"oblivions" poems
It was as it had been, but the
Ring of oak
Shattered,
What was locked behind
Ventured Forward caressing
Bark,
Leaf,
Wood
Was tainted upon its departure.
Hollow structure, a leaf now skeletal
In a moment decayed from life,
Did touch upon depressed oak.
And like ash it was pollen of death, in
What once stood tall, faded into oblivions halls.
All but one did fade to the winds,
As freed upon the world old evil,
Not one noticed, never seen,
This oak of strength from which acorns
Did fall,
Sunken beneath the ground,
Nurtured by the nature, now scarred
Upon black seeds
Corrupting,
Tormenting,
Stained
Is the ground, but these majestic little
Things grow, sprout from the ill ground.
Where tainted now roots invigorate
New growth, the evil is herded upon
This ancient ground, where many had fell,
Now new ones take the places of old,
They are a beacon of strength as that which
Was loose now in this ring of oak.
Buried for time once more for each one
That falls, another acorn will fall to take its
Majestic place,
The old ring of oak, canopy of secrets hoping never to be told.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
I
LEAGUERED in fire
The wild black promontories of the coast extend
Their savage silhouettes;
The sun in universal carnage sets,
And, halting higher,
The motionless storm-clouds mass their sullen threats,
Like an advancing mob in sword-points penned,
That, balked, yet stands at bay.
Mid-zenith hangs the fascinated day
In wind-lustrated hollows crystalline,
A wan valkyrie whose wide pinions shine
Across the ensanguined ruins of the fray,
And in her lifted hand swings high o'erhead,
Above the waste of war,
The silver torch-light of the evening star
Wherewith to search the faces of the dead.
II
Lagooned in gold,
Seem not those jetty promontories rather
The outposts of some ancient land forlorn,
Uncomforted of morn,
Where old oblivions gather,
The melancholy, unconsoling fold
Of all things that go utterly to death
And mix no more, no more
With life's perpetually awakening breath?
Shall Time not ferry me to such a shore,
Over such sailless seas,
To walk with hope's slain importunities
In miserable marriage? Nay, shall not
All things be there forgot,
Save the sea's golden barrier and the black
Closecrouching promontories?
Dead to all shames, forgotten of all glories,
Shall I not wander there, a shadow's shade,
A spectre self-destroyed,
So purged of all remembrance and ****** back
Into the primal void,
That should we on that shore phantasmal meet
I should not know the coming of your feet?
3.7k
People tell me with hushed lips and pained irises,
(pain really only flickers and quietly sinks deep within the absolute oblivions of you.)
that it will get better.
"You grieve, I have done it. Every person has."
Not for this one.
Not for him or her that is.
She had the sort of wittiness that would cut right though that
buttery feeling of warmth
wisped from
one hell of
a
smile.
Guess whose?
He had one of the loveliest voices, one that lulls your tired eyelids to much needed sleep.
A voice that will inexplicably grasp your fingertips when you feel utterly lost and breathless with pain.
And, I could go
*on,
on
&
on.*
Just that my very voice will be cracked
by
the
sweet, bitter
goodbye
whispered by
the yellowing memories
of
them.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
Where life permeated through lushest
Colours reaching high, the heavens
Jealousy of such radiance as beautiful
As any sunset ever seen was eyed.
There wrath was swift as clouds of
Rage darkened and a kiss from the
Heavens graced Bark and leaf. All was
Still as ash fell earthwards in onyx tears.
Where elegant shades flowed, wisps of
Extinguished colour blossomed then faded
To oblivions nothingness. The heavens are
Beautiful but hide ominous jealous rage.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 8:57 AM UTC
leisure up my friend !
weaken open your shellfish hinge
and wet your beak
it’s a marked holiday break
unmarred by family obligation
there’s freedom
to make the most criminal crown of mistakes
in the name
of some frown of liberal investigation
on the town
an eager squad of collaborators are on board
they have your back
desperate, sick and starving gulls
broadened to explore the deplorable
on and on to the next and the next
death defining task
a meandering stagger of a bar crawl
perpetually powering through
as the day spans a revulsion
the heat stays as the day sinks beneath
in place of the suns rays
the heat radiates
from the baked city concrete
stepping out from the shelter of the bar
the night swelter respires fiercely
not done with our steam of annihilation
what establishment would take our kind ?
city has already bowed over it's plumage
to our ******* pilgrimage
bark melts and peels in strips off the trees
(meat shaved off the strip pole)
our heels spark the pavement
vermin and jackals follow our movement
from shimmering dark spots
and our vision constricts
our aim has become clotted...
...what was it that we reached for ?
oblivions fruit seemed a doable pursuit
it's the usual downhill shambles from here
familiar yet barely remembered
a rambling guff of bad ***** comedy
there is no plucky legend
just an embarrassment
Jun 10, 2023
Jun 10, 2023 at 9:47 PM UTC
They called it the shallow graves, the place where death plays
Spin the broken needle. it snows in July under here.
Under the bridge they huddle in their cardboard palaces ,
psychedelic moments followed by the falling in to oblivions grasp.
They slept in their depthless tombs, blankets hiding that moment
Of alone time where that last hit was the one that hit home.
I watch as so many lives that once were, are now gone, this
Place of broken syringes and dreams. Sleeping in hollow mounds.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
I am in the space between air and skin
Finer than film
The closeness of it all
Cutting me up
Like good snow by a razor
Just before oblivions short ride
I am wedged between glass
Thinner than papers edge
I am membrane
Between skull and mind
With its churning
For illusory answers
In familiar, sullen, sodden, soil
Already turned over and over
I am stitching undone
On that prized dress
The one you wore last summer
In the stifling heat
When all we did was laugh and eat and swim
And fight
I am the reflection on liquid
That stabs your eyes
I am the glint on gold
Driving you
I am marbles sheen
Where the veins of colour snake along
Bursting from stone
Sweeping you from your feet
I am grain of wood
Knotting you up in warmth
Watching you while I grow skyward
I am dawns magic
Evaporating
Missed by the shutter click
Lost to the rising sun
In an instant between blinks
I am the Superfine
I am the Sung Strung One
I am operas Overture
I am The Zahir
I am Legend
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 3:42 AM UTC
Unfinished
Emptiness a question enrobed in nothingness stillness cries across the void in its intolerable
State you stand the will wilts the eyes portray defeat and sorrow a searching longing is plainly evident
This powerful demanding current must be appeased chaos screams the idle continues his dreams
Faltering movements are all that is known a stationary seizure pervades the deadliest image an old
Amusement park dead and deserted a mocking sign proclaims thrills inside the torment rushes like
A stampeded herd it threatens sure death your own plaintive dead voice is heard in this arena of
Dispirited dashed hopes a mauling traumatized and once energetic hope filled spirit that trouble
Assailed Then fell back and then with the genius touch as you reeled it simply fell away your steps to
Recover Also ceased with the careless and deadliest words of all what is the point this has become your
Standard if titled in great black letters it would read lackluster lying in the dirt whipped defeated
Disgusted exiled in oblivions nowhere hope has had the first letter changed to D yes Dope in capital
Letters little do you Realize this is the very act of reconstruction the best military force in the world
Engages in this kind of training someone who has potential is the tried and true diamond in the rough a
Superior force is needed take the outward restraints off by reducing the individual to his base when you
Have destroyed the unfavorable elements then begin the renewing process that is clean and absent of
Impurities build with tried and true methods that produce heroes from fired kilns the blaze flared and a
New form emerges pure as refined brass but the man or woman is steeled into purity and honor and is
Made ready to pass into combats immortal glory whether it be military, business, or sacred duty of the
Church know this before just a nameless conflicted person little thought of will do exploits he will put
New building Blocks in societies ever increasing wall and maybe ultimately he will fulfill the words of
Jefferson and by blood sacrifice his patriotism will cause the tree of liberty to flourish because the call to
Fight for peace is never finished
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
Let grateful, itself kiss your skin.
Let it twirl and wisp around those fingertips you can tweedle with,
to
write, draw, make unimaginable,wonderful
untitled somethings.
Slowly but surely,
that effervescent feeling bubble into your body;
sparks of bliss lighting those dark, dark oblivions.
I don't care!
Let those words
carelessly snuggle
themselves
in
the lines of your fingerprint.
Bare those pearly whites
everywhere,
sweet-heart!
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
The city buzzing
then the ceaseless cease.
The devoured Sun,
horizon seeks
to **** in last rays
absorbed
always waiting for dawn.
Then stars slowly
are splash-sparkeled
upon our black ceiling.
But now
a city metamorphosis,
spaces seemingly expand
as people dwindle-down
and echoing shoes abound.
And the night phantom stalks
to spread his expanding cape
while male alley cats serenaded
with strident love songs of blue-balls.
And obsessions rise under a werewolf moon,
the crooning of a barooom tune
while the city out-light-winks
its squared-eyed goodnights.
Caucasians and noncaucasions
become night brothers
by sharing similar oblivions...
...and we sink within our deep dreamy sleep
being snatched by
the penumbra
of unconscious thoughts.
And other awakened languished
thoughts
wane into a city goodnight...
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
i'm not interested
in living anymore
i don't want to die
living just doesn’t hold much interest for me
i don't feel good
i don't feel happy
only tired
tired tired
always tired
i live in a perpetual nothingness
i can never find words
they lodge in the back of my throat and spiral out flat
may as well cut my vocal chords out
and replace them with yarn
maybe i’ll be able to string sentences together then
i’m buried in layers of ink and skin
they allow me to close my eyes and fall away
into my own personal oblivion
where it's dark and jazzy elevator music plays in the background
and there’s no sharp pings under numb detachment
there's a different breed of darkness to my oblivion
it's soft and shadowy
rippling over all my anxieties like a velvet tide
light shines in dusty shafts from no set direction
it doesn't illuminate anything
it’s nicer that way
i forgot what happiness feels like
not this halfway happiness that’s induced by comfort food and fuzzy blankets
but real happiness
that comes from deep inside of your being and spirals and glows
this is just a long complaint
hem hem
observation
about me
my life
is it really mine?
i feel so detached from it
i spend more time in dreams than i do in it
sweeping castles of words and swing sets that swing themselves
can i just leave?
fade away
into my oblivion
the one with the jazz music and the infinite velvet walls
i've come pretty close
may as well go all the way
i'm an inadequate mess of negativity
i can't function quite right anymore
unfunny angry pathetic boring
i'm me
and i don't hate me
hate is a strong word
i'm just tired
a slowly graying towel
long used and recently wrung-out
hung up to dry
dripping mediocracy onto a standard tile floor
ha
i'll show myself out
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
I wanna lose my self in the subdued wood,
where my emotion Oblivions to back to me
I wanna my delightful days of childhood
when my imagination ,with wings of dream flies free.
I wannabe the first ray of sun on the mountain ,icecrowned
to illuminate fuliginous frozen soul
I want to plunge into blue of ocean and to found
the inestimable pearl of smile as a whole
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 5:06 AM UTC
I never sleep upon the night I hunt upon
The solitude of this time where the darkness
Sulks upon shadows and I am an obstruction
Of all that wishes to bleed upon nights tide.
Ever keeping those that bled innocence on
The earth, always do they fear the presence
Never sensing the reverend of death. I am
There sentence to that eternal damnation.
The Cimmerian shade where all that is ceaseless
Creeps upon clinging earths grave, whispered
Death emanates but is buried upon earths breath
A final moment the oblivions eternal gaze.
I am the imperishable true that haunts those
Who penetrate the innocence that seeks solitude
In the places that never wish to see there truth.
We all hide something in the shadows grave.
All that thrives in the twilight of mans insecurities,
Where hidden things hide, know that their are things
That even the onyx fears for all that is blinded from
Lights gaze fears our continued eternal gaze.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Maybe if I look back far enough
Whip my head into the hands of oblivions
It will snap
Eyes once focused
Sharp as a camera
Now fogged over
Apertures glazed over with misty perplexions
Hazy dreams of aurora
Ghosts of starlight
White splatter paint haphazardly silhouetted against
Void
And recollections of midsummer night
Forever lost to the banks of memory
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
Embed in me the carcass of my infancy
Propel me like the shadings of faded beginnings
You fathered me upon the ravages of futility
Distended by landscapes of time inconstant
Stuttering mindless oblivions in the vacuum of destiny
See me here …You the one they call Sovereign
I gush beneath the onslaught of your outpouring
A steady depletion of obscure remembrances in my devastated soul
Wrist opened so that my life may somehow return to its origin
Scaling the porcelain that shatters with inner screams
Prepare in this sacred moment a pearl upon the cheek of sacrifice
Like claws from the lowest regions scrape the walls of existence
I powerlessly praise the one casting me into the accursed
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
Snow falls onto the frozen lakes of your glasses. I can't see your breath through the cloud of mine anymore. You're silent, but I can still feel your voice in my fingertips. Your hands verse worry into the folds of your jacket, clutched like a lifeline.
Words don’t come to us, we are two people, breathing out our lives into a world so vacant, honeyed and infinite- we will perpetually feel that we are a few years and a universe away from not alone.
And I’ll recall nothing of the tragedy that beats infinitely behind the bones of your chest- our chests- so fallible, yet drumming its knuckles on its living casket, so fervently, you’d think it knew nothing of sadness or longing or death. I feel that to be true sometimes. I am now only traumatized by soft kisses on my cheekbones, and the sound of laughter inside parked cars.
And even here, now, no words will come to me. You are so close that the heat of your body melts the frost tingling along my forearms. I guess, if I’m guilty of anything, it’s thinking I can move the world, even just an inch closer, just so our elbows touch. Then, I know you’d flush with the terror of importance, knowing that your end is many more ends.
So I keep my distance as we lay with the cold to our backs, faces to the empty-not-empty sky, and let the snow cover our mistakes, dissipating our frail bodies into a million tiny oblivions.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 1:08 AM UTC
Standing on the shore
This line between two oblivions
I watch the sun doused by ocean
and with it i melt into sand
becoming millions of tiny little grains
pushed and pulled by struggling waves
I am draged out to sea
drifting away from myself
in millions of tiny directions
and today I was swallowed by a clam
cooking in the belly of this beast
that anchors itself for fear of...
perhaps one day I will become a pearl
and be carried off to an exotic land
where I will adorn the neck of
the most beautiful lady
and after each dinner party
she will put me away and sigh
and i will still be a million tiny little grains of sand
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 9:29 AM UTC
A collage of so many wings blend together
to form a motion of wisps lighter than a feather
unto there colliding forms became illustrations
but these were fake facades of a narration.
Her smiling features fluttered reverberating
All were hypnotized, all were unintentionally baited
With eyes that quivered with each moment passing.
Awe struck at this image that perceived eyes all hung.
Was this beauty that besotted the mind of reality
or was it on the heart and thoughts not to agree.
Which ever smitten were all within her eyes prolonged
gaze that captured all sights that lingered never withdrawn.
Moving towards this illusion that contradicted sight
footsteps lingered towards known oblivions plight
for above a cliff they lingered enticing all to flight
descending to silence, they feed quietly on others plight.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 3:10 PM UTC
Some will walk away their cares as if they walk up or down the stairs into or out of oblivions face as their mask of poetry falls from place onto the floors with checkered squares that are covered and littered with their words like flares from phrases of I don't care punctuated with the stuffings from ripped apart stuffed bears flogged by improper English weilded stares as imperfect hands in braile will yell skin deep in demeanor not so hard to tell or keep and no doubt to all I have to say as I wave my hands goodbye good day.
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 6:57 PM UTC
How to live
is how not to live alone.
To conquer the troll
beneath the bridges you are burning
on the funeral pyre
of your abject hope. To float -
amid the midges and day-flies
of a meadow, most sane.
So, to live -
is to embark on a errand of light
and return home, with dragon's teeth
in your knickers
and a ball of string for a fallen star
to stitch the world with.
To suture the oblivions
where they gape
and applaud the angels
that sent you there
to heal yourself
with nothing more
than a tongue in your head
and a heart on your
sleeve.
and no map.
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 5:32 PM UTC
"Surely there is more than this."
There is something that hinges on her last word.
Ah, its
hope.
Misplaced, misguided thing.
"The universe is beautiful, yes?"
She nods slowly.
My hand cups the side of her face, my fingertips lightly brushing her cheekbone.
"You plucked the stars speckling these skies
then dotting it onto
my fingertips,
then my wrists
and
the deepest oblivions in me."
If there is anything more than that.
We
are all too selfish for
our own good.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
I slept the cold night in my black sleeping bag
Quietly I slumbered, not removed yet the price tag
My hair caught in the teeth, yet I was still time did drag
I was of the notion of underdressed in just my rags.
Eyes wide open on the bench, oblivions vision
I was exposed for all to gaze upon eyes on collision
Was I wanting to be here? that was not my decision
Feeling I was missing myself as opened up for excision.
I was silent that whole time my lips never shifted,
lonely as my belongings now strewn and sifted
I gave others my unwanted, each hopeful now gifted
Death was a silence I was gone but now I am lifted
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
It was with but a whisper that they fell
They fell,
They fell,
They fell
Unto the ground. Fear whispered
On their faces, but never could tell.
The words that died on their breath
Heard for a last time like leafs they fell.
It would never speak in a heightened tone.
It would but
Insinuate,
Confide,
Sigh
Words upon their listening senses, and they
Would fall in that moment like frail stems.
How many would listen to these spoken
Thoughts on a breeze that etched
A picture on many a face, drawn in a last moment
Abstract horror or relief looked at
From those still on feet, released was their mortal coil
Into oblivions peace.
Come closer I have something to whisper too you
I'll only whisper it,
Pledge,
Vow,
Promise
That what is told will only be on your thoughts
As long as you live.
"Your Going to die,
"I am the voice of last words heard,
"Now my friend exhale last breath,
And in ear shot of those whispered word they
Fell like petals from a dead flower.
My words now told on the features of their face.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC