"reanimation" poems
The wind blows in a restive frenzy,
But knows not which way to go.
Dead leaves caper ecstatically
In the hope of reanimation.
The lascivious earth wears petrichor;
Craving for his touch.
Her paramour with a tumultuous roar,
Seems invincible in his virility.
The grim atmosphere lights intermittently
As the sparks of their passionate paroxysm burst through.
The ******** tryst leaves him exhausted.
Satiating her voracity was an arduous feat.
What once seemed invincible now floats decrepit;
Oblivious to the agents of his decay.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 7:06 AM UTC
"Would you like your groceries
bagged in paper or plastic?
will you be paying with paper,
Or plastic?"
Rock paper scissors
has been replaced
With something
more rudimentary
But essentially,
Neither have intentionality.
No matter how far you try to move
away from synthetic
you're still drinking out of plastic
eating out of plastic
driving, walking, buying, ********
out mounds of it.
You put your plastic in plastic,
leave it outside
until a man swings by
throws it into a pit
with all the other wasted ****
to exist
for all eternity.
Would you rather melt or burn?
Bankruptcy is a hard lesson to learn
But the ashes of this economy have been
Touted as prosperity
Instead of resigned to an urn
To relearn the transparency
of democracy
As it should be.
I'll trade my plastic smile
For a fistful of paper
I'll exchange it for something physical,
Something bigger
Something somehow better,
Sans the improvement.
The reanimation of the market
Capitalism! Ah,
The dream land.
“Build your monopoly
Crush your enemy”
Oops I mean your neighbor
They're all the same
in this day and age.
Community has been sold
for pennies on the dollar.
Now we’re fighting tooth and nail
To be the one
wearing the shock collar
Bzzzt!
I have the most likes on my photo
Bzzzzt
This minor annoyance
has become my addiction.
I’m shopping and sharing
And living within this tiny television.
This is post apocalyptic
You just can't see it
Because you're living in it.
Things are better, yes
But 6.7% of Americans are diagnosably,
incurably depressed.
37% are oppressed
44% are over stressed and
81% are in debt.
Let me just say this now
From my white-privilege-podium
That keeps all adverse effects
Of free speech
From touching me
****
YOUR
AMERICA.
**** this corporate greed
that grinds itself down
and repackages itself into
“The American Dream”.
and **** us, right?
For thinking anything here was free.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 9:26 PM UTC
And you get to witness the destruction of mankind
The manifestation of violence
The rise of crime
The chemically induced joy that deteriorates the mind
The cancerous legions on the soul that no doctor can find
The shaman surgeon with the power to freeze time
The emotionally famished family that uncle sam left behind
The monotonous chime that causes the suits and ties to burst into reanimation
The unmovable path of the bullet that kills without hesitation
The murderous gang-banger dining in hells kitchen with no reservation
The chains that bound the vagabond with no visitations
The gruesome violence on the silver-screen that is met with joyous elation
The exchange of video entertainment for a basic education
The deterioration of the young minds that's given little concentration
The beautiful flesh but empty soul that makes a living through fornication
The ****** spoils of war that leads to mental devastation
The death of good-will with no justification
And you will not witness death but morale genocide
Not of a specific person, but of certain values that are impossible to hide
And with only one man to confide, they will continuously choose what is not right
They will put down their crucifixes so they will have more hands to fight
And only for the wicked reasons will they unite
And you will witness them as they witness you
As you teach of accountability, as you lecture of love
But you will often be met with a deaf ear
But do not give up on those ideals that you hold dear
Because if you look to the edges of the earth, and then gaze above
Ask yourself: Where do I want to be when it is time to be judged?
But despite our ideals our conscience decisions proves the prophecies true
*We will be the death of mankind
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
Initializing Project Insomnia...
Gathering subject's data...
Synchronization complete...
Memory gauge ready to deplete....
Tracing last memory relapse...
Engaging before the time elapse...
Extracting remaining portion of the brain activity...
Eliminating for complete inability...
Subject 001 successfully terminated...
Preparing clone... preparation completed...
System malfunction... Rebooting system...
Mainframe breached... Multiple data hacked...
Re-Animating subject 001...
Life support activated...
Re-installing memory...
Reanimation complete...
Subject 001 is back online...
Bio organic weapon functional...
Preparing extermination...
Codename: Alpha initiated...
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 7:29 AM UTC
~a unconscious commissioned poem~
<>
La Lumière est une Dame d'honneur
advantage Frenchies,
everything sounds
better in their language,
we readily concede
we make do
with those tongues
whose fluidity
clothes & coats,
those, we are
best at
confessing in
first light this morning
was emasculated, in thickened
first fog, eerie, discomforting,
but yet, mine alone to utilize,
and make discomfiture into
a poem of coffee and cream,
stirring within, colored dreams
Lady Light finally arrives,
descending on a staircase
from heaven, radiating all
with patience, the animals
all, proclaiming in a thousand
tongues, their thanks, their
love, for everything breathing
understand best she is the source
of creation, reanimation, and a
sharing, unsparing, birth mother
to animate and inanimate, and
the death father to all we & us,
guide to our ultimate end
the waiting is most interesting,
for indeed, there is honor within,
as I compose, the sunrises to the
precise angle to bar my vision,
power to blind and enlighten,
how can this be, but it is so,
my bones warmed, suggest I
do not complain, accepting with
no exception for this is the power
source to us all, and humility is
the key to acceptance & understanding
is this poem, is this the missive,
me~my, intended, to write,
know not,
for the words leech from my skin,
in format uncolored, uncontrolled
by mine minuscule impoverished
compost of senses, morals and my
compote of cells that are products
of a thousand prior generations
morphed into a mess of me,
as of yet, purpose hidden,
undisclosed, perhaps my
reasoning is unseasoned,
my presumption of purpose,
is just a fool’s ridiculousness
Lady Light smiles kindly on my
rambunctious ilreasoning,
for I just one of billions come,
gone, and rebirthed in chains
of endless possibilities, two
words permanently paired,
conjoined, and though the
light has now risen to heights
to totally absolve my sight,
can no longer track what
is being written, accepting my
temporally blindness with grace,
even with solace, and-bid you
adieu, adieu, (bye~bye)
so musically,
until relief will
honor me with its presents…
and I can contemplate my
foolishness once more…
and the letting…
of the
*Lady’s light
of
honor illuminating
(even me)*
<>
commissioned by Pradip
7:35 am
in the sunroom where
the intersection of all light
illuminates all kinds
<>
music:
To Try for the Sun, Song by Donovan
Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In by Fifth Dimesion
Aug 5, 2024
Aug 5, 2024 at 7:52 AM UTC
Ted Williamse's head sits frozen
In a cryo chamber in Arizona to be
Thawed and reanimated at a later date.
The splendid splinter. Set in eternal winter
After all said and done. Thumper.
THE INTERVIEW
Theodore, was that a curve or slider ?.
"Can't say for sure sport. I picked up the seams but it busted in
high and tight
Ted, what exactly was the plan ?
"Couldn't say for sure ace
I'm all in. they froze my head to a
cat food tin"
Ted When do you plan on coming back
"Well, I have no real timetable as such, you
know science moves forward in starts and lurches.
Reanimation and a cure would go real swell.
You know."
Well we all here are praying hard for a cure
You hang on in there. A century or so and your good as new.
By the way Ted ,who signed the papers?
" Couldn't rightly say chum but this meat locker
is sure for the birds"
All right buddy. Thaw
you later.
Well, keep your chin up Teddy and your powder dry
Just think good thoughts and the time will fly.
What's a hundred years to
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 4:55 AM UTC
They told me not to jump to conclusions boy, but the others in my head told me to express my joy. My heart told me to keep it to myself and not to tell anyone else. **** she had me feelin’ like a lil’ kid, got me all excited and makin’ crazy vids. How did someone so small got me, out of all people, to fall?
You see, I wasn’t the type of ***** who went head over heels for a girl. I made sure my heart was locked up tight and waited for that one special day where I’d find that one special girl that change my view on this sick twisted world. I’ve been lied to, cheated on and played it seemed like love was just a game that every girl knew how to play.
Her heart has been through many trials and experienced crazy **** as a child. I felt her pain as she told me stories of the past. I promised myself that if we would got together we would forever last. I’d give her better memories than the one before me and show her things that will set her heart free.
I wanted to show her the better things in life than what she has seen through her pain and strife. I saw the little girl in her as she opened up, cryin’ for someone to come and build her up. Somethin’ deep down reached out to take her by the hand and show her that I was the man who was flexible like a rubber band. Who would be the one to protect her from the dark and give her life some excitement with just one spark.
Her heart has been through many trials and experienced crazy **** as a child. I felt her pain as she told me stories of the past. I promised myself that if we would got together we would forever last. I’d give her better memories than the one before me and show her things that will set her heart free.
The story doesn’t end in the love direction. In fact, it ends with a bad connection. Things fell apart as time went on and soon became strangers who were in danger of losing ourselves. To be the only one she’ll ever need just became a figment of my imagination and will never be brought to life like the dead through reanimation.
Her heart as been through many trails and experienced crazy **** as a child. I felt her pain as she told her stories of the past. I thought we’d forever last; I thought I’d give her better moments than the one before me, but in the end, I failed to set her heart free...
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 1:52 AM UTC
We're all standing here around
this *******
carcass, this dead
body, tattooed with
all of the words we
said. Darlings, look at this
poor soul this
dried out dairy cow, look,
she's ******* dead.** So
when I get up and
leave, because I can't
take the sight of her
entrails spilling out and
bleeding on my hopes don't
climb inside her limbs to
make a mockery of her
life by reanimation.
Your Necromancy never worked anyways, Jewel.
When I walk away
don't lead her after me-
let the poor beast rest.
When I walk away, of
I don't take you with me
don't follow-
let this dumb beast rest, too.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
over the fence i saw my very own
lungs exploding
splinters and bits of it covering
the next best breath
the next best line
of my own narrative
that - now -
wrinkled and crunched and wrapped around the fence
still knows how to dance-
and amounts to the desperate summit
of bright enthusiasm:
exploding this time
in vibes and waves
and again – and always
again.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
My eyes dream a lot
Dot dot dot
I don't know why but my mind sing a lot
La la la
ITS ALL FAKE
I'm just caged into a phase that I cannot escape
Missing a few people that I cannot replace
Chasing a few others who's not in the race
But it's a tale of one girl that my mind is having a hard time to create
Is it that I can't relate?
Or is it that she's so real that I can't be awake?
I wish that she was mine, but my eyes are having a hard time
Everytime I blink I reset my connection
So I force my eyes to stay open, and I almost cry for reanimation
Then I look away, ...and there goes my elation
My diaphragm doesn't have any strength and my Adam's apple doesn't have any vibration
I usually can visualize, then harmonize upon divine relations
She's the only girl who can appear in my spaces
And make my mind and eyes go spacious
...just when I thought I was creative
I'm so tenacious, but my imagination is sedative
I don't know how my musical tongue became dumb
She's ideal to fantasize about and vocalize In regard to
My eyes are soft, but to paint the perfect loft, it's hard to
I try to stay on key but my lips are locked
I try to stay on beat, but when I hear the tap of her feet my heart drop
Why won't my unreality and melody write her a song?
Because it's only right if I wrote her a poem !
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
My thoughts are fleeting but a worm, in all his earthly glory writhes, on occasion in my darkest depths.
Mostly hidden fodder for flight, he makes me believe the fault is mine.
He’s been there a millennia longer than my heart had courage to know.
The fissures that burst through my mind don’t throb; they come and pass, quick and jagged glass.
The flick of a tail and the bruises of silent moments become unforeseen holes in my rapier’s aim.
Slashing, swinging, gasping, grasping, before tumbling into transient loss.
And every so often my fonder thoughts fall in too, dragging them down.
Each time the little drop pulls me down, I feel him, I feel that once lifeless worm cry out: “Doubt!”
May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 2:06 AM UTC
~
reanimation
it is nothing
compared
to the sobbing
of worms
~
outhouse
the bathtub is full of ****
it wants to be
an egg
~
frogsong
depression
decorates
a bird
~
miracle
a bunk-bed for sister’s hair
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 1:17 PM UTC
This is what will I do, I will sample my most important memories and associate a symbol with them. The symbols will be connected. With each symbol, the actual memory episode can be reached and reconstructed. Registering each moment of life would be unnecessary, but with identifying the key episodes and moments of time and their points in space (that is perceived relatively), the actual life could be copied into another human consciousness.
Quite weird things are these...
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
back to blank eyes
slouched shoulders
ringing in my ears
numbness in my limbs
my frankenstinian moment of animation over
pushed down once more
dead on that cold slab of table
sedated, uncaring
dull ache in my womb
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
the imbecile boy found love again
walking aimlessly & self-conscious
with the year's regrets falling
behind like fat blossoms in
a summer shower out of
my longing i had invented her
it was by happy accident or
a subtle shift of scenery
in the numinous grove that
i entered that spring with an empty heart
so i wrote her all these songs
so i could live again
cue the hallelujah choir singing
'this is ours, the impossible'
my rib-cage expands
every time i think of her
like recalling a beautiful dream at breakfast
through a yawning smile
my prophetic dove lying next to me in bed
the first flicker of reanimation
with the heat of her veins
interdependent with mine
stripped to the waist
with tresses of her hair across my chest
& shoulder i'll thrive in a forest of it
i launched 'i love yous'
from a sun-lit country porch
& they traveled 300 postcard miles
over roofs & the tops of old elms
to collapse into her ear, exhausted
now i am the pen, she is the paper
she is delicate but
my love has wild-cat claws
& live pink lips above smooth
wingless shoulders & i am hypnotized
by the adoration & light reflected in her eyes
i built this cathedral of words for her
these towers like puffs of smoke
& exultation rising in our slow dream
i carved this river through the broad valley
where the fish nibble at
dazzling afternoon raindrops
while i get lost in her body awhile
this kaleidoscope is a place i could stay
repossession & co-awareness
now we're strolling across the air
together in perpetual acceptance
gliding like the first morning orioles
through six panes of clear blue sky
over the circumambient hills of the new age
toward the alabaster sea
with her bright compassion pressed tight
against my side for the journey
we laugh softly as our hands engage
never again to disengage
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 7:24 PM UTC
I feel nothing, and everything
An empty echo
Trapped, screaming but yawning.
I go unheard.
There is a spark,
a promise of reanimation
in endless pools of blue.
I can die and live
a thousand lifetimes
in an interlocked gaze…
But what happens
when the jolt
no longer
reanimates
the dead.
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 4:53 AM UTC
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some poems from available collections:
[cripplings ]
touch is a sign of weakness. my father opens his mouth after speaking. meanwhile, miracle, it occurs to me in separate car accidents that bringing me to my son in god is less an undertaking than that of arming the man who transports a stopwatch to a cemetery. do we live the lives of those experimenting? beauty is not alone. suppose it knows.
~
[notes for stimuli]
I start my sentences
like this:
the thing is.
thing is
my son
like yours
is dying. thing is
I was told
by god
to be a man.
I love you all.
I love
but start a fight
with someone
I’ve never met
over what
a *******
poverty
no one
talks to
not
in years.
one must apple boldly in a cornfield of rust.
baby clotheshorse
eats baby
litmus.
taste
keeps my tongue
in the dark.
~
[fasting vision]
to punish my brother
for no reason
I told him
I could see
his stomach’s
shadow
but because
my visions
never
work
I vomited
what my sister
ate
~
[sylvan vision]
nudes
from the circus
of harm
grab
the evolved
handle
of my father’s
apocalypse
and though
I call it easy
what I’ve gone
on the doll ****
I can’t help
but bride
up
a storm
giving oral
to a corncob
from fixation’s
honeymoon
~
[daughteresque]
what would she ask
sadness
that old blindfold
from the future
how did you
get old, how
did my father
eat
and eat
at the same
time
perhaps
you’ve seen it
the mask
that took
my face
~
[forty]
because I wanted the poem
to feel
as rare
as my father’s
anger, and because
a pigeon
is
what it eats, and because
mad with bread
the oven
my brother
buried
took a snapshot
of our dog
bigfoot
sleeping
in hell, and because
my son is not a pattern
his body
can resume: the alien was impressed
but my mother
god love her
was bored
~
[BURNINGS]
~reanimation
it is nothing
compared
to the sobbing
of worms
~outhouse
the bathtub is full of ****
it wants to be
an egg
~frogsong
depression
decorates
a bird
~miracle
a bunk-bed for sister’s hair
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 9:07 AM UTC