"plutonian" poems
Alas!
They so bittersweetly croon in mine ear,
“Thou art as lovely as that morbid Queen Persephone!”
Have I been such a fool, cruel and extreme?
My hollow footsteps do fall here
Bringing forth wintry winds of death.
Alas!
They so eagerly whisper in thine ear,
“Thy lover art as lovely as that dreadful Queen Persephone!”
Hast thou been such a fool, sightless and mad?
Failed to listen for my light steps,
And forgot to feel winter’s dismal chill.
Alas!
They so desperately murmur in our ear,
“Thy love affair is as fair as that of the wraithlike Hades and Persephone!”
Have we been such fools, violent and severe?
Our footsteps resonate here forevermore,
The Lilies from our garden washed pitifully upon the Plutonian shore.
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 10:48 PM UTC
You told me that
the stars were your
best friends.
That you paint
the twilight sky
midnights and crimsons
and magentas.
That each comet tail was
a strand of your fallen hair,
torn away by your tender
fingertips,
and that each meteor
was a bit of you
shedding your broken skin.
You screamed to me
that there was life,
beyond our little
self-aware planet.
That you had met them all,
shook their hands,
kissed their babies.
You were appreciated,
not like home.
They loved you.
Plutonian dollars
held your face,
and Pluto was,
indeed, a planet-
noted, and you screeched;
Your favorite,
in fact.
You told me you
were God--
and your eyes
those blank, lost eyes,
they shone with your smile
for the first time
in the infinity of
the universe.
You believed yourself,
and I couldn't
bring myself
to deny your
honesty.
You can be
my God,
if it makes any difference.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
Moon in Scorpio.
Incurable somnolence.
Plutonian pranks.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, the grass is not green:)
too much to bare
the polar twins resemblance in no fair
now the run I understand
still the twist of burning faces is what I can't
ran wind free
a second of nothing but me
the blonds in uniqueness stand under the red light
wait until the fear cripples and the big dog bites
the tea boiling somewhere for no one to drink
the ruined building leaves a pile to think
pupils dilate
thoughts shrink swallowing the bate
yet the crowd remains
I shower in public and fingerprints don't stain
a red rock star barks
stage shakes and throats are mic marked
nice dreams but crap
the plutonian not funny when children under your feet you have
-------ravenfeels
Jul 1, 2021
Jul 1, 2021 at 10:23 AM UTC
“ Master Blacksmith, I would like to commission a weapon most formidable. The mere mention of its legendary name shall strike fear in my foes. “
{ In Hephaestus’ name, I craft you this }
So I will hone your heart,
Set fire to your lungs,
And conquer all your unanswered prayers
Into a battle roar.
I will boil these tears.
A stinging, blinding pool at the bay of your eyes,
Use them for crystal clarity,
To sharpen the mind like a whetstone.
I will forge a sword from your fury,
And the hate of your enemies.
Temper it with thunder,
Cut a path out of illusions.
But not before this:
I crush your spirit a thousand times,
Force you to your knees.
I will show no mercy on your soul —
Not even if you beg for it —
Bleed it, wring the daylight out of it.
To your despair, growth is the cruelest devil,
And I its most loyal advocate.
But in time you will learn Strength,
And to heal;
Through the growing pains and screams
Mend all broken bones,
Stitch up all the open wounds.
Dripping, drilling, stilling.
You will, you will, at your will,
Lace together the miracle, the magum opus: Your undefeated self.
No comfort or ease lies in death.
But all phoenix bathe in flame and ash.
Selves and egos, they died for you to live
— So live!
Dance on its grave with manic abandon.
Honor it with your new life.
Transcend it, over and over again.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
She is the Raven
of my nocturnal ravening
When the silence and the darkness
of the night become too maddening
She is there,
At my door
Echoing her "Nevermore"
Through Her Eyes,
My Soul Explored
As Phantoms of Old Wars
Roam the tides of the raging storm
On the Night's Plutonian Shore
Woeful, she implores
Me to forget my sweet Lenore
The Ghost I loved before
My Raven sang her "Nevermore"
The Songs and Scents of Seraphim
Linger in my Chamber
Is it that,
Or the Ichor of Madness
Which enforce my strange behavior?
My Raven's claws are resting
On a pallid bust of Pallas
Her black majesty infesting
My infernal, somber palace
And my eyes with fire, gleaming
from the Whispers that are Screaming
At the Shadows of the Demons
Who are Dreaming
Plotting, Scheming
Spirit Fiendish
She can see it
My Flesh keeps Hell beneath it
My Ghastly, Grim and Ancient Raven
Feels my heart get ripped to pieces
And yet - I still may not believe
This Bird of Prey
Could bring me peace
She flutters with
Unearthly ease
As the wind outside mangles the trees
I see her there, in my despair
Divine darkness chokes the air
Her ever spirit-piercing stare
I feel upon me everywhere
And as I kneel upon the floor
I watch her nest above my door
And I find myself longing for
My stately Raven
From the Saintly Days of Yore
To Haunt me now,
and Forevermore.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
I live vicariously
through anonymity.
The convex mirror
LCD flat-screen
deflates apprehension and
balloons confidence
I jump feet first
through the looking
glass slipper; which
will turn to pumpkin
just before dawn.
I am not Cinderella.
I am just another
Guy Fawkes impersonator
with “V” tattooed
on my heart-strings.
Just another harbinger
like the Plutonian bird
perched upon a pallid bust
sent to whisper:
“nevermore”
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 9:34 PM UTC
jeudi, venus last
lago florentine porch shredded
from balcony of vestigial vista to plutonian shore
not of usual laconic luster
nor perennial, token blue sky
instead apparitions, or entities please here
abounded with vigor, though no it was sotto voce
machete was as is wet eh, cam--
bowie's older cousin to poorly kept hedge
emitted from the formerly symbiotic fence
as when Ozmandias took the Ra's blade;
through a gold medal and into the jugular
the echo of a dropped coin evolved brutal, hear
into the veins of those arms; severed
were my once impending solitudes,
my eyes
shifted quickly towards binoculars
only to find a wake of buzzards
where once only solemnic eagles balded
the paradox of heraldry diurnal yet carrionic
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
I am sympathetic for Pluto
Not because I've lost my long-standing planetary status,
But because I am aware of how it feels to not fit Earth's criteria
and society's standards
I am not all a planet should be.
I am a leaky faucet in a flawless world,
Drip-dropping chaos into the absurd
I am a quiet brain saturating in happiness chemicals:
Serotonin and slow love songs.
I am an observer of the malicious mankind
Building, destroying, and leaving behind
I take quick visits to the sky
When I am lost in my mind.
I am a collector of things less than fine:
Quotations from poets and antiques from cloud-nine
I am the comforter of Plutonian souls our simple world forgot
I am supposed to be a planet, but a planet I am not.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC
In this Order of Eastern Templars, I cannot help but feel that my guardian angel has departed.
Yet, I can feel the summoning power of her fluttering wings as they soar upon the celestial thermals of my inferior and frontal-lobular cognitive pathways.
There truly is a difference between magic and magick.
Having heard the echoes of menacing footsteps as they confidently follow the antiquarian hallways of Celtic castles, it is important that we cast our circles amidst this tantric ritual of ****** prowess.
Accessing the alternate universe is not dissimilar to a philosophical and mathematical manifestation of ambivalence.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
sideways ptoses rooted
in statues, bitter waters
of last monarchs clinging
to red cornel crucifixes
while naked november
raised from plutonian mist,
bathing us, almost, again,
in summer paradoxes
——————————————
Italian version, from “Chieti, Scalo”, 2014
AZIONE PARALLELA
le ptosi di tralíce allignavano
in statue, amarissime acque
di ultimi sovrani aggrappati
a rossi crocifissi di corniolo
mentre un nudo novembre
saliva dalle nebbie plutonie
circonfondendoci quasi d’
ancóra paradossi d’estate
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
With apologies to Edgar Allen Poe.
Once, upon a weekend morning, while I slumbered, loudly snoring
After many a workday of quaint and forgotten chores
While I nodded, well past napping, suddenly there came a scratching,
As if the paint was gently stripping, ripping from the bedroom door.
“He’ll stop,” I muttered, “scratching at my chamber door.”
“He’s only bored, and nothing more”
Deep into my blanket hiding, there I lay in fear abiding,
Doubting, hoping I could sleep as I had ever slept before;
But the silence then was broken, and the door way, old and oaken,
Swung open as the clever kitty, made the lock a simple chore
And then my dreams were gone as are the winds of yester-yore
I knew I should have fixed that door.
Open then he pushed the doorway, then, with padded foot and whisker,
In he stepped, the ebon creature who I bought that cat food for
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, like he who owns the household, perched above my pillowed snores —
Perched upon the feathered pillow which my sleeping bonnet bore —
Perched, and silently implored.
Then, methought, the cat grew braver, thinking of his breakfast’s savor
Poking at my sleeping visage, poking more, and more and more.
"Wretch," I cried, "the devil’s sent thee — a witch cat sent to leave me
No respite and no Nepenthe, but only the memory of the sleep I had before!
Let me quaff this kind Nepenthe and rejoin my final snore!"
Purred the black cat, "Nevermore."
“Be that word our sign of parting, cat or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting —
As I threw him into the darkness of the Night's Plutonian shore.
“Leave my slumber unbroken! Come you not with purr and pokin’
Take thy paw out of my nostril, and take thy **** right out the door!
Leave no black fur as a token, you eat at nine, and not before!”
Cried the black cat, "I like before."
But that **** cat, never quitting, still is sitting, still is splitting
The recently repaired latex on my bedroom door;
And his eyes have all the burning of a feline that is yearning,
For the cat dish full of kibbles, sitting, sitting on the kitchen floor;
As my soul rose from the blankets, with a howling, futile roar:
Sleeping in on weekends — nevermore!
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
what death screeching and incomparable will possess our feral skies bursting fissured eyes in stygian oceans of sound
what hell pharaonic and incestuous will enwomb us pyrophorically screeching into the crepuscular welkin
plutus' now plutonian name is laid out before us in the amaranthine caverns of a conflagrant mind
a resignation to wallow in the acrimonious sea of the harsh torrent of life perpetually thrashing in retrogression through the stinging rain
as shadows splatter in atramentous mirth gaily dancing in the shimmering waters of a decrepit planet poisoning itself
an oasis of debauchery grotesque agony crying through its darkened halls that screams out for liberty
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
Your spirals chase me
into less than lives
on mercury highs & endless
plutonian dreams.
Regardless, a
lack of purpose
in shapely spirals
that tend toward
irrelevance,
is best explained by a
less than negative gravity,
that pulls every single
strand of my heart
into your constantly
expanding orbit.
Oh dear, be less than dark matter
& more radiant light.
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 1:59 PM UTC
He thought long and pondered why
Tricking snakes are composed of rose's vines
It's been once before he heard this rhyme
*"Can a clock truly erase the time?
When time is but a fabrication set in line
Midnight strikes once if we're lucky"*
..and he's heard the chime
He's saving grace, but who is it for?
An open window reveals the closed door
Sat alone with Poe, and the Plutonian shore
He never implied, yet yielded more
And wary now that once before
His heart had sung
But nevermore
He thought
'I must be in a dream.'
Doubting, feigning, proclaiming this obscenity
Yet still burns the daunting question..
*'Famed whisper, play with me.
Shame me, maim me, tame me,
let us cavort as cohorts
Ever so jauntily.
Daunt me, taunt me, haunt me,
take me gaunt and bare..
Bestow on me, throe on me,
unveil this absolutely there.
Now grant this plea, take my words with heed,
enchant this melody I doth hear.
Any jest would be cruel at best
For I truly hold this dear
Revive within what once has been
My faith in the unseen
I ask of thee, I do implore
Save me from this nevermore
Such a marvelous spectacle
N'er again vacate my receptacle
Adorn thyself as would a wreath
This world is formed of plastic
And porcelain
Yet there you sit
And breathe.'*
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 5:31 AM UTC
All the kings and all the sea
Can't tear you away from me
I see, I see, a shining knight
A glimmering shield, a shining plight
A plight that says he will not leave
A plight I am happy to believe
I see him there upon the shore
But his armor he doth not bore
I walk through the cool sea mist
And upon his lips I place a kiss
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 10:02 PM UTC
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “pet me *****
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 6:04 AM UTC
He slipped on a set of headphones,
Adjusted a dial or two,
Then introduced his radio show
And the members of his crew,
‘The Horror Tales of the Greats’ he read
Each week to the folk in town,
Just as the Moon was coming up
With the sun then truly down.
And the folk had huddled round speakers
To hear, in a thousand homes,
The tales of Edgar Allan Poe
In the speaker’s crackling tones,
And an eerie mist fell over the town
If they chanced to look outside,
As the ghosts of horror stories past
Rose up from the place they died.
Each tone was sent with a shiver
From the night’s Plutonian shore,
Just as that stately bird of old
Had repeated, ‘Nevermore!’
While the cats had yowled in the alleyways
When he read a tale of sin,
Of walling up the corpse of his wife
When the Black Cat did him in.
The Fall of the House of Usher,
The Masque of the Red Death,
The tales built up in the atmosphere
And made them short of breath,
The Cask of Amontillado,
The Pendulum and the Pit,
Whatever the horror, and most intense
There was always more of it.
The stars that shone in the evening sky
Had gone, though the sky was clear
As the Moon had dropped down, over a hill
While the airwaves dripped with fear,
And the walls back there, in the studio
Were seeming to seep a flood,
As the speaker droned in the microphone
The studio filled with blood.
And suddenly then, a different voice
Was heard all over the town,
Rattling through their radio’s
And shouting the reader down.
‘Shutter your windows and lock your doors
Put children under the bed,
Hide yourselves right under the stairs
Or you may well end up dead!’
‘The very air that you breathe has been
Long saturated with dread,
Has filled your lungs with the ripe unclean
That came from somebody’s head.
The ghostly voice on your radio
That has whispered blood and gore,
Will drown tonight in the studio
So there won’t be any more.’
And right behind that terrible voice
There was choking sounds and screams,
Enough to curdle the very blood
And to give them nightmare dreams,
Then after a long, chilled silence of
The type that terror sates,
A voice said, ‘that was the final of
The Horror Tales of the Greats.’
David Lewis Paget
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
i counted seventeen vultures
circling above to rend my spoiled flesh apart
and feed me to their starving children
i thought i saw a raven
mocking my unfortunate fate
perched solemnly on a chiseled granite bust
weeping with plutonian ponderings
as the foolish crows
sang me a heartless elegy
the epistles crumbled to ashes in my palms
and my fountain pen dried out
into blotted shadows
if only heaven were to open up
and save me from the ominous darkness
but there's no room for another soul
to save; no vacancy to give
so i huddle beneath the branches
of the dying willow tree
and waited for them to take me alive.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
Bright watchful eyes of the Unholy one
Cast thy sight upon me!
Bring forth the fires of Hell
Bring forth the armies of Doom!
I offer thee my sinful soul
But one condition must be!
Bestow upon me one last kiss
Of a woman to thee unknown!
Let me this once not suffer and moan
Let me have one memory to cherish
Before I into the Nether perish.
Liar! Traitor! Unholy spawn of Hell!
Thou betrayed my final will!
I call upon the angels above
Radiant and divine!
To cleanse me of this curse
So ravaging and malign!
Bless me with thy holy light
And allow me to repent!
Revive my mortal soul
That into Hell was sent!
If only but for one moment
That I could bear witness for a final time
Her hair in locks, red as fine wine
Let me witness and lament
Let me witness
Let me die
Forsake me into the fires of Hades
No pain shall I feel
No tear shall I shed
In this Plutonian realm of Death.
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
Mired in a trance
The cigarette bites my finger
I hold it under the faucet until it tells me it’s name and who sent it
My mind is saturated with the thought of thee, I bite my thumb at you!
Flinging open these ******* shutters, hoping for a flirt and flutter
So I can squeeze the life out of Nevermore
Cursed reminder from the Nights Plutonian shore
There’s no fire here but every time you come waltzing onto my train of thought, my whiskey bottle becomes a little lighter
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 10:47 AM UTC
and white noise.
The fall in which
I fell in to love
I feared nothing –
your
Plutonian force
closed in on me.
Your body followed,
I buried my head in to the tautness
of your hipbone
and I smiled.
You were taken aback, surprised
that anyone could be that close to you
and still want you,
so you smiled too.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 10:43 PM UTC
You are a crowded intersection
Ebullient bloating, churn
Bustling with acquaintances
They know your name
Know your way, but see you mearly as an impass
Navigated with neither choice nor decision
Route without resistance
Path of least conviction
A jumping of point
Endeavors formulated; yet your corridors are never considered
No exceptional exemptions
Chimerical observers, are shuffled and thumb Fulminant prostration; muddling insertion
Maudlin automaton corral
An adverse opposition, preferring to evaluate you at night
Your gaslit candescence reaches in all directions
Ebbing lambency traversing space
Conveyance of curious possibility
Enveloped in your vacancy
Swaddling spances; rampart wrapping
Quarantined and completely mine
Somber meditation tranquility
All of my substance settling to a manhole center
Shedding all my persistent memories
Unencumbered relife; unfettered elation
Ravishing beatitude exaltation
Distracting detraction
Time abstractedly trickling away
Disecting rays of light clutching the arc of the Plutonian horizon
Stampeding hordes in infinite single file lines
Sieging you from every direction
Like a colony of ants disintegrating a discarded carcass
You are gone
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 9:55 PM UTC