"mors" poems
.#metoboot.
X O X
O X O
X X O
who the ****
was i supposed
to be calling?
#: but there's no
phone-number
and there's no
telephone...
let me just call up
a trend...
a meme...
funny funny...
not so funny...
it's still amazing
how existence drags
essence along with itself...
and that
essence is neither
a priori, nor a posteriori,
to compensate
existence,
being neither of the two.
since why should
existence be a priori
to essence,
or why essence
should be a posteriori
to existence...
oh... wait...
why essence should be
a posteriori to existence?
that part...
so why does the notion
of knowledge exist,
or the fact that some
100 year old old ****
gives life advice
about how he has
a 20 year old lover,
and he shoots a down trip
of ***** of 1cl
each day?
it's still a drag experience,
no, not Brighton drag queens...
existence drags essence
into its ontological conclusion...
mors mater...
muttertod...
matka śmierć...
mother death;
and? last time i heard?
she's the ultimus virgo,
she's the (do you couple
adverbs with verbs,
or verbs with nouns
in german? can you couple
adverbs with verbs?
ah... ad- Latin prefix:
toward... sure... an adverb
+ a verb sounds better than
an adverb + noun) hence?
letzemaljungfrau,
ostatnia niewiasta,
the last (or the lasting) ******
she can't exactly fake
******* over someone
to a dead pulp of prior to
tadpole whipped / egg white
cream.
*
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
I have no right to feel this way.
Everything is too loud, too much.
I want to cover my ears, but it gives little relief.
I tear at my hair, and the pain gives an anchor.
My patches are hidden, small secrets.
Mors ultima linea rerum,
a constant threat,
the sword above my head.
Not death itself,
but the inability to find peace.
Sleep is similar, but it is not death.
It is similar, Tarkovsky observes,
but it is not permanent.
Sleep is universal,
but so is waking.
The fool, shepherd, wise, and king
rise with the sun.
Mors sceptra ligonibus aequat.
Mors ultima linea rerum.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC
listen here: https://youtu.be/zvKsDjWhETE
I could give this all up fall in love with a new life
Got a new view of a new tribe
What did I do to deserve this new life
looking back percs in petty sacks
Off white china in .1 packs
Point of all this is I took it the max
Could this one book keep me from the casket
God my life has been so tragic
Never enough
Never felt love like I did from the dub
Took it and run like I'm never coming back god
Never looking back on it living in the past, nah Imma let it go
Let it all go I'm a new individual
Coming so lyrical bringing hella visuals
Victim of nothing Imma survivor
Sick and I'm tired; corrupt desire
let me go, God
So I know I know I'm
Free to grow God
Not alone
let me go, God
So I know I know I'm
Free to grow God
Not alone
Let me go
I know this road's not easy
It's not made to please me
I leave the rest behind
Watch the smile fade from her eyes
I'm alone
Many tries now my life is on the line
And I got no phone
Never enough
Never felt love like I did from the dub
Took it and run like I'm never coming back god
Never looking back on it living in the past, nah Imma let it go
Let it all go I'm a new individual
Coming so lyrical bringing hella visuals
Victim of nothing Imma survivor
Sick and I'm tired; corrupt desire
let me go, God
So I know I know I'm
Free to grow God
Not alone
let me go, God
So I know I know I'm
Free to grow God
Not alone
I want to be free
Locked in with disease
Put me on my knees
Looking for the key
Feel so empty on the inside
Take me then divide
Struggle then I die
Pretend I'm alive; that's a lie
Never enough
Never felt love like I did from the dub
Took it and run like I'm never coming back god
Never looking back on it living in the past, nah Imma let it go
Let it all go I'm a new individual
Coming so lyrical bringing hella visuals
Victim of nothing Imma survivor
Sick and I'm tired; corrupt desire
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 10:01 AM UTC
Dis nou die tyd om te babbel
En my mond verby te praat
, want hulle sê mos
A drunk man's words is
A sober man's thoughts...
En wie weet dalk vind ek
Die antwoorde in ń diep gesprek met myself...
Sien ek is nie een van daardie
AA lappies wat skeinheilig
Sit en slukkies suip om
Geluk onder in die bottel
Op te spoor nie.
Ek rook skaamteloos en
Omhels die intense stank
Van 10 jaar se lewe wat ek
Mors en longkanker, want
Dit herrinner my an oupa se
Skoot en *** veilig ek was
In daardie asbak woonstel
Waar ek soos white-trash eers my brood moes inspekteer vir
Indringer kokkerotte wat ook
Maar net teen ons kompeteer het
Vir ń krummeltjie kos.
Ek babbel, want wat anders kan mens doen as vrees jou aangryp as die koue staal jou hande brand -
En nee ek praat nie van lemme en inspuitings nie,
Want lemme maak merke waarvan ek reeds te veel het wat nou oor my polse uitgesprei lê en my herrinner *** swak ek was, maar *** sterk ek was... en inspuitings los ek vir die dokters en susters en die bloeddiens
Wat my leeg wil tap om een of ander sad case se lewe te red met bloed van ń bloedjie wat self nog in die verdoemtenis rond dwaal.
Ek babbel, want dis social anxiety en scary stuff om in ń kring te sit en Russian roulette te speel met al 5 van die mense wat ander van jou verwag om te wees. Want wat gebeur as ek myself in hierdie hoerasie van persoonlikhede raakskiet. *** weet ek watter een is ek as elke een die sneller swaar trek en hoop en bid vir ń blank... *** weet ek.
Kliek...
Kliek...
Kliek...
Kliek...
Bang!!
En nou babbel ek maar weer
...
Want ek het so pas agtergekom ek weet ook nie juis *** dit voel om dood te wees nie.
Wie is ek...
*** sal ek weet
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
...
Ek weet.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
Jy het die son gaan haal
Toe dit nag was.
Oor die horison gedraf
En hom terug gesmokkel in jou tas.
Jy het hom net hier , skuins
Bo ons koppe gehang.
Sodat ek jou altyd kon sien
En nooit moes verlang.
Maar die maan het my bygebly
Haar geduldig in my skadu toegevou
-N fluisterstem in my oor
"Kyk, hy mors met jou"
Jy het die son gaan vang
Toe dit nag was
En in sy lig
Sien ek toe , wie jy eintlik was.
Jy het die son vir my gaan haal
En gedink as jy loop
Ek in sy skerp lig sal verdwaal?
Maar toe jy gaan toe hunker die maan
Sy het my trane weg gevee
En ek het saam met haar gegaan.
Gister sien ek jy kom aangedraf
En jy sit die son in jou koffer.
Toe jy weer oor die horison verdwyn
Lag ek en die maan, oor jou nuutste slagoffer.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 1:05 AM UTC
I’m indebted to the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, 4th Edition 1996
**Ab Imo Pectore
A**b imo pectore,
Blandae mendacia linguae,
Cadit quaestio,
Desunt cetera.
E*st modus in rebus.
Faber est quisque fortunae suae,
Gigni de nihilo nihilum, in nihilum nil posse reverti.
Hic finis fandi,
Interdum stultus bene loquitur?
Jacta interdum est alea,
Labuntur et imputantur.
Magni nominis umbra,
Nec scire fas est omnia,
Omne crede diem tibi diluxisse supremun,
Pallida mors aequo pulsat pauperum tabernas regumque turres;
Quid rides, mutato nominee de te fibula narrator,
Res ipsa loquitur.
Solvitur ambulando…
Tempora mutantur, nos et matamur in illis.
Urbi et orbi,
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.*
From The Bottom Of The Heart
From the bottom of the heart, the falsehoods of a smooth tongue,
The question drops, the rest is wanting.
There is a balance in all things, every man is the creator of his own fate.
From nothing, nothing can come, into nothing, nothing can return.
Let there be an end to talking, for who can tell when a fool speaks the truth?
The die is sometimes already cast,
A moment comes and goes, and is laid to our account.
From the smallest shadow to the mightiest name,
No one can claim to know all things,
I believe that every day that dawns may be my last,
Pale death knocks impartially at both poor and rich men’s houses;
Don’t laugh, change the name and the story is yours,
It’s so obvious, it speaks for itself.
As the concept of motion is proven by walking…
So in time all things change, as we must, in time, all change.
And to all the world,
There’s no turning back.
Ab Imo Pectore / From The Bottom Of The Heart
Ab imo pectore,
From the bottom of the heart,
Blandae mendacia linguae,
The falsehoods of a smooth tongue,
Cadit quaestio,
The question drops,
Desunt cetera.
The rest is found wanting.
Est modus in rebus,
There is a balance in all things,
Faber est quisque fortunae suae.
Every man is the creator of his own fate.
Gigni de nihilo nihilum, in nihilum nil posse reverti.
From nothing, nothing can come, into nothing, nothing can return.
Hic finis fandi,
Let there be an end to talking,
Interdum stultus bene loquitur?
For who can tell when a fool speaks the truth?
Jacta interdum est alea.
The die is sometimes already cast,
Labuntur et imputantur.
A moment comes and goes, and is laid to our account.
Magni nominis umbra,
From the smallest shadow to the mightiest name,
Nec scire fas est omnia,
No one can claim to know all things,
Omne crede diem tibi diluxisse supremun,
I believe that every day that dawns may be my last,
Pallida mors aequo pulsat pauperum tabernas regumque turres;
Pale death knocks impartially at both poor man and rich men’s houses;
Quid rides, mutato nominee de te fibula narrator,
Don’t laugh, change the name and the story is yours,
Res ipsa loquitur.
It’s so obvious, that it speaks for itself.
Solvitur ambulando…
As the concept of motion is proven by walking…
Tempora mutantur, nos et matamur in illis.
So in time all things change, as we must, in time, all change.
Urbi et orbi,
And to all the world,
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.
There’s no turning back.
r10.1
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
Je vis cette faucheuse. Elle était dans son champ.
Elle allait à grands pas moissonnant et fauchant,
Noir squelette laissant passer le crépuscule.
Dans l'ombre où l'on dirait que tout tremble et recule,
L'homme suivait des yeux les lueurs de la faulx.
Et les triomphateurs sous les arcs triomphaux
Tombaient ; elle changeait en désert Babylone,
Le trône en échafaud et l'échafaud en trône,
Les roses en fumier, les enfants en oiseaux,
L'or en cendre, et les yeux des mères en ruisseaux.
Et les femmes criaient : - Rends-nous ce petit être.
Pour le faire mourir, pourquoi l'avoir fait naître ? -
Ce n'était qu'un sanglot sur terre, en haut, en bas ;
Des mains aux doigts osseux sortaient des noirs grabats ;
Un vent froid bruissait dans les linceuls sans nombre ;
Les peuples éperdus semblaient sous la faulx sombre
Un troupeau frissonnant qui dans l'ombre s'enfuit ;
Tout était sous ses pieds deuil, épouvante et nuit.
Derrière elle, le front baigné de douces flammes,
Un ange souriant portait la gerbe d'âmes.
2.2k
‘’She has some blood
in her pale hands
that flows down softly
from her veins,
it flows on her fingers
then it goes down,
with little drops
to hit the ground.
She’s surely dead,
and I’m amazed
to see such people…
Getting their life erased,
without even getting that
they have just deleted
all they ever really had ‘’
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
Gladiators killed
in spectacular fights
for the amusement of the snorting populace
and drugged Emperors
and won favors of sex-hungry noblewomen
and even the secret bed of the Empress;
but gladiators too could not take life anymore
and so took their own lives
one died on the seat of the latrine
thrusting a sponge and stick
into his own throat;
another ran to the wheel of a huge speeding cart
and pushed his head through the spokes;
and 29 gladiators in their confines
strangled one another
each against the other
no rope, no cloth, no weapons
except bare hands and mutual consent
Gladiators entertained
rowdy audiences dying
to see man killing man or beast
but in their own agony
there were Gladiators
glad enough to take their own lives…
Feb 19, 2011
Feb 19, 2011 at 4:42 PM UTC
jeg så dig danse på en lørdag nat. jeg har aldrig set dig danse før.
det var allerførste gang jeg så dig danse.
du dansede til et nummer komponeret af en mand med et uforglemmeligt og krøllet navn.
og hele rummet summede af lyden af et klaver der blev slået an af en rystende finger og violin strengene der dansede rundt i luften, efterlod rummet i en skygge af pulver drømme og stjerner der faldt ned omkring dine fødder.
du dansede noget der kunne minde om en vals. men du dansede den alene.
vil du ikke danse lidt med mig i stedet for at gøre det helt alene? det ser så ensomt ud. smukt, dog ensomt.
du trak på smilebåndet. men så ej på mig.
så kom herhen.
du tog mig pludselig i dine arme og scenen var din, min, og vores. jeg har aldrig danset. kun i stuen som lille i min mors gamle balletskørt.
og det gik op for mig hvor perfekt min spinkle krop passede i den silhuet der før var udfyldt af noget ingen andre end du kunne se.
og scenen var din, min, og vores.
verden forsvandt omkring os mens vi dansede mellem stjernerne.
jeg forsøgte at få del i dine tanker ved at lade mig suge ind i dit blik....men du havde travlt med at koncentrere dig om dine trin. ikke bare for dansens skyld, men det blik du anstrengte dig for ikke at sende mig handlede ikke blot om dansen men angsten for at træde forkert.
hvad ville der ske hvis du så mig i øjnene?
jeg kunne mærke din kropsvarme helt ind i sjælen mens du snurrede mig rundt. let og elegant og tilbage i dine arme.
se på mig.
stjernene var for længst faldet ned men var ikke længere at finde for mine fødder. for du så på mig. du så mig lige ind i øjnene, længe nok til at det begyndte at gøre ondt da du trådte et skridt tilbage men ikke længe nok til at jeg kom ind under huden på dig.
tak for dansen.
følelserne... var de ikke lige der?
og før jeg vidste af det var der ikke længere andet end mig og den sørgelige musik der nu fyldte rummet med opløste håb og tusind fejl og mangler.
på en lørdag nat så jeg dig danse for første gang. jeg havde aldrig set dig danse før. og på en lørdag nat så du mig i øjnene for første gang. du havde aldrig set mig i øjnene før....
.... og jeg har ikke danset siden
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
In a senseless
Explosion of
Sound, you are
Reduced to a
Crawling thing
On the margins of
A disintegrating
World with a
Lush numbness
And peace that
Lulls the mind
Making death
Seem so easy
Aug 3, 2023
Aug 3, 2023 at 10:22 AM UTC
We dissected his synapses
sent him subconsciously
seeking theorized sources
of the substance
Thanksgiving is coming
and I'm stuck mute on my new path
If he comes bearing gifts
can I say anything
through the slow death mask
and scramble suit deceptions
that will make him understand
the murky depth of my regret?
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
dappled light pours down from the heavens
wind whispers through the leaves
song birds declare their love for one another
the orphan fawn just grieves.
white bone glares through his tattered hide
his stomach pines for help
a cougar has slain his mother
and injured the little whelp.
he rests his head on his front hooves
he takes a deep breath in
life is just a vicious cycle
and this one's at its end.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
I contempate, is this my fate?
Nothing comes to mind.
I've lost the light, fallen down,
No hope here I'll find.
No strength remains, in my heart,
There's nothing I can do.
For in the dark, I have lost,
My will to sail this storm through.
They spit on me, with their apathy,
Why can't they understand?
I'm all alone, far from home,
Lonesome broken man.
Inside of me, only misery,
I'm done it's too late.
I'm letting go, breaking off,
Full of fear and hate.
So take your world, take it all,
It is lost to me.
In the cold, my soul unfolds,
This you'll never see.
Broken thoughs, haunt my mind,
There will be no rest,
Is this the end?, surely not,
Mors principium est.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 6:34 AM UTC
Vi kysser mors mund fra barnsben af
Krammer far før forlader
Synger for broder før han tager kampen
mod den verden
vi alle ønsker reddet
Vi er ikke sammen
Vi er kun alene
Fra barnsben af med moders kindkys
Til nu, på egne ben, tippende på kanten
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
Maybe we were meant to drift apart,
Maybe you were meant to taste something sweeter.
And maybe I was meant to stay right here,
Maybe I was meant to be all bitter.
Maybe I was meant to watch people fall,
Maybe I was meant to write it down.
Maybe I was meant to stay right here,
Maybe I was meant to feel so down.
And maybe it wasn't meant for me to touch love,
Or touch hearts, or veins.
Maybe it was meant for them,
So I could observe it and tell the difference.
Now it's all ****** up,
I was meant to grief for all that I've wasted.
I was meant to notice that there's no chance for me to win it,
I was meant to **** the person in the past full of happiness.
I was meant to be lonely.
Alone, Dark, Blue.
Whatever it is, I'm just sad
Or something more.
But maybe that's not it,
Maybe you're not the last.
Maybe I could still have a chance,
Maybe cupid still got his plans.
Maybe it was still the right decision,
Maybe the decision was for you to taste more,
To taste something better.
Maybe it was for you to evolve from a mud into a gold.
And maybe it was also for me,
For me to end what I've been destroying.
No!
It is not you who I've been trying to euthanize.
It was me all along,
You've received your freedom.
You've told me that I am forgiven.
Maybe,
Just maybe..
It's time for me to forgive myself,
And share my deepest ******* affection again.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
Pennated souls conform themselves
By gesture unto the penitent crack of doom,
Truths sombrous tintinnabular dissolution
Like to it; crossing the rubicon
Entering the sanctum sanctorum of Mors.
The wraith gerant priest of the
Higher world weighing trammelled
Empty bottles with the funereal
Sword of Damocles, gilding
Thread and thrum eternities moribund lily.
The hollow glass of mortality
Destinies lake of fire;
First purging the dickens dead men,
Living creatures on the wrong tack
Tarred with the same brush
To an igneous second death
Pent to illume the myrtle charnel house
Of the devils bones.
ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 9:45 PM UTC
kridtet fedter af på alle overflader, med sin tørre tilstedeværelse strejfer den alles liv og efterlader sit uendeligt hvide mærke. kridtet tegner og støver og brækkes og ruller og gemmer sig under radiatoren i biologilokalet under jorden. kridtet kommer også fra et sted under jordens overflade - fra havet, siger de på stevns klint hvor vi er unge og nye og uspolerede af kridtet og af verden, hvor jeg er 15 og alt er nyt. kridtets forældede tilstand i sin oprindelse og i sin kapgang med plastiktavler og whiteboardtuscher.
kridtet, der følger folk fra barndomsgaden i flerfarvet naiv fantasi til institutionaliseret indlæren,
t a v l e u n d e r v i s n i n g e n
og vi ser ikke en brøkdel af vores asfalteventyr i de hvide, kompakte, pragmatiske ruller. et anstrengt forhold det hvide, sammenpakkede støv hersker i klassen, opdager vi i efter en dansktime, hvor jeg tænkte på mine fingre dækket i det omklamrende materiale, fingerneglene på tavlen,
g å s e h u d e n.
min mors yndlingsslik er skolekridt og *** spiser en pose på en halv time, hvorefter *** rystende genovervejer, om *** overhovedet kan lide dem. jeg dufter til kridtet der minder mig om kalk, om kælder, om saltsten fra limfjorden og kridtet sidder på mine fingre og i mine tanker
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
The bridge is breaking
which side to should I run
my question is
why is the bridge breaking
As the treaty is over
and now I can act and say my way
why now my brothers and sisters
why now is the bridge breaking
No matter what you try to do to me
I have a come back with no discrepancies
oh pity you and the guards that did nothing
it's our time now, for the bridge is breaking
They now know her part of art
planned to not break this apart
for glory to life we are now fighting
as we see the bridge is breaking
Prima mors
vestri optimus inferrent
propter hoc Angelus
significat ad vos distroy
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
løb gennem en dugvåd forstadshave ved daggry
smag sommerens frugter i et smil fra en fremmed
rør ved blonderne på en sårbar samtale, frynserne
luk øjnene; se verden
se den!
duft hyacinten i dine drømme og vågn med nye holdninger
læs en andens tanke, anerkendende
jeg er blevet gennemsigtig!
jeg er blevet nyttig
jeg tror snart verden bliver for meget
jeg støtter op om forår
jeg bliver trist om vinteren
jeg har lånt en bog på biblioteket med min mors lånerkort
jeg tænker selvstændigt (af og til)
tænd et stearinlys og se din egen negativitet brænde ned
tænd et håb, flamme i natten
smil med et melankolsk tilbageblik på dine mælketænder
lån en bog på biblioteket uden at læse den. uden dårlig samvittighed
livet går stærkt
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
-mors vincit omnia
The many old who live alone
must pay attention, take care.
Any misstep might hasten their descent.
Tumble down the lonely steps.
Lie waiting in your own filth,
unable to reach a phone.
What loneliness must attend such a fall?
If only we could choose.
Proud Aeschylus was struck down
by a falling tortoise.
That’s not too bad.
To be hit by a bus while
lighting one last lethal cigarette.
That’s even better.
In bed, at ninety, chugging toward
one, final gasp of ******
Even better yet.
But not in a strange bed hooked up
to noisy, indifferent machines,
poisoned by chemotherapy,
surrounded by terrified
friends and family struck dumb,
embarrassed and uncomfortable,
stunned by their own fears.
Best on your own two feet.
Like a soldier before the bullet.
Like a Viking struck down in battle.
Like you might have even mattered.
But there is no choosing.
Decrepitude is woven in our DNA.
You cannot escape the
inevitable carnage of mortality,
but you can be very careful
where you place your feet.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC
Life lived at any cost is just not for me. I just can’t accept the concept of “bow down and you will be spared”. There are greater things in life than just breathing air. Things like liberty and honor , the great ideas of men, are more important than the empty life of a drone worker. There are people who will give up anything, or anyone just to continue living a miserable existence. Who the hell accepts the life of a slave? Certainly not me. Give me death as I fight you, you tyrant scum. The innate rights that are granted by your creator? Those are nothing if you are not willing to fight for them. I wasn’t given the right to be free… I was given the right to fight to be free. That was what was breathed into me along with my breath and life; The fire of freedom. I wasn’t born with a bill of rights in my hand; I was born with a hand that could write them. I was born with a hand that could make a weapon and use it if my freedom is oppressed. I was born with a fire that will not accept subjugation. I was born with a fire that will make me fight to remain free. That fire of freedom will only leave me when the last breath is pressed from my chest. There may be a lot of tough choices coming up for people here shortly, but not for me. That choice for me was made many years ago, that choice was birthed into this world right along side of me. “Victoria Aut Mors”
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
Tu non eterna est;
sed nihil eterna ad tu;
ergo non male ad tu;
Sil celerale mortalis, ante mors tu ad umbra ferre
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC