"phantasms" poems
Sequacious demonstrative mongrel fantastication
Overt fantasias and monstrance clarification
Rhetorical rote of empirical justification
Whimsical enervations elicit ramification
Incite legendary fables of rectification
Tempestuous mendacious erudite personifications
Endemic epistemological semantics of edification
Evocative illuminism engenders mortification
Judicious spontaneous phantasms of gratification
Numinous salutatory statutes of ratification
Heuristic existentializing empiricisms alleviate confusion
Adamant machismo machinations eliminate delusion
Eulogizing enigma entity’s illustrious illusion
Torridly allusive revelries of reverie effusion
Educing morose maniacal moribundity’s inclusion
Epitomizing empathetic revulsions to corroborate elusion
Probitous erudite solicitations evade contusion
Raunchy riotous accoutrements appreciate exclusion
Optimizing subjunctively torpid recalcitrant collusion
Scenario syntactics of mythically epic allusion
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Stars shine on in a night sky so black
you can see the truth.
What is that light but an interruption
to progress so blinding
the sun blushes–
as if another light vandalized
our ever darkening sky.
Closing out on reality,
opening up to ideals,
it’s the rays piercing through the layers
and the yea-sayers nodding
off to sleep in a darkness so deep.
When the genius strips off the latent,
flexes its manifest intelligence,
and puts down thoughts
that flare into the darkness.
No effort from a sun fibbing eternal.
The end might come but the hand
who writes eternity can’t see
the end coming.
Who are the geniuses
expelling the light
and who are the receivers
not likely to admit their stupor
for fear of fantastic phantasms.
Fleeing from their folly,
straying into strange, insipid
serials, unending, not rerunning–
only growing obese with weight
Of chances not spent.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 3:35 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Going to the mountaintop
nothing to keep
to see, an explicit wonders
a blissful dream
only, holding in my hands
a flute withstand
when I reach at top of peek
I inhaled a scent
that nobody ever breathed
with full air I blew
forces of nature awakening
*A Galway style comes out
music bars slithered
all across coming
down my feet
guiding notes far & near
peace touched to
the rivers warring
solitude filled the valleys
fairies and goblins
in delitescent
filled with great joy,
the mountains were vivified*
At the end of my song
I blew a soaring note above
and caves opened
some going here and there
hopping, waving
trees bowed with splendor
And all I saw comes frolicly
sigh of full relief
my phantasms has finished
on my way home
leaving my flute up a stone
hoping someday,
someone, would be willing
-enough to play
to hear my song over again
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 9:32 AM UTC
stand(ing) here alone in the dark
like a head of tack pirouetting away
to no music - only acrid scruple
of this being with and not being with,
one is always alone.
space occupies the potteries in
the garden as a steady arm of light
stills in its mouth, a flowering dark.
it is only 3 o'clock in the morning
and the heat clambers the wall of
the vacuously atrabilious moment
of just plainly existing. the slender
harlequin of moon, like an old lover
having its own way with me, a child's
yelp coming home — the hermetic
air crushing the light, slivering it
revealing all the ensconced phantasms
too commonplace like a fork in the road
that i know, or the wayward metropolitan
that teems with a concatenation of roads
and gutters bilious with the squall of day.
a figure moves entering a warm miasma,
receiving the star of aloneness,
vacillating between
place and placelessness
telling this originary of repossessing
the moon with a hand in my hand,
pressing a question of where
have you been all the raging while.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
No light or air touches this broad chasm
And few have been known to ascend from it
Reconciliations to phantasms
All sensation and love you will omit
Why try and claw your way to the surface?
The darkness embraces you like no other
You become addicted to the abyss
So you spiral down further and further
It is feasible for one to break through
To take that solitude expedition
I know the specifics of this deep blue
For I have risen to behold the sun
Keep kicking your feet and reach for above
Exhaling your gloom and inhaling love
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
White skin
Molded in black light
Crystal tears
Faded in dark wine -
Innocent fears
Crypted in a muddy dawn,
White, white veils
Of the black, black soul.
Soothing tired rays...
The ashes of canescent shadows
In black blankets
Of white memories, thoughtless days
Melodies, phantasms of whispers -
Too late, too soon...dispair.
They all appear in strange ways,
Mixed feelings in a maze
Drowned in a deep silence -
Deaf screams in a corner.
Transparence...
A black mind, the disorder.
A life between agony and death,
A death betweem sunrise and health,
Vision between a mirror and a trigger
Freedom between bars and linger
Dreams between blindfolds and handcuffs
Thirst hiding beneath a sea of cups
Hunger lieing in corners with bread bits
Perfect love dieing where it fits.
Black and white,
Silence and screams
Numbness, too many feelings...
Eyes wide open, but locked inside.
I've lost the key
To a true reality
Beyond these mesmerizing dawns
They're not true, they're not false...
There's no sun, there's no moon
Too late, then too soon
Trying to fake and not to see
There's no sunrise in the whole of me.
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 1:01 PM UTC
*I wish so hard that uou would just turn around and
spark my heart
light the fuse that explodes the suns stars and moons
from out of my tempered heart,
to give a word spoken in that one way,
to touch with that delicate intent
to reach for me
and fight for me
and pull me away
from these empty phantasms
calling to my ***
release me.
Open me up to the universe
and let me explode with with mystical madness
let me paint with colours the endless sky
save me from this fortified heartened mess
My love, light me with your fire!
The one that she brings back alight.*
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
*Iridescent Charms & Atomic Raves,
Raptured Revelations In Her Bulletproof Grave,
Impassive Frequencies Of Her Reflections Engraved.
Ionic Ribbons Of Her Artistic Trance,
Neon Contrasts In Her Stellar Stance,
Starry-Eyed Rhapsody In Her Censored Glance,
Vaporized Fractals Draped In Her Past,
Crystallized Specters Sterilized To Last,
Perpetual Panic Triggering A Blast,
Sedated Phantasms In Her Paralyzed Voice,
Isolated Collisions & Distressed Noise,
Overrated Memoirs Of Her Tainted Reprise,
Liquid Shadows In Her Moonlit Dreams,
Theatrical Schemes To Her Grand Regime,
Enigmatic Queen Of Turbulent Screams,
Shipwrecked Effigy Resonating Duality,
Overtuned Spirits Illuminating Reality,
Metaphysical Anniversary Of Her Romantic Fatality.
- 04:28AM -*
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 7:03 PM UTC
She does not meet my gaze
as she enters, she sees me
and exorcises me with a bleak past.
Her consort sailor, sick or moribund.
She felt lonely, herself and only
considers thoughts
to another life with someone else.
Her eyes value
phantasms swimming.
She is a prisoner and beckons me away.
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 3:19 AM UTC
756
One Blessing had I than the rest
So larger to my Eyes
That I stopped gauging—satisfied—
For this enchanted size—
It was the limit of my Dream—
The focus of my Prayer—
A perfect—paralyzing Bliss—
Contented as Despair—
I knew no more of Want—or Cold—
Phantasms both become
For this new Value in the Soul—
Supremest Earthly Sum—
The Heaven below the Heaven above—
Obscured with ruddier Blue—
Life’s Latitudes leant over—full—
The Judgment perished—too—
Why Bliss so ******** disburse—
Why Paradise defer—
Why Floods be served to Us—in Bowls—
I speculate no more—
1.7k
I have a lot of pent-up fear;
many things really do terrify me.
I’ve never really been comfortable in the dark,
my imagination has never granted me that luxury.
Phantasms from almost 15 years ago follow me in the shadows.
I’ve always enjoyed looking out at a cityscape
from the top of a tower or building
but I’ve never let go of the railing.
I haven’t let myself come close to the edge,
my back against the wall.
I’m too scared of falling.
I’ve been harrowed by many things,
but one demon reigns over them all.
I’m really scared of disenchantment.
I’m scared that the very reasons that I was initially loved for
will eventually become the reasons I am detestable.
I’m scared my determination and perseverance
will turn into me being stubborn and close-minded.
I’m scared that my sweet thoughts and caring nature
will transform into me being clingy and suffocating.
I’m afraid that all the reasons you love me
will turn into the reasons why you regret.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
I was the, “Monster,”
With all but one
Concern
Upon my tongue –
Her and imagination wrought
Honey.
I was the, “Monster,”
Who’d only one
Plight
Come 5:00 A.M. –
Flight and ensuing chasm christened,
“Regret.”
I was the, “Monster,”
Where all but one
Finger’d
Grasp my throat –
Phantasms of someone she’d met once
Before.
I was the, “Monster,”
When it wouldn’t work
Again
And again and again –
Sacred and scared, I’d never answer,
Faint and, “knock.”
I am the, “Monster.”
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:57 AM UTC
Ornamental graves set like feasts
for unfaithful lovers,
the broke marrow of virtuous phantasms,
now swaddled rapture
chanted as basilisk verses.
Scarred Alice wraps it around
torn limbs--
festering gauze--the cynical made anew.
"Creation moves," the gluttonous moper speaks again,
"to erase itself."
Alice's children blasts
the afterlife caboose
to the front of the freight
--saeculum saeculorum--
"Wake again and again
without ghosts and wrath,
dear children." The wind whispers their souls
back to her--"the molding of men
and women attend to sponge the graves dry."
They will raise themselves
--chanting the basilisk verses,
mother Alice
departs her children twice
to the corridors of rose fields
in her naked cloud.
"Come back, dear mother...."
"Come back, dear mother..."
they chant,
"Your salted epitaph
still lingers in our throats."
Not fit there
or here.
Nowhere, Miss, nowhere--
Sin is the party
that doesn't die
and neither does the health
of lyrical sand.
--Floaters like discontent
Alice,
recreate the world,
--our world with
pastels and finger-paints
doodles on Arlington headstones
--messages for our ear bones
--disasters on eleven
turning stones roll over--tortoises play dead
but whisper,
"Clergy cerebral
won't wisp away
beds of jewels.
I pity people who think
themselves powerful.
"Frost-bit devices dilate
like the hands of a watch
tearing time apart with
rusty blades.
"Counting fingers--useless freedom
--bothersome slavery."
Alice knows what the basilisk knows,
we would sacrifice
the only righteous heart in *****
& Gomorrah
to save
&n
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
Pharmacopoeias
Pseudo psychedelic phantasms
Kaleidoscopic deliriums
Mushroom acerbic cloud igniting
Truth denying exposition
Chemical makeup
Dressed to ****
From seed
To harvest
To market
To dinner plate
To grave
In wooden box decaying
Infatuations with infrastructures in frustration
Genetically modified bullets
BT Corn ripping organs
Exposing the explosion
Imploding on a sunny afternoon in March
Ants on the streets
Trampled by elephants’ ***** in the parade
Rats in slavery’s maze
Corporations’ corporate mandates
Sold out government conspiracy
To cover up the conspiracy of conspiracies
TV eyes ratted out you and yours
A fist-full of dollar bills
Some odd change to clink in the wishing well
Monsanto seeds die at plantation
Reincarnation of a deadly virus
Sow the soil and reap rewards of petulance pestilence
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC
we're almost nowhere. just one more block...
the town clock a white dot with prayer hands and a mute halo
we inveigle the fireflies in our mantis
our mantras throw tantrums in tandem
we polish lanterns and leave chrysanthemums
for Amish sirens. your wine a thick miasma of phantasms
a Cabernet of rich spasms in the delicate worm
your apple turns.
off again and another alabaster more pale than actual...
the fat uvula pendulum in the dark tower
where the bats nap in ammonia, fuming with green dreams
that turn black the clock, behind the white solemn.
a virtual girl.
an un-promise promised
one hand over your heart
indivisible
halfway.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
I – the girl you observe
guilty pleasure
marching through molten black
torch ignited
orbiting phantasms in the aphotic
burning within
corruption incinerated upon ingestion
tucked behind your frame
nestling ear
lip grazing canal
zest to soliloquy
vivacious saccharine tone
ruminating in the lilt of your tongue
resting in gum scoop and jawbone (mandible) reserve
adroit pivot
humbled gaze
locked
exteroception engaged
hard swallow
pearls scooped catatonic
atop lingering breast ascension
prudent olfaction volatile
cribriform annihilation
ginger – basil - brine - ruminate
etch of lace
sailplaning flesh topographic
aureate sunlight cresting soma
intoned morning – essence of miasma
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
Magnetic Contaminations & Audiotronic Visions,
Sublimating Poetic Transmutations Of Her Catatonic Provisions,
Primordial Metamorphosis Of Her Synthetic Overtunes,
Revealing Self-Perpetuated Biotic Tunes,
Protoplasmic Sparks In Her Cryptic Eyes,
Condensing Into Labyrinthine Whispers & Mortal Butterflies,
Myriad Phantasms On Feral Nights,
Fervid Effigies Under Moaning Lights,
Phantasmal Echoes & Mystic Whisperings,
Catalyzing Crepuscular Skies Under A Moonlit Spring,
Spiritual Crafts & Her Supernova Screams,
Evaporating Molotov Solution Of Her Liquified Dreams,
Untouched Realms & Her Ecstatic Overflows,
Refueling With Fantasy Effects Of Her Verbal Glows,
Arcane Stains & Her Floral Clones,
Primal Profanity Raining Over Her Coral Throne,
Handmade Essence Of Her Still-Born Eternity,
Recklessly Serenading Through Her Lacteal Galaxy,
Hypersonic Dreams & Venomous Virility,
Tampering Her Ionic Revelations Of Exquisite Hostility,
Progressive Factuals & Her Motionless Serenity,
Invocating Her Violets Serving Blue Infinity,
Apparitional Mirrors & Her Immaculate Misconceptions,
Weaponizing Fireflies In Whisky Perceptions.
- 05:52AM -
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 8:22 PM UTC
Just blinks of the universe on the skin of a pale blue dot
hovering at the edge of a swirling miasma of a myriad stars
We search for our place; let down by our lack of role in the grand scheme of existence
But only because we value ourselves too highly.
There is a beauty in the void; a renewal of spirit in acknowledging that we are not bound to a fate,
that we can go in any direction- that we may live our lives
without them simply being a test. There is no plan.
But who wants to live a planned life?
We search for the meaning that is not there to console ourselves in the cold reaches of the universe.
We find nothing- nothing but our own desperation.
We exist. Nothing more, nothing less than simple existence for us to interpret as we will.
That’s enough for me.
With this in mind, our lives- while still just phantasms fading from the skin of a pale blue dot
hovering at the edge of a swirling miasma of a myriad stars, gone before the universe’s eternity even begins to tick- have a purpose.
No longer are we bound to an eternity based on a mere shadow of a life, but now we can live! We can be free!
Our lives are ours to make what we will. To discover, explore, learn, to savour, to love… to leave the world better than we entered it, yet we do it not to please the cosmos but for our own enrichment. This is the significance of our lives.
Carpe diem, sieze the day: because it is one of the approximately 29 219 your being will ever have. Our minds are but the transient states of the universe, convening for a brief touch before going their separate ways- use that moment. It is all you are.
Let’s be reckless, do amazing and stupid things together for the brief cosmological second we share. Life flashes away as the universe’s heart mechanically beats.
Life is fleeting, we are sad, but there is nothing more than life- so let us live
Even though we are simply accidental spectres of thought on the skin of a pale blue dot
hovering at the edge of a swirling miasma of a myriad stars
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:19 AM UTC
Moon of Pythagorus, such proofless arithmetic derived,
No sigmoidal curves or cold calculus of the divine,
But pale barbarian, war-bringer of straight lines,
Your sea drifts commandeered like lit ash-spears in line,
Or the thrashing of wind-whipped rags of horses’ manes.
Moon of Pythagorus, the phantasms of your campfires
Of waiting armies flicker like fireflies along the stream.
Burn me, Moon, with your fire-tongued spears,
Your haunt of horses, unbridled and reared,
Burn an eye through my heart like the oculus of the Pantheon,
So I can see my pulse beat against the ash of naked footsteps
Of those who make false shrine to me.
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 7:27 PM UTC
I’m gliding, not fighting
As I enter later years.
I’m skating, not debating
As I face my aging fears.
I see what I was afraid of
Were just phantasms only.
They leave too many scared
With talk of being lonely.
Go away with bearboo talk.
Nobody is frighted here.
It’s just another day for me
It’s nothing but another year!
Age is not the bogeyman
It comes along with the ride.
It’s part of what made my life
It’s proof that I have tried.
**** and chest swapped places
My hair is wandering south.
All that goes very swiftly
Is my energy and my mouth.
Everything is changing now
I am not a kid any more.
I spend time in pharmacy aisles
More than the rest of the store.
But none of this unexpected.
I watched others go through it.
It’s not like it was ever a secret.
No mystery. I totally knew it.
So I plan to celebrate this stage
Which means I must slow down
And take things as they come
No reason to whine, cry or frown.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
venus sparkles in the ink feast of heaven, a yellow albino with a crown of white nettles, seething in magnetic storms. a singular *****
the moon glows. pouring egg whites and phantasms over the earth, perched in oblivion's diamonds like a haunted brouche. it's gorgeous.
high above, clouds clench black velvet and cold fronts. they scrunch into ice crumbs and wrinkles. white streaks skate a blade of wind shear
into a swipe of a tiger's claw. while far underneath, the sodium lights of the suburbs, brawl.
you live in a house of pure things. where the dust has settled arguments. where harm has come to none;
but all have fallen. your house is a living thing,
dying to show you the Door...
and you know this.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 8:48 AM UTC
like night misses day
It’s the feeling you get
when your eyes can't wait
to see the blessed sun
so they refuse to shut
lest they miss the wake of dawn...
But I know I should rather sleep
to pull myself faster to the break of day
than to stay up conversing with Cupid
about how she's been and what's gone her way...
I suppose my demons
have their ways of inciting the urge
by pestering my mind
with phantasms of her...
Why does the night have to drag itself so sluggishly?
I still miss her like night misses day.
If only the moon would give me the courtesy
of winding the sun every evening
so that it might never leave me be;
might she shine on my face forevermore?
Oct 9, 2023
Oct 9, 2023 at 9:06 PM UTC
Tracing the Synapses of Spirituality
Above the influence under the guidance
Resulting publication phantasms of the living
Private institutions funded by unnamed sources
Don't ask the telling
Loneliness laughter between the physical realm
You can never go back when your not alone
My nervous pulses pleasantly awaken me
Overdosed fear looking straight dead at me
I couldn't move or ask what's happening
For my speech motor controls were still hibernating
My multi dimensional body was slowly forming
I tripped on cosmic junk and fell back in my body
A mere second of realm walking
The natural effects of the human being
Silent sleep inside powerful dreams
Sugarless green tea after theta wave sitting.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
*Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?
then may ye also do good, that are accustomed to do evil.*
Jeremiah 13:23
We’re tired of your feline past
predatory darkness cannot last
your claw and tooth, your fangs, your youth –
they get old fast.
Your sullen, incoherent style
has grown intolerably vile.
After the **** your prey is still
in pure denial.
Leopard-phantasms feed the flames;
the thing that spawned you whines and blames
although we could call Motherhood
by harsher names.
Jungle law enforcement should
stop crowning you with victimhood
erase your spots, connect the dots –
we wish you would.
Then lambs with lions shall rejoice
while lines with iambs raise their voice;
spotted pards play wiser cards.
(A better choice.)
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC