"luminal" poems
I've abandoned a withered state, fumbling
Toward your ecstasy - opening windows to
A brave new world: What a scene to behold!
My heart has calmed consuming life’s tonic -
I'm filled with attraction, alike an alchemist
disposition to discover their personal legend
How far, do thoughts travel? Become aware,
we’ve covered only but a few hours of sleep
The vicissitudes of motion - by faith we move
At luminal speed, ’til visions dawn and we’re
Before a sky clearing moon
Shall we recline in that loft above?
While it be suspended in the fetal position?
Or tarry until morn’ when reflections are reborn
From spurts of spontaneity, to cycles of growth
Apprehending blessings so as to appreciate the
distance of our obstacles
For camaraderie's had since severed –
And authenticity perfidiously pilfered –
And liars became prosecutors of liars
Pregnant with delusions of grandeur
Freedom is the temporal prison for
Revolutionaries wails of conditions
Psalms of sentimentalism provoke
An emotional tug of war, conscripting
another soldier of love – wearing a fig
Leaf of inhibition and foul remains of
passed transgressions...
Where to turn to when you’re cold?
Intransigent echoes give no warmth
I’ve fallen into the (d)earth of sanity
Erstwhile
Fumbling
Toward
Ecstasy
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
Amid the sky of covered crimson plane
The stormy night begets its wonted reign
And down the sails of battered ships
The golden light of sol doeth set.
Far below the wooden hulls lies
O’ oceans crypt, unknown in depth.
Below the base of beaten ships and
Amid the anglers glow
The luminal aura of Isis shows.
Crystal Night, immaculate sight
Waxing strong her sultry form
Oh how bright her soothing light
A beckon of hope amid the perilous storm.
The captive witness cannot cease
Its ponderous delight of beauties scene.
Of the godless night, in waves
Of tumult and titanic might
Of hellish forces the setians reign.
The sacred goddess of Lucifer’s seed
Rests tall for all to see.
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 7:05 PM UTC
Restless eyes,
The luminaries winking,
The night, as if were
The Moon's stage of solitude
Shines vast in the nocturnal glory,
Revealing silken flattery,
The gentle light caresses.
There is a connection
Of the luminal glow
To the eyes whose mind is
Trapped in a cavernous shadow
While fathoming uselessly
Unto the revolving clockwork
Of living,
Like a trance between
An unknown familiarity.
Thoughts carve out timelines
In jigsaw's grip,
The Moon is a portal
In deafening silence,
Faceless memories guided
By forgotten constellations and
One realises the depth of life
And the race of time,
And come sweet soul searching
In the needs of the spirit while
Trembling from regret.
The solitude is an ocean
Keeping one afloat in a
Suspended profile,
Crystalline clarity like a mirror
In polyhedrons,
So much reflection in restlessness.
And we can drown
In this ocean bathed in the Moon,
Like reliving or redoing
All the past making it so
Pure only our souls know
The life lived in another version.
When the thoughts calm
Into the the minds realignment,
The light becomes forgotten
And the nocturnally calm of the spirit
Flies to live another life;
All that remains is the solitude.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC
Dear girl on the groyne,
Forgive the forgeries upon my memory.
Forgive the feebleness of my firsthand.
Forgive the feeding of my frenzy.
Forgive the freneticism of my prose.
Take truth from the diction of my lens.
I trust you will grant me a fair hearing,
And offer me the clemency of purpose—
To once more capture or conquer
The presence of Iris herself in your greens.
Grant me a jury of judicious witness,
The pounding of the gavel as grace
For the crime of picturing the presence.
I bid the remainder of my fruitless fall.
Dear girl on the groyne,
Has your blacksmith forgotten you?
Left to entice waves at shutter speed,
Forged in flame,
Chiselled and tamed on Vulcan high.
Through his neglect has the time arrived
To render and share for all or none—
As Pandora, of beauty, of curiosity,
Doomed to open the box
For me and my eye.
Dear the man on the beach,
Do you have any sense of shame?
As if the still frame holds the truest face
The gods of our minds do not claim to fame,
But cower and quiver with a shout of shrill.
I beam bounty in the rays of the sun,
Watching the groyne creak and stutter
As the waves breach and mutter—
A voice of too great dread to utter.
I sense your presence, your song,
The siren’s call to prayer.
The screech of the zoom and focus,
Lulling and drawing a sailor of despair.
But it cannot be enough
To return the green to my grey.
It is but a mirror of Death,
For the true beauty lies beneath the skin.
As the waves crash,
And the wind howls,
And the flash—
Our moment in time, you and I—
A fleeting visit in a luminal light,
Between silence and soul,
Of a tune forgotten in the sands of us.
Yet for the sea, a distant whisper
Of a moment—
The opening of a story.
Was it a moment of theft?
A moment of true witness?
Good enough to frame?
Was I truly seen?
Or just a clutch for transcendence?
And still,
The tide remakes the shore.
The groyne groans.
The flash fades.
You carry the image.
I carry the knowing.
We both were framed.
We both were fire.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 6:12 AM UTC
Along the path of blood and bone
The wrath of war had there been shown.
Thick the jungles perilous sway
Where moans of perishing souls guide the way.
The corpses of a 1,000 sing their final breath
Before descending unto death.
Darkened woods amid the silent wind
The vultures sing to every thumping chest.
As friend and foe lye beneath trees shaky bend
A ray of light now lingers from the west.
Brighter than a raging fire
Casting hope in eyes of despair.
Beneath the whisping leaves illumined the ****** mire An oceanic melody begets among the midnight air.
“Afar this light from a goddess a beauty gleam?”
Speaks a man in bitter glee against a rotten bow.
Though wonted silence dispute his sight and sound as a dead mans dream.
The thickened air grips his lungs and hope returns to woe.
Broken legs and a shattered wrist
Writhing away with a punctured chest.
Death... his fate he kissed.
The silver veil of the moon he did attest.
A bright blue aura thickened and grew, charming to the sight.
“Child, do not crown thy head with thorns of death.”
A voice void of body spoke soft from the radian light.
Quick he welled to draw a final breath: “Yemanya?”
“Hither to me, so I may kiss the suns wedded twin
And caress me with thy luminal skin.”
Silence sounded yet again.
As every moan subsided slowly
The blue haze descended from the light.
“How may a being arrive to a sight so unholy.”
Then a manifest angelic force spoke in her precious might.
“Do not fret, it is thy goddess, Yemanya.”
With a hand from the silken misted skin
Caressing his wounds so from death he may be free.
Full in form manifest, beauty of body and sight, that hath not yet been.
With her warm embrace
She kissed his face.
Free now from his deadly ill
Guided to the ocean by the aura, through his newfound will.
Saved from the ravaged land
He closed his eyes and clutched the wetted sand.
The angelic sight did now leave
But in remembrance
The moon held bright, in light of Yemanya.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 9:37 PM UTC