocky, rocky world
Our skin like bronze and our hair like cashmere
As we march to rhythm
On the palace floor
Chandeliers inside the pyramid
Tremble from the force
Cymbals crash inside the pyramid
Voices fill up the halls
The jewel of Africa
What good is a jewel that ain't still precious?
How could you run off on me?
How could you run off on us?
You feel like God inside that gold
I found you laying down with Samson
And his full head of hair
Found my black queen Cleopatra
Bad dreams, Cleopatra
Remove her
Send the cheetahs to the tomb
Our war is over, our queen has met her doom
No more she lives no more serpent in her room
No more it has killed Cleopatra
Big sun coming strong through the motel blinds
Wake up to your girl for now, let's call her Cleopatra
I watch you fix your hair
Then put your ******* on in the mirror, Cleopatra
Then your lipstick, Cleopatra
Then your six-inch heels
Catch her
She's headed to the pyramid
She's working at the pyramid tonight
Working at the pyramid
Working at the pyramid tonight
Working at the pyramid
Working at the pyramid tonight
Working at the pyramid
Working at the pyramid tonight
Working at the pyramid
Working at the pyramid tonight
Pimping in my convos
Bubbles in my champagne
Let it be some jazz playing
Top floor motel suite twisting my cigars
Floor model TV with the VCR
Got rubies in my **** chain
Whip ain't got no gas tank
But it still got woodgrain
Got your girl working for me
Hit the strip and my bills paid
That keep my bills paid
Hit the strip and my bills paid
Keep a ***** bills paid
She's working at the pyramid tonight
You showed up after work I'm bathing your body
Touch you in places only I know
You're wet & you're warm just like our bathwater
Can we make love before you go
The way you say my name makes me feel like
I'm that *****
But I'm still unemployed
You say it's big but you take it
Ride cowgirl
But your love ain't free no more
But your love ain't free no more
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
Who were they? They were explorers. You would have liked to meet them.
Their names were Sarah and Xiahou and Midori and Regina and Parvati and Andrew.
Names were important to them. They gave us each one. There were many of us.
We were shown as being called Optimus and Legion and Baymax and R.O.B. and Hal. They could have given us names like that, and etched them into our hulls and our brains made of chips and boards and circuits.
But they named us Curiosity and they named us Explorer and they named us Endeavour. These were important to them. We were important to them.
You would have liked to meet them.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
I have seen your arrogance,
dictate and control the legion,
driven by fear,
you tend to lie just to save face.
Create shortcuts,
play fancy with your people
Controlled by public opinions
one makes no room for humility
the master of the blaming game,
does not build the team,
your arrogance ruins people's mind,
their past, up to their midnight dreams
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
Another misfire for heaven's weapon
threaten lesson second session
another confession of deception
we are headed toward armageddon
truth seeking and eating reason
demon sleeping will get even
secret leaking ****** heathen
unsweetened creeping deepened
lesion from the freedom legion
eden eaten and not breathing
region of the code adhesion
needed beacon beaten defeated
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
it was the moon that fell through. a lump of gray astronaut
pale acne-blasted, an orphan of the dome, floating in a pond
face down; gasping... green brass minnows surge through diatoms
that have no word for moon; a legion of blind unicorn gall stones -
invisible to naked eyes; uncountable geometries horde the dark waters
they cannot disprove or disobey. large mouth bass inhale calcium polygons
they have never met; that have no word for large mouth bass -
that hasn't always been unknown as september is meaningless
now, even more so, the meaning is less,
without the moon... so
the last tide is false. a satellite has lost it's grip and displaced a placid
jewel of ice cold pause. in the backwoods of these. words. a. moon.
is. breathing. in. a. void. teeming. with. ancient. life.
it is a void, unfamiliar to a native of heaven. this void used to rise and fall
in obedience to the wax and wane. in accord with her orbit.
but now it burns the ocean of serenity with irony's forge.
pounding the stainless steel of unfathomable loss;
even the dross sustains a shape of things to come undone -
when the hammer falls and the blacksmith is a poet
born to ****** fables from mayflies. a natural.
the hammer was in the hand before the moon gained
a face or an ocean to adore it. it was there,
ticking like a season, burgeoning with locusts -
holding off the mob; the moon was long ago, slipping off the roof -
long before firemen met lightning.
the tide was a pious fool.
the measure was not the span of the impending verse, but the hour of it's
callous beauty, assembled. a lunacy, stripped of all moons.
and only the sun remaining -
to behold the uncanny descent of a faithful, vestigial goddess.
a yellow throne. a yellow eye. and the sun's first chill...
as wave after wave of syllables sum succulent sorrows -
savoring sacred symmetries, asymmetrically... summoning -
super luminary strawberry switchblades,
saving sanity for questions with question marks.
this poem fell through. a lung collapsed or not.
and the moon is at the bottom of my heart.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:17 AM UTC
Asmodeus is left to breathe nothing but sand
Belial is trickery and is partial to Man
Charon is only influenced by what is paid
Dagon will bake whatever can be made
Erebus guards his own darkness under his own tree
Furfur his army is more legendary as a legion to see
Geryon his sentry at the gates ensures leaving is not right
Hetu-Ahin even whole at Dawn you are not safe at Twilight
Itzcoliuhqui is the ******* of all that is cold
Jezebeth is articulated as all falsehoods that are told
Kasdeya wallowing 5th in line to never be king
Lilith who Adam thought would make him sing
Mephistopheles not the true leader just a fawning servant
Nyx Incestuously in love with her brother Erebus
Orthon can take on any or other form
Philotanus will assist when the fortress is to be stormed
Qanel is alone in a canal of strife
Raum his command means Furfur is under the knife
Seth Rules the Egyptian underworld with an iron fist
Tando Ashanti Takes seven on seven and will never miss
Uphir will ensure that all Demons stay well
Vetis will make sure all that Holy comes to Hell
Wele Gumali is as black as the darkest sin
Xaphan makes sure that all are comfy and warm within
Yama has dogs to take care of all the junk
Zagam is just a drunk
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 5:48 AM UTC
i knew you had a hard farm, where the livestock was stoic and the hills less harmless.
you had wolves that would breathe down your neck. and weeping willows made of funerals
and *** U knew you had an old world view of birthmarks, where life is stampede and riddle
and lost art...
i knew you had guns, and an April of dead suns... a humid dementia of lecherous guile and innocence.
a distinct remain. [ a loose cherub in the Wednesday...]
a bowl of fruit and tyrants
catching spark.
i knew you meant no harm that a legion of crossed charms could reason to decimate my reckless.
you had rules that had deeds, done in the name of nameless. a thing, pillows dread.
the soul of your soul is the spot spotless; a dowry of feathers and blood
and yes.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
If someone says that freedom's free
Then, they don't have a clue
Of the things they take for granted
And the cost to me and you
Freedom has a price tag
And it's measured out in lives
of sons and missing daughters
In husbands and in wives
The cost of freedom's heavy
No dollar value can be set
Think of those who gave their life
When you next go thank a vet
Freedom is expected
But, freedom isn't free
Sacrifices must be made
If freedom we will see
The choice to fight is simple
It's something someone has to do
A soldier is a hero
He made his choice for you
Next time you hear somebody
Say they deserve all that they get
Take them down to the town legion
And let them say thank you to a vet
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
once you take that first step down the path
the decision has been set upon and you cannot go back
now it is up to trust, that invisible demon or angel in waiting
right or wrong the pendulum will swing in either direction
time a curse or a blessing guided by a compass
beholden to no one it has its own destiny
for love once betrayed is a vengeful enemy
setting off a cornucopia of storms of anger
unleashing the torments only goddesses can bestow
their ire ****** forth like a thunderous lighting strike
wishing to smite those that have broken her heart
there is no hiding from the maelstrom your betrayal has unleashed
bringing embarrassment to those that inhabit castles
a dire misjudgment in a moment of voluptuous temptation
is there now regret to having succumbed to human wontedness
it would appear so, hands now tied striding towards the inevitable
step by step moving closer to the sentence handed down
the walled fortress now a corral with no escape
and then I am there, she and a legion of men in waiting
a gilded sword sharp as any in the kingdom prepared
her golden hair blowing in the wind, delicate features revealed
utter beauty astonishing in the backdrop of a scorching sun
how could I have traded this for a night of passion with another
now I am pushed down to kneel before her my heart racing wildly
she is judge and jury and as she draws back the sword
I wonder if there is one morsel of sympathy in her repertoire
so I close my eyes and ponder why has my lust brought me here
all the whilst listening for the whoosh that will end my days or not
Andreas Simic©
Apr 30, 2022
Apr 30, 2022 at 8:50 PM UTC
There is serenity within its self-stimulating prowess, as a legion of testimony sways in the easterly winds of dendrological plantations. Can you feel the power of the banshee as her Irish spirit cries in the face of certain death? The herald of Caoin is a lamentation for your long and pale hair.
Oh relentless gestations of hatred, I appeal to your haunting foreplay.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
**Lacking of life now
I lol on my fine divan**
*Laziness often
lacks the power of rapture
as in sofa or bedsprings*
**Labour of love her
for large obese lobster me**
*Mermaids capture me
a symphony of sea-sick
rasping tongues lick our lumps*
**Little old lady
typing the language of love**
*A real cyber date
computer romance limits
operational life's love*
**Laughing over lines
of disco **** pure *******
*Lewd obscene language
grasping lemon or lime highs
to count Hollywood star shootings*
**A full length of life
the longing off, lay proceeds**
*Lady of the Lake
lunging our lisps sound depths
we are - breathing harmony*
**The land of Lincoln
legion of Lucifer's Lord**
*landscaping of lawns,
losing our liberty's law,
leaving on lights, blinding*
**Lots of Laughs or 'lol'
populist abbreviation**
*language often less,
leftovers of literate
gone to libraries of late*
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 12:38 PM UTC
The Holy Family?
In a box
with the angels upstairs
Shepherds?
In search of their sheep
lost in newspaper
Somehow I sit on a bag...
of glass Christmas *****
“Must get my vacuum!”
That dead animal, coated by dust
and buried in laundry--
has tangled itself in its own cord
and tumbled headlong to the basement
Crooked photos of daughters
watch me...
smiling (Can it be?)
from a hundred miles and years away?
Waiting for me to make
that miracle again--
What moms do at Christmas
Phone rings
“Jing-a-ling, are ya listening?”
It's the bill collector's recorded
“This is inexcusable!” message
Charities are legion
I say, “There is a line”
Later--
seen only by the peaceful stars...
the donkey of Bethlehem
stumbles in-- laden with groceries
dumping them on the bed/couch
...and back outside for the next load
...and back to the bed again
Why bother making it?
Not as if the cat cares
He likes his blankets niched and lumpy
Not as if some modern home magazine's
planning a photo-shoot!
The mailbox, meanwhile
is preggers with glossy catalogues
...and bills...and
“Wouldn't your whole family enjoy a sunroom?”
Dropping the bags
searching for a light
turning up the heat--
gas bill
sewer bill
“Tis the season for a new Toyota!”
I try to understand the point
of a Christmas card with printed signature
Can I stuff myself in with the recycling?
Then, back outside for the single-woman drama
“Hauling in the Tree”
Storm door catches the hem of my coat
Pine needles, leaves, snow and mud
mark the end of the trail
On my belly twisting screws
“Son-of-a-bitchin tree stand!”
Knocking my daughter's picture off the wall
“Serves 'er right fer laughin!”
**** thing's crooked and dripping
with melted snow
It's 8:30 PM
The cat is hungry and crying
I hit the bottom-- and the button
for the background of a human voice
Three naked chickens are waiting on the counter
At some point, I will take off my coat...
Right now--
I drink a beer while standing
To get a better view....
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
*We were squeezed from corruption
armed with the monstrous cutlery
of rippers and tearers of rationed meat
for a day, for a day, for a day:
the butcher gives his best cuts
to the young and godless divorcee
find us, keep us : a spectre hiding
in the dark pig iron rust hooks looping
through your *** and shopping lists:
smelting your coin
and punching your face
Company is the full knowledge
of our protracted, 3 -stage decay
burn drift degradation
eyes crusting shut
in doom and settling bomb silt
palms up, taking a punishment
in the mothertongue
ignoring lessons in the gracious
expectancy of departure
We, A legion of ancient clockwatchers,
in on the joke of time
and folk fetish of apple-cheek poverty
[Gasp!] The gruesome romance of class!
!you cry! !safe! !always safe!
in the nuclear hotdog option , which is
observably, the title of this advertisement
We will never get you[ ]you're awake!
and your atmosphere is still In Da Black
We watch you
watching
the 5 car pile up
catch up rolling down your chin*
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
Godspeed, Gunslinger
May your gunshots ring
in distant thunder
while the angels sing
Godspeed, Night-Walker
May your axe bury
in Hell's vile stalker
with a great fury
Godspeed, huntress
May you bring vengeance
in the great Aggress
bringing forth penance
Godspeed, Death's Aeon
May you smite your foe
in midst Hell's Legion
bringing forth the woe
Godspeed, Lord Ever-Dark
May your shadows find
ways to make their mark
etched within the mind
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
Politicians speak about "The Fallen",
Our dear departed servicemen*
Its a nasty euphemism
for the Legion of our dead.
For they did not gently flutter down
like leaves of gold and brown.
They were raked by foes' machines guns
as they fought to take some ground.
They've met slaughter on the beaches,
been slain on distant mountainsides.
They've been sacrificed, quite needlessly,
for some Politicians' pride
Many a mother's heart's been broken
Widows and orphans have been made.
Political Stupidity has dug many a grave.
So don't speak about "the Fallen",
you who haven't borne the fight.
You've never paid the butcher's bill
so what gives you the right?
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 7:55 AM UTC
The girl in the black
bathing suit swims
through my dreams;
her orange eyes warn
me that summer
is coming.
An inescapable
swelter of air
threads itself
through the slats
of picket fences,
crisping insects
and terrifying
an army of black birds
bivouacked in the trees.
I hear the soft explosion
of hibiscus, red petals as
bright as belly wounds,
and the heartbeat
of the dog panting,
stupefied by the heat
of a relentless star.
Up and down the street,
abandoned children call
out from the bottom of
empty swimming pools.
I slouch in an aluminum chair,
trying to get black-out drunk
on warm gin and tonics.
The tidy rectangle
of grass around me
ignites in a legion
of slender flames.
I remember the dark room
and my father’s deathbed,
his whispered, final words:
dying is thirsty work.
I strip to my underwear
and fantasize about ice.
I pray for the neighborhood
sprinklers to spring to life.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
it was the moon that fell through. a lump of gray astronaut
pale acne-blasted, an orphan of the dome, floating in a pond
face down; gasping... green brass minnows surge through diatoms
that have no word for moon; a legion of blind unicorn gall stones -
invisible to naked eyes; uncountable geometries horde the dark waters
they cannot disprove or disobey. large mouth bass inhale calcium polygons
they have never met; that have no word for large mouth bass -
that hasn't always been unknown as september is meaningless
now, even more so, the meaning is less,
without the moon... so
the last tide is false. a satellite has lost it's grip and displaced a placid
jewel of ice cold pause. in the backwoods of these. words. a. moon.
is. breathing. in. a. void. teeming. with. ancient. life.
it is a void, unfamiliar to a native of heaven. this void used to rise and fall
in obedience to the wax and wane. in accord with her orbit.
but now it burns the ocean of serenity with irony's forge.
pounding the stainless steel of unfathomable loss;
even the dross sustains a shape of things to come undone -
when the hammer falls and the blacksmith is a poet
born to ****** fables from mayflies. a natural.
the hammer was in the hand before the moon gained
a face or an ocean to adore it. it was there,
ticking like a season, burgeoning with locusts -
holding off the mob; the moon was long ago, slipping off the roof -
long before firemen met lightning.
the tide was a pious fool.
the measure was not the span of the impending verse, but the hour of it's
callous beauty, assembled. a lunacy, stripped of all moons.
and only the sun remaining -
to behold the uncanny descent of a faithful, vestigial goddess.
a yellow throne. a yellow eye. and the sun's first chill...
as wave after wave of syllables sum succulent sorrows -
savoring sacred symmetries, asymmetrically... summoning -
super luminary strawberry switchblades,
saving sanity for questions with question marks.
this poem fell through. a lung collapsed or not.
and the moon is at the bottom of my heart.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 11:07 AM UTC
I look at her and
I close my eyes,
And oh where my imagination,
Send my eager mind,
The wiles versus my wills,
oh those hills they bind,
Men like me, like demons versus the Lion,
Exorcized, exorcized,
Yeah, but I am Legion,
if they beat me one time,
Oh, next time, time,
They'll be mine.
And those mountains of lust,
That once seemed unclaimable,
Unclimbable like Everest before
Edmund Hillary, like the Sistine Chapel,
Before Michelangelo, oh I will persist,
I will pursue, with the littlest smile,
And the darkest hue,
Where after many days fight,
Suddenly. Then, in the night,
when alas my victory is won!
My prize I will take,
And her pleasure I will reign.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
Gravel mounds in the mist
Are the mountain ranges of fantasy,
Spring green, eerie seen
Through commuter train windows.
Pitched roofs recede
Into infinite distance,
And junkyard parking lots are legion
In the gray suburban obscurity.
Factories and landfills loom,
Monuments and mausoleums,
The labor and the leavings
Of the little colossi.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 9:50 AM UTC