"magics" poems
it was me who destroyed carthage of the ancient worlds in 1300bc. the way i destroyed carthage was this. my mother was a persian queen and carthage wanted persia destroyed. my mother did not want her husband killed so she sent me, her eldest child, to the war. i told them that if they looked into my right eye they would think it was very beautiful but if they then looked into my left eye, which was my most beautiful eye, for i was left-handed, even as most creative people are even back then, they would notice it was even more beautiful.
i then said if i wanted to be a little kind to them they would want to be very very kind to me. they liked me and tried to show me their great kindness but the truth was that they had been so unkind to their children with bad magics involving rings that they died instantly. that is how i destroyed carthage.
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 11:57 AM UTC
And the day sends bursts of gold and brilliance to the coming night.
Beautifully engraving divine colors through the horizon.
The rambling of magics, mysteries, and charm has commenced.
The whispering of the leaves,
the spirit of spring.
The lighting beacon of my love
and resilience.
Nurturing my dreams,
unfurling my new-found wings.
An amorous night to soar,
an idyllic moment to fly,
While I await for the moon
to join the sun
in the same pastel sky.
May 19, 2022
May 19, 2022 at 7:34 AM UTC
me and scarlet came down the coast
she sat window seat
pressed to the glass watching the world flow
from rocket ships headed to the skies
and beach bunnies romping in sunshine
what a strange world this place is
filled with magics and mystic tides
a Spaniard stood here with his wooden ship
like he had just conquered a new world
but time left him just a set of footprints in the sand
and away to sea once more went he
falling off the edge of the world somewhere out there
scarlet and me stopped in small town
shared a plate and a cup
sitting at the feet of a stone saint
holding his own cup so we poured him some soda
and laughed as we ran in the rain
what a strangely wonderful place this florida
a moonlight dream paradise
the far shore we had always dreamed
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
*~~~~~A PERSIAN RUG~~~~~
Just like your soul
Complex and stunning
Piece of art
Woven for years
With patient love
By hands of your
Amazing life
...
It gets the redness
From your lips
The blueness from
Your open mind
The green parts from
Your hazing eyes
The whiteness from
Your shining smile
...
Let me lie there
On this beauty
Let's fly away
High up the sky
Show me around
On a journey
The magics of
'Poetry Land'
~~~~~~~~~PERSIA*~~~~~~~~~
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 3:05 AM UTC
My life isn't much, save for bleakness that had lasted long
It was dark time that made every right seem wrong
Finally a day came when everything was altered
It was the height of period when I would surely have faltered.
Like rays breaking through the thickest of clouds
Like blades ripping through the heaviest shrouds
The rays they illuminate and allowed me to see
The blades they cut and slash, to reveal so desperately.
With the light shining bright, hand up ready to shield
Out of the shrouds arms open, welcoming what it may yield
In between my fingers, through the gaps I squinted
I find myself in awe with my feet firmly planted.
A beautiful vision that is worthy of an artist's canvas
Bewitching blue eyes, face framed by streams of golden tresses
Releasing a gasp, I could hardly believe what I'm seeing
It was a moment where beauty had lost it's original meaning.
This moment I wish to have the word hastily redefined
For our eyes have connected with rare magics that bind
She smiled with the promise of freedom that I yearn
She embraced with love that caused my fire to brightly burn.
"Burn forever", I said to my heart's raging fire
"For she has love in abundance that'll never ever tire"
She spoke, "I have come as the answer to your mournful cries"
"I have come to be steadfast and wipe the tears from your eyes".
'Twas a moment that I felt grateful, she had found me
'Twas a moment that I felt, I will never be lonely
'Twas a moment that I felt as if time had stood still
'Twas a moment that I've been granted the freedom of will.
Such liberation I felt was worth waiting all these years
Such anxious relief I felt, that had washed away all my fears
I can finally breathe and through new eyes I clearly see
That you came into my universe, you rescued, accepted and set me free.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
Help me! help me! now I call
To my pretty witchcrafts all;
Old I am, and cannot do
That I was accustomed to.
Bring your magics, spells, and charms,
To enflesh my thighs and arms;
Is there no way to beget
In my limbs their former heat?
æson had, as poets feign,
Baths that made him young again:
Find that medicine, if you can,
For your dry, decrepit man
Who would fain his strength renew,
Were it but to pleasure you.
2.1k
When once the twilight locks no longer
Locked in the long worm of my finger
Nor ****** the sea that sped about my fist,
The mouth of time ****** like a sponge,
The milky acid on each hinge,
And swallowed dry the waters of the breast.
When the galactic sea was ******
And all the dry seabed unlocked,
I sent my creature scouting on the globe,
That globe itself of hair and bone
That, sewn to me by nerve and brain,
Had stringed my flask of matter to his rib.
My fuses are timed to charge his heart,
He blew like powder to the light
And held a little sabbath with the sun,
But when the stars, assuming shape,
Drew in his eyes the straws of sleep
He drowned his father's magics in a dream.
All issue armoured, of the grave,
The redhaired cancer still alive,
The cataracted eyes that filmed their cloth;
Some dead undid their bushy jaws,
And bags of blood let out their flies;
He had by heart the Christ-cross-row of death.
Sleep navigates the tides of time;
The dry Sargasso of the tomb
Gives up its dead to such a working sea;
And sleep rolls mute above the beds
Where fishes' food is fed the shades
Who periscope through flowers to the sky.
When once the twilight screws were turned,
And mother milk was stiff as sand,
I sent my own ambassador to light;
By trick or chance he fell asleep
And conjured up a carcass shape
To rob me of my fluids in his heart.
Awake, my sleeper, to the sun,
A worker in the morning town,
And leave the poppied pickthank where he lies;
The fences of the light are down,
All but the briskest riders thrown
And worlds hang on the trees.
2k
In the moments that are waiting, crisply, to break into floods of
daytime-issues of deadlines and ***** dishes,
something happens.
In the moments where procrastination is a smile and a fine lie nestled
tight between hope and reluctance
this will happen:
thoughts of warmth, glory and wisdom will flutter
through your spirit- rare beasts, jeweled fruit-flies
or candelabras
(silver)
waiting to be caught, just as long
as you
don't
get
down
to
work.
10 minutes left
you struggle to hold to you
hours of wonder, days of mirth
all felt that one September night, when the rice had warmed your belly
and softened your eyes
and the sky was kinder reflected in the city drains
because at that particular hour at hand, they were rivers of a foreign land
saturated with dreams and magics-transmuted by the rains.
6 minutes left
caught the last train
back
home waited behind a line of tired women without eyes
they were trees maybe
or rushes by the river whispering of a home before a
home before this one,
some ancient stony place of arches and pools
i don't quite know
as the tracks beating under made them hard to hear.
4 minutes left- does thought really
cross at 'the speed of god'?
Such words from plays by beloved men haunt one at the strangest times.
Thus, inspiration once struck, dims.
Thus, the end of the page approaches.
"Thus." cruelly, super-ego laughs.
Thus, work begins.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 5:24 AM UTC
What do you do when the world comes crashing down on you?
What do you think is the best way to go about it?
I don't always know what to do when it's unexpected
I just go with the rhythm of the beat of the bass drum
Feel the wind in my hair and dance to the weight of the freedom
I just let the butterflies take flight, such beautiful insight
Watch the heat of the moment ignite with the passion of magics bright light
Life is short
Life is fast
Life can be humdrum
I've seen my worst, I've tried my best and still suffer from confusion
I know my type, I know the pain
I feel insync, but I've lost my brain
All at once, I've paid my dues
Pushed my limit and had everything to lose
Such a wonderful kind of enchanted mind of being lost and being wrong
And I laugh it off with a silly smurk
A sarcastic joke because I've been hurt
And I might not be right where I want to...
But I'm where I'm at and absolutley love where I've been
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 1:36 AM UTC
it was in the darkness that i found her
there by the dry fountain
its basin gathered the paper thin years
like withered leaves
like soul searching written with her lips
like a castle keep penned with the inks of my regrets
the dry fountain flowed once upon a time with a rich river of
all manner of worldly beasts
the fabled ones and the forgotten ones
and their tales like tapestry's woven with heart strings
now the dry fountain was her home
she bid me take my leasuire for a moment from my fleeing
so my bone thin horse could rest his weary heart
i offered her coins in gratitude for her shelter
with a gentle hand she turned such aside
and instead took my hand
and withdrew the pen embedded in my skin
and said to me that
'each dawn requires a darkness with which to begin'
she began with fragments of me
i tried in vain to be the candle that holds back the shadows
but in truth she is venus finding gentle sweet sainthood in her repertoire
like a frail swan of the ethereal grace
she wanted only to see the glory days to return to this place
to see the fountain flow once again
see its thriving life and its deep magics of the heart
we spent that winter camped there gathering each paper thin tomb
and placing them at the alter of the written word
but to no avail
the days had fallen to cold stone
and not even the brilliant light she shed soulshine and heart
could revive the dry fountain
the last i saw her she had glanced back from her road leading away
with a kind woman's smile she gives to friends
she once said i was too reckless with my heart
now i knew what she meant
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
i.
roses in the dust,
winter-love greys, shadows
of a lost world.
ii.
i was much smaller than i thought
and the sky
a rounded dome,
a cathedral of light
with stone arches
river-green pillars
and the blue-green
emotions
of dream....
iii.
imagination
waited, an
opal star
blown against
the tide.
iv.
all i could see was the
blues and greens
paper blushed,
clouds and watermarks,
watery daylight
like a glistening pool
as if the sky
was a stained window
and there was
no fire,
only a scattering
of light
only softness
of the heart,
only the magics
of its mirror mists.
v.
like maple leaves
fallen in a
stream filled
with moonlight
in the rivery
nets of the soul.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 5:43 PM UTC
She said I was ugly
I said she needed more to drink
When she was drunk I was her world
When sober, I was from an alien world
Beer googles and lust lenses
How the alcohol befriended
When its gone the magics passed
Until the next time she's slashed
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
in your love,
flame-roses,
seas of eternal summer,
the sweetest fires of
the heart.
in your love
clouds like sweeping rivers
dark caves of storm,
gold magics as bright as a lamp.
in your love
a wish to hold me forever
desire so strong
that i submit to your will.
in your love
more love than i can believe
emotions like the wildest seas
crazy desire
poetry that melts.
in your love
the winds of passion
burning
summer breezes
light as a rose,
me fainting
with pleasure.
in your love
a love that will last forever
joys, beautiful in their rose-paper
deaths,
seas so wild the wind blows.
in your love
your heart gold
my heart blue
emotions like dreams
so close the passion melts.
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 7:05 PM UTC
My group therapy ended today
Termination is such a violent word
For such a soft thing
Termination is harsh
Reminiscent of layoffs
And Austrian-born California governors
No. This wasn’t a firing.
It was a funeral.
Round robin reflection at a somber dinner table
An exchange of platitudes and promises
To stay in contact, to be available
And we all meant it. Every word.
But no.
We were demented sorcerers,
Holding tightly to fading magics
Ex-lovers
Trying to be friends
Though it was, ironically, a machine that once said.
“A thing is not beautiful because it lasts.”
And every part of me I found in them
Now is a part of them found in me
Carried in my self-revelations
In strides straight and confident as an honest Keyser Soze.
And though I am a penny none the richer
Today I am indigo.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 6:21 AM UTC
all softer magics fall before the lie
that eases into minds and dulls all taste
beneath its glamour we ignore the sky
where carrion birds in masses all now fly
above the lands that swiftly go to waste
all softer magics fall before the lie
we watch the largest rivers all run dry
and wonder just what pain we have embraced
beneath its glamour we ignore the sky
no one's ambitions here would move so high
now our best memories shall be erased
all softer magics fall before the lie
that all will soon be better by and by
when good and sacred words will be enplaced
beneath its glamour we ignore the sky
for far too long and now no honest eye
is left to note the urgent need for haste
all softer magics fall before the lie
beneath its glamour we ignore the sky
Feb 21, 2010
Feb 21, 2010 at 3:18 AM UTC
golds sink down
the sky strange magics
miraculous the bridges
of leaves under October’s
wintry dusks calm and at rest
russet and purple the
trees yearn for the darks
of a retreating world
each leaf falling forever
each leaf a ghost
of hidden centuries
where the night’s eternal
stars wait, beautiful
in the perfections of the sky.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
O old Gods who wait in morrow, let me shine in sacred sorrow
I proffer, and offer, my marrow, bone, flesh, to thine altar borne,
lone in meeting, only fleeting, silent here for duty sworn
My old Gods who sit in waiting, might I power just to borrow?
Only briefly you must loan me the magic to sunder torn.
Weak and trembl’ng, weak to muster, I sought courage, but I crumble,
at the sight of just thy vision, for to me it seems e’er unseen
naught to know but thy own master ‘til I patient, sorely lumber
wondering if fear has stolen me to thine own sacred meadow
when suddenly, fervently see thine true shape and face and form and
terrible dreams enter my soul e’er to stay and e’er to fecund
for death I prefer to understanding the truth our Gods have shunned.
Yet little more did I then speak among the dead and too the meek,
falling towards an abyss so deep that makes my heart and soul weep
dying truly like a phantom lurking in the shallows creep
and yet falling ever faster and so overwhelmed by deep
my eyes and ears saw nothing and heard nothing, not a leap
from the darkness that consumed me e’er more did I fail to seek
that which cannot only reap the dead and tear them ‘til they so reek
so sharp and pointed so it was even I could witness and speak
“Who have I wronged in this place so awful that I am gaoled oblique?
Yet can still think and ponder the widow’s peak and in vain self-wreak?”
in sacred toil among the stardust that makes us shine so mystique.
What does thou will, O lord, my lord, of more than we can ever tell?
I know it is not my duty not to know. Ask I must, ask besides
the husk of my body is yours and yet I know little of thee
by whose authority do wield such magics and more asides?
it is not plain to me what sort of horror lies ‘neath the scorched ground
so why do I? Why do I scream? Why do I see the beast in me?
The hound that hunts for those who must be slaughtered despite what else they seek
the wolf inside that hunts, rips, and tears, taken apart piece by piece
the awful sound of howling that’s for me to not and never cease
the stars themselves align to my fate fear in mind and e’er besides
‘tis here that I myself sit alone and finally soon to die.
for death I prefer to the fate our Gods have brought to us benumbed.
Dec 9, 2021
Dec 9, 2021 at 5:40 AM UTC
Strange magnificent magnetism
nominates nomenclatures managing to nimbly
grasp their gamy mouse.
Nannies nibble, notoriously naive,
masking their matronly magics.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
life and its glitters, the boredoms that seek to write
the inspirations of death with its healing joys
and life with its uttermost sorrows
i, a fractured sky, disinclined to move,
divorced from shadow and voice
unwoken by the mild pull of the earth
an old romance of ears and eyes, yellow and round,
heavens-hopes the goals of a lifetime
waiting innocently for the rain.
i waited and the shadows of the earth
grew long until they were armies
sleeping near the bleached rocks
believing they were the blanketing dark,
breathing beside autumn’s haikus of
slumber the sharp fall of love, the
intense tide of low grass and high wall.
dreams rushing like princely streams
a beginning of clouds, clouds of black air
sweeping clear, like valleys of the wild
a wilderness so tender it could speak,
where the mighty waves froze the shore-line
with the hints of winter's first kiss
and the magics of the stars cried into fire,
not knowing the flower-beds or the laughter
or the crazy tears of a humble man.
love poured sapphires from its streams
glass-houses of light, where the oceany
air believed in vertical caves, monstrous
caverns of hopes and dreams, marble
statues with broken jaws, unearthly
branches that rose like strange trees
combing the wind into tangles of tide,
hollow night, with its breathing and
mights, its desires, its poetry of mind.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
i would like
to turn in
my wizardry card
i would like
to drop
an art bomb
an f-bomb
(a freak bomb)
and disappear
in a fog of
green smoke
oh, you didn't know?
i am
the queen of rocking art
i am a sorcerer
a conjurer
of souls
and color
i have been
crowned
by children
i eat and sleep
children
their hopes
their disappointments
i hold up
a mirror
and make them
face themselves
their success
their failures
then i cast
spells to
inspire their
action
stand ready
to catch tears
and embrace
joy
i conjure
experiences
made of
graphite
stop bath
zeroes000 and ones111
and | pigment |
at an
impossible rate
i look inside
the souls
of
every
single
child
to find
which of
my magics
will spur
them to greatness
and my magic
grows
i use sorcery
to accumulate
new recipes
new spells
new questions
i use my wand
to summon
the forces
of earth
to make time
stand still
i forgo food
and rest
because demand
for this
queen
is
high
but alas,
i want to
turn in my
wizard card
hand it to
my overlords
because
my superhuman
wizardry
is not enough
my e x p l o s i o n s
of thought
my insistence
on quality
my very
humanity...
all
swords
in my side
i have
mastery over
light
colors
seep into
every
word uttered
every
letter written
every
glance
from my
eyes
i am a
sorcerer
(read: i am a nys teacher)
but sorcery
is not enough
my overlords
want
the gods, themselves
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC
It starts within like a wild wind
Too powerful to contain with in
It's like a chemical concoction
Soon to hatch a reaction
Comes naturally,
like your better half attraction
Words spoken like a spell,
personal,...so much as in detail
It's your gift to Gods green earth,
be it so ...
It's magics birth.
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC
It stretches out before me.
Crystal blue and shining like silver
The lake so clear and blue.
From the high hill I can see it
A huge and unknowable expanse,
So very like the sky it mirrors.
Clouds float through deep blue water,
Moving over the surface like the slender water gliders
Sliding across some tiny puddle.
Through which I so carelessly tread.
What glorious things,
What magics of the universe,
Have I so pointlessly destroyed?
Trampled underfoot like some unknowing goliath
Even while some small, enthralled viewer,
Did revel in it, as now I revel in clouds upon the lake?
For in the eye of a passing ant,
Is not the sight of watergilders on a puddle,
So small to our eye.
Not as grand as the vista I now see?
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
We were both in such a dark place,
looking to feel anything.
And while you were looking,
I guess you found me.
We tried to **** happiness into each other,
**** the sadness away.
But no matter how many nights of
hot moans and heaving breathing on my neck,
nothing changed how we felt.
I found my way out of that hell,
but you buried yourself in it long ago,
but today your body joined you.
And I know I can work magics but
oh my gosh Ben,
not even I can **** the life into you now.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Far over the mumbling Mountains of Moan
Where blazing hot Firebirds are nurtured and flown,
Through silver veined canyons and mines filled with gold
By Dwarves in their halls seeking riches untold.
There lives by the side of a babbling brook,
Buried deep in the earth, in it's own special nook,
Underneath a quite small yet conspicuous knoll,
Hidden from prying eyes is the home of a Troll.
Alone in his cavern of amethyst ore,
He sleeps undisturbed with a grunt and a snore,
And makes the ground tremble with dream induced growls
That fly up with spit from his thick flapping jowls.
The floor all around is a sea of gnawed bones
Stained pink by the light from those crystalline stones,
That shimmer and sparkle like miniature storms
Left raging for aeons in mineral forms.
His slow beating heart sounds a deep thumping boom
That scythes through the half light and twinkling gloom,
By which, if you look in the cold that persists,
The Troll's heavy breath funnels up into mists.
A great iron club with its spots of rust red
Stands upright and ready close by to his bed,
The Troll's hairy fingers draped over his prize
To ****** at the hilt should the instant arise.
One beady eye open, the other shut fast,
Only the foolhardy would dare to creep past,
Wake him at your peril, no need to surmise,
You will meet a brutal and violent demise.
A wrinkled behemoth with rings through his nose,
The truth of his origin, nobody knows,
Some say Trolls were spawned at the dawn of the world
When primeval magics and such swished and swirled.
While others less fanciful look to the West
Where dark Elvish wizards in black arts invest,
The wrong incantation performed on a man
Is rumoured to be how the Troll race began.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
she gets nervous when a steady rain breaks out
he eyes jet across the grey sky
as her fingers grip a stranglehold on her
lace dreams
the rain cools the summer day
releasing its wet magics
to pool in the shallows
quiet in her revere she mumbles madness at the
sharp edge of afternoon
forlorn she wails in silent apocalypse
at the torn things that could have been
at the tattered flag of empire
which she grew up believing in
her sorrow knows no bounds
as her kinship to the trespassing moon knows no love
she will wait out the rain
hoping to heal
but knowing that only time passes
all else waits to be resolved in the crucible of dreams
the rain begins to ease
its liquid sound kissing the ear
as she moves into the remains of sunlight
she will survive
and so will her tears
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC