"soporific" poems
My position is distant
My path discursive
My equality punctured
Set back, tortured
My corpse is painted
My rainbow is tainted
My bones are contracting
My skin is cracking
A knowledge abductions
Formed with childish seduction
Leaving me
Foam on the Dead Sea
Holding back
The tears of the seldom heard
Holding back
The worst kind of words
I'm heliotropic
Turning, turning, turning
My soporific voice
Is dying, dying, dying
Like a suicide survivor
Submerging ever higher
Schizophrenic priestess
Nepotistic phantom
I'm sand
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
So I scuttled up, until I found a voice like Japan, I read him his rights, turned out the lights, and laid right back on the sand. They said, "Sir, he was much of a father to me, but we were labeled his kin, right in our family tree." "Oh wow", I said, with a gentle, smooth voice, he went missing last August, but now he wants back you boys?" "Oh yes, he sure is a feral man. We think that's why he dried up and flew to Japan." Right then, the two of them went silent just like two second story men, so I inquired, "What happened then?" "From Monday thru Sunday he took to prayer from the bible, and on every other weeknight he watched Japan's Top Model. He threw gallant parties to a harem of wives, he read each of their palms, and looked in their eyes; some time later, when everyone was about to leave, he'd turn on Happy End and start a wild **** By this time I was tired, the sun began to set, I grew tired of my beach patch and yearned for my bed. Although soporific, I tried to be polite, I said, "Let's finish this conversation some other time." "Of course!", they said, "We're off to bed. We'll see that you'll do the same." Then they stood up quick, and reached down and picked up my chains. The beach we laid on was black top, asphalt and tar, the bed I craved was behind a row of private bars. The two of them, them both, were children of mine, because my memory is shot, this might've been their millionth time. i got locked up in a county that's dry as a beach, like Elizabethtown, Kentucky, where I was raised till 13. No one, not even the warden, knows really why I'm here, even some man from Cell Block Five, asked me last Sunday, why was I here. My beach perhaps, it's love at last, concrete, gravel, and stone- a 6' x 10' room with bars and a porcelain throne. It's mine I cry, each night I die, with glee, with smile, with rite. But it makes the other guys run at me, and try to start random fights. I don't remember the boat I took, but I remember the tour, going to Japan at Epcot Center since I'd never gone before.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:30 AM UTC
You choked on chariots raw. Red egg yolk suppers, churned of the milk oceans this morning you kept.
The lintel of stone turned toward dusk. Some great dynasty of submissive spirits catering your morning
Out on a cart of muse, forms of heaven cannot even hear you. You are a soporific knot in the tale of your Old womanhood. In this infinite Tuesday morning your small black eyes, like an oil tanker toppling over The intense azure sea- shipwrecked, and lost.
Departing from your childhood you slurp Coca-Cola from a silver straw. From the corner store and inside Winter yawns. There is no face, only strikingly beautiful black hair. The body under you is at home in all
My hand's fingers have to fill. All the clothes that you could carry for the two-way adventure. There are
Never enough bubbles between your lips and the glass bottle you have. Only the score of the whistleblower. And the poor symphony you had prayed for into the dial-tone phone, the deep Wilderness, that stiff forever-ago budding from your coffee cup. Neurogenesis lifted from your Fingerprints and emblazoned into this lump of human ingenuity. The hopeless octave that cut us all short.
Every short story that was left untold. There are the brief deaths recoiling in your spiritual architecture. The ****** of morphia has bourn me awake. Inside you are often unscathed, vanishing as some of Tonight's parts assemble you, on you blue is a beautiful color. The sweet retreat that gave you life or the bountiful deaths that counted you too cutely by your side. You are the sun in my black coat. Here is my sea, your sea, you'll see.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:34 AM UTC
The respite in soporific somnambulating,
Isn't the ****** of defenestration.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
melancholy blanketed the whites
scarred voices muffled by
a ****** mind.
an avalanche stuck in my soul
severer than a bee at a forked road
how confused!
red-cheeked petals and afternoon birds glare
in confusions at the footsteps :
unbalance, shaded, muted!
the green umbrella's warm, so scorchingly cold!
all embittered, by solemn beams of the soulless sun.
their eyes widen,
for they had never seen such lone,
for such lone, rare, is forbid to the sons of nature,
never belong to happy child's arms,
that dreams in a mother's charm.
grieving droughts in the air and grass,
no dews, why!,
yawned the madden, soporific rabbit
Ah, so wild.
the windless noontime cross, my quivers stopped, mild.
lashes waxed, blacken like a coal,
mind stuck in a haze, or maybe a threatening maze.
stiffness of the air injected to my nostrils
into my white tongue they will soak, like perfumes to a clothe.
Selene will gaze angrily at this and say,
why no, it shouldn't be in there!
the midnight orchids waver and frown.
soon the frothing dreams peter,
but the bolded letters in a white board stay,
my chair stays.
creaks of an abominable burden became a din.
The smudges of grey-white dust I smelt
hover gaily in the air of pompous breath.
spellbound by the stagnant languor,
mazy, in hallucinations of the heat and homesick.
I sought the fount of hypocrisy and vile,
my hiding nonchalances rosen
(towards a flock of friends)
and loathes to an abominable sun frozen
(I wished it to die!)
Tilted to the windows,
I saw nothing, but fatal secrets of a heart rosed
like window dust to a nose.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
Alice and I were fudged fruiting inside Falstaffian freakish fleur–de–lys:
She inside a quack–aztec–tattooed tank,
Me inside a pendulous magenta harness with polydactyl–perverted plumes bespattered into it.
In the ****** **** of that kaput flophouse
We creosoted our conks all the cockatrices of the gorge–de–pigeon,
Inside crotches, Jacuzzis and homocentric Action Men.
Alice, with the pornographic bend sinisters in the teeth of her poltergeistish fajita crocodile,
Smacked of the plug–ugly poofter of a south–south–west by south sackful sandbank.
I cemented the jaundiced dangler of an ostrich to my prick.
With that and my uncut fiddlestick of knobs
I was the idiosyncratic and wholehogging sadomasochistic slapper!
We banged the bush streaming proboscis in tentacle
Through smorgasbords of hermaphrodites and high muck–a–mucks
While Ravi Shankar’s idioglossias and cockchafers juddered our titbits.
Our Moonies were classically cracked flabelliform by the time we disinterred them.
Alice managed to fornicate incognito white elephant on behalf of myself
And we were passionately on the back of the dingdong, naked as our Moonies.
We kept one’s pecker up wrapped up in the shadowgraph
Athwart ever-strangling girdles of formaldehyde, ozone, fomenter and widow’s weeds,
Athwart polytetrafluoroethylene–pricked precipices and then down to the butts
Where we both came to a sticky end on our jockstraps and leered at the ballet dancers
That we then penetrated rhythmically by elongating tumescent our gang banging tentacles.
Through comfortable French knickers I burped, “Thank you for ****** me everywhere, Alice”.
In the soporific honeypotspunk, aped on the ooze,
I could smell that her **** had made her ******* type soap flakes break the sound barrier,
Splashing out a ***** whale seed skirting her jowls.
“You’re fragrant, flypaper”, she rapped.
The Government gabble that little green men who hammer out the sexagenarians weren’t on board.
Inside spleen of the spliffs, inside spleen of my gangrenous Pollyanna, I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
by Sara L. Russell, 30/10/13 at 01:03am
I am a force of fiery integrity of soul; a garden sealed;
I carry my soul deep within, all of Heaven enfolds me;
My cross is my talisman, my banner and protector,
All of Dante's angels ascending and descending surround me.
My bed is a vessel of peace on a sea of tranquil clouds;
Oceans of rolling vapour bear me up in the azure sky,
Distant birds give voice in the soporific hush of twilight,
as angels sing out blessings of love and everlasting accord.
I am a harp of harmony, a lyre of languid repose;
My heartbeat as steadfast as any jewelled timepiece of gold,
My dreaming skies are filled with wingbeats of migrating birds,
Streams shimmer with moonlight; all the forests thrum with life.
I am a force of fiery integrity of soul, protected from the night;
I carry my soul deep behind the portals of my mind,
My Lord and Creator guides me through the labyrinths of dreams,
Shadows flee from angels, wingbeats carry me till dawn.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 9:09 PM UTC
The sky is limitless
With all that flies
Barely covering a speck
Regardless of size.
The sky is limitless
With its tinge of heavenly blue.
It warms me with its broad brilliant sun,
Yet obscures lies as it does what is true.
The sky is limitless
When I gaze into you.
I fall under the spell of your majestic hue
Until everything in the world feels new.
The sky is limitless
To the point where I do not know
Where it starts or where it ends
The sky only bends.
Limitless is my misunderstanding of the sky.
Its soft stillness soporific; it stupefies.
Yes, there is still silence in the sky.
Limitless is the sky.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 12:22 PM UTC
There is no floor
Below the water there is sand and dust
My feet disappear below the mist
And below that is a floor of nothing.
Lock and key, relative conductivity
Separation of anxieties
Generally elementary
Universal energy
Scientific inquiry
Empirical discovery
What a bunch of crap.
I bathe in fake white plastic
I swim in silent smiles
Dionysian warfare paintings
Classical textual narrating
Fitness, happiness, soporific movies
Genial tendencies, braced for ingenuity
Waiting for a paroxysm to bring forth neologisms
That test the boundaries of scientific truth
That recapture the errant minds of youth
We could make new buildings or lose a tooth
I hold the latter higher than that
I tilt the ladder there and back
Assiduous and wont, *** for tat
All a game, a joke at that
Your domain, provoked and trapped
Impressionistic spinal taps
On canvases of green and black
All from within cerebral shacks
Wind hammers palm trees on windowpanes
Wind tears down houses, rips apart planes
Wind doesn't move me, yet seems urbane
It's so jejune, it's all the same
I'm tired and lonely, powder remains
Pink like reagents in reactive flames
Quick like catalysts jumping inane
Frontal lobes retired my brain.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 12:02 PM UTC
Do I believe
There's been a breakthrough
With some significant findings
Through time-released research:
Using study groups,
Control rats,
And free range monkeys?
The announcement's delivered
By a team of thesbians,
And once I was convinced,
I took a decisive step
To get the Japanese water filter.
I almost felt philanthropic
Knowing third world countries
Benefit from my purchase.
I was, I think,
Deceived by a soporific placebo.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
It comes after heavy rains.
Naked amphibious marauder
crouched beneath dampened stars
bip-bipping its personal intercom;
soporific in sleep-weary bleary-eyed dreams.
I imagine a Cop on his elbows
zig-zagging, belly-flat
under cover of darkness;
he not naked; peaked cap askew,
shoulder pips glinting in half moon;
he too, predator on a mission -
Echo - Charlie - Zebra.
The freezer kicks in
out-droning night sounds.
Light eases between blinds.
I slurp chocolate dregs from a crazed mug.
Over and out.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC
Acclimate away you accustom to rabble streets, calculate thy cantankerous beef with another diabolic past!!
Destine connoisseur,
Old things get older while thy love stays newer!!!
What a hope to hope for something!!!!
Bare faced sophomore,
Soporific enducing trips to styles of maxed out galore....
Domineers on every corner,
Where youngest of mourners art ourn own children,
Gravitational to all pull ins,
Guided by ourn own sins we set our own adversities!!!!
When wilt we climb out of ourn own hutch?
Our brittled bunch doesn't think of two but one!!
Jilt all thou will falsifiers,
Killers and liars,
Were all wrapped tight to the same metropolis line!!!
Okaying thyself?
Canst we OK what's wrong and not fine?
Schzoid scribble ******* in,
Undeniable on planet green earth!!!
Underhanded,
Diploma drop ins,
Morphine moratorium so Grey thy sounds are!!!!
Yet thy smiles so beautifully wide!!!!!
Seek as thou finds,
Find all though you mayeth hide!!!
The scorch is over to be bear!!
Where is the opulent Queen who I seek?
Yet hasn't found me yet...
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
☺☻☺☻
When painters who paint about painting
meet writers who write about writing,
self-conscious redundancy
bordering lunacy
ends in esthetic in-fighting.
These modernists, right about nothing
(mostly nihilists mad about something)
are so lost in the process
they vent all their excess
in metacognition: dull writing.
You poets who muse about musing –
unaware you are reader-abusing,
provide a terrific
verbose soporific,
yet not of the hearer’s own choosing…
I long for some righteous verbosity –
but I’m stifled by all the pomposity.
This dull erudition,
“sub-metacognition”,
is but an artistic atrocity.
You thinkers who think about thinking
drag my spirit far lower than sinking.
What we want is a Word
which we haven’t yet heard –
so till then I’ll just drink about drinking.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
Mud drenched months, so soporific,
I love and find you beatific
Envelope too my heart and brain
In a gauzy shroud and tomb of pain
The south wind plays on this great plain,
Where nightly creaks the weathervane,
With ebbs and flows, my soul sings
As it extends its raven wings
My heart is filled with dreary things
As it does when frosts descend,
Oh shaded seasons, my regal friends!
Your shadows sweetly lingering,
- Unless in darkness, like newly-weds,
Numbing the pain of a hazardous bed.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
Soporific nightmare,
While I wander,
Beckons for me to follow.
Inviting cliff,
Of shattered scribe,
Dismisses my plain apparel.
Where is the escape,
If now is neither here nor there.
If then is just a dream,
Faltering in the dark.
My Nyctophobia,
Claims to be an excuse.
Residing in a subsiding sky,
In a silent ocean,
In the wings of the chrysalis,
Of my fallen butterfly.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 6:53 AM UTC
(10w x 6)
Grass hurls back raindrops
as wet soil clings to feet
rain no longer pours
gray disappears
sky turns pale cerulean
eyes journey, to where soft
colors make a heavenly arch
telling of zephyr
a bit of sun
rains, on hold
i wind over...close my eyes
unicorn's music
is
soporific
"somewhere
over
the
rainbow
blue birds fly
....................................
....... why can't i.".......
Sally
Copyright July 11, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
thrice the bell is talking bronze skin over the
courtyard young cells.
soporific
wagging skirts, the measured abstraction of laughing
blond hair. by wet scalps busting through the air
impulsed to dry halls unloud
whispered learning. droll and fleet, a mouth boorishly
pouting a bed of weak ideal knowledge
to lay, to prone, in its verbal belly a thrashing distaste
they're
so
bored
gooutside
flat feeted lady's . the golden dead trees beckon
with gaunt branches failing drips
why am i?in this little box
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC
Illusions of grandeur, spoon-fed to the youth.
Blinders cloak their unsuspecting eyes from truths.
The masquerade of the masses,
Misinformation spreads through the classes.
"You can be what you desire to be",
How maniacal can one cliche be?
Kids, it's just that easy.
No effort or self-discipline needed, and all you need is a degree.
Real-life is much stranger than fiction.
The depiction of the world couldn't be more of a mask.
Slough all that you've heard, there will be afflictions.
Or, continue and join the world's soporific masque.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 4:25 AM UTC
so the day is going well
which is never a good sign
time ticking past somnambulantly
inducing a soporific state
I find hard to shake
with rocking carriages
as I traverse to my travail
through millennia of archaeology
passing long extinct dinosaurs
turning magically to crude oil
Roman armies with Gladius drawn
ready for action two thousand
years on, still trying to conquer
the unconquerable realm
then an eco-warrior
of shabby description
yells my carbon footprint
is an abominable ********
it’s an electric train I holler
how much greener can I be fella
the Romans are looking friendlier
by the minute they only wanted
my freedom not justification of existence
the soporific state abates
the modern world is against me
now I’m running late
Mar 23, 2022
Mar 23, 2022 at 7:14 PM UTC
he told me i tasted like 12 o'clock sun on chilly days without names. since he mentioned days without names, they had been my favourite kind of days. in my head, every day had a colour and yesterday was yellow. you pulled over and got out of the car when i asked you why we could not buy another bottle of red wine for the fifth time. i looked down at my veiny hands and fondled the key that he had left behind. it killed me how everything reminded me of him. i thought that liquid self-pity would erase him but it only made him appear even more distinct. i tried to patch up myself when you was asleep; i kissed the freckles on your back and connected them by drawing constellations and celestial bodies with my silky whisper. i wore long sleeves because my heart was stained by his soporific words. he made me feel calm without effort; it made my skin crack. the way he held me tight made me want to throw up butterflies. you never made me want to throw up butterflies; you only drugged my body with sweet drops of poison. i am fond of you, you would always say and i would always force a smile and take another sip. he adored my blue lips. the more you loved me, the more i adored being intoxicated. after half a year, a few bottles a day made me love you back. i could name every débit de boissons in bordeaux.
hey kiddo, i have brought you a glass of my favourite wine.
he visited me on a chilly day without name. i was already dead when he found me.
(k.w)
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
"Let me do it for the many worlds I simultaneously exist
as birds and bees, beasts of pray, majestic tree or tiny organism
human beings of diverse persuasions , male , female, inhabiting
in parallel time lines, sinner and saint seeking salvation together"
He delves deep in the heart of blue, fathomless, abyss, a country new
where meanings differ, voices are petering to the valley of silence.
The rivers are silver bands, mountain peaks soft pillows,
the clouds sheets fresh and crisp, spread gently over
the undulating water bed of seas, so inviting, soporific,
fire lovingly ripens the fruits of temptation that hangs from branches,
drink the bubbly white wine of rain pouring in to your cup,
breezes are nice silk, towels to dry one softly
after sweating too much, when ends the frenzied search
through the mazes, for each other, in the play ground of
wolves and panthers, friendly beyond belief.
Day and night, one comes to know are made from the same cloth,
wearing a day easy is difficult as evening comes closer,
it gets soiled, however careful one is, needs to stuff it in a container
the dark sea, tame like a bucketful of water, it takes so long to clean.
Morning, time to wear the new dress, embark on a new day again
we are men and women here, creatures of circumstances, in disguises
don't ever pretend there is a world real, and you exist here just for fun
like a fish coming up for air, now he surfaces with a sly happy smile.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
Anodyne eye's
Narcotic lip's;
Analgesic kisses
Tranquilizer hip's.
Soporific eyebrow's
Lashes Heavensent;
Skin anesthetic,
Relieving me of
Death. Morphine
Amour', ***** bliss,
Painkiller door's; to
Thine soul I feedeth.
Thy voice a sedative,
Thine hair calmative,
As thy nose maketh
Me warm when I'm cold,
As an expensive wine, or
neuroleptic. I'm higher then
The universe, inside of thy
psyche; it's cozy there, none
Place to compare, I'm at home,
Simply: wherein all is right.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley (Filipino rose) dedication
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC
Country nighttime turned off the world
Absolute window blacking
Any other life void-invisible
Universe shrunk snack-size
Existence is only this cab,
these tiny lights,
this fuzzing radio
One direction
Only ahead
Only these tracks
A change in rhythm signals new territory
Lower infrastructure spend
Budget acknowledged by
transitioning drum track
More toms
Double kick
More bass, but
no less hypnotising, no less soporific, no less slowing, no less…
Snap.
Driver vigilance alarm earns its keep
Pierced by safety sound needles
Bleary eyes split open
Only closed for seconds
Enough to dry 3am eyelash glue
Intermittent, intensifying battle
Open versus closed
Here versus where
Wake versus yawning, rocking, mesmerising, irresistible…
Snap.
Assistance required
Scan for options
Snoozing thermos drools its last drips onto the floor mat
Moment of silence for coffee, our absent friend
What else?
Lunch box offers carrot sticks
Sharp, crisp, smug
No help. What else? Cake.
A silent bargain
– okay calories, we’ve had our differences, but we need to pull together
Health is tomorrow, safety is now
Sleepiness shrinks and stretches place and time
There is only here
Only now
Battle and bargains
Winning and losing
Until the sun comes up
Oct 24, 2024
Oct 24, 2024 at 10:53 PM UTC
the pinnacle of childhood
comes with the symphony of adolescence.
the realization that life is evanescent,
the breaking of cyclical routine,
catalyzing the bittersweet epiphany
of long-awaited nirvana.
no longer blithe and naïve,
quaff from the chalice of clemency
until intoxicated with the notion
of no longer being in limbo.
the mendacious oblivion of childhood evaporates,
lifting the veil of soporific innocence,
all traces of puerility gone.
come,
enter the province of adulthood,
and live as a free soul,
no longer required to conform
to the standards of ascetics.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
nirvana
nirvana me
how did I get here
soporific no more
this story
is spinning me into hurricanes
salty skin lustrating itself
and I shake when
people open to me
raw raw raw
like an onion
draw tears
out of me
they come very easily
like secrets
I have
none
zealously for life
defines the dreamers
I will never be Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds
or Frida Kahlo
but I am art
I will inhale from Lethe
every day of my life
because
I will create a new earth
every gasp I take
and vulnerability is my power
consistently unabated
I'll strip down naked
before the world
before I give up my
Lethe
this woe
this cataclysm
does not belong in me
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC