"phantasmagoric" poems
I opened a door in the cosmos
and was swallowed, ensconced
by the darkness that followed.
Euphoric,
there you were
Phantasmagoric and sidereal;
I find I'm beside myself.
Come along and freefall with me
At the end of times
O'er the cliffs of nigh
We'll aspire to fire into spirals of nebulous unknown.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
I cannot recall the precise moment of my arrival at Anhedonia
memories blindsided by a phantasmagoric comorbid collage of cant
precipitated by some newspaper reportage or holocaust story
some creepy instance that breached the precipice between simple sorrow and permanent melancholia
some fatal blow that cinched the deal
some horrid event that could not heal
some dejected disappointment that could not be resolved
some moment of unguarded clarity when integrity dissolved
nevertheless I have arrived at this mangled juncture
élan a mania not even Edison's medicine can extirpate
I was quite lighthearted before the inferno
before my brain broke
ennui now a turgid companion
feeding on gaiety, never sated, seeking famine
esurient unrelenting usurper of happiness
go away, leave me alone, relish some other soul's madness
gone is any exuberance, glee or mirth
miseries are mine, many the days since birth
better I was carried from the womb straight to the grave
a fatuous existence, clamoring and grasping in vain
it's as if I was born into a well
but these waters they burn
the bludgeoning alcohol a liquid hell
Oh florid loquacity, you are an impostor
your verse is an adversary
a foray of jagged rhythm justifying a storm
a sordid verbosity assuring no norm
a plaintive scratching guild of recriminative collaboration
some alliance of fulminating disquietude
the cost for the fare on the adventure to:
the stunning moment you too will visit Anhedonia
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
Maybe, we were too caramelized.
Yes, that's right, too caramelized, too sweet, too cozy and warm, slowly oozing against the fire we were leaning on, feeding off of each others sugar, each others, well, sweet tooth.
There is a reason you mom tells you not to eat too much candy on Halloween or not to eat that last cookie in the jar, and it is because she knows how much you will want more. She knows how hard it is to stop once you have already gotten that sweet craving on your lips.
But, still you eat, and you indulge in these phantasmagoric forms of sugar... and even though she warned you, you are left sitting with you teeth rotten out with an ache like no other.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
it's real easy to feel like
we've done it all
wrong
phenomenal fuckyes then
phantasmagoric fear ragers
perpetual pity *******
blood middle knuckle crush
regretful bets hedged
hunched frozen tongues
and pointy unsaids
but sometimes
with mind wide-eyed
and heart roots writhing
I've seen it
way differently
a vantage point
where pushpull face-plants
are winning lotto tickets
because maybe
we were kindling of yes
unable to keep it burning yet
and we would have fumbled it
far beyond repair
I'm fairly certain
our heartfelt invites
to instant cohabitation
would have ended
painfully
badly
traumas tripping
over hair triggers
in a 3-legged race
two smoking pistols
and four red feet
even Hello
seems too intense
to mouth
and from this
particular perspective
I can see how
every decision made in fear
led to whinging karmarang
tied with two strings
I daresay
one day we might
look back with a smile
that it went down this way
because the initial who
were not strong enough
to shoulder the immensity
nor surrendered enough
to float the fragility
of newborn carbon
gossamer whorl
in fact
I push all my chips
toward that
maybe there is
fortune in false starts
we make plans
but I bet The One
has better ones
so I'm pretty sure
we should sit down
and listen
for that breeze
to whisper
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
Asian faerie pirate
Beautiful pirahna
Dancing firelights
Conversion faeries
Benny Grunch
Phantasmagoric unicorns
Mardi gras
Terpsichorean cassowaries
King cake
Satircal parody
Highly intelligent humor
Unliving dead
****** hell
Planned obsolescence
French Quarter
Baton Rouge
Rock & roll
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
Phantasmagoric
Entranced through the spirals of delusion
Limitless misery trapped betweeen the perfect illusion
Shattered visions trickle along a joyous dream
*********** of deep waters biting through the atlantic sea bream
Whispering in the midst of silken white fantasies
Swiftly stricken back into the disturbing realities
Prismatic colors embedded into a spirit of misconception
A darkened certainty embraces its profound deception
Peaceful pleasures circling whimsical euphoria
Drastically transforming into agitated hysteria
Reflecting portraits of tasteful affection
Briskly dissolving into appalling fabrication
Stimulating my mind with exceptional optimism
The day I met you heartbreak obstructed essential wisdom
MEGAN JAMES
(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED)
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 3:44 AM UTC
renegade memories
relentless effrontery
rogue fractured intruders
a formulable formidable aside inside
man is a modified monkey
a jackdaw in peacock's feathers
contradictions, the multiplicity that is a unity
a patchwork of odds and ends
snips and snails
dreams and delusions
hopes and fears
a mystifying knot of phantasmagoric disquietude
agape in a stupefied bewilderment
as an autistic child swept up in minutiae
inscrutable incongruities
melange of matters beyond explanations
maundering machinates
necessary inventions repeating and reforming
sheltering some aspect of the mind's deforming
'reaction formations' sotto voce instructs the analyst
defending emotions at the personalities bequest
merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream
psychotherapy is no mere scheme
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
Tempus Fugit:
Nought is eternal,
Nox is ephemeral,
And
The Charred Canvas
Of
The Night Sky
(Noctis Lucis Caelum,
Scala Ad Caelum)
Bedarkened & besmirched, bespeaks
A
Love-Worn Wayward, Wayworn.
In the
Citadel
Of mine
Temporal Heart
Time
Streams infinitely
As an
Exhalation of The Ethereal One.
The Chronology of
The Arbiter of Fates
Shalt Destine,
Herald Eternitas
Upon
The Phantasmagoric Horizon
Of
Mine Mind's Sky
Wondering
Upon
Days of Yore.
(The Hither,
The Thither,
And
The Morrow.)
These
Luminescent Children are
Are born
To wax Luminaries
Then,
Wax Nebulous
For all eternity.
O, Metempsychosis;
Born of
Edicts Unseen,
Of that
Which was,
Is,
&
Will Be.
(For
All things
Are
Circular & Cycling,
Existentially.)
We were conceived
Infinitely
To
Infinity
And beyond.
Let He, Let She
Whose
Ears & Eyes
Of
The Unuttered Anima
Be unstopped, unfurled
To resonations:
Deep within.
The Emerald Lifestream Anew
Dost begin.
The Sovereign of Songbirds sings
Esprit d' amour
To those who wait.
(Se' Lah.)
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 5:21 PM UTC
Dark cloud, consort of the rain,
billowing, dense, phantasmagoric, apparition,
shift--
make me a
foamy bed, to rest,
and a smoky lyre,
to make music,
give me wings,
for my imagination to soar,
find me my true love for ever-
the ****** white clad maiden of the cloud,
the starry eyed angel;
just let me
hover around
with you
for ever.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 8:04 AM UTC
Catastrophic end in sight,
light bends, her eyes contrite;
a shaking phantasmagoric dispute
making both husband and lover mute;
revelation upon revelation,
hatred in each exhalation;
exasperated rivals stand apart,
one soul exultant, one twisted heart.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 9:40 PM UTC
It's like live how? like you make it
copy down the sad crown
ride the wheel you made it
the strong misguided hatred.
-eclipse-
Bathing naked
The flurried atom swarms and indulgent desires strip me of my latest confirmed identity.
thoughts and painted-eyes
Department earlobe tenants remorse filled by the
phantasmagoric patience and comfort of pain.
So plain and petty feels like I'm crying "lone wolf!" double knot shoe tie
finite coffer rusty nails-stick latent reparation clips of manta ray striking tail whips.
The core is stifled to trip and fall upon the wet autumn leaves, broken twigs, and an earthly wisdom. Carry us, oh misleading stranger to a different home with Velcro that sticks to platelets and crust that covers elbows.
Hatred is stronger for the long-suffering and confusion when what we need is light
The fierce reserve beckoned to fight after immobility subsides and clears clutter away from the self-loathing, shame, and spiritual fatigue.
Maybe today is the day. This spot is reserved anyway and the wolves seem hungry.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
we are clockwork creatures
with phantasmagoric features
precisely ground and divinely wound,
we measured movements, prosaic and sublime
our cogged kingdom, cherished chunks of time
our ticking, a marching machination
our faces, a reflection of the lost
a prediction of the found
we now make simpering sounds
on our path to rust
made obsolete by the silicon effete,
the cyber elite, that-which-who
never succumb to rust, or join us
in our reverent return
to dust
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
…the dream sequence
plays like vaudeville
in the peephole
of a kinetoscope
my drunken subconscious thoughts
undulate in murky waters
and slurin the visions of specters past
infrastructures and pylons
formed from childhood homes schools
skate parks friend’s houssand churches
faces familiar unfamiliar
mold and mend in wicked contortions
and diaphanous ambiguity
what obfuscates me from the truths
of my mind
I stumble through the chambers
haunted by childhood nightmares
and tickled by ancient fantasies
my arms
and legs
are like
rubber
I
feel
torpidity
overcome
and the words
are like alphabet soup
in the director’s commentary
splashing around aimlessly mingling
in the waves of broth
what will be revealed
in this phantasmagoric phenomena
wax figures coming to life
and panoramas dancing on the walls
my body somewhere in time
waits with pen and paper in hand
eager to counter the façade
with the utmost coherence
just you wait til I wake up
and reveal all your secrets
oh wondrous mind…
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 10:23 PM UTC
whenever somebody reminds me of you, i consider how our roles
were like margo and quentin from paper towns. you loved mystery
novels so much, i'm sure you became one yourself. at one point, i
wholeheartedly believed you were this unattainable celestial being
completely confined in your paper skin. then i realized something,
do you remember that day you called me your best friend as a joke
and the same day, you talked so much **** about me? it made me
realize you were right. you are a part of the ****** people living in
their **** houses burning **** to stay warm, since you like to talk
**** what was i expecting? of course, you're a high schooler. to
think that before my 21st birthday, i was quentin in the way i
admired you from afar, idealizing you as a god and dismissing
everybody else as animals. i preferred to let our paths cross in
my dreams. there were many times our strings crossed, separated,
and then came back together. although i don't have the drive to
chase you across border lines, i would skateboard miles after miles
of desert terrain just to have that opportunity to see you. realizing
it now, being friends with you was a ******* trap. to portray myself
as someone you would prefer to be friends with was difficult, since
you didn't really seem to like anybody all that much anyway. our roles
were strictly platonic, but the days stretched out seemed almost phantasmagoric. our strings that were knotted together so tightly broke
through and through, and none of us would have expected that i'd be
wanting to drive across border lines to stretch the distance out between
me and you, kind of like the way you stretched me out. as i'm slowly
undiscovering you, little by little, i'm realizing the way you think about
a person isn't the way they actually are. people are different when you
smell them and see them up close. now i'm addressing everyone that i
previously ignored because of you, and dismissing you as an animal. i
would rather live in my paper house than have to live with your ****
- kra
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 9:05 AM UTC
Buried in the snow
Watching the universe spin overhead
Smiling at the accelerating stars
Gripping my veins at their edges
Whispering oddities to me
Hammering the twilight of the ages
Into the cores of my soul
And tinkering with it
Gently
Like the master does with craft
Humming softly while they work
Hidden in the folds of time
And wondering nothing of the other world
Where we all sink in ecstatic bliss
Pure like skin of silken whistles
Guiding all the lights of the earth
Heaven and nirvana in their absolute essence
Firing all the shots of life
Bursting into their beings
Colours and waters and wiles
Wandering in step
Grasping all the solitary chimes
Aching in their silhouettes
Earnestly questioning
But accepting without delay
Heightened senses
Like watchmen towers
Fluttering in the ocean
Distancing nothing
Illuminating nothing
and phantasmagoric so––
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 9:24 AM UTC
o, good lord of the streets
where a phantasmagoric sensurround
banishes the scream of youth –
a carburetor snarl taken
as unction of name. was it
your name that you whispered to my ear,
him dearth in the quietus.
first to go is grace,
what soon follows is bravery. a makeshift moon
of course, hanging by the earlobe of
her; I’ve been wanting to bite to break skin
her truly frightened symmetry
of a storm which is an onus of pain -
o, good lord
help me weave way later
when I’m down on my contrabass.
Scout Albano tonight’s a dark
expanse of regret
resonating a deep and hollow throb.
women on flay, cigars in mouths chucked
like busy streets on a noontime sun, the soot clambers
the billboards and their frozen, extant smiles
wring out the poison and drain:
we have no imposed god, an announcement to ear
shot into the flay of the bone that persistently
aches - like some unreal drumming of squalors.
we are ruined with echoes of many names that haunt us
with their gaping mouths
in frightful angles, but
when we’re drunk, Marc,
this will all be over.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
spiritual burglary
delicious minutes
unlovely products of a puritanical conscience
alcohol taken as a club with which to bludgeon into a state of insensibility
words seemed to clothe genuine honesty , they prove to be the veriest nonsense
epiphanic amorphous mind and its stream of consciousness
I imagine a neural interface that could record dreams
not brainwaves, but images
phantasmagoric films beset by the florid mind
sorry echoes in the verbosity
Too bad love has fallen out of style
now that squares rule the world
I can't express "why" in words
so unrealistic a view of themselves and the world that they become most difficult to live with
little wonder I dwell alone
everything is really fragmentary
analyzing the analyst
tripping over my words
instantaneous administration
mesmerized by the minutiae of sensations
tangles of terminology writhe in his brain
collating and sorting
assigning vectors
in hopeful sectors
where heart and love abides
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
I say
‘Marguerite Johnson’
and you don’t know.
Who she really was, what
She really did.
Maya, a childhood nickname turned professional
Angelopulos, past other, Greek and unknown.
She was a poet, a woman of many
words that changed America.
Words that touched our hearts,
Words that opened our eyes
to truth.
She was an actress, in the Obie-winning “The Blacks”,
Off-Broadway, “Calypso Heat Wave”, inspiring her singer.
She was a singer, writer of song.
West Coast and
Hawaiian nightclubs were once
Embellished by her voice.
She was a dancer, a portrayer of emotion, through movements
Rhythmic and graceful
Calm, phantasmagoric, and beautiful.
She was an author.
She knew why,
“The Caged Bird” sang.
But, once. She had no voice.
Traumatized and scared. Age seven, suffered at the hands of the distant mother’s boyfriend.
She went mute,
feeling responsible for their crime,
After her uncles rid the world of the problem.
A candle’s flame blown out.
Mrs.
Flowers
A friend and fellow lover of the spoken word.
Helped Maya find her voice.
Introduced Hughes,
Du Bois, and Lawrence Dunbar.
Then, the canonical Shakespeare,
Dickens, Poe.
She was a scholar.
She was a mother.
She was a fighter.
She stood for her rights and the rights of her people.
She stood, side by side, with many known and recognized.
Malcom X.
Martin Luther King Jr.
His assassination on her birthday stopped the celebration forever.
Then she sent flowers to Coretta until her death in 2006.
She was an inspiration.
I say
“Maya Angelou”
And now you know.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 9:35 AM UTC
Where does man, where does woman, where does beast go
When slumber dawns upon their fleshly vessel?
When the twilit sky bleeds into a stygian veil?
When the musicality within begins to take psychosomatic form?
I reminisce over the eventuality that stirred my burgeoning.
It quaked my lucubrations, my excogitations, intellectualizations;
Ye, The Incendiary Phoenix Flame billows within. Rebirth awaits
every anima forged by The Apotheosis of The Astral Flame.
The doughty firebrand in me shalt nought surrender,
The Gaian Warrior within shall ne'er be forgotten,
And my reverenc'd doubts shall be undone.
O, whence all incredulities have been uttered The Leadings of Lovelight shall prevail. The Vestige that once ravaged my remembrance shall vanish into The Magisterial Tides of Oblivion,
We are all one with the Blood-Tinged Oath, The Fulgent Daystar;
He, exhaled eternity into the souls vexed by mortality.
Underneath the Sun:
There breathes an azure vista.
What lieth above our aethereal aegis has incited inquisitiveness aeons aforetime
Open your hearts to the cosmic currents, the transcendent torrent,
The Communal Oneness of The Primal Phantasmagoric;
By that One,
For all time we were summoned.
Question what lie before to be spirited away.
Listen to the arcadian zephyr whisper
Through in, through out your every breath. Trust, the Sanctity of intuition.
Coloring the Changing of The Seasons.
The aqueous dew throngs upon virescent leaflets,
A fulgurant surge fulminates
Upon The Celestial’s bedarkened sky.
Red- Shift Existence: evidence, upon which a system of belief expands, under examination
Therefore, it is our duty to ponder the Legacy of the Sages
That we might unravel the esoteric secrets
That function as a key
In gainsaying, in overturning The Lock of Fallacy.
Finally we gain understanding, we acquire wisdom
Altering our cognitive trajectory.
What is Life,
What is Love,
What is Divinity,
Without creativity?
Without imagination?
Without vision?
We must all surrender to
The Sacral Expressions of Omnibenevolence.
Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 6:50 PM UTC
Dark thoughts perch lightly above
scrawny limbs,
while underneath my feet touch
the dismal comfort of phantasmagoric pastures.
and there's a muzzle on my mouth
and a noose around my neck
tightening, gripping
I find morbid comfort in it's baleful
embrace.
The crows don't sing but their feet
sting my twigs
and they stare
and they whisper.
Clocks melt away but the numbers
remain etched in to my skin.
the muted rhythm,
I begin to lose my sanity.
The colors run down my skin
down the drain
someone's poured water
unto my charcoal world.
isolation is now familiar
my heart is upside down.
The dark thoughts perch
in the fragile balance of my mind
will snap
and I'll become part of a past.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
Phantasmagoric!
Night gathers billion big bangs ,
In the pitch dark naught.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
I didn't know what it meant
But i liked it.
In all its ever-present, phantasmagoric, sundry forms.
I liked how it wriggled through the grooves of my fist
And fell in tendrils down my spine.
I liked its sound--briny and crystaline
Like footsteps on salt panes.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
1, 2, 3
There was you and me
4, 5, 6
your colorful bag of tricks
7, 8, 9
we'd share a bottle of wine.
These are the memories that send chills up my spine.
You were acid,
I was alkaline.
I used to pick the petals off a celandine, hoping
"maybe he'll choose me this time."
I thought our love to be phantasmagoric,
when in fact it was hardly auric.
leave it to me to always be metaphoric.
You impacted me in ways I can't describe
please believe me when I say this isn't my diatribe.
this is me trying my best to transmogrify.
my original stimuli,
you have no idea what you signified,
but
This is me trying my hardest to say goodbye.
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 4:47 PM UTC
I grew up in a haunted house
Where walls were wet with blood.
Phantasmagoric phantoms of my mother
set the mood.
Cadavers roamed the rooms
Their choral moans in sync.
To die in such a residence,
Surviving on the brink.
The days were drowned in silence,
While night surfaced the screams
Of murdered men. I lived
inside a sea of make-believe.
And mirrors morphed
The monsters into mad reality
Insidious-their curses are
My sad normality
Today I am awake because
my horrors never sleep
The fictive fiends cry melodies
My mind cannot compete
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC