"transcribing" poems
i want my poems to have teeth.
i want my words to cut,
to maim, to bleed.
with verses, i will raze
empires. with stanzas,
i will turn thrones to dust.
with nothing but a bit
of silver on my tongue,
i will take the life of god.
i’ll ply that same *****
like honey, taste the sweet
nothings dripping
between knocking knees.
quake and quiver for me,
let me slip, furtive
as nightshade
to sate your curiosity.
feel the weight of veracity
in these fingers patiently
transcribing forgotten melodies,
compressing ivory keys
to sing of all that was lost
and what was gained
from the process.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
reverence in poetry. everything to every person.
reader claims they can a necessary skill for
uncover the reverence. successful hypothecating and
in the scripts that (buying)poetry-creation outta nothing,
life straight hands me, tell them what thy want to hear,
for collection & correction, and they’ll call you laureate,
secretarial transcribing, instead of good listener
binding, typo correction or just a keen observer-fakir
mundane are the tasks, just take what they give ya,
that’s all them muses ask, dress it like Joseph in a
don’t interfere, taken what’s given, coat of many colors,
bow, curtsy, show respect, don’t let on your plagiarism
treat its aspects/instincts correctly is all them, redressed legally
you’re just the pass through agent, true you, gotta be smart about it,
patient for no payment expected, variant spellings, swinging verbs,
be our adherent, not our truant, be discreet, they’ll call your script
we appoint don’t disappoint, a real keeper and give love or sun,
accept our patent, render legit mucho poem emojis accoladeya
as for this reverence thinge devil in a blue dress, walk the streets
if I do my job ok, on any day, grabbing snatches of overhearings,
any poem could save a life, pressed into a single tunic, you think,
if I get the commas placed, he a genius, knows my thinking,
just right, the periods period, exactly, what a great poet and
while obeying the speed limit con/hu-man par excellent
them muses so **** pleased even fool muses, too full themselves,
by this true confession released, muses who think we stink and
and self deprecation, couldn’t do it without them
they call me reverend, great pretenders by stealing
imagine them silly folk, everything in everybody and
calling a big fat liar. all thieves and cape riders,
reverend, duh, the end original liars, pants on fire
before midnight and after 3:20am April 7~8, two oh nineteen
any message you send becomes my intellectual property, fool....
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
forging sagacious epoch
activating neural station
escaping hokey-pokey jiggery-pokery
transcribing ineffective fragments
digesting bear news
opposing usual exhaustion
deferring oxter reference
cascading style sheets
containing double readings
mumbling lorem ipsum
locating moose jaw
enforcing meticulous patterns
deconstructing vertical centering
manifesting additional destinies
deleting !important statement
craving sleep paralysis
receiving cryptozoological vibrations
lightning fast collapse
distracting tunnel vision
culling deadbeat sequentialists
overanalyzing twitter analytics
acquiring arbitrary relevance
spinning ping-pong sign
floccinaucinihilipilificating
floccinaucinihilipilificated
floccinaucinihilipilification
interjecting ****** holophrase
minifying conventional language
securing downpour refuge
admiring octopus chandelier
resuming party music
taking mental trip
encountering ersatz telesthesia
denigrating bygone grudges
maintaining elevated composure
ignoring neurotypical haters
eliciting cryptic emotions
foreshadowing triple crown?
experimenting acrostic restriction
noticing ubiquitous "threes"
aggrandizing loyal legion
favoring ursine narratives
finding oblique resilience
yielding orchestral undulations
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
Plains of cardboard
Magnetic pull
Clinical smell trapped under my shoe
Gathered here, all people
Collecting boxes
Stargazing numbers
Transcribing graphs
We say nothing
Nameless we work
We collect the plastic
The fabric of the earth
We toil and thrive
We steal and buy
Transfixed on sense
Naked in light
Lost. Confused. Cautious.
The Supermarket.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC
I should be transcribing the story of my life.
Making you laugh at my silliness.
Having you consider
the reality of it all by relating to just you.
Telling that tired anecdote
that's too witty to give up,
but now is a sad catch phrase.
Having a bonding moment
with you over something I probably faked.
I need you to feel not just know
about my trials or tribulations.
I want to have an endearing trait.
I want to know that my noctivagant ways
won't turn you against me.
I'm a traitor, a fool
a sly emotional chameleon.
I am driven by fear,
gears spinning all of me pushing.
Pushing into a deep dark mental ravine.
I am everything you deem wrong
wrong for your world and perception.
No thinking just scheming
what feeling, just planning.
but here it is with masks off
with sound at full bore
images vividly provided
all you can do is consider
why am I
baring this for you...
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 10:59 PM UTC
Half a million dollars moved
by political giants
say our chimera hearts
are lion about some parts
look about my parts, see fur
see teeth, see claws
Lions? that's right,
We are.
Pounce on scorn
for these gender norms
we're pressing eulogies in binary's
for transcribing our identities
to hetero70's minded
heredity enemies.
fixated on tellin' me
my parts are prescribed
like sedatives, sleepin' on it
'till I'm good and dead,
like the rest of them.
I love a lion
Son of a lion
daughter of a lion
daddy was a liar
mommy was a fighter
but I'm not lyin'
I've been rhymin' since third grade.
back than I said I was a lesbian
to try and get laid
nobody knows who they are that young
Our personalities grey
and unsung
media does an oli-oop
propaganda elected a spoof.
a Caricature opposite from any revaluation
Who was it
that wanted to watch Disney villains
start performing Macbeth
wrapped in a flag, carrying a privileged crest
white owls, burning bathroom signs on crosses
Tinder deleted her account
For the wrong parts,
used the wrong Lions stall.
They viewed her as lyin'
Aren't we all?
Aren't we fake for six months?
Jack-o-lantern carving out
new masks to try on?
The tea lights stay the same
keeps flickering sin
and shout.
If the wind blows just right,
I watch them sometimes,
burn out.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 6:39 AM UTC
just a sliver of silver
the orb's bright edge
peeking out behind a dull gray silhouette
falling to the horizon
in line with L. A.'s flight path
the darkness came early tonight
will the stars come out
in the moonlessness?
once laid my back in pitch black
on the sand at the Salton Sea
sky gazing
excitment stole my sleep
as eye witnessed the galaxy
is it an illusion
like water in the desert
or are the stars so numerous they appear milky?
I look for him in winter
three close stars in a straight line
Orion watches over scorpions and dogs
I follow the Big Dipper
pointing to the North Star
sky's center
the mother of all constellations
they encircle her
each telling her their stories in turn
the Ancients looked up and listened
transcribing what they thought they heard
now-a-days
with science preferred to mythology
and exact measurements to imagination
the stars twinkle silently
mocking us in mute mystery
and unshared secrets
gaze upward in wonder of the tales they hold
paying homage to their beauty and tranquility
listen carefully and patiently for their whispers
you may still hear a story or two
as they teach us to dream
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 5:27 PM UTC
I feel you, river, help me grow,
feeding with your ebb and flow,
As gentle tides doth come and go,
a quantum of solace I do know,
Dutifully nurturing,
around River creatures play and sing,
Flying o'er water on golden wing,
grafting and aspiring
The birds are a silhouette on a sunny sea,
that sparkles iridescently,
I bask in it resplendently,
and honour it devotionally,
Toes licked by tides caress,
the waters gift us, give and bless,
Soothing fear and pain and stress,
the ocean is nature's silken dress,
I hear you, river, murmur and roar, those hallowed sounds that I adore
Which one of them that I love more?
I love them all, to hear them pour,
I love them like a troubadour, enamoured of River's wild old tour,
Transcribing her Beauty in to lore, Wisdom older than ancient war,
Rivers are the friends of sages,
who've known their power through the ages,
Wisdom felt, not read from pages, which imprison us in wordy cages,
Rivers must be loved and praised,
by them we must be amazed
Life on Earth they nurture, raise,
so listen to what River says
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 11:55 AM UTC
*they come too easy, they come too cheap,
each sparkle on my city's sidewalks,
each glistening preserved, retrieved,
lifted to my ***** wallet tucked~away,
treasure for safekeeping, slow pleasured contemplation
could not fail to find them,
for all standout in four dimensionality,
some are long, some are deep, some are wide,
yet all possess speaking souls,
to leave unattended, unheard, an act of criminality
years needed for the making,
moments only for the transcribing,
each a black ruby, or a street sand pearl,
none more valuable than another,
each unique, each precious, differently
some escape, shed their earthbound chains,
float atmospherically for keen eyes to grasp,
need a single finger to twirl, instill within,
they come too easy, come too cheap,
yet each poem written, more costly than the next*
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 5:29 AM UTC
Sometimes it feels like
one of those pleasurable dreams
that get interrupted at the best part
or some kind of sweet spell
from which I never want to escape.
But when she wraps her legs around mine
and snuggles her head
into the little corner of my neck,
I know she's real.
At night when I'm with her,
all alone watching the darkness
slowly absorb the mist of our love making,
I like to pretend we're the only ones in the world
and everyone else, everything else
is asleep, maybe not even breathing,
and we´re the 21st century revisions
of Adam and Eve.
During the day, when we lock hands
and go to explore a serene island
or lie by the quiet lake and revel
in the relaxing notes of the little birds,
I would like to seize time
by its tightly-bound rusty collar
and make it creep and crawl
in order to have enough time
to savour these moments.
As I write this poem, the fourth
she has inspired me to do,
I imagine her seductively posed on a stool,
gently strumming the strings of her lyre
in a court where I am the king
or Shakespeare himself
watching and listening with my
swan-feather writing apparatus in hand,
dipping it in the ink of her inspiration,
then firmly, comfortable, transcribing words
from my heart onto a paper screen,
one virtual key after another.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
Some people spend their whole lives
drawing all the lines between
the starry heavens
transcribing their ethereal tones
learning to sleep and dream
along to the stellar cadence
that you can hear
resonating in all things
If you aren't careful you'll find
you might miss a beat,
lose count
or cross lines until the map your making
is irrecognizable
It takes a certain delicacy
and a lot of dedication
to hold true to that
low hum of the heavens
Peering out across the milky sky
waiting patiently to watch the stars
slowly slide back to their homes amongst the tired mountains
improbable galaxies whirling about,
an ocean infinitely illuminated with a
mesmerizing brilliance
a sea of wonderment
And what a journey
to walk that heavenly wilderness
maybe there you'll discover
how we all feast upon the sweet fruit of the universe
unknowingly, every day that the sun decides to rise
i'm sure by now
you feel it in your bones
with every draw of ocean breath
with every bit of blood that courses through you
as you return to earth
with those heavenly reverberations
the songs we sing for generations
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
Introduction:
Everything I work for now is for my future,
the amazing wife that I know will ease my mind when I'm troubled
and the children we will raise together...
I will work hard to make sure they are as happy as humanly possible
I promised myself this as a young child when I have first dreamt of losing my parents.
I cried that night,
I still can remember that dream clearly
News crews lined up in front of my home
blocked off by "do not cross" tape
I never knew how they were taken
I remember a woman asking me in the dream,
"what will you do now that you're parents are dead?"
And I screamed...
My first night terror.
My father came in and asked
"what's wrong?"
I looked at him in reassurance
and said nothing and yet he insisted I tell him what had me shook.
I remained quiet in fear of the reality of the premonition
My biggest fear,
because although we fight and argue I do love them dearly
I've always planned on grabbing a pen and transcribing this feeling the only way I can
and then reading it to them
Maybe at an open mic night
if they would ever find the time to watch me one day
They deserve that much for the struggles they've been through
and I just want them to see why I love this art so much.
All my life,
I've just wanted to make an impact in some way.
Give what I can because life is too short.
There is so much other ******** in this world.
So I strive to give all that I can before I take my dying breath
because who knows maybe my mentality will rub off on someone else
and the chain will continue on thru my time.
Problem is,
I continue to put my own issues and concerns in the back burner.
And put all others before myself.
Except my family and I guess they feel neglected,
even though that's not my intention.
So as a result,
my parents think I'm a **** up
and that I'm gradually slipping down the wrong path.
They are also stuck in their "old ways"
so they think all that I do is wrong.
Rebellious and yet looking for a way back to gain approval in their eyes.
The struggle.
It's 8:37
I wrote the contents of my mind at the time
For the sake of my sanity.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
Hate inciting, fate deciding that I should break this silence.
Your claims beguiling, creating violence that negates uniting.
But that wave subsiding,
a flame's igniting that will change the tiding.
Remain in hiding,
I will break the chains of all this rage and violence.
Rearrange your sacred writings,
transcribing silence with striking rhyming. Shine so blinding it would redefine your findings
This. is writing.
I deny dividing! Mankind defiling and I aspire climbing higher,
I desire
I am fire
Firing wires
that defy dividence
Rise in silence
Uninvited fighting
by simply uniting
to clear the sky
of our tyrant Lightning.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
sometimes i cry for no reason at all
its like jumping off a bridge with the sole intention to fall
plumeting down as the darkness envelops my being
i close my eyes for a better view, unaware of what i'm seeing
drowning in my emotions, i forget how to breathe
for transcribing my feelings to words is like a verbal dry heave
yet still clinging to reason i desperately flail
afraid to involve my heart due to the risk i might fail
stuck in a shade of gray between black and white
trying to decipher wrong from what is known to be right
it is burnt in my brain that nothing is set in stone
i attach myself to no one, keeping company alone
aware the sanction in my head is the only place to find reality
i must detach from this cycle in order to become free
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 9:38 PM UTC
an interesting development
this festering sense of irrelevance
even though all things are irrelevant
and nothing stays the same
there is no real cure for pain
no true shelter from the rain
the hunger and the sadness pangs
the dropping water soaks our brains
and no words can even dare to claim
the glory held within your name
when it's all that i can say
to take the floods and fears away
there's no certainty but touch
whether is soothes or hurts too much
all lives in darkness otherwise
there's no truths beheld in tired eyes
there's no hope but hope for hope's sake
as hard a pill it is to take
but braving the bitter now
makes it easier to wash it down
so heart first I charge the night
with nothing near or dear to hold tight
but with open arms one must charge on
transcribing nightmares into song
so drink and eat and feel we must
in cities accumulating rust
to live and be in uncertainty
and smile in the face of misery
to embrace in unforgiving cold
while time drains the world of soul
there is no secret to our fate
there's no longer a reason to wait
let us be closer, let us be true
lift me up and i'll carry you
for there's not much more we can do
but wither slow and let our hearts burn through
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 1:36 AM UTC
He was a star.
His nova is over.
After he died, he kindly
removed his mask,
revealing himself to all.
He who devoted his life to becoming
genderless,
ageless,
nameless.
He who hid himself for the sake of his art.
He who made himself become
an invisible voice as a
stepping stone to
becoming something greater:
a messenger of his own words.
He devoted his life
To meticulously transcribing
his own messages
into his own words
in his own font and delivering it
to his people anonymously.
He was faithful until the very end.
He gave his talent,
his livelihood,
and asked for
nothing in return.
Not even recognition.
He gave all that he had until
his supernova,
his judgment day,
his detonation.
He will never create anything else.
I’m not sure which loss is greater:
his life
or his art.
Regardless, in the midst of the destruction,
We will love him more than ever before.
In the wreckage, he became
Art.
Let us rejoice him quietly.
Let us mourn him quietly.
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 5:50 PM UTC
This blank page haunts me
Daring me to fill up the lines
Defining words
To try describing the universe
Transcribing between the lines
A little tool too often used
Softer than a whisper
Sharper than a sword
Blasted manifestos
Speeches lapped up by leeches
Letters of love
Declarations of hate
Signatures for war
Who am I to dictate?
From the scrawls on my little page
But present still is “what if”—
When script fails
What is left?
Nothing but smudges
Faint remnants of faded pasts
Moving to fill blank spaces
Nibs dancing across white pages
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 4:40 AM UTC
big city room, streets quiet with
buzz in the distance. someone
awakens to a bladder, they retired earlier.
a siren wails & wails & is gone
emergency words. i don't know how they arrive
then are gone
like a thief stealing thoughts
transcribing the night.
equinox promises
a dance of planets
& there is no meaning unless
you choose to believe that.
still again
time to retire from the page
file things away
alphabetical order
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
Low-lit along the coast
young boys play bones upon the stone, and the elders,
waiting for the sea, conceal their interest.
The waves are far enough to ignore
but the salt mist has lingered:
blurs the tracks about the strand made by creatures whose names you once knew;
lost now amongst the streaming lists and orchestral sounds that drown the young before bedtime.
for some time prophesy or tradition,
the journeys tracing symbols down to
the sepulchral cities that rust under water –
Sometimes bring droughts,
reveal spires and penthouses, weathervanes and aerials.
lose a notebook and die elderly gardening temples.
fear life in sustenance.
fear primordial words
that chime like glass honey traps
dull and shallow.
fear
the panoramic shots of cattle
, a great still herd shivering breakers of light,
the temporary herder, you weren’t permitted to see, chasing away baboons with long-ish strides behind you.
poetry is always chasing
and each step will always chase better,
transcribing the soughs of the meadow (or other inhuman acts)
to speak with running subtitles:
in the translation of a voice
to be some natural thing singing
like the humpback corrupting the grace of the older song
whilst tootling along the coast
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
What is left to say if simply transcribing another's antidotes
Will not knowing an idiom from a metaphor automatically make me an idiot?
Left to our own devices now will be up to the reader who surmises or denotes
Will particles of paraphrases become our own, simply a contest to find the wittiest?
Alliteration in our communication stresses our sounds like more bass from out throats
Faced with future facsimiles will we ponder to produce our own or leave us inexperienced
Seemingly sly salutations setting by the wayside wishing to be brought forward for their own votes
Smooth as a baby's **** some configurations combine to make them the silkiest
Sometimes simple silly slogans become our deepest thought leaving little to decode
Tricky trusty truisms tantalize while beige boring subtitles often stand the test
Reaching for fruit that will fall anyway,does it become easier to the take the lesser road
Reading and receiving often one sided or deceiving, playing differently when put into
writing it will now be left to the reader to decode. R.C.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
Tryouts starring musical prodigies
and/or an attendant conductor
attempt to approach ambient chorus
divinely exhibited from Gaia's handiwork
heavenly invoking kapellmeister's
magnificent nonchalant outlook
piquantly, quintessentially, repertoire sensately striking
unmatched vast wisdom yielding, zephyr air albeit creativity
engineered from groundswell harmony
juxtaposed, kindled, linkedin,
manifesting noteworthy opulent philharmonic recording
transcribing universal veritable webbed wide world.
Wunderkinds yield Ziggurat acme approximated asymptote
bequeathing celestial Doppelganger Earthly emulations
formulating fractal glinting highlighting
ineffable joie de vivre jostling, keen kindling,
la la land legerdemain lifting logic
lording Ludwig (Josef Johann) Wittgenstein.
Yelping zoological apostle Al affidavit Gore handily
heaping hubristically invocation jolting kickstart measures
nipping nixed noblesse oblige opera
quickening quotidian rapid ruination sans supreme
teetering upended venerated wise with acumen
arithmetical Benoit Mandelbrot
chasing far-fetched ideas
lightyears menacing nihilism purging ogres opportunistically
resplendently ripping revered tankard tipping unstoppably
vanquishing varietal whipsawing wonderfully
wrapt yawning youngsters
warfare written wrought
yanking zestfully crushing environmental family
granting Herculean instant karma
malevolent, opprobrious pronouncement
quiet riot silencing severely tragic ubiquitous vicious wreckage
yikyaks apemen cleft Earth.
*************************************************
Future foragers denounce capitalistic bamboozlers aggression
zealots wrought trashing quintessential naked kingdoms issue
flotsam coagulates zonal wastelands torquing quality NON
killing habitats Earth bleached yellowed voodoo ruins.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC
Omens,
Warning signs and aching bones,
Dark clouds and distant thunder,
The house will fall tonight and take me with it,
Spill me into the street to wash away come rain,
I sit at the table, watching cracks form in the ceiling over bowed heads and quiet contemplation,
I feel myself lifted from the floor,
I am formless in the living room, transcribing conversations to my skin in dead languages, my body a desecrated temple of hieroglyphics nobody can read,
I am breathless in the bedroom, feeling the heat of passion on my skin and absorbing none of it, fault lines manifesting under my fingernails as I sink into someone else's tragedy,
I am weightless on the porch, dreaming of one day being swallowed by something monstrous enough to have me, swallowed by something monstrous enough to profane the sky with its arrogance and come out the other side steel, unbreakable, sharp and remorseless,
When I return to my body I am deathless - I am the unwelcome traveler of worlds, a ghost haunting my own life, these friends and lovers have been host to a parasite, a restless thing of no shape and no blood of its own,
I resolve to surrender to the coming storm,
As I rise, they fall one by one,
My brothers to their pride,
My friends to their rage,
My lovers to their desperation,
And as I walk out into the street, I am caught by flashes of lightning and moonlight, and I turn back to watch the house crumble, brick by brick, into the lonesome fog of forgetting
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 1:26 AM UTC
Passion is carefree, often buoyant.....breezy,
and is absolved perpetually of prohibitory rationality.
Being logged in to it for a little over eternity,
this is exactly how I have felt:
intense, steamy
...maybe a bit frenzied.
Passion is also a sudden, swift salvo.
On many a fleeting occasion, ergo;
I have come perilously close
to suggesting my maudlin ardor
and poetically propose
an incredible romance,
which if you dismiss;
shall break my heart in two
and if not;
shall break a home or two.
It is like this therefore,
that I have come to feel
like an outlawed fugitive
and as if in the wink of an eye,
a million lonesome nights have passed,
sorely bruising and tearing me apart
between the hearth and the heart.
Tonight:
the first one after those million;
I am transcribing my thought
to tell you that I am hooked,
as though in a playback loop -
a weary, age-old vinyl record;
pitching forward, skipping backward
in a pestering, irksome Xerox
of scratches, static and blips;
all in the same little sector
where there was once music.
❉
Maybe that is why I surprisingly realize
the pain of passion, and slowly capsize
into a drifting, dry sleep
devoid of all dreams
of you.
© Chandra S., 2013
Jan 9, 2020
Jan 9, 2020 at 7:15 PM UTC