"phantasies" poems
In the Midnight heaven's burning
Through the ethereal deeps afar
Once I watch'd with restless yearning
An alluring aureate star;
Ev'ry eve aloft returning
Gleaming nigh the Arctic Car.
Mystic waves of beauty blended
With the gorgeous golden rays
Phantasies of bliss descended
In a myrrh'd Elysian haze.
In the lyre-born chords extended
Harmonies of Lydian lays.
And (thought I) lies scenes of pleasure,
Where the free and blessed dwell,
And each moment bears a treasure,
Freighted with the lotos-spell,
And there floats a liquid measure
From the lute of Israfel.
There (I told myself) were shining
Worlds of happiness unknown,
Peace and Innocence entwining
By the Crowned Virtue's throne;
Men of light, their thoughts refining
Purer, fairer, than my own.
Thus I mus'd when o'er the vision
Crept a red delirious change;
Hope dissolving to derision,
Beauty to distortion strange;
Hymnic chords in weird collision,
Spectral sights in endless range….
Crimson burn'd the star of madness
As behind the beams I peer'd;
All was woe that seem'd but gladness
Ere my gaze with Truth was sear'd;
Cacodaemons, mir'd with madness,
Through the fever'd flick'ring leer'd….
Now I know the fiendish fable
The the golden glitter bore;
Now I shun the spangled sable
That I watch'd and lov'd before;
But the horror, set and stable,
Haunts my soul forevermore!
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When the night falls,
I am at my best.
I could topple from the sky for a saunter amongst the wingless owls arbitrarily.
Carrying my futile attempt on serving the sun with a contempt glance,
As I let my imagination run free like nine jockeys in one horse race.
When the night falls,
I am the captain of my own ship.
I could set my course straight to my hiding place without any further ado;
Where I'd sail to where dreams and phantasies collide until the clock strikes two.
But most importantly,
When the night falls, life isn't like crossing a palisade or walking through a horrible gale;
Life isn't like a perpetual movement of climbing up the rickety stairs or losing a bet to the middleman.
Life isn't as stilted as when I stood dead on the yawnful street or as boisterous as the crowds watching King Louis guillotined to death.
Because there is only peace.
The skies may be the blackest black; the air may be the emptiest space,
but none like the night
where I can sit and stare,
and watch as the moon and the stars
shine my way.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
creates our universe
our gods
makes armies clash
defines our world
always again and new
names everything
we then can talk about
lets politicians sound as if
they were our saviors
lends voice to protests
also well-phrased obedience
articulates all complicated laws
and sometimes even makes them clear
makes us hate people
or fall crazily in love with them
more difficult, it seems,
is to find words for our hearts and souls
how to express your love
appropriate to the occasion
or to describe a painting by Degas,
Rubens, Kokoschka, Michelangelo,
the impact of a symphony
or a performance on the drama stage
to catch the words for what we feel
is much more difficult
than to imagine those for what we see
it is the poets’ challenge to give shape
to all the hopes, loves, fears, and phantasies
in our lives
so we can make the power of the word
the power of the world
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
if we could
be someone completely different
at least for a while
child to adult woman to man
asylant to millionaire president to farmer
human to animal or tree
or vice versa
we can imagine all this
in our phantasies and virtual worlds
yet we are missing essentials
to BE a mouse a bear a shark
a president a film star a tree
is to feel think sense suffer
live in their alien worlds
maybe even understand
at least for a while
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 5:21 PM UTC
He walked in bright beatific phantasies
That captured and enveloped his reality
Those fierce and fiery, fruitful visions
Came to splendorous fruition
When one morn the muse he summoned
To pour music from the rift of heaven
Straight down in to his thirsty mind
He is risen, no more blind
Roaming, roving like a rainbow
The wilderness is the place to go
Like a wanton, wanderlust bard
He traverses valleys and fathoms stars
Speaking to the universe
He communicates its joys in verse
Sees in symbols he cannot speak
Much madness from his ***** beak
Words and vision charged as lightning
His potency is such it's frightening
He is again another child
To the hinterlands of the soul exiled
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 2:50 PM UTC
I saw you standing there,
Hair flowing in the meadows,
Eyes shining under the night sky,
I heard your voice singing softly like a siren.
I saw that majestic smile ,
Glowing brightly, filled with enthusiasm,
Envious and appealing,
I feel the warmth of your fingers.
You showed me that adorable pout,
Cute but deadly lips,
I remember our promise,
That I be only yours and You be only mine.
But all of those are just phantasies.
Fables of what we could have been.
I didn't see you but your image was embedded,
So deep in my thoughts that I could never forget it,
For you were torn from me before that unfinished promise,
And to chase after you I could not for I had no strength, no courage.
And even though our bonds are reinfused,
I fear that these feelings are no longer of use.
For you might be showing that smile to someone else,
And I left grieving, Oh God pray tell.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
Poets live in their dreams
In the far away worlds
Where everything is possible
They live in the beauty of the day
Where all the dark fades in their way.
But some poets live in the dark
The sadness has taken their burning heart
And they lighten their burden
By composing a poem.
Yet the dreams of those poets
Will not be dark and hopeless
Phantasies are the most valued for them
Helping to escape and reform
This gift is fair and everlasting
What the dreams bestow.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
so many women~poets have I loved
*my occupation undisguised,
my intentions opaque~opposite,
my profession, lover
they,
most know, some suspect, a few clueless,
despite clear sky mountains of hints,
fastest currents of verbal affection*
*you scoff, think me old~poet~foolish,
know my loving has taken me to
every continent,
subway & metro, English gardens, Canadian planted fields,
my offers of shoulders, gentlest hands,
accepted and kindly re~fused, but still,
yet loved*
*grasping their words, parsing their phrases,
uncovering their remorse and spiced joys,
their gains, and losses, shared conjoined
the curl of a hair lock, the shape of the eye…*
*entrapment by poems of enticing whimsy delicious,
for it is in the well of their poems that my love*,
born, thrived, drowned and died
*something in the way they wrote, delicacies
plucked and ****** me in, the insight inside scraps
of life glories and sadness proffered,
that I loved,
broke me*
*oh fool, oh fool, how dare you cross the Styx
river~boundary of common sense, allowing hope to infect,
phantasies and poems inspired, conspired, died?*
so
much more to tell, but nothing herein to be consummated,
I loved them with a purposed seriousness of imagination,
and only write this today after years of adventures,
because I no more…possess the powerful skills of
imagining loving*
Apr 9, 2023
Apr 9, 2023 at 2:41 PM UTC