"undeciphered" poems
"O where are you going with your love-locks flowing,
On the west wind blowing along this valley track?"
"The downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye,
We shall escape the uphill by never turning back."
So they two went together in glowing August weather,
The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right;
And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float on
The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight.
"Oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven,
Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?"
"Oh, that's a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous,
An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt."
"Oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly,
Their scent comes rich and sickly?"--"A scaled and hooded worm."
"Oh, what's that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?"
"Oh, that's a thin dead body which waits the eternal term."
"Turn again, O my sweetest,--turn again, false and fleetest:
This beaten way thou beatest I fear is hell's own track."
"Nay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting:
This downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back."
2.1k
Egotist, the master of the ego mist
or some ego antagonist
he is so much there
in the center of a web
of regurgitated fears
recycling pointless
the old cycles of
night after day
life after chaos
but no death
after ego inflation
just a rusty song
of imprisoned moments
or undeciphered gnashing
all character is just the dust
you cannot grasp
grey ruminations
curses wiggling
in times devoid of innocence
the cruelty of a ****
refusing to wither
at the end of his cigarettes
a speck of self
is threading a stratagem
to severe the ties
for the ******* of distance
so that he can continue
uninterrupted
to mutilate his heart
no one can persuade the night
into whitening
like you clean your teeth
of curses
the rest is sadness
the dew would know it.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
The poison is in all of us:
Half-smoked cigarettes lay on the side of grainy gravel paths,
crinkly Dollarama bags and glass beer bottles.
We relax on trees
leaning
backs against the braille texture of bark
that tries to speak to us in a language we don’t understand.
We lean back and raise our faces
towards the sunlight dancing between
the leaves of the canopy,
listening to the tires
whizzing against concrete,
but think it similar to the smacking of waves against stones;
lean back and savour the syrupy smell of maple trees
against our tongues,
thinking to ourselves
how grateful we are for nature
as we sit in a paradise of tall trees
their branches intertwined in a space
smaller than bathroom stalls;
lean back and breathe in exhaust
and cigarette smoke masked
behind a layer of sweet antiperspirants
and coconut-scented shampoos
as the wind whips hair against your face.
We take peaceful naps against the undeciphered braille,
but the poison is in all of us
and one day this paradise will become
nothing.
A bed of dirt
blanketed by prickly store-bought
strips of grass.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
.
In whisper— shadow sings a song.
My call is joined within the hollows,
Only tiny dimpled crests of the sea,
My voice, for rains, round familiar As patch into tune of old shattering
Light. I search for love, sloe in slips
Thru ********* eyes, outcast beyond
And ghostly move into monumental
Futilities of unbearing, leery in flesh
Undeciphered. Make me one lattice
To bind the wind and mark shallows
Mine as I trudge into black, blue sun.
This song— I sing is for lost keeping,
Hear my hush as it breaks for darks—
And I shall love in box, buried, forgot,
Kept at one sight so grave, remaining
As smudge onto stone burnt in a dial
Etched by firing rays of timeless star,
Hear my song— whispers of shadow.
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC
As it's softly lit,
And an inhale as a breath of life,
With sparks so free and liberal,
Towards its middle point,
Joy and discoveries to be made,
Regrets washed away,
Contemplating the outer spheres,
And many more theories,
Or is it just the town,
Hiding its simple stance,
Under the layers of rainbow,
Is it a progress or mere desperation,
Light in a gray sand,
For when it's over,
It's but trash,
Under others' footing,
With incredible tales,
Misunderstood and undeciphered
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
.
In whisper— shadow sings a song.
My call is joined within the hollows,
Only tiny dimpled crests of the sea,
My voice is for rains, round familiar
As patch into tune of old shattering
Light. I search for love, sloe in slips
Thru ********* eyes, outcast beyond
And ghostly move into monumental
Futilities of unbearing, leery in flesh
Undeciphered. Make me one lattice
To bind the wind and mark shallows
Mine as I trudge into black, blue sun.
This song— I sing is for lost keeping,
Hear my hush as it breaks for darks—
And I shall love in box, buried, forgot,
Kept at one sight so grave, remaining
As smudge onto stone burnt in a dial
Etched by firing rays of timeless star,
Hear my song— whispers of shadow.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
Learning the way out.
in between feels like forever
you're darkyears away,
the antimatter
of vicarious personhood.
days crumble upside down
the pain had you butchered
only sparrows forget their stories in the sunset.
the mute carpets keep you company
still life with despair and an apple.
Jesus promised something
-undeciphered-
look at this fallen demigod
you’re a pile of fears
drying in the sun
and the night has no (w)holes to hide
a stuffed puppet
the true form -
unrecognized.
pain is almost a character
roaming inside
tramping blindly the remains of the day
making everything so sharp alive,
look
each cell has a voice
and you can’t open your eyes:
no space, no name
just a rotten apple
left over from yesterday.
no one came on the mute carpets
and the silence holds on
like a ghost of the future
language gets killed
yet the heartbeats
march on
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
In whisper— shadow sings a song.
My call is joined within the hollows,
Only tiny dimpled crests of the sea,
My voice, for rains, round familiar As patch into tune of old shattering
Light. I search for love, sloe in slips
Thru ********* eyes, outcast beyond
And ghostly move into monumental
Futilities of unbearing, leery in flesh
Undeciphered. Make me one lattice
To bind the wind and mark shallows
Mine as I trudge into black, blue sun.
This song— I sing is for lost keeping,
Hear my hush as it breaks for darks—
And I shall love in box, buried, forgot,
Kept at one sight so grave, remaining
As smudge onto stone burnt in a dial
Etched by firing rays of timeless star,
Hear my song— whispers of shadow.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
In whisper— shadow sings a song.
My call is joined within the hollows,
Only tiny dimpled crests of the sea,
My voice is for rains, round familiar
As patch into tune of old shattering
Light. I search for love, sloe in slips
Thru ********* eyes, outcast beyond
And ghostly move into monumental
Futilities of unbearing, leery in flesh
Undeciphered. Make me one lattice
To bind the wind and mark shallows
Mine as I trudge into black, blue sun.
This song— I sing is for lost keeping,
Hear my hush as it breaks for darks—
And I shall love in box, buried, forgot,
Kept at one sight so grave, remaining
As smudge onto stone burnt in a dial
Etched by firing rays of timeless star,
Hear my song— whispers of shadow.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
i was told the wind would tell me my name
that could not be spoken, so came the breeze
with secrets undeciphered through the trees
that one autumn of unheard of refrain.
but ever since that labyrinth opening
the walls have been moving and the winter
of eclipsed understanding will linger.
how briefly light comes, when you think of it—
what more could you need to transfigure a place?
the wind is coming from somewhere remarkably
far off to dance just a little with the curtain;
spring and it came all this way to caress a face.
we come from mystery and go back to mystery
and this alone we can say for certain.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 5:48 AM UTC
It is in a fold of the untold,
In a soliloquy full of rage on an empty stage,
In an instant photo that goes beyond,
In the wave that tunnels like a cave,
In a place that I couldn’t retrace,
In an undeciphered mark on the Lost Ark,
On a probe that disappears into the sky,
That hides the answer to why.
Or - this is nothing new -
Right Within You.
Feb 16, 2021
Feb 16, 2021 at 10:13 PM UTC
it has dawned
on me again
the time
i attempted
to be manipulated
by the caress
of your arms
down to the
pasty skin
of your legs—
i could sense you
no matter
where you go
you leave
a trail
for me
to follow
then suddenly
it just
came to me
this something
right turns out
to be
a whole lot
wrong
i was fooled
i became tethered—
my thoughts
my say
weren't considered
tough luck
to date
still undeciphered
disordered
and even
misheard
now
as i go back
into the verse
i remember
the first verse
it was me
all along who
attempted this
manipulation first—
and she just
quenched
my thirst
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
eyes have ears, ears have eyes
on self-absorbed nights
the tree of knowledge murmurs in my veins
and poems rush through me with their wild letters
I chase them away with a smile
I am smitten beyond illusions, delusions and other demons
by a 4 am wave, you know
by a 5 am undeciphered dream
by a 6 am reverie, by a letting go
oh, what a sweet incomprehension,
life´s creativity,
your hands anticipating mine
Dec 2, 2024
Dec 2, 2024 at 9:52 AM UTC
through the fog
the headlights of awareness
search for eyes approaching
maybe brown and bursting
dark skin hues
of continents unknown
i stand here
counting galaxies
in an endless sky
where your numbers
come up 33 times
through mystical forces
draw me down to earth
where i once planted a seed
to grow, reach and search
beyond all arcs of reason
and bring back meaning.
illusion still remains
undeciphered in the thirst
of waiting.
where are you?
who are you?
Author Notes
Mystical and metaphysical. The number 33 seems to pop up at unexpected places, dreams and people and I don't understand what that really means or why it is so. Someone will comment.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 16 days ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11571008-33-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.vDtOeybV.dpuf
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Chaos...the order undeciphered
Pain and pleasure
Our way of life
That tint we can't wash away
So hold not my hands
For physical touch is meaningless
Touch my soul,
See the colour within
Hold my heart
As you listen to it's stacatto rythm
Let me dwell in your gaze
Let our locks to sanity break loose
Follow my lead
As we go through our unchattered path
Guide my step...
Through this trail we hold dear
Fear not 'coz of the darkness,
For me and you...
In our silent convo
We shall make the dance
Our first dance to our world.
©Joy
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 2:52 PM UTC
*sie wann eingeben krähenschar,
sie lernen zu krächzen wie.*
brrrrrrp... rülpsen die blitz...
London en flammen... ähnlich:
hängend auf ihr meßerschmitt flügel:
zu total... liebe... unt: zement.
ja.
for some reason speaking vater deutsche
makes perfect sense to care for:
tochter englisch -
deine vater, mein tochter:
ist wenig volk diese tage.
unless i have some
undeciphered fetish
dealing with the movement of
people... m'eh... me as clueless
as you -
but i'll do the same unto you...
mein tochet...
funny how i can speak
very bad german and then return
to perfect english (unless you're
my Irish critic) and
perfect Polish (i have no critics
there, being an exile,
i'm technically non-existent).
but it was all about a proverb
an old Polish lady said:
if you go among the crows,
you must croak like a crow...
that didn't get me far...
the most painful expression encompassed
by Solomon...
certainty vanities really do
include crucifixes and iron maidens
to depose the king to grovel
in his self-erected care to ask for
wisdom and later keep a brothel...
because it can't be called a harem
once the king ages to 70...
the harem becomes the bordell,
no old walrus can compete;
but i like speaking careless german...
i just like the sound of it;
if i'm bound to move to Frankfurt,
i'll start reading die welt
and not write my own crass volkspreschen.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC