"nihil" poems
With nothing to see and nowhere to be,
With no one to be and nowhere to go:
Empty, like the meaning of the spring dew
Dissipating, hundreds of pieces, scattered
Individual voids waiting upon a cue
To become what they embody, fettered.
A field of unquiet quietness, occasionally
interrupted by a single, awful tone.
What existence is this exigence?
Unknowable, unspeakable, unending:
Pain is what it is.
The dew knows not why it's stepped on,
Ending its momentary nature
Only to crop up tomorrow and be none
The foot becoming again its berater.
And so it goes until the summer,
with the cruel months behind it.
The skull becomes and beckons
Back into nihil.
But there's too many things to see, places to be
Too much to be and too many places to go
For to be one is to be many and the dew tires.
Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 3:57 PM UTC
Standing upon a hill, I.
Under black & purple sunwheel.
Standing with sword in right hand, representing morality and righteousness.
Standing with mine own decapitated head in left hand, represting violent and sudden removal of Ego &&& it's prompt reclaimation.
Standing soaked in the blood of the wound as my sacramental rebirth offering and cleansing.
My own next level of Apotheosis.
Kept alive by sheer will & & & magicks.
Headless mystic standing akin to an Autosacrifical Kali Ma.
Standing as Ego.
Standing as Godhead.
I.A.O.
Standing as Headless Warrior.
Omnia et Nihil.
I am become The Other, the Ritual Evolution.
Hail.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
you left sinkholes
in my head
large enough
to ensnare my
wildest, unfiltered
dreams. they're
now trapped in my
mind and lost in the
grey matter.
ashes to serotonin
norepinephrine to dust
ex nihilo nihil fit
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 4:59 AM UTC
~~ ☠ ~~
A ship sails empty of reason,
captains fear the treasons.
Silent and smooth is how it'll fall
the cabin-boy shall take the bar.
Blood can be found on every street,
both death and life here meet.
Life is a walking misery,
pray god has blessed your destiny.
Outside the people's empty homes,
fathers, sons, left alone.
Big Brother dominates, he commands.
A billion voices in one hand.
The ocean itself is a burden,
your dreams will taunt the sugeons.
Twist well open the sails to Rome
if you flee the country, flee alone.
Between the alleys at this mass
the cross's shadow isn't cast.
Those booklets burn easy, use them well
let vain ideas fry in hell.
Our viscious masters do predict
the fall of Troika and rise of Six.
A crew who drains such futile ink
is sure to drown us down the sink.
Save me from the grim Tomorrows
full of hate deceit and sorrows.
Oh, it's not about tyranny,It's human kind.
Justice is never really blind.
Behind the money lies our pain,
into fields fall the rain.
With empty pockets walk the road,
a thousand stories left untold.
I hope one day it could end ,
just by cutting down his head.
They hunt down anyone not in line,
should we attempt this, is there time ?
Unfathomable ,
his hungry stomach calls for meat;
rotting, green, foul and sweet.
Rank food from the kitchens will be served,
for all the glory
he deserves.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
Ive 'nunquam magis sentiuntur solus is Latin for
I've never felt more alone.
I only learned Latin because
For some reason, I think that if I say things in the root of most languages,
I'll find most of the roots to these feelings.
But... Cogitationes strangulatus.
It's funny. Saying "thoughts stifle" in latin, merely sounds like cognitive strangles.
Not that it's any different, really.
It just sounds so much more like what I want it to be.
The English language has a hard time
Catching the depth of things
without sounding like it's trying too hard.
I want to be able to say something once, just once,
and be done with it.
To stop ruminating on you and find peace knowing that when I say
Reliquum aliud nihil est dicere
I don't just mean "there's nothing left to say."
I mean that I've said everything I needed to say.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 4:33 AM UTC
*
arcanum arcanarom, argumentum ad hominem
animal disputans, dixi.., animal bipes implume
cessante causa cessat et effectus, damnant quod non inteligunt
audiatur et altera pars, hominus libenter quod volunt credunt
multi famam, consientiam pauci verentur
boni pastoris est tondere pecus, non deglubere
bonum virum facile crederes, magnum libenter
non omnes qui habent citharam sunt citharoedi
currente calamo, cave quid dicis, quando, et cui
gigni de nihilo nihil, in nihilum nil posse reverti
**
..love always...*
عرفان بن يوسف © AH 14/03/1432
**
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
I had nothing
But time
I could see
The life of
It in all its
Fleeting
Terrible light
Wondering
Had I lived?
Was I the
Object in
Another's story?
Was that all
I ever was?
Could I
Be more?
Nothing but
Time and still
No answer
I had glimpsed
Into the mind
Of eternity
Perhaps the
Mind of god
And found
Nothing but
Silence
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 10:54 PM UTC
questioning the soul, questioning
the mind. why did that girl have
to have so many strokes? how
skew'd is the memory? spirits,
spirits on high for nigh recurrence -
nihil remembrances. mention'd by
name once. something wrong with
the body. disconnecting from on
high, disconnecting in a somewhat
general sense. no straight lines in
nature, no chaos in nature. get away
from the species' mentality. chaos.
c-h-a-o-s. chaos. chaos. species created
word to organize the unorganized.
straight line, polygon, order, chaos. time.
species ingrain'd, call'd instinct. to file,
to follow, to seek originality through
unoriginality. thru the banal. memory
warp'd, once could live. self-destruction
and a thought of living life without
affecting the choices of others. weakness.
chaos. rambling. tryptamine influenced
creation of language. showing teeth,
trying to intimidate. trying to rise, a
Jane of the Jungle form of archetype.
the passionate, caring, forbearing,
ape hunter. and lids sinking, closing off
the soul of influence. struggling thru
connections severed. those released from
******* by soul's recollections. by
metaphysical muscle memory. weeping
chaos, wailing order. finding null purpose
in. in. of all things. all people, all purpose.
knowing the worthlessness of well-chosen
words. and gaining access, and
trying to rise, and thirteen lines to stretch.
thirteen to fill across.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
interfere journey body sweaty mastermind dust
dummy\
inhale shale bond reason oxidize crummy
read write swell\
ready curve encrypt slime minus shell heady set
flow sacrifice\
believe alter oceanic shelf killing part of Hell split Earth lent
mayhem vent\
outspent wipe well being clean provoke Cain uphold Able
mean mug\
dump cornmeal unicorn convulsing mend restitution advertently
spiel indent\
hand over to pilot retribution intend empty zeal rummage
destitution\
Hasidic inside the writ spirit fly guide escape unravel ways of
savage\
lives out the side Pegasus soar glide abide Nein but fine rhyme
hymns\
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 8:51 PM UTC
A drive-in fast-foodery advertises
Its golly-gee new signature cheeseburger
But what in 'burgers does “signature” mean?
Who signs a cheeseburger, and how, and why?
Maybe…
The Artist Known as Nihil composes his
Signature cheeseburger, customized for you,
While waiting for his big break in Vegas
And then he’ll show all you little people
But for now he needs to sign your cheeseburger:
“To Customer 362,
Best Wishes,
Nihil”
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 9:02 AM UTC
There is more to be considered than the left or right, or even the right or wrong.
Your moralistic judgments are subjective and often reflect some societal objective.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
Pursue anxieties through the arches
Grand clothes, in all, proscenium
Marks the flesh of fiction of which
We wear in pride and tears, breaking
At whimsy the sacred real. Born in
That repetition, the rebel who rips
With rage and striking tongue solidity
All to null. We hold the soul of the earth
In balance just as we know every second
And intense authority, conscious of the body
To mold the putty of your lives.
Absurd boheme! But this magician
This contradiction with no delusion of self
As close as any man may get therefore
To perfection in our nihil.
Running, running all alongside
The misted face of high Olympus
And greatly gathering elements
And crafting, as any god to waltz
In history and awe, Absolute from
Absolute None.
Meet us when, meet us when
All the words like leaves do die
We’ll leave you with the seed of it
From drama comes drama
To drama it will go.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
Breaking waves, folding in river bends (meandering)
with an effortless grace
Cupids mouth, foaming to return -
broken and filling up the landscape.
Cracked horseshoes
waltzing across a vibrating brain,
all the worlds night
quartz, cutting drunk into
your Green city.
Banishing a sense of self
uprooting positivity, displacing our discontempt -
boil out the water from the soup of human condition.
Boredoms grace.
We're rotting, lizards tongues
wearing the past, skin deep
Imbued.
a morbid relocation of entrance
authority, a fee
Reflecting light off your face
always leading back,
back towards a tabletop nausea.
Caked in powder,
i make my way over -
licking my finger and rubbing away
at the cracks formed years ago
wandering in and out of Escher's wet dream,
hoping to settle mind and body
numbed and lethargic,
medicine doesn't help.
An open patio door,
grooming in the whisped brown dawn -
7.34am
God's rags, crisp
displacing particles against the mountain lip
red light brewing in the observers mind.
Cubes of water
pushing through into tomorrows wake
all unwrapping like 1,000 words
diluted into one second.
I'm tired
appetite gone
graven, knowledge of the inside of my mouth
encyclopedic and (almost) boring.
It's closed again
at the crux of abandon,
the skies youthful,
built from wood, holding up the trees.
Excess - child's play for Atlas.
Rogue, electric Blue.
Mollusc in hand
living, lipless
just outside the geopolitical borders
heading back towards maturity.
Nihil,
projects objectivity, sycamore due, borders
as happiness combed our soft necks.
A situation is only what you make of it,
we're all in on this
living together in leaves -
by roadsides
making homes where we sleep.
The sky is on fire
exploding into fruition
as hot chlorine licks against unwashed belly buttons and hair
going blind and stripping back
it breaks you.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
Victory is of the self.
Another threadbare exchange to leave my spirit in poverty.
Nothing I remember but the time we drifted near my planetary ego.
Planet.
You know the Greeks called it aster planetai? The star that moves.
Why be something I’m not?
It was always about me – the bloated body expelled into space.
I can be less grotesque. I can be less absolute.
I can be less dead sooner over later.
But why be something I’m not?
I am the object of my own worship, and I shall take no gods before me.
In lieu I’ll take them with me.
They the minor idols, capsuled icons, escape pods burnt in the crazy science fiction fires of atmosphere re-entry.
Everyone was all the time fleas flaked off my solar bodyship, seeking exaltation in pursuit ex nil ad nihil.
I’d apologize for my deceptions, but I’ve got a lot to learn about remorse and little time to learn it.
Horror genre, body to cosmic. Gaze you, the invited subject, upon the approaching sun from the whet of my exhausted maw.
Burn out your eyes.
Who is greater than the sun? Who can talk more than me? It's become my occupation.
Matches made with flesh and fuel wait for the final fade to white.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 10:26 PM UTC
Hell, or something close to it,
Or worse;
For they would have longed for the warmth of fire -
To feel more than the sodden stink of their boots
And the thunder of Howitzers in their bones.
But they knew the victory was coming.
Eight days, that would be enough.
Letting death fall
In the half-silence of creeping gas
And the unrelenting barrage of mortar fire
Raining like demonic hail upon the enemy.
They knew that victory was coming.
So they walked, that's all it would take -
A stroll to be heroes.
But all the waiting, enduring, lasting out
To climb up onto the crater-filled sludge,
Mown down in thousands,
And only then did they realise:
Victory was so much further away.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
perhaps the moth
simply doesn't know
the strength of
its own wings
but the way it flutters
seemingly erratic
in its choices
never straight forward
in its direction
can be infuriating at times
as those silken sails
appear to force it
where none expect it to be
in disjointed circles
often far off course
only occasionally
will it find itself
exactly where it should be
whether accidentally
or by design
its every path is filled
with calculated corrections
revisions and redress
in order to reach
its intended
that source of light
one way or another
Sep 11, 2023
Sep 11, 2023 at 6:25 PM UTC
espero num poste
até que os carros
me deixem atravessar.
meio que atravesso.
deito no asfalto:
as nuvens navegam
sem direção
sem vontade
sem propósito
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Days pass so fast beween those hills
the ones of suffering delt with skill
A heart not clensed from ill design
softer than silk, fresher than pines.
I write this thousenth letter with a mix
the juice of my oragans, stones and sticks.
So hang around if you feel alone,
and hear the letter leave the stone
and become bone from a bush.
Cast 'tween lands of firery ice
my body acts; I pay the price.
******* of a blueprint, my cardboard genes
still fail to smell a rotting dream.
The clean produce with an iron strength,
a deadly aurora of graveyard stench.
Between the rosebuds, black as soot
lies my weed-bush pushing roots.
Free to amend, from time itself;
Id then be able to cure my self.
Days do pass fast beween these hills
the ones of dementia, of feeling ill
A heart not yet ready to resign,
for there is hope in Valentine.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
membingkai itu ada tujuannya
dilapisi kaca biar tidak terkotori
aku mengamplas ingatan yang sempat luntur
terbawa pada lamunan utuh & seruan sendu
silam, bertumpu berapi-api enggan berkeputusan asal
sampai kini, aku masih patuh pada prinsipku
kamu memintaku,
namun hatiku berprasangka itu rancangan induk
bukan asli pemintaanmu
kupilih menepikan diri
diam-diam berharap kamu bercerita lebih dalam
tapi nihil, malah indukmu maju
aku mau, tapi apa keputusan ini benar
pepetan restu, tekanan waktu
dihimpit ketakutan indukmu atas cemooh
orang, siapa? tetangga? saudara?
keengganan bersepaham
kuuji kamu dari belakang
menantang setara, seimbang, sejajar
lontaran kata pengundang debat
berlindung atas wejangan duda muda yang baik
"dua jenis prinsip tujuan pernikahan"
satu, untuk memulai keluarga baru
dua, untuk menyatukan keluarga
dengan kesadaran kupilih yang bertolak denganmu
karena saat itu aku belumuran ragu
sejauh mana kedewasaanmu?
kamu gagal pada tesmu,
tapi aku tetap bertahan kala itu,
setelah semua berjarak, mungkin kamu sadar ikatan pernikahan bukanlah hal main-main
kubedah diriku, ada setitik kekecewaan
seumpama semesta menghajarku dengan keras
tapi Ia tidak melepaskanku pada maut
disadarkanNya pula, inilah jawaban doa
"jauhkanlah aku dari yang jahat & dekatkanlah dengan yang baik"
jari manisku takkan tersemat cincin duri sebab ranting emas berbunga daisy telah memekarkan diri
Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 7:37 AM UTC
Note: Dedicated to all that struggle with impossible thoughts
And I decay, decay, decay, decay…
It’s wasteful for me to sit, I think.
So long, so frequent, so young, so sick.
As language fails,
Time prevails,
And I decay, decay, decay, decay…
The birds don’t care, that’s for sure.
Carry on good birds! Spare no thought for...
My life! My soul! My mood! My needs!
Your life's all mapped out. Mother Nature’s decree.
It’s wasteful for me to dream, I think.
So light, so free, so sparse, so quick,
As thoughts go unsaid,
I choose sleep, choose bed,
And I decay, decay, decay, decay…
Hello Autumn, what do you bring with you today?
Another years ending? Leaves that won’t stay?
Goodbye’s are hard, well that’s universally true,
But hello’s are beautiful! You bring those too.
It’s wasteful for me to think, I think.
So much, so hard, so bleak, so deep.
My days…
they come, they blend, they pass
And I decay, decay, decay, decay...
Oh old stars, give me a sign.
You exist, but how?! From where do you shine ?
You’re impossible, wonderful, present and true,
I’m here! I can see you! Do you see me too?
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 1:26 PM UTC
♠ ♣ ♥ ♦
Here’s to avant-cryptic stanzas
Nihil-angst extravaganzas,
Ghazal, Pantoum, endless Haiku…
such may cause the Muse to strike you.
Dada, Tanka, cinquains, Centos
existential verse mementos –
yes, they’re mildly amusing forms
but finally fail to transcend norms
of poetry-induced despair
(a common modern-day affair)
brought on by formless abstract lines
of current verse. The warning signs:
eye-rolling, growling, throwing books
yelling at websites, ***** looks
at writers with advanced degrees,
a raging sense of vague unease
with life and letters. **** what’s new…
one wonders what we’re coming to.
When meaning is replaced by style
and editors extol the vile
you know that doom is on its way.
The poets don’t know what to say
but fool around, devoid of rhythm
(that’s why no one wants to hear them
let alone READ them). What a lark;
like rain-soaked matches in the dark.
Poetic dullness thus delays
to kindle light or spark a blaze.
Sad vocation: analyzing
wordy scribbles. Agonizing
over esoteric twaddle
(makes one want to hit the bottle –
or the poet). Was it ever
this way? Will the next endeavor
lift us toward the lyric splendor
or return us back to sender…
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 7:40 AM UTC
The source of wisdom
who knows where it lies
far from humankind,
yet right before our eyes
Centuries of deceit made us forget our own memories.
Those who seek shall find lies.
All placed on purpose to blur their mind.
Most claim to know all.
Why they think so is quite bizarre.
A few claim they know nothing, yet they know more than all.
A wise man always said, yet he never was found.
The source of wisdom
shall it ever be found?
Open soul, for wisdom.
It's leaking everywhere,
no one is astonished.
All are walking past, then wisdom collapsed.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 7:24 PM UTC
Nothing to feel
One foot in the grave
Tired and weak
Let go of all dreams
Sleepless
Tired
Dying
Extinguish
Days never end
Mustn't all life someday fade?
Meaning(less)
Empty and cold, I am
Sleepless
Tired
Dying
Extinguish
Biding my time till Void I do become
Dissonant waves carry my husk through rivers of time
In the waters of Nihil, grim hopelessness ahead
Take comfort in knowing that all life must end
Sleepless
Tired
Dying
Lifeless
Extinguished
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 5:49 PM UTC