"ophidian" poems
When the sweet winds blow
A silent ophidian
Slumbers with in the lifeless soul
The words of hate borne proudly by the sender
And the act of revenge
From the serpents bite render
And the bough will break
Under the weight of a brittle heart
The perfume of stale bitterness
Do the drifting breezes impart
For there is no logic to be found
In the deep caverns of the heart
So the bough will break
The branch weakened fell broken and decayed
And the burden of love over my eyes did lay
Happiness shrouded by despair now forever stay
Though its said the light commands all
And darkness shun the day
The bough will break.
@ copyright Tammy M. Darby April 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
constricted by an ophidian
i slither away, just to live
is this where new life begins?
is this where i shed my skin?
bitten by fangs of chagrin
where to win is to never forgive
hiss with this abyss within
i'm living in a pit of sin
with my vision wearing thin
venom is a gift to give
i slip beneath the rocks again
this is where i shed my skin
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Ei0ubfaLek
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 11:27 AM UTC
I am not yet defiled; O hear me.
Let not the crazed hornets or serpents or ophidian or the
buzzard bee come near me.
I am not yet defiled; console me.
I fear that the snake charmer may with rhythmic body clocks clock me,
with predatory hissing paralyze me, with authoritative power anger me,
on wicker constraints constrain me, in bamboo-patches pierce me.
I am not yet defiled; provide me
With beauty to free me, dressage to cover me, silence to come
to me, souls to save me, charmers and angels
in my wandering existence seeking fights to waver the war within me.
I am not yet defiled; forgive me
For the provocative glances in me, my presence when womanity holds me,
my mythological beauty by deities beyond me,
my head held high when they slay by means of my
crossbow, my addiction when they poison me.
I am not yet defiled; rehearse me
In the dreams and the prayers I must take when
art interrupts me, material disturbs me, splintered souls
gaze at me, smiles fade at me, the knifes edge
stains me and everlasting scars pain
me to shame and the shames taints
my skin and my heart abandons me.
I am not yet defiled; O hear me,
Let not Perseus who is warrior or who thinks he is King
or a rival to me.
I am not yet defiled; O fill me
With gasoline against those who would inhabit my
bones, would sink me into empty caverns,
would make me a prisoner locked, a monster with
blood dripping, a monster, and a passer of dis-ease
who would execute my self, would
flush me like ***** oozing and
***** and ooze and *****
like alcohol seeping in the
pores would drown me.
Let Poseidan not make me defiled and let him not **** me.
Otherwise **** me.
© Sia Jane
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
constricted by an ophidian
i slither away, just to live
is this where new life begins?
is this where i shed my skin?
bitten by fangs of chagrin
where to win is to never forgive
hiss with this abyss within
i'm living in a pit of sin
with my vision wearing thin
venom is a gift to give
i slip beneath the rocks again
this is where i shed my skin
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Careful casting blessings in tongues not truly understood
It's said there is a serpent that entangles dragon's blood
And spitfire be a voice so loose with foolish finds
Looking towards inviting angels, but be the demons in disguise
Karmic value matters in existence past the alibis
So negligent some limbs behave upon the Tree of Life
Do you count the numbers or apply them?
Do the readings code the river stream?
Divine and simple too easy to believe
I'm starting to think that many will not in aeons, come to perceive
Regressing back into the caves
To fight the tigers with their blades
Spirit can always evolve, but beside the spirit remains an umbra
The serpent that binds as the helix to merge with yours
Through the jungles in your mind and beneath your ocean's floor
Tempting to eliminate duality in disavowing ways
But comes the wave and overstep of the orchestra's score
Written by the master architect to arrest ophidian psyche force
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
buried alive; (in) sane; or harakiri?
a trifecta of horror
cuts through the lush foliage while i
writhe in a nest of
eldritch entrails
anxiety
rises up like an ophidian
coils shedding every quarter of a noon
ready to strike -
i lose movement
and falter through the streets
the meeting rooms,
and the endless conversations that end in stalemates;
my anxiety
an ouroboros of volcanic self-effacement
spills into posh mental facilities (lies)
and shoddy hospitals that turn the sick into the living dead
humiliation
burns bright red (magenta)
and brands my delicate skin with age-old glyphs
they mark the end of a civilization
the birth of a metropolis
with twin suns and dark monoliths
where the mob guillotines the visionaries
and the artist dies a dog's death.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 7:59 AM UTC
The rain pattering upon the window panes would drown out the screaming.
The nightmares that you put into my brain, gave my life meaning.
I could see through eyes that weren't mine,
into lives that were far from sublime.
Their tears were like a treat, a bitter chocolate that made my heart flutter...
Because what you shared with me, was a feeling unlike any other.
Their remarkable sadness, I felt as my own.
Had I not felt what you'd forced me to feel, there is no way I would've ever known.
Sensors that are there for me, are but vacant to the large majority.
What they cannot see and will not see,
combined by what I cannot see and will not see,
It drowns me.
My words rise like bubbles to the surface of this ocean.
If I press that sole piano key, the sound reverberates for an eternity.
And yet, it ceases to wade up above the surface.
I'm but a coelacanth, and my swimming is clumsy.
Not even the sound of that lovely train tune billowing throughout the wintry air...
Not even the audible tone of your crisp voice, nor your hissing within my ear,
Could make me wish to live. Yes, I know, life is unfair.
But it's so much easier for you to say that while you're up there.
The painter who paints with only a black and white canvas,
will have an easier time meshing hues, as opposed to the one who must encompass,
the broad colors of others. Their pigments, their variations,
with some paints dry and cracked, and others melting into congolomerations
Ah, yes. How much easier it is for you to say that from up there.
The lies resound the loudest, because the blatant call for help ceased to be loud enough.
Tell me, God, why wasn't my call loud enough?
In life, I have learned, yes it is not fair.
So I must take what I want. I cannot just sit and stare.
The strong prevail over the weak, or so, that is what you have lovingly taught me.
The man and the nightmare, splaying my insides out upon the pavement
electrocuting my body until not a single grief was left to be.
That pain drained away thanks to you, leaving not sadness... But resentment.
That I am this lone coelacanth, whose colors and intonations
touch but the surface of her own ocean, with but one measley formation.
And yet you swim with me, even if this swimming is clumsy.
As the lone, sea serpent... Whose scales glitter so vibrantly.
Dull to so many others, whom couldn't see your shine.
But I could with these eyes that you so humbly gave to me,
and even if I do not wish to live this life you gave me all the time,
you are but a buried treasure I call mine.
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 11:01 PM UTC
*iv'e have not quite come to terms
with that dark thing that lives within me
oh lord
have mercy upon ophidian's soul
have you not enslaved me
with desires despicable
drawn darkness over me
with a black wands curse
into
feral gates castellation
as I sleep
towards mournings flaring sun
with aches infernal ****
i behold images of
hung women sway-less
heads pressed firmly against stone walls
legs and feet splayed behind
squandered treasures
******* yellow soaked with *****
so ghastly
my darling
so touching
oh lovely horror
she said
to die that way
in a little room somewhere
would be perfect
so easy
even pleasant
as lips brush caressed
she cooed whispers
protect me from
from the cruelty
of grizzled age
and heaped infirmities
like stones on threadbare silk
that unravel and tear souls
sorry and dull
until collapse
standing tippy toes
her head on my shoulder
arms around my neck
my soul her mausoleum
undulating as if a rounded wind
eyes like rushing poems
pleading
a bloodless brain
she mused
better than the delirium of
glittered fizz
cocktails
we could do it in easy stages
all tender accommodations
as you lasso the rope
gently around my neck
and attach to a sturdy handle
then lay me firm upon white linens
with wet-lipped kisses
and let me drop weightless
like a slipper off a foot
into sweet
night tides
nirvana*
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 7:18 PM UTC