Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Yes, perhaps 'tis true.
Everywhere I go-with all t'ese dwindling thoughts on my mind-
'tis always the same shadows that roam, and moan-
before my eyes: and t'eir never-ending business.
Crawling on t'eir lips,
poisoning t'eir bosoms, chins, and hips-
but unrelenting in their unfolded shades;
with a swamp of bruises like mazes-tangled mazes;
likening them to spoiled, yet uncherished, little pearls.
How despairing-such views I obtaineth, on my every journey!
But shalt there still be space for us, to be outstanding;
to understand this world from a pair of eyes
glistening like unquestioning gentleness; but learning simultaneously
its unvivid perspectives
with such comprehension t'at is crystal clear;
such wit t'at is far from recklessness and greed-
salutations that are pure, and distant from any blighting threats
of equivocation? For t'is world is, in spite of its minuteness,
was framed and brought into life from
awesome darkness, abysmal cells of lifelessness
and hateful ambiguity.
How terrifying!
And often have I enforced myself to wandereth into those shades,
with unmolested poems boiling up in my brains-
and t'ose windy thoughts toppling out into th' paper
on my hand,
jostling through my veins like some ghastly, furious power
t'at's unseen, invisible as it is to th' human eye-
frail and susceptible to th' weather's surly temptations-
and entrapping me in the shrieks of its wondrous grot-
so I could never wane it any further, in my guileless brambles.
How I have dreaded t'ose sights-and t'eir dormant treachery! Lessons of
guilt, teaching of such guilty flakes of harm
and abomination! And how in my following quietude have I pondered-
t'at t'is would be just a balmy prelude to some far bigger strains of
mockery, obstinacy, and destitution. Hark to how those powers
shall arise! And that will indeed be th' abjuration of our splendidness-
everything shalt stop at a halt-everything will become flawed,
and no more poems shalt be liberated-from living souls, and t'eir undamaged
blood, as t'ey still are now! How I shiver at t'ose possibilities, as soon as our
latent enemies be on th' loose-free in t'eir ruthlessness, traces of dark,
unperturbed miseries, and brutal savagery.
And shalt we shine no more-like those summer flowers that are waiting for us-
to be fed daily like th' hungry morning doves;
with their thorns as sharp as love, and innocent gladness
in the arms of their lips-'tis but a scent so dear to the heartbeat
of oureth salubrious mornings.
But t'at danger, danger indeed! And its eyes of glaring monstrosity!
And 'tis just of substantial profoundness t'at we should be
cautious-yes, cautious, my dear fellows, towards t'ose signs
of th' upcoming storm-th malevolent storm of human rage, t'at shalt attack us
one day-at one perilous night, unpredicted and unexpected is its fate-
especially when all th' battling footsteps areth
peaceful in their slumbers-and no more palms dancing around
piles of paper-in th' holy procurement of continual wealth.
How t'at moment shalt be our early Armageddon-awakened shalt be
all rivers of terrors, and waves of hatred. How t'is beautiful solitude shalt end-
in th' fierce burning, brimming death of t'at flame-credulous shalt we be,
disempowered from th' heat-which shalt bring us but our dead feet.
Thus I but sincerely hope t'at gloom shalt not conquer our race-
the noblest of all creatures on earth-on t'is dull earth, fatigued as it is
from all th' uniformed battles, hatred, and anger-t'at untiringly sneer
at th' faces of those dying soldiers.
Peace, peace, my dear mates!
Ought to realize thou now-t'at swords shalt shed blood only if instructed.
So tranquility is but in oureth hands-yes, we are but th' key to our own salvation,
and since it is so, shalt we move forward and be the charms of t'is world's
new foundation: for it is our own life that we shalt save.
Peace, my friends, shalt but break all t'ese unseen boundaries amongst us,
and enrich our fathom of t'eir unspoken presence; so t'at th' small world is but
th' most dwelling of comfort, and aught but ease to our hearts-
our very dear, dear hearts in t'is life.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
poetry can resemble a jackson ******* method - but it can also resemble sitting on the stairs in the garden, just when winter starts to dig into it's cold at night (but still not cold enough) for a man drinking beer and smoking cigarettes to feel the skin etch out in itches from the mild freeze, and imagining himself holding the beer bottle with skeletal fingers... then the thoughts come... nothing is really planned by a narrator working out a fictional linear process, it's more like that soviet invention of a game of tetris, thoughts come, the ego disappears, thoughts arrange for a brief narrative, then disappear, new thoughts come, then a randomisation process takes over, until ex nihil complete dispersion, the faculty of thinking is exiled, and the faculty of memory takes over.*

after watching two grand movies in one day,
it felt really sour to return to the grand stasis of things,
the only constellations that are visible
without any ******* notion of light pollution
are scorpio and the big dipper...
the litter dipper is more dim this year,
so dim i mistook the earth's celestial geographic
route as spring summer the big dipper is
when in autumn winter the big dipper is
the small dipper... but seeing the two in the night
once i became aspirational in my error -
if only the prefix aspi- existed, derived from
aspen to the added continuance of the word
left: rational: rationality based upon unforced error?
but these two films: kingsman: the secret service
& the hobbit: the desolation of smaug
you get penetrated by so many active ingredients
for the narration via images, that when you
un-glue your eyes from plato's cave (actors
are the best conclusive interpretation of shadows,
no rabbits in the hand to be mistaken for the real things)
you get this drawback sensation of having to focus
on inanimate things in stasis -
and it can & does become pretty glum,
esp. if you want to return to the realm of using
phonetic symbols, to not speak in reserve for
an up-and-coming stage performance
but to see the glaring starry composition of hidden
things in the things already seen...
so there with the beer, scorpio elsewhere
the big dipper only thing providing me with
a workable dynamic: in schematic
          
       .         .
                    
                       .
                .

       .
            .

               .


i had to active this arrangement of stars
to negated feeding my exposure to
so many images...
i began by coupling the stars: three couplets
one star the odd one out...
then i started to create a dynamic
on the basis of geometry, a geometric
non-linear representation of infinity,
but the constellation into a circle,
and therefore thought of infinity as not
beginning                         sequence                    end,
after all, infinity as a constant interchange
of 10 distinctions 0 - 9 can be ridiculous,
whereby infinity just becomes a randomisation:
either 14123480345792340834 etc.
or 12300984393657499393030, etc.
so using geometry i need to acquire
a infinite parallelism, infinite parallelism
implied as non-convergence.... two points
small enough (atoms, sub-atomic particles,
stars) to interact in parallel, but never converge,
for if convergence was possible...
i wonder: me being conscious of being
the olympic gold swimmer to the ****?
i hardly think so.
i can perceive atoms via the greek imagination
or with the galileo of small-print via the microscope,
but i can't individuate an atom of some sort
to a specified functional guarantee: well yeah,
sulphur stinks... but i could technically
atomise the one unit in my capacity to a state
of an atom... my self... given the number of people
and all the chance interactions in an environment
big enough to all a minuteness of the atomised self...
which is perhaps the counter to that old chestnut
known as solipsism: how to get the right phonetically
chemical concoction to get an etymologically word
out of this? atomipsism? no philology in me just
yet to open the bible of philology (the dictionary)
or bother thesaurus rex for comparative literature.
but anyway, as things go i was musing this other thing,
the fame of achilles with the modern fame machinery...
back then you really had to push the right buttons,
and your actual fame was post-mortem, in order
that you might be glorified in some way...
modern fame seems like a bad orwellian joke...
it's translated into our modern themes of catchphrases
slogans and trademarks as c.c.t.v., a ****** camera
on your shoulder... it actually is a bad orwellian joke...
no double think i rephrased into:
there are more c.c.t.v. cameras in england than in
all of europe put together... so the double think
is as this:
a. should i be bothered, or
b. should i not be bothered?
i'll answer with my usual enigmatic methodology by
just changing the subject -
we left the realm of philosophic doubt and thinking,
we entered the realm of modern denial and thinking,
i dare say i prefer doubt to denial,
it makes all our apprehensions, petty fears and
all petty concerns a bit smaller - via the maxim:
the only fear to fear is fear itself... denial doesn't
provide what doubt provides, doubt is like
cushioned fear... if there's a fear to fear as simply itself
doubt puts a lid on it, a spontaneity,
a kantian noumenon by definition, fear-in-itself.
Judgson blessing Mar 2015
I behold with your beauty .
thy charm is harp and lute worthy .    
from route or from ocean.
i beset with Magi sojourn.
thy glance is jasper ,beryl ,and sapphire.
thy breath is anguent .incense .myrrh.
i beset with worship to thy promised land .
Sirius,Vegas,Arturus will guide me by dream or by land.
thy love is the worship of heaven choir.
i run not for jasper; lo, Orphic with lute and lyre.
but i do run for thy heart and thy soul.
i embark for love by dream or by land.
LIZZY,your worship !is only by you my soul longs stand.
im a beggar,im a knight ,im a messiah but im only a soul .
why tarriest thou?i behold with love and fume .
lets rove on down this azure of garden of fragrance perfume.
i give my heart upon the dream of thy happiness .
cause the toss is harsh but for you my lily bed minuteness.
thou art the praised of my soul even i will face *****.
oh, tempest gale what do i know ?but my gait i will always resume.
drink Ichor, drink Elixir thou crudest rival Meanads.
i rejoice from my ***** the love peril with my ballad.
give me thy love and take from me Babilon bloom.
with fantasy ,love and ecstasy and myth all is sublime.
i carry not mother of pearl but the perfume of my breath .
love of fire i dread not even your kiss sentence me to death.
love ! i hear a numerable in as much as pain.
take the glory from me but i behold difficulty of your love sustain.
give me your heart ,fear no consequence for you my soul cant refrain.
Julian Jackson May 2014
Praises be to the God of minuteness.
For he expands our knowledge of worlds unseen.
Unnoticed,
And unchallenged.
Unchartered.
Courtesy of the hustling and bustling of mundane existence.

Where are we going,
That we cannot walk amongst the Fields of Gold.

What begs to be noticed,
If the butterfly,
In all its glory, and unyielding efforts
Cannot grasp our attention,
Even for a moment.

Time is precious.
And humans are meddlesome.

Nature is the essence of every god that ever was,
And ever shall be.

Where are we?
Here we are.
Jared Eli Dec 2012
It's that sort of day when you sit alone and cold
Just thinking about everything and nothing at all.
It's that sort of day when you zone out
Because it's better to hear the emptiness in your brain than the crowd outside.
It's a day when you exclude everyone
So you can appreciate being with them.
When there's nothing you want more
Than to sit and drink coffee at an outdoor cafe.
It's a day for you to be you, with no one else around
Because these days are reserved for you to revel in
The nothingness
The completeness
The fractured whole
The minuteness
The magnitude
That is your heart and soul.
Filomena Jan 7
The Master of Chaos sat alone
on top of his almost invisible throne
and looked out into the dark and saw
that nothing could be seen at all

He said to himself, 'I'll make a light,
and put an end to this horrid night.'
as he sat there in his muted fright,
not knowing what was wrong or right

He flicked his finger; a flame flickered and flashed
and formed a faint figure in the infinite abyss
But he looked and saw still nothing at all
the darkness stood an impenetrable wall

Now at this time his anger grew
In place of the terror that he knew
As into the flame he spat and cursed
'How could my lot be any worse?'

A speck of his spittle then sputtered and sparked
And for a short moment a bubble there arced
In midst of that moment the Master thought quick
'To place all my power this point I will pick!'

Now pinpricks of light in the bubble appeared
And at their minuteness the Master then jeered
But one of those pinpricks the Master gave birth
Was an almost invisible one we call Earth

And onto its surface, as if as a joke
Some self-moving somethings to being he spoke
On one race of somethings he blasted his breath
But showed them no notion of darkness or death

Their ignorant bliss would not have long to live
As the Master was happy a dilemma to give
'Ignore your incorrigible longing to know
Or soon into darkness your heart I will throw!'

These somethings could not help their curiousness
And soon brought an end to their innocent bliss
They looked on the Master; in horror recoiled
And from that time forward in terror they toiled

In spite of this, certain determined to show
Their thanks to the place whence creation did flow
'The Master-- He made us. We owe Him our all.'
And so on the name of the Master they call

Now one such, a brother, got gifts from above
In contrast, the other heard nothing of love
In the depths of his being resentfulness grew
And soon into darkness his brother he threw

The boy's broken body returned to the Earth
And then did the living remember their worth
But the Master saw fit to deliver a curse
'For who kills the killer, it's seven times worse!'

But a spark of naivety still wasn't quenched
Even while all the old had their souls from them wrenched
And though many people just followed their will
A few kept their view of a duty to fill

Time passing, the Master elected one man
To shoulder the burden of Life in his hand
'You're special. I choose you. Complete now this task.
Your family will be sole survivers at last'

'Now thus I command thee: construct a great Box
And I'll bring you each beast, from the ant to the ox
The Box will be shelter for two of each kind
In performing this promise leave not one behind!'

The whole population soon started to ask
At the purpose and point of this puzzling task
But finding no answer they started to jeer
Not aware of the fate that was drawing so near

The Box was completed, the Chosen inside
Along with the beasts that had come to reside
And now that the plan had been put all to use
The Master was ready his hatred to loose

The Master broke open the fountains on high
And the wells of the Earth overflowed to the sky
These terrible torrents fast flowing like tears
Erased all the faithless, their hopes and their fears

But the Chosen were safe in the place that He gave
Even while all the others were sent to the grave
The Box remained buoyant for many a week
Till at last the Box landed upon a tall peak

The Master, now sated, declared to them thus:
'I never again shall devour with such lust
To each of all people who call on my Name
I'll lend preservation in spite of their shame'

A new generation now came to arise
That as they grew great grew exceedingly wise
They said to themselves, 'Let us build us a tower
And none shall compare to our glory and power'

The tower they built soon grew stunningly high
As the people then strove to reach even the sky
But the Master grew weary of this hubris of man
And as was His habit, He schemed a new plan

All people till now had had only one speech
That would grant understanding to learn and to teach
Thus people were able to work and create
With clear understanding to cooperate

The Master decided confusion to sow
And quickly construction then started to slow
Words became strange, understanding was gone
And with it ability to all get along

The people were fractured. They couldn't agree
And factions then found it expedient to flee
From then on the people began to spread out
And make their own places to worry about

Now the Master saw fit to commit to a choice
To limit the living who witness His voice
And even the Chosen, of which there were few
To each He provided a separate view

But still in each part He was greatly extolled
And tales of His terrible doings were told
Destruction of cities; Affliction of men
The only beginning; The ultimate end
A misotheistic epic
PK Wakefield Oct 2013
a leaf
who
shall
speak
Fall

    is
d
r
i ft
e          du

p


         on



the breeze;




                   l
                  

                        i

       l



                            t



        ing,



it pauses for a briefly infinite minuteness
only to lurch
suddenly
into
no
t
h
ing.
i am vis-a-vis
with the wuthering truth:
perhaps,
why
we are flourishing,
we are colossal
in our
dream
is because
our realities are
small
and that our frailties roar,
bludgeoning us to our
minuteness.
it is our fate:
in the dungeons of sleep we
burgeon!
    -- as though we do not wish
   to wake up to what bitterness
     rises with us in waking.
Filomena Jan 7
The Master of Chaos sat all alone
on top of his almost invisible throne
and looked out into the darkness and saw
that nothing could be seen at all

He said to himself, 'I'll make a light,
and put an end to this horrid night.'
as he sat there in his muted fright,
not knowing what was wrong or right

He flicked his first finger; a flame flickered and flashed
and formed a faint figure in the infinite abyss
But he looked and saw still nothing at all
the darkness stood an impenetrable wall

Now at this time his anger grew
In place of the terror that he knew
As into the flame he spat and cursed
'How could my lot be any worse?'

A speck of his spittle then sputtered and sparked
And for a short moment a bubble there arced
In midst of that moment the Master thought quick
'To place all my power this point I will pick!'

Now pinpricks of light in the bubble appeared
And at their minuteness the Master then jeered
But one of those pinpricks the Master gave birth
Was an almost invisible one we call Earth

And onto its surface, as if as a joke
Some self-moving somethings to being he spoke
On one race of somethings he blasted his breath
But showed them no notion of darkness or death

Their ignorant bliss would not have long to live
As the Master was happy a dilemma to give
'Ignore your incorrigible longing to know
Or soon into darkness your heart I will throw!'

These somethings could not help their curiousness
And soon brought an end to their innocent bliss
They looked on the Master; in horror recoiled
And from that time onward in terror they toiled

In spite of this, certain determined to show
Their thanks to the place whence creation did flow
'The Master-- He made us. We owe Him our all.'
And so on the name of the Master they call

Now one such, a brother, got gifts from above
In contrast, the other heard nothing of love
In the depths of his being resentfulness grew
And soon into darkness his brother he threw

The boy's broken body returned to the Earth
And then did the living remember their worth
But the Master saw fit to deliver a curse
'For who kills the killer, it's seven times worse!'

But a spark of naivety still wasn't quenched
Even while all the old had their souls from them wrenched
And though many people just followed their will
A few kept their view of a duty to fill

Time passing, the Master elected one man
To shoulder to burden of Life in his hand
'You're special. I choose you. Complete now this task.
Your family will be sole survivers at last'

'Now thus I command thee: construct a great Box
And I'll bring you each beast, from the ant to the ox
The Box will be shelter for two of each kind
In performing this promise leave not one behind!'

The whole population soon started to ask
At the purpose and point of this puzzling task
But finding no answer they started to jeer
Not aware of the fate that was drawing so near

The Box was completed, the chosen inside
Along with the beasts that had come to reside
And now that the plan had been put all to use
The Master was ready his hatred to loose

The Master broke open the fountains on high
And the wells of the Earth overflowed to the sky
These terrible torrents fast flowing like tears
Erased all the faithless, with their hopes and their fears

— The End —