"polyphonic" poems
I think yesterday is years away;
Between one and the other,
Between fathers and brothers.
So sisters and mothers
Blink feathery at their watches.
Hums like a hummingbird
Flails to a shrillness,
And a polyphonic fearing panic
Pulls us all back by chance
To the chancery.
Somewhere after grandfathers
Before grandsons,
Like Robert Frost being a modern
Not modernist—
There’s the last of the conceivable eros—
Conceived by sleeping
Resource and resourceful
Poverty with all the impressionism
of the gardens and allegories
at a dinner party.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 1:49 PM UTC
*Love’s a fragrant rose
A sparkly luminescent red
Like beetroot with a thorny side to dread
Orchard fresh, exquisite and breathtaking like a polyphonic prose.
It’s cupid’s ingenious marvel
A force with a whirlpool effect
That sweeps it’s ‘victims’ off their feet their hearts swelling with deject
It’s undoubtedly the tower of babel
Only that its structure’s amorphous
Always changing in a constant state of ‘metamorphosis.
Being in the arms of Morpheus
Is indeed more gratifying as opposed to being diagnosed with hysterical neurosis
Methinks love thou art an extinct phenomenon
Buried deep in the abyss of emotional confusion.*
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
Conceiving an affection for this majestic connection while floating in a quantum energy field where all is revealed
Processing vital information while the inclination toward unification within this incarnation opens you up to the deep vibrations tenderly activating polyphonic sensations.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
A prisoner of the hallucination,
hardly happy, quick to open a floodgate of personal misery,
talking often of unique pain, of places before been,
asking only for sympathy and creative license-
Past Ring Bearer/Future Funeral Singer,
you're selfish to think you mean much at all.
What was always is,
greater wisdom is greater sorrow,
ask the holograms begging on boulevards,
ask the nihilists and the naysayers,
or even the understanding heart of Solomon.
Life is a pastoral play using pastels,
washed away and rewritten over and over again.
Your superior melancholy is the loudest cliché.
If you've got any love, cradle it like a newborn babe.
It's the reason that will make you glad you stayed.
For every headstone,
there once was a bouquet.
For every brown, breaking leaf,
there once was a summer breeze.
For every noose-a necktie,
for every slave-a free.
No need to trudge the trough,
no need to join in the polyphonic symphony
of 7 billion people drowning under the current of time,
there is only personal progression,
but you have to shut up and dream for a second.
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 9:05 AM UTC
Sing my song of forgetting,
Of lips never wrong, never upsetting,
Sing the wine-infused air along,
From the violin’s grapevine song,
Purely gifted as the altar wine and alms
Of the Santa Maria della Visitazione,
A cadenza from the catgut of stringed waves,
The vibrato in polyphonic staves across the lagoon,
Amid the psaltery sway of submerged algae plumes,
Like the strident tails of the horses of Neptune,
Or the teardrop-surge of the glass chandeliers of Murano,
The same powdered hue of Venetian sky,
As bluebirds fallen into their own drowned tune,
As absence awash over the sun-scattered tombs of Olympus.
Sing with a felt-tipped tongue,
So my song of forgetting is never undone.
May 31, 2024
May 31, 2024 at 9:57 PM UTC
It would start like a bubble
in my seven-year old chest,
An ever-expanding ball of
doom, substituting my breath
I was a child, yet I knew death,
I would try inhale- silence
I would hope it would fix itself
but, when I'd try exhale- silence
There was ugly music though,
It rose as I forced my ribs to expand,
Jarring, polyphonic, cacophony,
Of airways brutally locked and jammed.
When a child learns to measure April
nights, with the hours spent in the pain
Of coughing through close-to-nil breaths,
And breathing through coughing again,
One wonders at the extent of the inhumanity
Of those, who are quick to discreetly say,
"Hush, do not speak of this illness to anyone,
It's no illness at all, in the first place!"
"And, here, take these magic pills and potions,
They're slow but will take away all her agony,
No no, don't listen to those white-coated liars,
You don't need puffs of drugs into her body!"
So I ate all those pills and
Drank all those potions,
And I stayed up those nights,
Waiting for their promised actions,
And I went to school the next day,
Groggy, breathless and sleepy-eyed,
Because not-being-seen with an inhaler was
More vital than the breaths of a seven-year old child.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 6:34 PM UTC
Soil turned in summer’s eye
Flattened blades from weary boots
Trees are singing; hopping birds
Return their polyphonic tune
Rusty Chevys rumble by
Wandering, but never lost
Laughter makes the soil gleam
Restless wheels and sodden leaves
Stories follow, day by day
Always moving, never rest
Scent of timber feeds each breath
Far from home, but never left
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
I performed adverse observations,
polyphonic annihilation's
of linguistic situations
Intrepid assassinations of language.
Only to sit and ponder.
Amid wonder.
Where did the words all go
Strewn About like...
Carcasses of coccophony
Stumbled upon by the devotion to Reverence,
Or is it reference, to the Quotes and misquotes
Of misaligned Estutes,Resigned to Following
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
Oh lies, oh lies,
I know them by their tone,
They have this... nervous tick,
a habit of leaving little vacuums
so they can live in their little
depressions, and anxieties,
which they are quite comfortable in.
They feed on joy
and keep turning the thermostat down to zero!
(Let's hunt them, and skin them,
and throw them out of the yard)
Oh truth, oh truth,
I know her by the manner in which
she speaks: gently.
a voice glistening with hope,
in every form of joy,
permeating every iota,
saying in that polyphonic
timbre, "You were made
for love and nothing else
will satisfy. Open your eyes,
see this love, and come alive."
(Let's marry her and make
our hearts a home for her)
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 2:11 PM UTC
The heart warming melody you produce,
Your my everlasting polyphonic tune,
An endless loop of your love plays,
Heart skips a beat as it overlays.
You are my song I die to hear,
The sound waves I hold onto dear,
I'll press rewind to relive it again,
And forward to skip to the end.
Dust never surrounds your record,
In fact it's the only one heard,
Your greatest hit and my addiction,
Its a beautiful eccentric infliction.
You're the only sound I need,
The reeling tape I take heed,
Bump my night away to grasp my dream,
An endless harmony I'll forever deem.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Haven't heard From you in weeks…
Brain can't think,
Guess I just don't know what to say.
Waiting on moment, from waiting on word…
I performed adverse observations,
polyphonic annihilation's
of linguistic situations
Intrepid assassinations of language.
Only to sit and ponder.
And wonder.
Where did the words all go
Strewn About like...
Carcasses of coccophony
Stumbled upon by the devotion to Reverence,
Or is it reference, to the Quotes and misquotes
Of misaligned Estutes,Resigned to Following
"Sometimes ya just gotta wonder"..... JMF 11/6/14
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC
With wide arms I listen
With hands full of green ears
Polyphonic whispers of fluff
Fine traces of sound
on the bench
A woman and her daughter
look around, the girl stares
and says with wobbling legs
I'll be a mum just like you
with a daddy and a child
who thinks this is the most beautiful place
of all, the whole world, the universe
*
The girl plays with a ball
pulls a flake of my bark
asks: is your name scratched in it?
What is he old, isn't he, triple thick I think
and those lumps, would he be sick?
Her mother laughs and takes the picture
she wished to have had of herself:
the girl, and I incognito
not as wise, not as full
high and wide
of past as I am now
and smaller than what I know
of all the people
who caressed me
of all the wishes
they shared with me
Mar 4, 2023
Mar 4, 2023 at 3:39 AM UTC
In private worlds of sound they hide-
The plastic plugs jammed in their ears
No inkling give
Of what it is to live
Without continuing cacophony
Or words of radio philosophers
Poured insistently,
Persistently,
Into their empty crania:
A polyphonic mania.
Eyes glazed, mouths opened,
Drooling,
They wander, aimlessly,
The puppets of invisible instructors’
Ruling.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
Tell me, voice,
How much time have you spent
touching heads and hearts?
Demanding to shape new worlds,
giving hope through despair?
This is a community of Catchers Dreamers,
growing as they look out of their windows.
They glue a torn truth,
completing and filling in new meanings
and symbols to push away
cruel and illogical realities,
political performances.
Today, it’s so difficult to write poems
in the empty spaces,
when money assigns values
to be or not to be.
Opening the little *****
with a metaphor, and pain,
they spin, reading and writing
silver threads are punching their hands
impossible to relieve this irreversible tension.
What a beautiful tone of
polyphonic orchestral poetic flow,
of thousands, millions of words,
serious and bitter losses,
coming closer and much closer
to a Common Human Denominator.
Jan 16, 2025
Jan 16, 2025 at 6:09 PM UTC
I'm going to tell you an story:
At first
There was only
Fractals
And mysterious forces
That they wove them
On the delicate canvas
From the void.
Galactic Star Beings
Whose fingers and limbs
They danced in a swing
Dictated by the music of heaven
And there, in the middle of the fire of creation
Cosmic little seed, sigh
Hidden in the subsequent emulsion
From the juices of god
Spilling over
Free humanity
That barely light
Runs
Perpetual
Between the shelves of time
Drawing footsteps of all sizes
In all hemispheres,
distributed
Through latitudes, sown at the tip of Oz and the sword
Of a complex zoology
That of the human animal
Fire thief
Polyphonic heron of storms
Seabird that augurs stars
Because we are built
With feathers
That threw the phoenix and the albatross
On the holy land.
And bloom right in the middle
At the beginning of the war
When everything succumbs
And the ruin falls to pieces.
Little rainbow seed, your serpent tongue
Invoke the circular prayer of your abdomen
A sacred energy
Possessed in the word
You undress
Oracle of ******
Emitting a little moan
Barely cat
And overshadowed the man in his misery
Contemplate gods that understand nothing
Rejoice in tumultuous ecstasy
Of his exacerbated human games
Oh for the being of creation
The whole cosmos!
Sanctus and lux aeternam, in paradisum
No requiem bears your name, no bullet
Plus all my poems
No grave my epitaph
And i have died
More than a thousand times
Shake is to infinite prison of bones
The sacred words of the alseid
And the naiad of moisture
How jubilant
He gave his most beautiful flower to Priapus
And you who did not want to lose yourself
In the labyrinth of the Minotaur
When you offer
Your blood on lotus leaves
Worshiping Polyphemus, the lotus eaters
And to the cyclops in the same way
And me sitting in the middle of the odyssey
With headphones on
And the lost look
Thinking
When will the war happen?
When will the war happen?
When will the war happen?
R.
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 3:02 PM UTC