"prismatically" poems
With eyes of restless mental fraught,
...in-kind with dancing dreamy thoughts,
and hope in lovelorn passion’s play,
prismatically amorous frenetic fray;
...yet your heart at apogee to mine today?
And if I say solemnity?
As you presage a beauty…
And if I say solace?
While you oh petulant beauty…
And when I premune peace?
You stir it with such beauty…
And as I yearn with much desire?
Commanded by your beauty!
Burning in my chest a fire,
An Eros to your beauty.
With eyes of restless mental fraught,
in-kind with dancing dreamy thoughts,
and hope in lovelorn passion’s play,
prismatically amorous frenetic fray;
yet your heart at apogee to mine today?
And you the beauty of my dismay. . .
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC
“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..”― John Milton, Paradise Lost
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Consider the mind
in whose deep caverns find
scatterings of memories
prismatically displaced.
Red recollections
that still incur wrath and venom,
arguments long forgotten.
Green recollections
emanate warmth that kindles
innocent times recalled.
Blue recollections
mauling at this bogus tranquillity,
scratching and tearing,
leaving oozing welts that fester
into melancholy.
Now hold this mirror shard
to these memories’ light:
watch the beams discordant
ricochet, obtuse, acute,
chaotically flaring into momentary awareness.
Consider the mind ...
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to self-harm and suicide ⚠
______________________________________________________________
The envelope
(delivered just this morning)
splits in his attempt
to tear away its wax seal
where her very breath still wanders.
Inside,
he finds a razor blade--
upon being removed
from its paper hostel,
it glints prismatically
in the Autumn sun--
and a neatly-pressed letter
accompanied by an overwhelming
medley of scents--
parchment;
mint lip balm;
*****
it still smelled like her.
With butterflies rising like bile
up his throat,
he unfolds the letter,
reading over her
spidery handwriting
several times before
her words fully percolate:
"Do not return to sender--
she's already dead."
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC
light leaps lengthwise
purging this promontory prismatically
awakening all us awestruck
shameless sleepyheads, spying
delicious daylight drowning
out obscurity and occlusion,
frameless fixtures focused,
beams bouncing back between
emphatic eyelids,
leaving lenses lacerated,
despair defeated,
darkness destroyed.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
I am a dream that is awoken
In the palpable stillness of night
A feast of all things
Drowning in the crypt of eyes
So beautiful in silky aloneness
Scintillating like the shadow of an imposter
Gliding through the quicksand of glacial night
Grappling with the behemoth of humanity
Dancing with the fragility of raindrops perched on the sun
A tangled morass of limbs spiked with sentience
Colliding prismatically like an unruly flock of birds
Oxygen and mayhem fluttering
Upon the parading windstream
I am the delightful trickle
Of a distant waterfall's hushed rainbow
I am a boy sewn together from scraps
Of true love's wardrobe
Rising strangely through the thunder clouds of heartbreak
Like dawn whispers caressing every particle in the solar system
I am all of these things and more
Yet in the end only one truth remains:
When love paints the dappled clouds
With wandering rivulets of gorgeousness
That morph majestically from one lovely unnameable form to another
We kiss underneath a sky
Made of nothing but us
We kiss underneath a sky
Made of nothing but us
Dec 22, 2020
Dec 22, 2020 at 9:07 AM UTC