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zebra Sep 2017
in a veiled world
i am light like a feather
lightening in a bottle
everything here is alive with madness
wild walls and chairs chatter
like wise cracking gangsters
always sporting for a fight

blood tulips cry and sing
rise and wither
and rise again
loop dancers move from rhythms of light
there are many kingdoms here

in a broken terrain of night
an obsidian ash sky howls
and we are shut in
to a starless and opaque sky
behind an impassable slate black gate
the ground a curse
all teeth and rocks
bones and weeping flesh

vampires live here
like clans
all blood porphyria
their mouths a beautiful rust
a tempting visage
half seduction, half terror

needled fingered hematologists
prepare our dinner
her name
all body candy
tattooed with a snake ****
her ******* pierced
with rose paved sparkles
and *******
stabbed with bat shaped studs

nurses sharpen knives
while quack doctors
tend to
little plastic dolls
blood bathers
with crossed femurs
in hospitals beds

a naked lunch
and willing betrothal
in a pearl satin gown
black lips glossed
hair red and purple
thighs and belly trussed

******* scorched and punctured
from incensed flames, teeth and ravaging kisses
eaten with panicked jaws
her **** torrid
a gushing river banquet
of blood black jam
chained and strapped
legs stirruped wide
feet silky glisten
for tongues and kisses

a candle light ritual
as she is copulated
by both sexes
and fed upon

laughing like a loon
eat the feast
you lovely beasts

and half devoured
a blood perfume delirium
she all
writhing wet mouth drools
saliva like diamonds and pomegranates
back arched
withered from a blistering frenzy
her eyes a white glaring tempest
gone vacant
her mouth like licorice slur
frozen in a ghastly shriek
her belly nectar
as the very last of her
a rattled blood moon
her remains
a crimson splot
in a wasting lament

matted hair
warm languishing mucous
scattered teeth
and a single smouldering
finger still  in flames
on a worn blood stained porcelain buffet

wolfed down
in the
and they vomited all night
****** HORROR
The indifferent sky,
Cold as marbled altar,
Starless, plain as scripture
Blasphemed with conviction,
In communion with flocks,
Says nothing about love
Nor trust nor truth nor
Blood offered in cold
Cup of chalice
Only priests
Thirst up.
O, it is December,
A brumal, solemn,
Algid December;
I do fall
And I do quiver, in
For it is December.

A throne
Worn, earthen-millefleur recliner
And I
Vestured in dereliction,
Crowned in
The Diadem of Loveless Blight:

Your utterances resound in
The dense sense of the past tense;
Ineffable magistry,
Where our
Scintillations and propagations might emblazon
The Luminous Seeds of the Stars.

Your soul
Waxeth Messianic,
In those
Pithy moments
Of our ethereal communion.

        Your porcelain epidermis
                                                And azure irides
                                    Quaked mine senses
                                                          ­ Until every sight was

O, Where
                        Have you gone
            Glaceaen Arcadia?

     O, Is the
            Fulgurant Vista
     You sparked in
Mine Mind’s Sky
              Now twilit, a starless Aether?

Breathe me
            Anew, that the Auric Chalice of Amour might pour
Me into thee, set me free, let me be
                              Yours and yours
                                        Alone (∞).

O, it is December,
A brumal, solemn,
Algid December;
I shall transcend
And I shall remember
Your infinite arms,
For it is December.
Alexia Nov 6
A burst of light
Unraveling darkness
My thirst for night
Never again starless
jules Aug 2018
every night, i meet with you
when i'm feeling sad, you're the same way too
and i feel the comfort of your arms
you coo me away with care and warmth
you lead me to your treasure trove
you're the gift heaven gently bestowed
a relief, a break, i love you, so
don't wake me up from this starless dream
take me away, i miss you, sleep.
so tired
sleeping id the bedt thing i eish i could fo it more i love sleep
Reach the light Nov 2018
Life is a teacher
Sometimes tough,sometimes mild
So as to make us maturer
That's life seen through my eyes.

Family gives me peace and love
Friends taught me trust
And you taught me all three.
You showed me a sky of love
ocean of care and colors of feelings:
Orange, pink, blue and green.
You created the sun for me
thousand stars sparking the night
reflected from my eyes.

But honey, you gave me a trauma
that I never wanted.
You left me an empty starless sky
crying in dark grey space
As if it lasted forever.
The day you went far away
out of my sight
-the day I thought I died
I try to forget you ,darling
How could I erase you from my mind?
You are a painful deep scar
carved into my heart.
But honey,I'm gonna be alright
I'll keep you as a sad painful memory
A lesson I'll never forget.
I came across a memory
that crawled from a ghost crab hole
radiant spirit of another time
flaming red hair and starless black eyes
her flowing robe illuminated and translucent
moved slowly to the shore's edge
pulsing with the energy of moon
and a dream set free
she stared
as if awaiting a vision I once had
of a ship that went down
in the graveyard of the Atlantic
all souls lost
she turned
held out her hand for me
and we walked into the waves
the ocean's daughter and I

the dream did not end there
but rather began
a picture in my head prompted this
Akira Chinen Sep 2018
A blood red sunset drips over
the black asphalt city skyline
somewhere in a lost part of America

where the dream has
long been dead and buried
and hate and fear rule
the rural streets that are protected
by peace keepers
that practice ******
more often than upholding the law

It has been declared open season
on any crow the color
of a starless night sky
and the dove has become
a symbol of
to protect and serve
their own kind
birds of a feather
that cover for one another

justice is blinded
by the snow covered truth
and the color of corruption
is coincidentally the same
as the color of money

the poor have little choice
but to trade their bones
and their hopes
to the corporations
of the new land
of the free
to be owned by
and controlled by
a minimum wage
that only guarantees
to keep the poor
poor enough
  to work another day
    and another day
      and another day

until there bones are
nothing but powder
and their beds
are nothing but coffins
for the barely living

and life somewhere
in a lost part of America
at the end of everyday
the sky turns red
and the color of blood
runs through the streets
as the doves go along
with their business
of the murdering of crows
Birdlike spirit beyond confinement
Emergence from within flesh, exuding
Lithesome dancing fire, alive and brilliant
In some elsewhere plane of existence
Even though a string that begins from here
Veils of human blindness diminishes that
Energy, souls die when shells lie, or drown in fear.

If there’s nothing more beyond this passing
Nights starless, sky without flight, love’s lacking...(Light)
Owlman Jan 9
There is a spell on lovers at night
Spend it, quarrel over hate or love
It never ends, who is wrong or right?
yes, some times, push comes to shove.
Hurriedly to their homes at night
Refuge from darkness of their own
Lover's arms, sanctuary, ray of light
While hiding a piece of skeleton bone.
Lies in the day and love in the night
Running from ourselves, we survive  
Hold to another human's flesh so tight
For another dawn, to revive and strive.
I wait to see myself in mirror of darkness
To see my true self, when sky is starless
A cup of coffee, a smile on my face
Equilibrium, nothing i want to chase.
ANH Feb 23
Starless nights and narrow paths
Filter this life.
Two decades ago felt so long yet so
Numbing herself through the day which
She used to celebrate.

Is it the gaping hole of a chest?
Is it the pre-recorded track of existence?

Has life always been losing its light
When they drag her to try
To play the game where she stumbles and falls
But still gets up and still remains off.

Maybe after pricking herself she stopped
And now lives in sleep-walk
Keeping on the same face
While ten feet from the grave.

There's only the doubt
That she can't get out.
You are my one and only
Only you can hold me and lift me up higher
And if forever cant be
It would be like a desert without water

You are my one and only
Only you can bring the light into my life
And if you every leave me
It would be like staring at a starless sky
#only #love #desert #water #light #starless #sky
Annie Feb 25
By the scorching of a starry sky
Childrens heart broke under spreading scars
And every life that ceased before his eyes
Remained within a thousand burning stars

But what was child once, grew and learned
And turned into a bitter man
Who every skill and strength he gained
Aimed to a cruel, revenging plan

He knew no limit, knew no grace
He even pledged his life
When he performed a wicked trade
To bind an evil sprite

A many suffer, many die
In illness, war and rage
And many nations burn in flames
Atoning for a starless sky
Poem to the background of a villain and main protagonist.
Ode to The Epiphaner:


So all the silence and emptiness
Is just so I can grow endlessly and free
Unobscured by the foliage’s density
All the oxygen won’t be stolen from me

If the soul and mind can’t hide
In the darkness of the night
How can I ever collect
The fruits of the dreams I strive

Let me
Climb upon barren rocks of greater heights
With the abandoned groves in sight
Every yield is mine
Sometimes a no man’s land
Can be the most beautiful place under the sky  


Those that despair, still care
While the silent continues to sing
The Epiphaner will always be here
For me, a long long road remains
But we will all take flight, we will all fly
Our wings will bid farewell to earth
But, there is still time
There is still time
One day, even time will die
Even time will die
Time will die
It will die


If only leaves and lone stars reside
In the ultramarine midsummer sky
How short and trivial will be my sight
I want to be the century-old desert tree
The Watcher of the waning moonlight
Without the ceaseless River of Praise
I still won’t go “gentle into that good night”


Why only distance and unreachable gaze
Could testify the true believer’s faith
Like watcher of the lost, the pale moonlight
I have to shine bright in the starless nights

I have to lead the way
For the broken and dazed
For them to escape
This bleak and hopeless place

Upon the
Land of nothingness and desolation
The road is calm with a sure destination
I will be on time
One day I will be there
Perhaps still the only one
The Lone Soul basking on the other side


Those that despair, still care
While the silent continues to sing
The Epiphaner will always be here
For me, a long long road remains
But we will all take flight, we will all fly
Our wings will bid farewell to earth
But, there is still time
There is still time
One day, even time will die
Even time will die
Time will die
It will die


If there are more vessels than waves
In the tides and curvature of time
How tedious would the voyage be
I want to be the eternity shadow
Ever unrequited, loving the sunlight
When all matters in the universe die
The abyss would still be my paradise
Written before I heard this track, but best read with the flow of Leonard Cohen's Happens to the Heart.  

Ode to The Epiphaner
Original Chinese Lyric and Translation by:
Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Date of Original Chinese: Thursday, October 17, 2019
Date of English Translation: Wednesday, October 23, 2019
Devon Brock Jul 30
Joy and similar discontents
break wheaten on the all-weather
radial steel-reinforced sidewall hum,
on the defog rasping for a service call;

Break on the near treeless plain
stitched loose to the sky with rivets
of silos and grain bins - clouds
dive porpoise behind the rise.

Joy and similar discontents
hang like flowers on a bleach
wood cross surviving another winter
to tread sobbing on the green ditch water.

Every X and Y coordinate of the plains
etched by gravel side-ways and field
entries too rutted and ragged
to suit the conglomerate need

or the tilt houses and stripped clapboard
banging against the thistle, milkweed
and swallowed dreams in the foxgrass,
with turkey buzzards circling thermal overhead.

But the crows plunge faster into red
fresh carrion sloughs of whitetail and ****
to breach at the presence of a larger scavenging -
and each bent marker tells its own tale.

Count the bullet holes and shotgun splatter
in the stops and yields when the road was empty,
when the night was dry, when the callous boys
had time on their hands instead of hog blood

and badger-eyed girls that left after graduation
for the starless haze, crowded parades,
sidewalk shops, umbrellas on the rain side
of things keeping each at arm's length.

But it was never about the city,
never about the glitz and pizzazz
of everything running baffled into gridlock;
less about the thick dumb flannel boys.

It was always about that low fog,
the night eyes in the beams, the manure, chaff
and split seams of the midwest furrows,
the haybales that bob like rafts over the horizon.
JB Claywell Dec 2018
It was one of those black,
winter mornings.

There was no moon
stars that could be seen.

The coastal storms
had harried our
Midwestern weather pattern,
dosed us with perhaps,
a little more winter
than we’d previously
been ready for.  

Out the door,
on the street,
just before five o’clock
in the morning.

The air is not still,
but doesn’t have much movement to it.

This breeze has teeth though,
they bite hard enough
that everything in me
says that it might be a good idea to stop,
turn around,
get back under the covers,
hideout for a few more hours.

But, I’m already out here.

I’ve chosen the Phillips 66 sign
as my adopted moon,
letting it guide my steps.

I pass by that mechanic’s yard.

The yellow IROC Z-28 stares at me
with her dim headlights,
reflecting the light of that
‘not-a-moon’ moon
we’d both elected to go in for.  

“I used to go fast”, she says.
“Me too”, I say and keep walking.

There was a time that I wanted that car
like I’d wanted women I had known
during years and versions of myself
long gone.

Really though,
I don’t know what I would have done
with those yellow fishtailing hips,
those screaming tires,
that black vinyl-wrapped steering wheel.

that car was very much like
those long-lost lusted for women,
in that I’d have been flummoxed
as to what to do with them after a while.

There are only so many
red lights to run,
so many hairpin turns to take,
holding that yolk for dear life.

There are only so many mindless rolls in the sack,
only so many beers with bourbon sidecars.

I keep walking.

That yellow Camaro winks at me
a few more times
under the light of that gas-station moon.

I keep walking.

Nowadays we’d both make
that same quarter-mile run
to the Phillips 66
in the same amount of time.

she’s all caged up
in that chain-link lot.

I’m not.

I’m free.

I’m cold,
but where I’ll end up,
I’ll fill up on biscuits and gravy,
sit in a warm booth,
hope that someone
has already left a morning paper behind,
and stare into the inky, starless pre-dawn sky.

Likely becoming
hopelessly infatuated with my
adopted moon.

© P&ZPublications
Ira Desmond Dec 2018
Last night,
I dreamt that the friend of a friend had died.

His body floated lifeless on the surface of the Pacific,
tossed about between the Bering Sea whitecaps

like an orca’s seal-pup plaything
while the Arctic wind whipped

and beat the freezing cold water
across his pallid face and through his chestnut hair.

Then his body
began to sink,

its silhouette appearing
against various monotone

canvases of blue
on its trip downward:

a vivid cornflower,
a pelagic cerulean,

a chasm of cold cobalt,
a starless twilight,

a forest of indigo,
a velvet curtain of navy.

as it reached the deepest possible shade of midnight—

only a quantum away from black—
it stopped sinking.

There, in that void,
where daylight and color are considered but outlandish theories,

strange fish of all and shapes and sizes
began to surround the decomposing corpse:

Greenland sharks hailing from the frozen arctic,
mantis shrimp from the mangrove labyrinths,

eyeless electric eels from undersea caves near the Galápagos,
vampire squid rising cautiously up out of their World War One trenches,

scores of spindly ***** and pale worms that had ventured far beyond
the safe familiarity of their alien geothermal worlds.

At first, they approached the corpse gingerly,
nibbling only the tips of its hair and fingernails,

and then suddenly, voraciously,
they consumed it—until not even a skeleton remained.

Now, only a single point of light was left
there floating in the void.

And from this single point of light,
where just a moment before the corpse had floated,

a brilliant white lattice structure emerged,
unfurling as would a fern across a forest floor.

It fanned out onto the seabed
and then swept upward, upward

back toward those reaches of sea
where color is known

and fresh air gleefully permeates
that foamy outer membrane that skirts the base of the sky.

Scores of familiar fish began to lift up the crystalline structure—
schools of shimmering sardines,

stately, dignified manta rays,
skipjacks, bluefins, and white-tips,

brilliant cuttlefish, humble pufferfish,
shifty barracuda, gargantuan whale sharks,

all of them
beating their tails in concert

to carry this lattice away,
this measure of a life,

this husk of a soul
at last freed from its earthly bindings.

The fish were carrying it somewhere deeper,
somewhere darker,

to a place that I understood—
even from the inky depths

of my dreaming mind—
that I could not enter.

But then again,
I knew that someday

I would.
Evan Stephens Apr 15
We who went into the 4 a.m. of the world
regretting nothing but an unfinished song.

We who were murdered in the darkest lanes
and at the corner of the street.

I was much further out than you thought,
starless and fatherless, a dark water -

rescue me from this ocean.
In this part of the story I am the one who

changes minute by minute.
Beauty is the sole business of poetry -

I go on loving you like water but
every night fire breaks out from windows in Üsküdar.
In a Cento, every line comes from a different poem. In this one, the sequence of poets is:
Ezra Pound;
Nazim Hikmet;

Faiz Ahmed Faiz;
T. S. Eliot;

Stevie Smith;
Sylvia Plath;

Nizar Qabbani;
Pablo Neruda;

W. B. Yeats;
Robinson Jeffers;

John Ashbery;
Necip Fazıl Kısakürek.
Omar Jan 22
The moon got drunk

and missed the show

that starless saturday night

while I was freezing

on the park bench

circles of smoke

around my head

heaps of ashes

at my feet

writing a merry christmas

postcard to you
Shayla Ahrns Jan 6
I keep grabbing at everything like they’re the stars
But it’s nothing magical, it’s all but a dark night
A lonely sky, a ******* hole
I don’t want to look at the light of everyone’s life and wonder
Why is my everything so dark

I want to soak up light,
Light from all the cracks I’ve tried to mend
With men who didn’t love me
And wine, so much wine
Salty tears that almost sting the wounds I’ve let stay open
The wounds that are long gone lives that stay alive inside me
I should have let them die, I could have
Instead of killing them, I let them live off my heart
Feeding off my broken love

I am not going to grab at a starless sky anymore
I am going to put every light I’ve ever needed up there
Like none of the men who didn’t love me or the wine that left stains ever could

But what is love if not loved
And how could I love
If I had never known what it felt like to be so much alone
Under the all back everything
I am the one who wants to be the light of my whole life
And I am the one who will love me through all the dark
Prince Nov 7
Enamoured by the sight of u make a ***** dont know what too do so I'm singing the blues to a hazy moon under a starless night.

I. Vanitas Vanitatum
[The stage is set: a paper moon against a starless, greyscale sky. GINSBERG howls. He's nostalgic for all he'd assumed was forgotten; desperate to never recall it again. His numbered days are manufactured: ELIOT reclines, watching the world end.]

In our own sins we trusted,
both in essence and in nature.
Hell was never an inferno:
it is an echo chamber.

We have nothing (-- we have nothing --)
but maxims and jumbled alphabets
and lightly-sparkling bitterness
when the cork pops feebly from the bottle;
(-- nothing! --) dripping saltine hate.

We've lived large and small, been tiny and tall;
always filling too much space in a too-big room
where our presence is ironically scarce.
There is nothing for you here,
bar vacant lungs and river water --
take a breath and join us
                               in sinking to
                                            (sinking!) the
                                               (sinking!) bottom
                                                  (sinking­,) of
                                                        (sinki­ng...) the
                                                             ­              Styx.

II. Et Omnia Vanitas

You know not what you could be
but merely what you are
and that alone is traumatic enough.
Taste it, a slice at a time:

the disillusionment from having raised your hopes beyond rotting in the soil,
the anger upon realising this was your own fault and all you want to do is scream,
the bargaining, the denial, the scream (you were not born to live). The gradual processing. The scream!
Scream at the moon and scream at the walls and scream into pillows and howl and wail and hack away at the flesh and screech until plastic surroundings melt and it is only you and the void you willed upon yourself.

III. Epitaph (What Now?)
[A white-fur baby seal is camouflaged upon the ice
and, eyes closed, fools itself into thinking it survived.]

What happens next is no act of evil:
this is survival of the fittest.
We are bottom-rung of the food chain
and starving predators need to eat.

[We lick the ground and taste defeat.]

Ruby poppies reach heavenward --
small birds take their maiden flights.
I shrivel, putrid in the soil,
in the winter of my life.
pretentious *******, slash wallowing in my losses. sometimes feeling things is nice. for the most part, it's ******* ****
Suffer with me
Just a bit longer.
Starless nights
In the city-
Watching, waiting
For a glimmer of peace.
Shooting stars
Zoom too fast for us
to make a wish, but truthfully,
I don't think either of us would know what to wish for.
Stare at me just a bit longer.
Dimmed eyes
Spiral out of control.
"I ain't a kid no more,
We'll never be those kids again."
Said we'd never hurt each other and meant it. Guess we didn't know how hard a promise is to keep. And we sing our emotions cuz we're tired of screaming and not being heard.
Overdose on lullabies
The starless nights
Seem to go on
But the songs,
The songs are lovely.
Line in quotes from Frank Ocean's Ivy
Lily Flower Feb 11
I have long desired a night undisturbed
full of sleep and coherent dreams
but that the sun arrives faster than light's speed
leaves me wondering
if there is ever an end to the war
I battle throughout weeks, months,
and years and years on end
After all I am easy to bend
like a daisy at the hand of storm
sways, unyielding, entrusting the wild current
of passion that breaks her back
I strike a match to see with blind eyes
how far this night, intemperate, will extend
And who shall have removed my footprints
when dawn breaks to swallow
every secret I whispered to this dusty road
and crushed beneath my feet
They say day is a neat deceit
for those who believe black is evil
and I hardly think it untrue
with stars ****** off their shine
to magnify the glory of darkness
when my body hits the matress
I can feel it quite as it is, darkness
but in no shade of beauty or grace
as if I never had any stars to sacrifice
with love their inborn proclivity
there indeed is no sincerity
in the way I am deaf to the sound of dark
A Beethoven masterpiece, the starry night
Such starless of a night this life has become
Or is it that life is still there?
handsome and fair, with his head in clouds?
My pinstriped eyes fail to glimpse in a crowd
the warmth and glow of this flame
of dark, this grand grand enchantress
Behind prison bars the war goes on
with no light to clear the mess...
Yeah obviously another piece on indomnia and depression. No this is never going to end..I always wear it like a coat..
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