"phial" poems
On the night of initiation,
curves of pale luster began to gleam unwrinkled from the darkened divots along the lunar surface
A perspective unseen for so long, it was viewed as a defaulted “wink” on the face of the moon
And therefore, forgotten, unmentioned, until it’s means were sought
From days ‘fore, and long since now dust
Scribing authors, secrete beads of frenzy into ink filled phial
Sending tremors down, into the quill tip
Filling scrolls for permanence in a preemptive defense against continuous unraveling thoughts would befall
this fluency into incoherent clutter
Pioneers of preprint in a provoking tome,
would speak educated reasons why these areas of Moon had been locked under sealed dark punishment
since Empedocles mixed cosmic elements to breed an undeniable proving truth
Exhibiting the myth of danger
alongside
The established absolute and supervening fizzling sunset
proving the existence of love...
—————————————————-
“Since I have given you words from my within
like the ecliptic rising and burning massive,
Our mutual visibility of late is either one-sided
or
short lived
I’ll take a detour around the comforts of romance
And try to talk my way into your pants
By tossing at you, letters squeezed together,
for your minds transcription into the heart of my subliminal write
In hopes you’ll feel a trickling gush
If I get really lucky these words will find you like a volcano erupts a ****
The same way water, beating against years of stone can fall
And crash through a dam with pouring force so insatiable it’s territory is marked in history
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 11:09 PM UTC
Certainly our city with its byres of poverty down to
The river's edge, its cathedral, its engines, its dogs;
Here is the cosmopolitan cooking
And the light alloys and the glass.
Built by the conscience-stricken, the weapon-making,
By us. Wild rumours woo and terrify the crowd,
Woo us. Betrayers thunder at, blackmail
Us. But where now are They.
Who without reproaches showed us what our vanity
has chosen,
Who pursued understanding with patience like a ***
had unlearnt
Our hatred and towards the really better
World had turned their face?
Who knows? The peaked and violent faces are exalted,
The feverish prejudiced lives do not care, and lost
Their voice in the flutter of bunting, the glittering
Brass of our great retreat,
And the malice of death. For the wicked card is dealt and
The sinister tall-hatted botanist stoops at the spring
With his insignificant phial and looses
The plague on the ignorant town.
Under their shadows the pitiful subalterns are sleeping;
The moon is usual; the necessary lovers touch;
The river is alone and the trampled flower;
And through years of absolute cold
The planets rush towards Lyra in a lion's charge. Can
Hate so securely bind? Are they dead here? Yes.
And the wish to wound has the power. And tomorrow
Comes. It's a world. It's a way.
2.3k
If I had a garden
with frilly little fairies
I’d catch them all,
grind them up for pixie dust!
I’d tie a lovely pink ribbon
around a pretty little phial
and with a pure gold necklace
decorate your beautiful neck
Then wherever you go
fast or slow
you’d have some magic
to turn your day to happy from tragic
and maybe always
have some sunshine
while I sing because you’re mine
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
YOU came with your small tapering flame of passion
Thinly burning like a nun's desire,
Your eyes in slim and half-expectant fashion
Faintly painting what your veins require
With little pallid pyramids of fire.
So very small and unfulfilled you sat,
Building a little talk to keep you there,
Your face and body pointed like a cat,
Your legs not reaching down from any chair,
Your thoughts not really reaching anywhere;
So dumb and tiny--yet Love guessed your mood,
And pressed his phial in its fervent bed,
And poured his thrilling philtre in my blood,
And all his lustre on your body shed,
And hot enamel on the words you said;
Your littleness became a monstrous thing,
A rank retort, a hot and waiting vat,
Your eyes green-copper like a snake in spring,
And lusty-bold your laying off your hat,
And fell your purpose like a hungry cat;
The dark fell on us through our narrowed eyes,
The heat lashed up around us from the floor,
Encrimsoning the lips of our surprise
To sway like music, and like burning pour
Across the truth that parted us before.
1.7k
Within this crimson,
opalescent phial entwined
with metallic vine slumbers
death's grim visage.
A few drops
laced in wine or tea
produces sinister
hallucinations
and
searing agony.
To be used so
sparingly,
only in greatest
need
to avoid discovery
of secrets harbored.
I tuck the phial away.
He never knew
how close he was to
agonizing death
by my hand.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 2:47 PM UTC
SCHRöDINGER'S SOCKS & THE REVENGE OF THE CAT
Schrödinger's cat
failed to see just what
all the fuss was
about?
It was all such
a reductive absurdum.
The cat couldn't understand
collapsing wave functions
decoherence
entanglement or whether
reality was really
quantum
to save its life.
It was aware of
one thing & one thing
only
. . .the diabolic device. . .
Cat in a metal box
with a Geiger counter
with a radioactive substance
blah blah de ****** blah
an atom decaying or something or
other &
releasing a hammer to smash
a phial of hydrocyanic acid.
Wot!
"I do not like thee Dr. Fell!"
thought the cat.
It was a very literary cat.
So all this palaver
about a cat( me? how! )
being both dead or alive or
neither dead or alive or
. . .wot!
So this is to be my great
to-be-or-not-to-be!
Welllll excuse me!
Say...doesn't the cat have his say?
So, I( clever cat that I am)
merely claw my way to the top &
disengage the device
by taking out the hammer.
So no cat was harmed
in the making of this
thought experiment.
It almost drove Schrödinger
out of his tiny little mind!
And he( hee hee )
never did discover
what ever
happened to his socks.
I forever stealing
one sock from a pair
from the open
washing machine.
Leaving him to ponder
just where socks go?
The other side of the Universe?
Oh come on Erwin...it's not
rocket science!
Now, to get back to
describing the behaviour of
a quantum entity.
"Mmmmm......mmmmmm?"
"Naw....I still don't get it!"
"Say ya couldn't see yer way
to giving me a scratch...could ya?"
"Up a bit....upabit....yeah...yeah
. . .there...just...there!"
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
The night descends
draping a blanket of calm
over the cares of the day.
I lounge amidst those earthly stars-
the deciduous,flickering fireflies.
The wind meekly blows,
the night lies silent,expectant
like a child for a story
before it sinks its head in the pillow.
And so I bring out my flute.
And no mere flute,this of mine.
Carved of the finest ivory,
enchanted in the ages bygone,
this flute that can sway the heavens
acquiesces to be touched by my lips.
Touched by a whiff of melancholy,
the flute guides me to play.
It lends me one of its memories.
As my fingers dance nimbly,
the flute and I bring back a forgotten lay.
The song floats higher
and the Moon leans in to hear.
Memories take shape,music takes forms
and the people long past
walk and sing and live once more.
Among them shines one the brightest-
A boy of low birth,
a boy loving and shy,
tender-hearted and frail
yet a boy who never cried.
Many sorrows he has known
and even more deaths seen.
His father killed,sisters ravaged,
his mother and home lifeless.
Yet never a tear did he shed.
No living soul knew his pain;
no pitying glance thrown his way,
this little boy of innocent age
carried his heavy heart
till his hope-bereft eyes fell upon a flute.
This very same that I now hold
had become a companion to him
and cried in his stead.
All his torments poured out
like a flood into a tune.
The boy went on playing
while his mother's life ebbed.
The flute went on singing
even when the little fingers went cold,
Lamenting;drawing air from his very last breath.
Memories dissolve into the night
The people walk back to the past.
The flute and I play the lament still.
Serenity prevails within me,notwithstanding.
A curious serenity,with a touch of sorrow.
The Moon starts weeping
and sheds tears of twinkling stars.
I catch them in a crystal phial
and stopper it with a dewdrop;
a talisman to dispel my nights.
******************
I spill a few drops every now and then.
Where they touch the earth,flowers bloom
that are tender and white and star-like,
that shine their radiance in the night.
People call them Elinthé,'Tears of the Moon'.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
A lofty rabbit stands afore me
Mocks and jeers, if occasionally.
It came from behind a curtain.
Why now, I am not certain.
To the masses, I flee.
It jumped and socialised with humans there.
Aware I was; always naked and bare.
Confused I heard and spoke.
It shrunk only slightly, yet it leered.
Speak with a distraction, my ***** play the same.
True, my contradiction, sometimes it I blame.
Useful, as always, I speak to a girl.
Eyes of Tsavorite, tongue of Mercury; what a thrill.
The girl she responds, yet why does the rabbit smile?
Could the rodent have sent me to her? How vile.
This act creates displeasure.
My mind, here, loved her at my leisure.
A sip, a sip, from a forbidden phial.
This was a day beyond my conscious.
Betrayed and now, slightly anxious.
You see, I knew to love you, would
Not be intelligent. Refrain, I should.
Yet, here I write merely to be bloodless.
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 2:40 PM UTC
A Valediction to a Love
_____________
Here I lie, my Love, beneath
the sod upon this barren heath.
And in my crypt deep underground,
your forlorn tears my only sound.
But weep not for me, my Angel Love,
for soon your soul, as like the dove,
freed will be from earthly bound
and join me here beneath the ground.
Then, as two lovers, hand in hand
we shall walk this barren land.
And to all about we’ll seem to be
no more than the whisper of the trees.
And at the dying of each day,
as in each other’s arms we lay,
so shall we sleep beneath this earth
’til the dawn and day’s rebirth.
The Lover’s Reply
_______
I rest upon this barren heath
Knowing you lie dead beneath.
My tears that rain upon the ground
are pearls in which our love is bound.
And I can aught but weep for you
For what we had was love so true.
And so this phial gripped in my hand
Will lead me to that distant land.
Once there I can in your arms lie
as one again our spirits fly.
And we shall walk the land above
As gentle zephyrs sing our love.
Then as the growing light of day
Sends the shadows from their play
So shall I wait beside your tomb
”til we shall sleep in Death’s dark womb.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 11:36 AM UTC
“Take it, take it,” to an ocean I beseech
A phial of hungry glass
“To some distant beach”
Holding within it
All the air from my lungs,
Every heart beat,
Baby teeth and hair
All the domestic days in the Delaware creek
And spare
Time
Rolling in the waves, frothing jaws
Now have the empty bottle
I pause, I curse
That some child of me will
Coddle
In the ever-ceaseless body
Full and empty
As the phial, this thing of matter
Sublime in depth
But empty in purpose
Containing all life
But with heartless curses,
Instilled of placidity
But throbbing with surge
Until, it too, the phial will purge
—Had I known its fate of woe
( A monument! And I let it go!)
—I would have weathered the inevitable
( A monument! And I let it go!)
—Then, at least, there’d be something to show
( A monument! And I let it go!)
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
None on earth can
Ever use up--no man--
A phial of Christ's grace
And mercy.
A teaspoon enough is
For any diseased soul
To make its sickness
Completely whole.
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 4:40 AM UTC
SCHRöDINGER'S SOCKS & THE REVENGE OF THE CAT
Schrödinger's cat
failed to see just what
all the fuss was
about?
It was all such
a reductive absurdum.
The cat couldn't understand
collapsing wave functions
decoherence
entanglement or whether
reality was really
quantum
to save its life.
It was aware of
one thing & one thing
only
. . .the diabolic device. . .
Cat in a metal box
with a Geiger counter
with a radioactive substance
blah blah de ****** blah
an atom decaying or something or
other &
releasing a hammer to smash
a phial of hydrocyanic acid.
Wot!
"I do not like thee Dr. Fell!"
thought the cat.
It was a very literary cat.
So all this palaver
about a cat( me? how! )
being both dead or alive or
neither dead or alive or
. . .wot!
So this is to be my great
to-be-or-not-to-be!
Welllll excuse me!
Say...doesn't the cat have his say?
So, I( clever cat that I am)
merely claw my way to the top &
disengage the device
by taking out the hammer.
So no cat was harmed
in the making of this
thought experiment.
It almost drove Schrödinger
out of his tiny little mind!
And he( hee hee )
never did discover
what ever
happened to his socks.
I forever stealing
one sock from a pair
from the open
washing machine.
Leaving him to ponder
just where socks go?
The other side of the Universe?
Oh come on Erwin...it's not
rocket science!
Now, to get back to
describing the behaviour of
a quantum entity.
"Mmmmm......mmmmmm?"
"Naw....I still don't get it!"
"Say ya couldn't see yer way
to giving me a scratch...could ya?"
"Up a bit....upabit....yeah...yeah
. . .there...just...there!"
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 4:24 AM UTC
Tip toeing through the shards of darkness,
ever searching for the surety of solid objects,
creeping souls within decaying bodies,
reality is what we seek in a glimpse of transient sleep,
lies and slumber,
the antiquity of numbers,
naked bones swimming in a sea of obscurity,
nothing really matters
as the last grains of sand trickle through the glass phial,
stone pillows await our weary heads.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
I see
I observe
Information floods my banks
And I continue on.
But, you see,
I saw you,
Sitting there:
Gazing out the bus window.
Instead of storing.
Moving on.
I stop.
Watch on.
"Beauty"
Not in my syntax,
Nor in my archive.
So I watch on.
Brown hair
Deep eyes
Many of these archived
So I keep on--
Why
This order
Of things?
I think on.
Her pensive look.
Sad
I suppose.
Ponder on.
Her hand,
Chin resting on.
A sigh lifts her form
Breathe on.
Bus heaves.
A stop?
She glances:
Leave on.
I catch a whisp of her leave,
Her hair weaves through the crowd.
No, she can't leave.
Follow on.
But the crowd was too deep,
Like an ink drop,
Back to it's phial
Indistinguishable.
Opportunity, gone.
I see,
I observe
Information floods my banks.
And I, sadly,
continue on.
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of the experience
Or the beauty of memory
The small time I knew her,
Or the time after.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 12:41 AM UTC
SCHRöDINGER'S SOCKS & THE REVENGE OF THE CAT
Schrödinger's cat
failed to see just what
all the fuss was
about?
It was all such
a reductive absurdum.
The cat couldn't understand
collapsing wave functions
decoherence
entanglement or whether
reality was really
quantum
to save its life.
It was aware of
one thing & one thing
only
. . .the diabolic device. . .
Cat in a metal box
with a Geiger counter
with a radioactive substance
blah blah de ****** blah
an atom decaying or something or
other &
releasing a hammer to smash
a phial of hydrocyanic acid.
Wot!
"I do not like thee Dr. Fell!"
thought the cat.
It was a very literary cat.
So all this palaver
about a cat( me? how! )
being both dead or alive or
neither dead or alive or
. . .wot!
So this is to be my great
to-be-or-not-to-be!
Welllll excuse me!
Say...doesn't the cat have his say?
So, I( clever cat that I am)
merely claw my way to the top &
disengage the device
by taking out the hammer.
So no cat was harmed
in the making of this
thought experiment.
It almost drove Schrödinger
out of his tiny little mind!
And he( hee hee )
never did discover
what ever
happened to his socks.
I forever stealing
one sock from a pair
from the open
washing machine.
Leaving him to ponder
just where socks go?
The other side of the Universe?
Oh come on Erwin...it's not
rocket science!
Now, to get back to
describing the behaviour of
a quantum entity.
"Mmmmm......mmmmmm?"
"Naw....I still don't get it!"
"Say ya couldn't see yer way
to giving me a scratch...could ya?"
"Up a bit....upabit....yeah...yeah
. . .there...just...there!"
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
A brew’r of hearts once offered me a phial,
Her fragile workings wrought with glass-tipped hands,
Brimming gold and glinting simmering smile;
It wafted cooling springs and lotuslands.
Her gentle fingers crushed our fateful flowers,
Enchanting them, and seven years surged back
In bottled blooms. Undo, O nightly hours!
You saw my tainted tongue poison it black.
But ere the deadly draught near stopped my heart,
A foggéd dream collects within my sight:
The far ’way face that Time has locked apart,
Her unblack tresses matching moonless height.
Hear, sweet witch, my soul’s lamenting plea
And fashion me the flask of saving remedy.
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 9:36 PM UTC
Do not open
A parcel bomb
Or an email from Nigeria
A phial of the diphtheria virus
A conversation with a serial killer
Or a joint account with Godzilla
Don’t open my diary
Or a pub in Dubai or
The door to a Seventh Day Adventist
Your heart to a Muslim fundamentalist
Your legs to a Jewish dentist
Your knees to a bee
Don’t open a message in a bottle if it’s come from overseas
Or your bowels in Cecil Gee's
A can of worms
The seal on a pharaoh’s tomb
Old wounds
Or your mouth to speak ill of the dead
Some things are best left unsaid.
Having said all that
Sometimes it’s fun to do
Things that are bad for you
This is a **** it list
Though I’d give the parcel bomb a miss.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 1:00 AM UTC
I cut the chords from my throat,
Presenting them as a
Gift in homage to the
Gods of the citidel, burying my
Resentment with the
Bones of my ancestors.
I ripped the nerves from my face,
Offering my apathy to the
Wraiths that would prey on the
Bitterness of mute lamentation .
I tore the veins from my arm,
Freeing the hidden
Tears that flowed like a
Creek over my
Wrist and into silver phial.
I dipped my quill in the phial
And let the
Shadows hear the
Sound of my voice.
©Nathan A. Brock
Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 1:27 PM UTC
SCHRöDINGER'S SOCKS & THE REVENGE OF THE CAT
Schrödinger's cat
failed to see just what
all the fuss was
about?
It was all such
a reductive absurdum.
The cat couldn't understand
collapsing wave functions
decoherence
entanglement or whether
reality was really
quantum
to save its life.
It was aware of
one thing & one thing
only
. . .the diabolic device. . .
Cat in a metal box
with a Geiger counter
with a radioactive substance
blah blah de ****** blah
an atom decaying or something or
other &
releasing a hammer to smash
a phial of hydrocyanic acid.
Wot!
"I do not like thee Dr. Fell!"
thought the cat.
It was a very literary cat.
So all this palaver
about a cat( me? how! )
being both dead or alive or
neither dead or alive or
. . .wot!
So this is to be my great
to-be-or-not-to-be!
Welllll excuse me!
Say...doesn't the cat have his say?
So, I( clever cat that I am)
merely claw my way to the top &
disengage the device
by taking out the hammer.
So no cat was harmed
in the making of this
thought experiment.
It almost drove Schrödinger
out of his tiny little mind!
And he( hee hee )
never did discover
what ever
happened to his socks.
I forever stealing
one sock from a pair
from the open
washing machine.
Leaving him to ponder
just where socks go?
The other side of the Universe?
Oh come on Erwin...it's not
rocket science!
Now, to get back to
describing the behaviour of
a quantum entity.
"Mmmmm......mmmmmm?"
"Naw....I still don't get it!"
"Say ya couldn't see yer way
to giving me a scratch...could ya?"
"Up a bit....upabit....yeah...yeah
. . .there...just...there!"
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC