"transcriptions" poems
My living disposition leads me to assert that I am not dead!
Yet, my silence screams ancient transcriptions across geographical contour lines which are considered to be far removed from the metaphorical grid of contemporary societal norms, where the seductions of the vampyre and her haunting dynamics cast their eerie spells within this captivating fishbowl of galloping horses.
The Prince of Wallachia is able to explain.
Let us converse with The Count.
Whenever there is emphasis upon specific detail in this age of certain vanity, I find that, in 1456, I am truly bereft of valedictorian and flamenco odours, because this royal prince of acoustic arrangement has generated a harmonious expression which humbly corrects my intrapersonal assumptions across the mountainous regions of Transylvania.
Conflict resolution is therefore a mere figment of sociological and anthropological constructs, which fornicate with the façade of egocentrism and fabricates vain attempts to maintain social elitism within a blanket of darkness.
How do we find ourselves in the position of being so diametrically opposed to reality?
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
diamonds and navy strung together by a row of brass buttons trailing up your chest;
your flesh is the night sky,
and i...
have always been a clumsy astronomer.
tumbling through the footnotes of books i pretend to have read-
searching for applicable knowledge and definitions that at least begin to pay you homage.
blissful in the sun beams and sullen in sudden rain-storms...
though,
you glow,
regardless of the natural disaster trailing in the wake of jet-streams out your window.
you translate the smoke signals trailing from the tails of our cigarettes,
and the morse-code transcriptions of my off-beat heart.
such a beautiful transistor of the divine gift of speech.
such a handsome mystic.
make me magic-
paint me natural...
leave me stranded in your starlight.
a tidal metronome to my unsteady pulse,
composing arrhythmia's barefoot in the night.
tap-dance with me in the graves we're digging deeper with every passing instant.
in comparison,
this could be penned a bad decision,
but those seem to be the only kind that the creatively maladjusted are ever capable of making.
perhaps we're cliche...
but the only person i care to find in a crowd is you,
and you stick out like the sore arm of a spiraling universe.
pearls and coal grey strung together by a row of silver buttons trailing up your chest;
your flesh is the night sky,
and i...
have always been a clumsy astronomer.
let me study your pulse through a fogging telescopes lens.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 2:21 AM UTC
to decipher what we are
encrypted transcriptions
in morrow's restriction
tangible redundancy
that is what we are
we run to eat
and eat to keep
this impeccable brilliance
the vision gone wary
horizons too narrow to rise
intelligence naught for
what is missed
skyscrapers and holy rollers
roaming our cliffs today
as we devour electricity
to generate more
stupidity
a never ending finish
I wish to seize
our incredible neglect seethes
in our oceans and trees
try to decipher what we are
we are all drifting apart
we are nothing
but tangible redundancy
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
As the seamless transcriptions
of atoms are read through
the ears...the eyes of their
needles empty silent surf.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
Where words flow from the river of the mind like smooth rocks that fit perfectly in their beds, chiseled by the stream for a thousand years.
Where phrases fall from the sky in perfect and coherent mosaics of shadow colours between beams of murderous sunshine.
Where the beauty of a million lilies coalesce into one unbreakable leaf of immense colour and depth.
Where everything that falls, grows or flows cohere in the choir of the great magnet and its whims.
Where verbatim transcriptions of concepts are prevalent
This is where I wish to spend my time.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
it's a brown paper bag poetry kind of day --
one of those with multitudes of foggy fleeting
passive agressive hypotheticals
and I realize, that all I have to share
are half-assed transcriptions
of an intangible boredom
only born of a self-inflicted state of stagnation
this isn't a poem.
but my guess is that you're
indifferent anyway
my guess is that the words are
flowing through you
passing right through
no time to sink in
no, people like me
thoughts like mine
they're so tired
used up -- old news
no, we don't stick
you'll forget soon enough
what it is that brought you here
to this place
of tired hypotheticals
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 4:23 AM UTC
I slither across the tightrope between
"people person" and Socratically suicidal.
Nobody has ever translated their transcriptions
But I,
Somehow am allowed to bleed them into ink,
page after page waiting
to dry myself up and ring myself out.
We are nothing but ***** washcloths,
each emotion a bead of soiled
aquatic excrement.
Will I ever accept myself as a
rag?
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 7:01 PM UTC
Contrast of the city's hopeless depression & ******** nonsense
overload of dead ends and fear
Serenity and perfection of nature
where a man can truly be free of conditioning
How proud & humbling to climb a mountain and earn it's view
Vision of glacier paths & Arapahoe eagle feathers for battle
Smell of ***** snaking through the *** **** seared meat and water
Pines and boulders uniquely arrange a path for me
Blisters & stones & cactus flowers
From skid row to luxury & back again
Peasants, princes & kings
worlds of people & things
1500 miles from home
They're building up the city
scouting new territory
Dreams of friendship and romance
as I die many peaceful deaths on the riverbank
cockroaches & needles
mountain rain drizzles on the pines
The wind howls might of god through the valley & sculpted peaks
Someone assures me of the presence of the Combine
An insect sees only what he needs to
A man sees whatever he wants
Something is here
The mountains play mysterious games
Tricks, illusions
One might feel trapped
100 years is not long
10 years is a lifetime
One can learn about nearly everything from looking at a river
I am filled with desire
Now I am completely empty
It is quite obviously unknowable
I am dissolved into it's substance
I am possessed with unconscious fears
I wake up unsure of my mind
The body is strong, god bless it
We are perfect beings
There are infinite realities
We make our own worlds & hells
All is safe in God's hands
Effort is required in the dance
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
We're trouble
You--and-I
She spoke loudly, As the plants watched her cry.
It was leather bound-borderless
-Transcriptions, I told you secretly.
As ataxia spread to bones,
Belonging-
To reflections of invisible limbs.
Goosebumps spoke blasphemy
And nobody knows,
Why--
So we paused; inadvertently denying
Each other's breath-
In this dogma of dreams
Bred tectonic tidal locks
In all imaginings.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 9:22 PM UTC