"masqueraded" poems
If we are in a masquerade party
with no faces,
names,
nor identity
Just words,
and alcohols,
for both of us
to see.
Just soul,
and coffee,
making our spirits
flee.
Would you look at me
without a mask,
with a cover,
inside a flask?
Would you touch me
and dare to drown
inside my smirks,
smile, and ignited frown.
Would you run away from me
to set yourself free?
Or would you let yourself fall,
for a masqueraded soul?
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 12:56 PM UTC
We'd bound around
For golf downtown
Frisbees always in hand
"The students are coming!!”
Was a seasonal refrain
As we’d goofily gallivant
Mother’s Day shows
We‘re free, mother-suckers
For your kids, a show we grant
A CLOWN SHOW!
A DOWNTOWN SHOW!
THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN’T!
Rock their world with juggling
See the Doctor for what ails
Rudi and O in laundromat land
Jeanie, Splash, Allison, Donna,
Silly girls astonishing with
Leaps, jokes and handstands
Chewey, Steamboat and Grog
"Yeah-yeah! Yeah-yeah!”
Silly boys grandstanding
All hail Papa Gale! We
Funned with Cpt. Plunge
Leader of the band!
Sweet Georgia!
**** croquet!*
It was grand!
**** croquet was the official lawn game of the Sweet Georgia Brown Clowns during the summer 198x Trinity Country tour [wherein we masqueraded as a Norwegian Salmon Kissing team at a Moose Lodge Talent Show in Lewiston, CA* {true!}]: “Don’t forget your hat!”)
*(we won)
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
A vehement deity,
father of a carpenter,
and proprietor of creationism,
looked down upon his work,
both literally and figuratively.
When an ecosystem falls to the
egocentricity of man, a vessel
will be sought, and contained is
the righteousness of a mortal.
Serenity became inclination, and
with loss of the feminine beauty
came regret. For sin masqueraded
as black clouds, and whether
change occurs, torrential rain begets
growth in an environment. Wash over
the sins of the ****** what is current
can only be exposed as a fallacy when
revelation is prevalent,
and save for the innocent:
innocuous.
Even in Hell a cyprus tree would be
surrounded by wildflowers.
Noah knew not of damnation, and
with calloused hands raised to the sky,
a hammer came crashing down.
Not unlike stone tablets
etched with command,
the world lay on granite,
with a universal epitaph.
For Noah to ignore his destiny
would be blasphemous.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
Why does attention so fondly take hold
when ever new moonflower buds
on lonely land cleared of the last's marigolds
that long masqueraded as love?
Will arum give way to hydrangea?
Will heartsease yield lavender's bite?
I cling to mad dreams of hibiscus
conceived in the moonflower's light.
Jun 13, 2011
Jun 13, 2011 at 12:36 AM UTC
The carpenter sits in his rocking chair as he thinks,
as the sun drowns itself into the dark clouds, he waits.
Waiting for something to tell him that he is no longer a boy anymore,
that his maturity and humility have been masqueraded
Into a body that resembles him.
Every night, when he eats, he sits alone
His plate as round as the moon,
He lights one candle on his dinner table.
Most nights, when he is drinking heavily,
he walks to the back of his house,
sits in front of an old wooden bench,
gazing across the lake and he picks up a book,
construing ideas and proposals that he fails to recollect the morning after.
He reads poems to himself, poems from books.
Poems about the nature and history of the human condition,
about the muscles and the tendons in our bodies
that bend and crumble and shiver at our disposal.
Bottle in his left hand, book in his right.
And sometimes he switches hands to highlight his drunken dexterity.
Clinching his book of poems as if they were his children,
too afraid to go out into the soft fear of the electric night,
and he was the wild one to present to this world.
He feels abandoned, dismayed,
and he no longer sees a light at the end this tunnel,
like someone or something is closing it,
leaving a crevice wide enough just to test and to tease
his willing and purpose to escape from it.
He feels a burning in his chest
as he trickles down the last drip of scotch onto his lips,
tasting death like it was tapwater.
It's midnight and he has to wake up in six hours,
wake up to a routine where his work becomes unnoticed
because he doesn't have the ***** to stand up for himself.
So, he sits and he waits for something to happen,
something fantastic or supernatural to help him grow wings
so he could relieve the tension on his shoulders,
his bones realigned to fit the being of gods.
He closes the book, walks back to his house
and blows his one candle at the dinner table,
blackening the room to fit the clouds of the night.
He lies in his bed as he engulfs his body with his comforter,
hoping to never wake up in a world that will not hesitate to laugh in his face.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC
Friday,
you smiled at me,
as I made my way out of the wreckage
Your smile was all I noticed,
set in your soft face,
teeth brighter than energy-savers
Now I know why you still smoke
And now it seems,
every man clad in black or grey,
a trench coat that buttons up to the neck,
is you..
You are an effigy,
of every man who masqueraded under the guise,
of potential lover
Who fumbled for their phones,
requesting mobile numbers,
Whose sallow hands have caressed me,
unwanted
But their teeth were unseen
Yours are a badge,
you proudly show off,
in all those smiles,
you give like gifts to me
But I can not keep them,
because they belong to the girl,
whose swollen lips you kissed,
not long ago
There is always another,
who expects your smile,
and knows by heart,
The number of teeth you keep
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
In the ballroom, half past the hour I struggle to find place where bleeding walls are curtailing chase. and in the crude mix of masqueraded hearts I found your true face I watched you stroll in and out of fits of love, destroying every good thing left to break
In the ballroom, three quarters past the hour I felt your cruelty pierce my skin and bone to a core, childishly toying with an old doll that couldn't take the pain anymore
so that one day when pride knocks on your door he'll bestow you upon the floor and may you rest there forevermore.
but in the ballroom, as the hour ends, for now you say amen before you feast upon the fragile thin of souls that belong to men whom may never love again. and may love never forgive you for this sin.
In the ballroom, for the rest of your extent,
may all the lost souls never forgive nor forget you for this sin.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
Her hair, reminiscent of glass
Dusty perplexions, missing pearlescent marbles
She's a dream awaiting the arrival of the next writer
To speak of her story to the masqueraded creature
Posing as light to the dark universe she's encased in
She's the raging madness in her soul
Thrashing yet loving anyone who kisses her
Hidden love affairs, descending silhouettes
Leftover clothes tossed unruly; a decadent stench
Intrusive but polite to wilting foliage
Lip stains, droplets of blood, dislocated jaws
Time, unforgiving as always, punishes its victims
Misery coats her barely twinkling soul
The one who shatters her mirror
May forgive her to finally be free.
Jun 3, 2024
Jun 3, 2024 at 3:36 PM UTC
Like flower in a vase,
a love that had stopped growing had stopped living
sustained as something to show for
until the water perish or the vase broken
or until it roots can’t take no more
Like flower in a vase,
sometimes love dies long before we realize
masqueraded for its beauty
put on a high shelf or to brighten a rainy day
for everyone —but mostly yourself to see
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC
Look me in the eyes and tell me I am not already dead.
Look within my soul and tell me, all is finally at an end.
Look with your silver eyes, which reflect my very own.
A chaotic wind right before the deadly storm.
The redden horizon, fading into the coldest of blue.
A will of a way, left to burn within the goodwill of our mortal souls.
I see you Dear Brother...
A man shroud in the facade of a devils red clothing.
But men, we are not...
Are we, O brother of mine?
Two hidden lies, masked within a mould of our own demise.
A shell our mother has bestow upon her demon spawns.
Masqueraded truths smeared, until all came crumbling down.
I spoke of my hatred as I slipped from your grasp.
I fell into Hell with a malevolent wrath,
a curse befalling my tongue;
I hate you
Another lie, another sin.
Added to a pile of our transgression,
shadowing us in its path of our own destruction.
Look into my heart and see my love.
A love, which has not commenced into something dark and malcontent.
Look and see another me, (mirrored in your stare.)
Look and believe all is fine.
Look and tell me my blue coated wrath,
is nothing compared to the inferno of a burning Dante
while playing the part of your savior, Virgil.
Two souls, forever intertwined.
Both born under the sacred son,
but destined to fall under baited spikes.
When will there be rest, O Brother?
With my blade in your chest?
Or the indirect request of your blessed reprieve?
Look, before all is too far gone...
nigh is the time,
Look and you might just see...
Me.
but alas just yet,
maybe,
you shall see a piece of yourself as well.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
Don't talk to me of love
Don't talk to me of love
I want none
This illusion of the above is crap
The words have lost their meaning
They're just stealing what we push on them
Don't talk to me of love
Oh would you like a dove to fly above?
Well ****
This word love, doesn't work like that
That is all just crap
Don't talk to me of doves and roses
Roses are a symbol of love they say
Quite right it has thorns all over it
And it quickly withers
Don't talk to me of love
Placing our hopes in others
What are these lovers going to do for you?
They all just fall through
This love you speak of needs glue
It's shattered and broken
It's cynical and tired
And you know what - it's fired!
Don't talk to me of love
Talk to me of self love
Talk to me of friendship and family
Don't talk to me of superficial love
The coupled, masqueraded facade we all seem so willing to participate in
Put it in the bin
Don't talk to me of love
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 6:13 AM UTC
A small note attached to the small toe of the not yet dead woman
It read of sorrow and peace as she lay there still breathing
To why was she spread upon the iron table with eyes the color of coins
Displayed, surrounded by mirrors and windows ***** and unbreakable
Not a whimper slipped from her mouth as the small knife slit into her
Tearing the silk gown with precision of an artist,
the butcher masqueraded itself as husband
Emerald eyes shed no tears, reflexes halt to an end, an acceptance was reached
In her hands held a relic, one of the past and future. The piece was a watch
Ticking, counting down each second of breath. Belief in release the ******** death
Feeling of pleasure with each cut, the teasing texture of blood cascading downwards
How tantalizingly horrific the scene of sacrifice; a modern day alter
Rested upon rusted roses and sweet thorns the alive child laid
Silence for she has given voice to the goddess and the body to the God
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC
Perhaps gratitude;
blessed by an
all telling moon,
dragging such subconscious
thought, to the surface
could suffice.
A momentary crisis
this poet; elegiac in mood,
amour propre; a deadly
reliance upon dragons
caged by their own
circumstance.
Blowing fire,
but not until
seductively, their
deviled selves
masqueraded;
abounding self pity
virtuously disguised,
lachrymose stories.
"Come a little closer..."
she was told.
Trusted, naive girl,
bitten, burnt
touching, hand in fire.
"This time will be different."
she was told.
And,
the girl, lost, in
bubble dreams, born
of, raging storms
believed; that love was true.
This princess of,
masochistic pain,
nothing blood red,
gushing, just
invisible violence.
*"Believe me when I say;
you're the best I've ever had."*
she was told.
Vertigo; medicated
by love, sailing back to
shore, cutting the rope
knife in hand, promised lands.
Scenes of lamination; screams;
she forgot...
The moon dropping low,
honey dew, stars flew -
she awoke,
to the knowledge of,
all her subconscious knew;
whispering;
"The dragon resided in only you."
© Sia Jane
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
Engorged with night sky
The fire supersaturated your eyes.
Warmth cocooned me dizzy as you whispered slowly.
My skin lustfully shivered from your deep vibrato.
A migration of monarchs erupted in my stomach.
Sunlight dimples the floor like the freckles under your eyes.
Surging electricity burning, tingling spastic from within.
Revolutionizing the way my lungs fill with oxygen.
How the blood pulses through the veins in my body.
Waves lip grainy sand
Making love over and over again,
Married to the moon's tide.
But my desire is not periodic
It incessantly permeates my being.
Lucid like soundless motion,
Distance blurred what tumbled from your teeth.
I knew what your tongue spoke,
But I, masqueraded as fool.
A breath caught in my cheeks.
Bright cauliflower moon hanged over you.
I swallowed it all whole,
Struck by our elephant fluttering erratic heartbeat.
The sky swaddles swollen in sunshine.
Clouds soothe mountain peaks.
But you drift irrevocably across my atmospheres.
“I love you.” So buttery on my tongue,
Such a waterfall set at an astounding height.
Watch my words pour over the edge,
Glistening in the reflection of the wildfire you have lit across my skin.
Darling, there is something remarkable in the way stars kiss the blackness
Of midnight, endlessly forever.
This is you and me.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
You make me feel like a fool
You have me thinking I'm crazy
You **** me with your eyes and act like its nothing at all
You were never one to kiss and tell
But you tell me no and kiss me senseless
I don't know why I'm still here
Burning up and cooling down every time you hold my ear
Three times I love you
Three times no
Too many masqueraded intentions and submissions
If only you'd open up and let me know
Nothing matters more to me than the trust
The tryst was fun but the mystery is enough
Kiss and tell and hold my lips
No more talking, no more lies, I plead
Gift me this.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 5:07 AM UTC
Head spinning
Hands trembling
Body ready to give up
Tears rolling down in streams faster and faster
Mind confused
Lips quivering
Emotions all over the place
Doesn't know whether to feel betrayed or hate
Infuriated with everyone and everything
Thoughts were scrambled everywhere
Her brown curly locs no longer cascaded down her back
It now masqueraded her face
She wanted to be embraced
Wanted to feel like she felt before
Not this feeling, that she was foreign to
Her quiet gasp, her salty tears, and struggling whispers
She grabbed her chest and asked what is this ?
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
Electrons vibrate in the air,
Musty and foul in his lair,
Spiders crawl up and rats march the floor,
He gets a knock on his door
Flashes of memories linger,
His heart pounds with anger,
He crumples in anguish,
Death was his only wish.
The daily digest bore him with the rituals of rage,
The day masqueraded as time ticked for his age,
The radio blurted out static messages,
The speeches were of rage.
He opens the door, infallible and absent-minded,
The figure stood 8 feet tall,
Cloak and scythe, the usual routine,
Red sharp eyes peek out with an icy gaze,
“You wanted to take a shot?”
They found him dead on the floor,
He took up more space than he ever wished for,
Flies congregating where once there was a face,
Today the photos show his daze
He was the star of the masquerade,
The news of the digest,
People marched by in a parade,
The tortured soul laid to rest
Vijaya Balan (2010)
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
She was caught in the crossfire
Holding the trigger
Undone, panicked eyes; she was sliced by a wire
She folded and could not move a finger.
Relapsed, she was a broken liar
Each time she faded, she faded faster
Underneath, masqueraded, she was a fighter
But inside, where she hides, she felt herself shatter.
It was like waking up from a dream, bleary eyed and breathless.
Shielding her eyes, she stood there, no longer picking her seams
She had defeated her sleepless dependence
Her mind may have fooled her, but she was no longer a machine
For a time, it became her, changed her, fought her heart out
But when she surfaced, she breathed, and there wasn’t a doubt.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
It's amazing what a little light can do,
Illuminate the soul,
Like cold water against my dry skin,
You brought me alive.
I was drowning in my own self doubt before you stepped into my life.
Masqueraded in disguise,
You weren't the darkness this time,
You were light,
You lit up my world,
Transformed from black and white,
HD and in color,
Happiness floods my soul.
Despite this revelation,
I'm afraid what will happen when I lose my mind.
What happens when you get rid of me,
The darkness will grab me,
And carry me far, far away.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 5:20 PM UTC
In a dream,
a wispy woman
wafts down to me
and whispers quietly,
"window, or mirror?"
repeatedly until it echoed
as a haunting melody
of indecipherable melancholy.
I awoke as the sun suggested.
Awaiting the play of penitence
to present itself
as the heat of a distant star
masqueraded behind skies
gessoed grey.
The ethereal muse still perched
behind conscious mind,
eyes searching for a tangible answer
to reply, but found nothing,
save my reflection in the half light
and small slivers of outside
through Venetian blinds.
Dec. 16, 2016
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC
Life is like a garden path which meanders through a resolution of dichotomous experience.
Let us make haste, oh weary traveller, beyond the beginning of finality.
As calamity can be a figment of our imagination, so security can be masqueraded by the Angel of Death.
How does your garden grow?
And, are you truly as contrary as we have been led to believe, my deviant little Mary?
We must reach within the depths of our vacant and immortal souls and claw out that ghastly demon who entangles her subjects with cobwebs of sensuality, because the aroma of floriculture tells us that blossom is a reproductive structure.
It is difficult to believe that the dark is rising.
Anyway, let us pray.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
It saddens me
No end
that due to
HARSH WORDS
and unremitting lies
I have lost a friend
Screamingnighthog
was and hopefully
will be again,
a poet who supported
and helped grow many
writers, with generous comments
And an open and welcoming heart
I do not believe he is perfect,
But nor do I believe he;
MASQUERADED as beryl dov
or anyone else for that matter!
I write this hoping others join
with me in supporting him and
letting him know he is APPRECIATED
and not in order to denegrate anyone else.
I miss his poetry....
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
No, my heart did not beat faster
When I caught that glimmer in your eyes
No, it is not a home for secrets masqueraded in laughs
Nor a drunken love in disguise
No. My pillow is not a rainforest
Holding my tears, my cries
And I am certainly not enamoured enough
To suffer the low lows, climb the high highs
Of course I do not expect the universe
To let your whimsical words actualize
No. I do not whisper your name in the dark,
When the fear intensifies
No. I do not want to hear your voice
Your cheers of victory or exasperated sighs
The tears keep rolling down my face
I guess I'm good at telling lies.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 9:42 AM UTC