"stroboscopic" poems
Take my hand - you've got to
feel fun time's heading
closer
Futuristic daydreams
are at hand -handy!
microchipped wild
boys and girls
on rent - hardly paid off -
dance! Roll the dice!
Flicker eyes!
Adrift on the dimlit
flourescent
effervescent
reflector rays°°°°you're
never lost or at loss;
Coloured circles glide
across the dancefloor______
bouncy boots swoon, high heels
crack, remastered barefoot Tribe~
Enjoys momentary revelations!
Latino lovers attracting
honey dew magnetic more-s
rain coats off - smiley coasts shine on~
those cunning shenanigan freckles
pressed redhair beauties against
needy torsos in ecco-leather jackets
electrified silhouettes stunning
like elves un-fading beauty
transforming tuxedos
of a tight
night; a jingle of
Prague crystals into
one dancing wave submerged
by the vicinity of hissing tongues
-been- beaten by fierce kissing
in a stronghold ballroom
frenzy - polarized
beatings - hi-s and bye-s ; a
stroboscopic syncopation
ecstatic hips,
space shuttle
trips
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Opulence surrounds you, overconfident in your approach
the golden lust of your ego projects
itself in the driver's seat with that tiny smirk
here as we drive on
at a adrenaline inducing speed
the sunset caught between leaves and branches
of these trees.
I am
baptized
in a hypnagogic state
dreamy
but
still here.
"let go"
I say to you
oblivious
to what is right in front of you.
"let go of the wheel"
because
it's too beautiful
and because
I think I love here,
as I close my eyes and
letting the wind toss my hair about and
letting the stroboscopic flicker
tease the petals of my face and
forgetting about what matters and what doesn't,
more than being here with you to be honest.
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
Oh to say it so dearly, It was a great show.
I stayed out and watched it for a good hour.
The wind had come out of some hidden pocket. Like a thief in the night,
it scurried out excitedly through the screen door flying shut behind it,
and looking at the stark line drawn across the horizon;
a wall of cloud with so distinct an edge of gray, and at the same time
so thin
as to see the shadow
blue sky on the other side.
It was just a sheet.
The wind like a blanket,
energy surged, and the blood pumped a little faster at it's touch.
Then leaves began swirling,
as if fleeing for cover around the legs.
sweeping over to the porch,
while the canvas of clouds pitched its ever looming tent.
On over to get a plain view of my street lamp,
watching the tree's now twisting like spaghetti;
branches twisting in ways you would expect to break them,
all with a humdrum pitter-patter of rogue raindrops,
accompanied by that shrill electric thickness...
that makes your skin simmer, your mind hum, and your eyes glow.
The light of the streetlamp showing all the rain more clearly,
and all at once coming like a horde en masse down a hill.
Someone had given the signal,
and so it began.
The floodgates were released.
The opera had begun in earnest, with it's effects and sounds, lights, action!
The foreplay had given way to the full force of wetness.
In the pith of the light it looked as though the lamp was now a fountain.
The lightning being so evenly dispersed, the sky like a screen to see a stroboscopic chaos, so serene.
The wind and rain so perfectly mixed,
so perfectly so to syphon off a single breath of mist upon the face.
I stood like a boy of six in a parade.
Enthralled by the power, the nonchalance, and the purity of might.
Humans and animals, cars and bicycles, birds and branches, all pulling a hasty retreat.
I watched and watched, and watched more, and never got bored, only a little damp.
I came in and went up to the bedroom above the porch and lay on my window cloud
and drowsily watched the show in a bubble, til the end.
Nothing lets me see so clearly like a good rain.
People who wish for sunshine everyday are idiots.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
my sacred
electromagnet
pulses white light
then vanishes into black
strobing me blind
as fragile fingers feel
along walls for doors
stumbling over furniture
wick flickering
flame dance
amid changeling winds
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 10:17 PM UTC
Boundaries pushed for lights and dance
America so eager to imitate gave you no chance
So you moved to art nouveau France
Where you twirl, spin, ignite leaving crowds in a trance
How that silk captures the flame so bright
Tricks of mirrors and stroboscopic lights
You strobos angel of the night
The crowd watches as you twirl in dizzying flight
The silk rose opens and morphs to flame
As you spin and dance your way to fame
All those impostors you have put to shame
The opera house now pronounces you a grande dame
All that training, all that tiresome work
Damaged eyes and mind driven berserk
Has created a new form of serpentine artwork
Exploding luminescent colors, a dancing firework
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 11:37 AM UTC