"perforates" poems
Tonight I dream of spiders
Hair spun, fat filled, scuttling legs
Quiver over my body and thighs
Eyes, ears, mouth, a tongue
A taste perforates through my eyes
Spills into my skull
Splat, Slash, Splot
Scuttle
Tonight I dream of Isolation
My footsteps fall on empty ears
Searching for life
Fearful, Tearful
Ripe with Strife
What does this matter?
I cannot be seen.
Unhear my own quiet screams
Please,
I want to
I need to
unhear.
Tonight I dream of running
An unseen assailant
I know, wishes to
attempt on me harm
You can't be calm
I can't, You can't
I Must
You mustn't provoke me.
I wake reaching
Reaching
Reaching
I find nothing
But empty solace.
Tonight I dream of fighting
Clockwork childhood
Figures slicing at my
face, racing me
to death.
A metal axe, a clawed
arm, walls with eyes,
a broken staircase,
distorted laugh, a
past repeated.
'Treated' to terror
remember me
dismember me
tenderly
race me
erase
me
I can't seem to wake up.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
"...from dust thou art..."
It was one peaceful evening we were having,
ruined by a message; distasteful and disturbing,
a misunderstanding? no, never had been..
.but it had always been the easy way out...
it was an overflow of misunderstood courage...
someone shouldn't have had the face,
but really had the chutzpah to reach out...
one that stood up to the last moment
to gird, to break, to wreck.....and won...
to be...to feel they belong,
this, could be allowed no longer...
this must...has got to stop...
here comes the CLOAK of non-acceptance,
it quickly spreads overhead,
but repugnance PERFORATES!
to be duped anew,
ah, brings back to life old hatred,
for those who think they know better,
but never again, to swim in bad blood...
feelings to be repeatedly exploited,
this, can no longer be allowed....
this...has got to stop...
ashes that were hidden,
ashes that were forbidden,
ashes i didn't feel like seeing
an urn of ashes i firmly refused to hold,
ashes i firmly refused to be anywhere near me.
and now, they suddenly ask,
where to take the forsaken urn?
they can just pollute the river
let the ashes flow with the current...
or, be indifferently blown by the wind
atop a mountain...
for God's sake, why not just buy a vault for the urn?
give the ashes the much-needed peace it longed for..
and let those who were once denied and deprived,
have their own share of much needed peace...
ashes may be carried away
by the sea or the wind---
but there's only one known place:
to the ground we all go,
cremated or otherwise...
so, why fuss on where the ashes should go?
"From dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return." *
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Biblical quote, from Genesis 3:19'
"Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return."
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Twisted light perforates the dust filled room and the pungent odour of history hangs in the air like stale bread and old forgotten pantomime costumes.
Yet somehow the smell recalls recollections of a jolly past. Transporting me back through the years, tumbling over and over in the rapids of time until I splash down and emerge as the keen eyed five year old I once was.
I can still hear the shrill screams of play bounce around my head and feel the boy in me longing to join them on the playground outside. I can feel the tight lace wrapped round my hand as I swing my unsurpassed conker to victory. I can still see the bouncing curly locks of the sweet little girls as they hop and skip to long forgotten nursery rhymes. I can still feel the dried mud caked on my palms sending shudders of discomfort all down my spine and the cold drafts of air through the green hole covered knees of my short nylon trousers.
Swinging the blackboard round to reveal the partially erased remnants of the very last lesson, my mind adopts that old familiar position. Arms folded, head in arms wishing that time would move on.
Sadly my wish came true. Sure it took its time but these days time flows by like a babbling weir stopping for nothing.
How I now long for that dripping tap like time once was. Those long summer breaks and endless days playing in the meadows where I lived. Even boredom is no longer as sweet. The kind of boredom where you aren't making excuses for not doing something. For these days there is always something that needs to be done.
Oh how I miss the innocence of youth that carefree era where ironically, what you desired, was everything you don’t want now.
Wiping a single tear from my cheek I left my old classroom, hopped over the fence and walked away from school one last time.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:55 AM UTC
there is a glacier
partially concealed
melting from a climactic
climate shift revealing a
reality congealed by revolt
rebels burdened with
a philosophy that
elevates humanity
insisting we will not grovel
before a vain messiah
espousing erroneous
iterations of ideology
will the human race permit
the iceberg to dissolve
as vapid reformist
rhetoric inundates our
political consciousness with
pragmatic progressivism
or will we rise in resistance
with the radicals
fists clenched in protest and
hands outstretched to one
another rather than
lifted high in praise to a savior as we
witness the glacier solidify once more
as CO2 perforates our atmosphere
with heady highs and noxious toxins
will we succumb like dumbfounded
addicts intoxicated by inoculation
consuming the opiated semantics
of charismatic personas or will we
challenge the corrupt
with our wits about us
facing the sobering corporate
corporeality with the pride
of lions facing a den of thieves
abandon the chosen champion
of the vanguard party
we stand hand-in-hand
7 billion
sisters and brothers
in an anthemic chorus of
solidarity that shakes the
bastions of the enthroned
with the resounding shouts of
perseverance in our
non-compliant defiance
our manifestos are written
in the blood sweat and tears
we've shed for this
dream deferred
and we will not be the
silent majority anymore
the masque of anarchy
is ours to share
will we wear its visage
or will hell freeze over
before we choose
freedom
over happiness
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
The wind is caught between a scream and a roar;
This whistling perforates my eardrums
like a teapot sitting a atop the fires of Hell.
Eyelids fused shut, that wind's lacerations try
but are just unable to pry
these empty brown eyes
and reveal the truth of the lies.
So I fall right through the clouds
with no turbulence on this descent,
and as Earth's elements charge my accelerated pace
I ready the barrel in my mind I've prepared to face.
The shot breaks life's hold on me beyond a trace,
and my eyes are finally open, witness my disgrace.
As water fills my lungs,
I can only hope this ship will sink.
I can't help but descend and think
I've erred as I near the brink
of the ever distant horizon.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 1:18 PM UTC
The bright piercing moon,
perforates
the anvil black sky.
Tallying our time,
as it blooms and subsides,
like a grandfather
winking
a supernal eye,
surveying the lawn
of perennial pawns
and infallible annual gods.
With a logic all its own,
it salutes and bemoans
the Great Sphinx’s nose,
and the wind scattered scraps
of the Rosetta Stone.
Some seer will come,
before too soon,
or a scientist,
wont to presume,
But in gold and stolen
myth they’ll stand ,
like fraudulent kings,
yelping lambs,
flaring though spring,
with bluffs in hand,
until they wither
unto grains
of sand
.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 6:49 PM UTC
A canorous music perforates my opaque
Quivering chromaticism smears me
With osculance and solidarity
I solicit solitude
And altogether, I'll be accompanied
By my only one ally
We, anon, will rally loneliness
Imbibing a cup of chocolate
With zest and dally
Oh!... An ameliorated hallucination
Do not! I beseech! decimate
My incipient, redintegrating mate ---
I cannot delineate now any line of this smooth... lie!
Oh... What love dove above!
Blinked delving and desperarion
Scintillated once whilst falling apart on my face!
With a liquor of ink... and... tears
Penetrated any level of my flesh and sunk into my sole soul
Letting a chrysalis breed into a labyrinthine verisimilitude
Lulled by loop and fetching,
Fetching equanimity
I'm sorry... I cannot any more equilibrize anything
This is my alibi desuetude
I hope desynchronised is not my goodbye!
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
when the ice breaks beneath our feet
will you wake up next to me
in the hospital bed?
with an intravenous drip in
your forearm again.
the aroma of ammonia perforates my
limbic system and emotions and memories
just gush into me relentlessly,
sheer bliss funnels through
the corridors and chemical stores
and finds its rest in my room.
the walls are moist with dopamine.
my bones could break with the weight of
this happiness and it'd only drag on
for longer.
i'd wake up laughing and it made
everyone uncomfortable.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 4:47 PM UTC
Strong.
Perhaps a knot of muscle or
a face to wear.
Or the bartender's hand slipped.
Fragile.
Maybe a shattered glass orb or
a note about to break.
Or our egos.
Dark.
Like Edgar Allen Poe or
the center of a black hole.
Or 5:00 in winter.
Light.
"Let there be" or
something that perforates the night.
Or just the pillows,
shedding feathers through
tiny linen holes
that float down near the heating vent
then explode upward in the gust.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
We were strangers among the stampeding crowd,
But fate has played us along;
As our heartbeat synchronizes out loud,
Singing the story of a broken song.
Our sun shines in the East,
but never dwindle on the West-
this strange feeling of bliss,
drifting in the chamber of my chest.
Daffodils dance in the scorching daylight,
As the breeze blows gently-
Oblivious to the inevitable flight,
Of an encumbering drizzly night.
Aurora borealis perforates the lone darkness,
Swirling in the starless sky of the North-
The way you eliminated my sadness,
And brings me comfort and madness.
The river cascading in an endless stream,
Splashing a cold brackish water-
These tears of misery and grim,
I will forever endure in my dream.
The moon is high as the tower,
The night as silent as the elm street-
Misery has once again devour,
the little joy turns bittersweet and sour.
I love and love and love unconditionally,
But the pain is searing unbearably;
I looked at the stars and heaven,
And realized we were strangers again.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 5:24 AM UTC
I'm crawling on the floor
skinning my knees in an effort to reach that ever sought
intimacy-
I want to drown in it,
I always have,
the strange desire
suffocating my fear glands and stifling the silence with a warm glow of love and beholding.
How far will I travel to feel the touch that I remember from the last life,
calling me to London, to Paris,
knowing that I will find you there,
cowering in the dark streets you will find me,
showering down on me like a sun ray,
beaming me out of my depression and back into solidity,
of self-knowing and respect,
as well as adoration for one another in the quiet night
under a foreign sky,
and a warm blanket.
I know that it sounds of a benevolent kind of love,
a trying kind of love,
but it is right;
it is the kind of love that oozes out of my pores in the morning,
making my skin smell of honey and daisies as I rise.
The kind of love that perforates the tears and the pain,
cutting deep into my core and filling me
as if with blood,
but a new (true) love instead.
Your *** matters not,
yet I want it.
I want to fill my hands with it,
inside/outside of each other,
back and forth across your cashmere soft skin and soul,
playing the same childhood games to remain sane
where we are for all rights, lost in the translation of love,
lacking oxygen, but not lacking each other.
Here we caress one another uncontrollably
in a quest for sensation
but as we are so far,
a lack of libation
in turn,
until we are once again
twins in flame and love, and space.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
Tis the season of the crazies,
They cling to the rope of madness and swing,
Back and forth
Forth and back
Laughing as life drains away
And there lips turn black.
Tis the season of the crazies,
See them run,
Sharp objects ever facing forward
As spoken words echo through the halls,
"Run o little one"
"For the blade needs to be sharpened"
"Upon flesh, blood and bone"
As blood spills like a river bursting its banks
He writes on the wall, fingers painting
**CLEAN ME, I'M *****
Then joyfully skips down the hall.
Tis the season of the crazies,
They swarm in a ballroom of white
As a ball of silver descends and the
Shimmer of light perforates its shell.
Like moths around a flame,
Maddening randomness, clambering
Jackets of buckles and white.
They stomp on each flicker, till all
Is silent and one figure stands stained
In red as the lights flicker on and
Incoherent ranting spills as he scratches
At the patches that alternate between ground, wall and floor.
"Tis The season Of the Crazies, come and play"
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
A canorous music perforates my opaque,
It is gods, talking...
Rain's drops are their pillars of the temple.
Echo of gossip...
Quivering chromaticism smearing me,
With osculates and solidarity,
Eventually...
Kissing a cross 'round my knuckle,
I start...
I solicit solitude...
Away from this deluge of unknown.
This echo of bursting sparks, dreams...
Will I altogether, be accompanied
By my only one ally?
We anon, god(?) I hope(!), will rally loneliness,
Imbibing a cup of chocolate
And zest and dally.
This sweet's like gold.
But... One for all, all for one...
Ostracizing my faith...
Oh!... An ameliorated hallucination.
The cross fell.
Do not! I beseech! decimate
My incipient, redintegrating mate ---
I cannot delineate now any line of this smooth... lie!...
Gods still howling
But I am still walking
The echo melts through.
Oh... What love dove above!
Blinked delving and desperarion...
Scintillated once whilst falling apart on my face!
The rain of dead, the rain of shadows.
With a liquor of ink... and... tears
Melting my ego, my flesh
Sunk in my sole soul
I yield and fall
Letting a chrysalis breed into a labyrinthine verisimilitude
Of lies,
Lies,
Yes.... Of lies!
Lulled by loop and fetching,
I cannot resume, I kneel more and bow,
Tie my cross again 'round my knuckle
Till I dust to golden grain.
And hover
Fetching equanimity... No eyes will ever again bloom hope.
I'm sorry... I cannot any more equilibrize anything.
This is my alibi desuetude
'Cause I'm thirsty for luxury.
Stopped ended lines, squeezing and hugging ink.
I hope desynchronised is not my goodbye.
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 7:30 AM UTC
Invisible people
Figment of my imagination
Borrowed in my subconscious
touching and reaching
grabbing and pulling
whispering and fueling
Fear and doubt
Insecurities and pain
Every second
Of every day.
Their whispers
perforates my self-esteem
withers my self-belief
deteriorates my self-image.
My mind feels like a battlefield
A constant fight of not caring
of what they think
or say.
For there are days
When I set my mind
In to prioritizing my moment
passion, purpose, fun, and life
And not care.
But some days
they encroach into my mind
Seep through the cracks
Diffuse between the synapses
firing terror.
Letting me stare once more
at my own abyss.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 3:57 AM UTC
If I had a box of wishes
Of dreams and secrets
I’d stow it away, safe.
For keepsakes.
Stretch the seconds endlessly
Those that held you and me.
Extending time to infinity.
I would stash the words
That you made true.
The box of wishes,
Would have the whispers,
The touches, glances
Kisses you stole,
Your all-consuming love
Took me myself as a whole.
Moments that we owned.
Locked in a space.
Little did I know.
The box of wishes
Perforates time.
It reeks of nothing.
And leaves behind
painful memories.
May 12, 2024
May 12, 2024 at 11:21 AM UTC
A forest of spring-green lilies
perforates the earth
between our house
and the sidewalk.
And you can think
of nothing else.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 1:03 PM UTC
the pit in my heart
perforates your halo
floating, broken apart
is it wrong to love you?
i cant help but love you
the hole in my head
has nothing to say
the valley in my bed
judging me smugly
just like everyone else
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
In the solemn silence of a night
insomnia sets and hold a hand
tears flow into a torrential waterfall
memories erode and load eventfully
Bitter drops, the emotional elope
enveloped to the uncollected past
one that pats with no relieve and closure
such a long, lonely and unspent night
The gut perforates and intuition collates
Yet it's time to leave the ship and it's heat
reform to seed, form to proceed
as the emotion tangles and rumbles
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
the needle
is dipped in blood
not mine
but yours;
the blood of your broken heart
the blood
leaves trails of lines
like tally marks
showing how many hearts
you've broken
these tally marks will never be
erased;
they shall burden your soul with regret
the needle perforates
your most intimate parts of your mind
the ones hidden deep in your heart
the needle will never cease
your blood is
on your forehead
in clear crisp words
is written
A F R A I D
(b.d.s.)
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Seasons come and goes, as rains perforates
Over the thunder and torrential
creeps
abounding a thousand miles and paths
variable stories of the lost in life and love
She found him until the old age struck
now she is lost in the dark gloomy rooms
enclosed in foreign memories and melodies
of when the lights faded and ceased
I found her clipping all stricken wings
footing the floating broken nest
uncontent to move from how it was
enclosed and supposedly destroyed
She sells true love and its mystery
Ohh how I never believe in fairlytales
Or go to the strange places where it hides
Is it true that love can be so special?
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 6:46 PM UTC