"tranced" poems
Birds chirp, the winds blow,
And as the sun sets, we give the day a bow.
Clean Colorado accommodates commoners from Lincoln's Land.
We've ditched the silt and the sand;
Stranded in a glimpse of a possible past, here I stand.
Elated by elevation, tranced by trepidation,
the group's gaze encounters a misty haze,
Followed by copious amounts of precipitation.
Pick up the pace; though we won't win the race
To the dry car and a full case.
Hell is the home of a heathen's heart;
Heaven holds promise a bright new start.
Existence on earth extends only for so long;
For now we're here, soon to be gone.
Early mornings shed light on a promising day;
Late nights cast spells we drunkenly obey
Perched in a chair by a growing fire,
the consuming flames ascend higher and higher.
Ignited embers blown astray,
Trails of smoke follow its prey.
Back on the highway.
Homeward bound, the only sounds
Are the stories and gestures that say
Not what we lost, but what we found.
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 10:27 PM UTC
Fire flies are in the air,
Like nature lights with it's flare.
As if fire dissipate embers in the air,
Tranced by short blazing from the stare.
Reflection of Mother Nature's care,
And mystical fire flies soft glare.
These are the nights I shall share,
If you are so inclined by my dare.
You can be my equal pair,
And I'll share with you these flying embers in the nightly breeze air.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
It was the muse that kissed the *********
And turned his inner pain into happiness.
A face that often frowns turns upside down when she comes around.
Clothes rain to the ground
And screams of pain and pleasure
become hard to decipher.
Its not insane he found inspiration in her
they found love in their pain.
****** bitten lips
Ripped out hair follicles
And hand printed bruised hips.
He grips her curves
Like wet tires when they swerve.
She grips his neck
Like she is trying to pinch a nerve.
He grips hers to make it feel better
to make them feel light as a feather
hoping that they die
And drown in each others nectar forever.
It was the muse that kissed the *********
And turned his inner pain into happiness.
She didn't need him to romance her much.
When their eyes meet its as if he's tranced her
When he touches her
Kisses her
and loves her she summons a flood.
As if she was a rain dancer.
The face of an angel with a heart
Of cold marble.
Their love could only be partial
Even though they get so close
Their hearts are separate like
Stones of cobble.
When she leaves to pursue herself
She traps his mind and heart in one grip.
Not for a moment but for a very long trip.
His inner pain returns and his invisible tears begin to drip.
In the form of flowing life
From his masculine wrist.
He wonders will he ever find love
As strong as this lust?
Will his inner pain allow him to generate trust?
Or will the pain cause his heart to erupt.
Leaving a more heartless being.
So when they want to know what happened
Just let them know
It was all an accident and
It was the muse that kissed the *********
And turned his inner pain into happiness.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
The Gods are dead: no longer do we bring
To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves!
Demeter’s child no more hath tithe of sheaves,
And in the noon the careless shepherds sing,
For Pan is dead, and all the wantoning
By secret glade and devious haunt is o’er:
Young Hylas seeks the water-springs no more;
Great Pan is dead, and Mary’s son is King.
And yet—perchance in this sea-tranced isle,
Chewing the bitter fruit of memory,
Some God lies hidden in the asphodel.
Ah Love! if such there be, then it were well
For us to fly his anger: nay, but see,
The leaves are stirring: let us watch awhile.
2.7k
Under the bridge, a once again
Tranced by the rhythm of a river
Chaos culminated to calm strains
Crucified and paraded in clarity
A push and I pushed deeper to sink
Your eyes lighted with a remedy
A redemption of persisting ache
A depth tucked and hidden in a mast
Unclaimed and reared, purely untainted
An essence delivered by a spirited past
Cocoon to a parameter of perception
A scent delicately brewed in aged truce
Under a bridge in a moment called now
Blocks scented with nitrogen spurred *****
A depart from the swan hypnotic dreams
A renegade of mottos, hollows of morrows
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 4:54 AM UTC
Redolent May sings,
lays of perplexing antique,
wooden rose flounders.
...
Fungi is in rout,
war of mushrooms is halted,
desolate treescape.
...
This is not a game,
the colours rest in spindles,
the flag is in truce.
...
Paragon of ice,
tractive glacier, no friction,
chronotropic death.
...
Scourged almighty sea,
symphonic ocean blasted,
tranced undertaking.
...
Mort, syphoned blood grass,
waving like entrails, flooded,
blood spins, grave now swims.
...
Gritty stagnant bole,
refurbished hybernation,
the scent come to play.
...
Reminiscent moon,
gather ye, encompassed light,
that we may know life
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC
My darling swells like the rivers of a sunset
Waiting for me
Hiding behind what is seen
Though no surprises seems to escalate
I am washed with bitter poison
Seen then from behind it all
Where she was waiting for me
No excuses left to supersede
Oh she liked to move
Tranced
Arms wailing in the back
And flailing out from behind her
-
Never will anything more
Sit down my soul
For a necessary lesson
On just what it's all about
-
She liked to move
To the commotion of fortune
My darling speaks
Blinding me from
All disconnection
In my ecstatic state
I leave a weary life to be
Behind me
As then we bleed
Color, dimension and new virtue
Into my open hands
Filling the gaps between my dreams
She staggers not
And I look past the world
again
I tremble
Stepping behind what is seen
Where she was waiting for me
I tremble
Stepping behind what is seen
Where she was waiting to free my soul
Oh I see the truth
Clear
Whole hearted in the face of it's elliptical reason
-
She liked to move
To the commotion of fortune
May I live life again
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Each smokestack tranced across the side of the rust colored Hall
As an ancient Chinese paper dragon
Bobbing and
Weaving
With feather pentatonic tea leaves
White and green
Silk and screen
Opaque paper culture
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
Mud icicles
half the cobblestone
and the neon fades and flares
Standing and pressing
muddy hands
against an invisible sphere
eyes shut, mind tranced
then we went wild
and pranced and danced
New powers
to see through the windows
the windows dirt washed off
gather energy
circular seduction
******** eruption
wet air tight suction
Gather round
absorb the new powers
we'll show you the way
Here is my first vision
Cannot beat the cruel summer heat
aching and throbbing
head to feet
enter the insomniacs rusted dream:
death maze, locked door
festered **** wounds
lookers on, rot haze
smell of maggots
and blistered flesh
****** man
Murders men
herded them
like swine to pen
hear another scream again
as you look for God
repent
repent
Clown Laugh
bodies hang
multi-murder
sadistic slaughter
in the stinky circus prison
Awake
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
The jig is up for us who know each dawn delivers
A renewed sense of dread, despair, disillusionment; another day in,
Day out slog, the persistent, insistent fear of, fill in the blank,
An absolute knowing in the end, nothing really matters.
A tranced-out going through the motions at a meaningless job,
The mechanical everything's fine exchange, the pasted on smiles,
The inevitable, "How ya doing, how's it going?",
Muttered absent mindedly on the work-a-day-rat-wheel.
One thought that saves the day; the ride home, the solace of
The burn of the ***** the quick numb out effect straight into the
Blood brain barrier without a hitch, the fear lifting, down into the dark Chamber of no real care and slowly, surely, relief arrives.
And deep inside this numb town, a desperado appears, calls the shots, Schmoozes slyly, "Hey compadre, give me your fear, and
I give you my self-righteous willfulness in return, and best of all,
I’ll deliver you your very own smothering mother of oblivion."
Awakened, head pound, brain fog, dry as a desert, need water now, And Like clockwork, a barely audible patient inner voice asks,
“Is this the really the life you want?” and without hesitation,
The regular repetitive retort, “Yup, one more day at a time.”
Aug 21, 2011
Aug 21, 2011 at 4:00 PM UTC
I live in tangerine dreams
Tripping on acid
with Lucy and her diamonds in the sky
Shh, listen as the vinyl is ripped backwards
Warped demonic voices echo through our tranced souls
We have all done it
Studio 54, New York City, 1971
Dancing half naked, sweat drenched men
Grinding upon every inch of their manhood
Lines of coke snorted off the mirror fueled by alcohol induced *** in the bathroom
We wanted to do it
But never had the *****
Never take this tangerine dream away from me
Let me eat the clouds, let it taste like cotton candy
Let it stick to my fingers , as I try to lick the sugar molecules off every one of my digits
I know everyone has done that
I hear Bowie in the background,
the spiders came from Mars
and ate my soul and it didn't hurt
Do you know The Man who sold the world?
I don't !!
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
A constancy of **** lies
Is their ****** disguise
Adamant their shadows to shun
Are blinded by a perfidious sun
Till these tranced beguiled abide
To His self-righteous "suicide"
Though the charges are absurd
Ne'er a word of inquiry heard
Before seditious truths emerge
They corral to sound His dirge
A puppet procession in a stream
Do they of electric sheep dream?
The invisible chains in silence stay
Until ascension sunders them some day
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
Endless static rattles my confined domain
home to voices familiar--
always unwelcome.
Prolonged imprisonment; desperation
yields these chains not of mass.
Mere figments they are.
Are the screens and their unintelligible,
motioned illusions abstract enough
to conjure a new image
to obsess over?
Nay, I remain tranced, ridden
in dismay. No fulfillment.
Every image I decipher
escapes with the last.
Will trickling like icicles
before summer's Sun.
Subject I forever am to
this sadistic therapy.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
Stygian shadows devour my fall:
Incarnadine structure the greatest of all!
I fathom this flesh by transgressions been moored
In depths of iniquity forevermore.
Dreams been hallowed in glistening chest:
Thought sanctity born to be laid to rest!
Clouds of soil drape the skies,
My chalice strewn in grave on high.
Shockwaves emitted from brain do rend
In soul conviction of celestial mend,
The thew of ebony phantoms draw
Blood from heartbeat left unthawed.
A parcel wayworn and torn by winds,
And by time: the fruitage of illusory sin!
In lungs my oxygen laced and maimed,
Tis’ miasma of youth impaled by pain.
Are pining for flight the days of yore
Into the horizon of virtue’s dawn.
Yet a specter reaps my holy days
Until incorporeal, for eternity shamed.
Yet is there hope for the soul accursed?
A susurrus spins a tale of mirth:
Though once incarcerated by dirges doom,
A melisma tranced a deluged moon.
Forlorn in the skies by nebulous stars,
Yet efflorescence cocoons that body marred.
Gravity transcended by a coronal soar,
Lightness abides at aethers door!
Prophecy of the cosmos exhales at last!
Rapture divined red-shift once masked!
O extol His radiance, O relinquish your souls!
That The Transcendental shall forge ye whole!
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
The sun sets on another day,
as I drink and smoke and waste away.
Ripples of light out on the Bay,
whisper to me and I hear them say.
*"All things end, rust and decay,
yet you sit and waste your day.
If the world were to end today,
of your life, what have you to say?
That you were sloth bringing others dismay
as you laid about and wasted away.
Think hard on these words I say,
A life can be renewed with May."*
When I awoke, previously tranced by the Bay
I left my room and threw my smokes away.
It's time I went out and got my life underway,
It's time I renewed my life with May.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
The story so far,
Is I have this guitar.
It won’t make me money
but it doesn't matter.
She calls me honey.
The history, O’ so much,
Is I have this pitch.
It won’t make me steady
but it keeps her tranced,
yes it’s romance.
Welcome back, back to your past.
The guy you didn’t date,
the story you hadn’t faked.
The dreams of your crush,
the relationships - you hadn’t rushed.
Her name strikes me odd,
Ironic that it gets me.
My love, she doesn’t see.
But it doesn’t matter
She calls me honey.
The catch, is she’s really pretty,
All the guys do see.
But she believes,
in my sweet trance,
Yes it’s romance.
Welcome back, back to your past,
The time on our first date,
you were fashionably late.
the way you completely blushed,
the friendships - you chose to flush.
The story so far,
Is now I am a star.
I make a lot of money
but it doesn’t matter
I am no longer her honey.
The history, O’ so much,
Is I had this hitch.
It made me steady,
conceited in a trance,
without romance.
Welcome back, back to your past.
To memories you wished to last.
Welcome back, back to your fate.
you were fashionably late.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
when love is involved
no one ever dies
we are revealed our true selves
prayers will always shine
holding on to each others lives
happiness, joy, and pride
magic moments happen when we least expect
anxious ,nervous, she fills my desire
begging her to fuel my fire
every taste quenches my lips
every touch a firework spectacle
for the senses purples, greens, reds
flood the air.
a ritual for her body
our love is a prism unmatched
unconsiensus from our exessant kissing
moaning becomes heavier
my **** quivering, oozing
the whole world hears her glass slipper shatter
our minds tranced and doused in euphoria
plethora of emotions storm through
his stealthy fingers
rode down her neck to her toes
so sensitive her breast
their life was complete
there was no defeat
her love and his honor
were all that they need
galloping faster
her hair in the breeze.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
Outside it was the same sight
Yellow light at a distance, infinite
Gazing as I sat tranced
Inbreathing an uncanny delight
Euphoric was the silence,
Quiet was the night,
And the skies proudly recounted
Tales of some morning exploits.
Shekhar Suman
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
We symbolize the mind as an art of power
the art we include must mystify souls
when our lips transcend out of our passion
time seems harder to live without that fire
the emplacement of what we hold so dear to us
is it as everlasting as the source
or just as fleeting as the energy we are so quick to obtain
only to move mountains.
If one thing is true
it is that lightning will crack it's deadly whip
revealing what we truly have inside.
What we thought was peace becomes another piece of life's jigsaw
pulling out jenga blocks from our mouths.
Tranced in confusion, and desire
the most skillful of men will dedicate work
so much as to not drop a bead of sweat upon their tunic.
Mysteries and artifacts are our true treasure
when we full understand their meaning
does that message mean immortality among mortals
with the skills of a god.
Light beaming on our faces
soaking the sun's energy is bliss in it's purest form.
Destruction could not conquer
for even it's dread knows better
to ****** a paradox of the omniscient.
So we remain patient,
we court ourselves with divine art of tracing auras
back to our infinite soul glazing in eternity
admiring the flares when there is no danger.
forfeiting is no option
there is always plenty to fight for
but none to dance with
when the fresh rain sings songs of sweet
cherubic children flying to the melody
god has truly blessed them with.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC
This combination
of obligation
And common sense
Has got me pacing
And wringing
My hands,
And I've been
Doing the dance
Of the permanently
Tranced
For far too long
To ever advance,
Or act like I'm strong,
So I guess
I'll swing, I'll sway,
Wave my hand,
Kick my leg,
But it won't be to music,
No,
Cuz there's just no song
For the land of the dead,
No background
Orchestration
For us here,
We just swing, and we sway,
To prevent the fear
From washing us away
From the face
Of the cosmic disarray
And down the grimy
Bathroom sink drain
In a toxic rain
Upon the roofs
Of clouds,
Where we gather
In crowds
And condense,
Like the people on the ground
But without the fences,
Who're eventually
Drowned
By the flood
Of colors and
Invigorated senses
In a sea of god's blood,
Like their religious
Romances
Explained that they would,
For if god is everything,
Including us,
Our bodies and brains,
Then god is made of water,
So when it rains
I'll give myself praise,
And the tiny drops
That fall from god's veins
Will remind me to stop
Dreaming of days
That have already gone away,
That argue "Walk this way"
"No. Walk this way,"
And I've got to say,
I can't walk at all,
My feet have somehow
Been replaced
By decades of fault
That have rooted
Me to this big blue ball
That's really not big,
But infinitely small,
And these minutes
Keep tocking
And my knees keep locking
While my feet keep ******* stalling,
And I'm mocking myself
As I feel myself falling
But I can't ******* stop
Enjoying the way
Everyone's eyes are rolling
As they watch the display
Of me falling
Flat on my face,
Where I'll lay
And grow mold
And feed bugs
And eventually decay,
All the while caught
In the gaze
Of a society
That pays
To be told
It's ok,
While lying prostrate
Next to me,
Rotting away
Just the same,
Trying to explain
By vomiting excuses
That aren't even good,
And it's to no gain
Since my face is
Buried deep in the mud
And I don't give a ****
Where society puts its blame,
I wish this putz
Could just
Stop being so lame
And rattling off names
That don't mean a thing to me
So I could be at peace
Here in the dirt
Where I'm sinking,
To emerge come spring
And bloom in
Full shame.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
I've sung with a siren,
And I learned that day,
The sea is as heavy,
and cold as the bay,
With wonders come many,
Those lost out at sea,
They don't know the troubles,
They think that they're free,
Till trouble comes singing,
They cheer and they shout,
"We've become great men with true freedom, no doubt",
From cheering to crying, now tranced and at ease,
They come in lured by the song, covered in peace,
They fall into waters, their ship is destroyed,
Restrained to no freedom, the sea will devoid,
Make feasts before sirens, assuming their might,
If only they were humble, they'd be alright,
Now left with the cold blue sea, gone by the night,
The more you control,
Then the weaker your sight.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
Back into your arms
is where I seem to be headed.
I know what I seek
is also to be dreaded.
Is it true this time?
'Cause I won't be fine
if you're just spitting off
yet another round of lines.
Though it seems ever real,
I could be naive...
would not be the first time
you just up and leave.
But that was on me,
what I didn't see
was I wasn't your puppet.
You're you and I'm me.
But here's to a chance,
yet another dance.
Boy, you got what it takes
to render me tranced.
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 3:11 AM UTC
Hey Baby. Long time no see.
She said leaning out the driver's side
what have you been up to ?
She said.
Hey lover.You have not changed said Vat 69
You still stay at the same place ?
Gene baby,why did you never call ?
she asked.
Just been caught up in the flow
said vat 69. The neon lights tranced me as I bent to kiss her upturned face.
Obsession wafted from her frame and carried me back to warm summer nights
of pure urban fairy tales and Grand Marnier. White powder and Vat 69.
Where you headed ? asked Vat 69.
Anywhere you want to take me replied obsession. My head spun.
Faster than Vat 69. But i could not spin back to that special time. New love beckoned.
So I kissed her goodbye and climbed into my ride. Two ships passing on a saturday night.
Oh what might have been. Her eyes filled to the brim.. my heart turned on a whim.
The engine flowed smoothly
Like Vat 69.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC