"uninterpretable" poems

Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold… May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance, unsought, unheard, undreamt: JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ ! ☻

0

Sep 10, 2015

Sep 10, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC

connecthook

Ω Gothic Postcard Ω

Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold… May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance, unsought, unheard, undreamt: JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ ! ☻

5

La vie en rose Like the hard junctions cracked La vie en rose Like the lines drawn, exact La vie en rose A color not enough La vie en rose A touch is far from tough La vie en rose A uninterpretable sound La vie en rose Some words both not and very profound La vie en rose A slight of hand La vie en rose Is my demand

0

Dec 8, 2018

Dec 8, 2018 at 6:35 PM UTC

josephinek

LA VIE EN ROSE

La vie en rose Like the hard junctions cracked La vie en rose Like the lines drawn, exact La vie en rose A color not enough La vie en rose A touch is far from tough La vie en rose A uninterpretable sound La vie en rose Some words both not and very profound La vie en rose A slight of hand La vie en rose Is my demand

16

Grey fine lines, intoxicating fine wines, uninterpretable fine arts, tiresome finance, with unjust fines, ...fine, I'm doing just fine. O.Q-N

0

Jan 12, 2015

Jan 12, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC

obasi-quartey-ngwube

Fine

Grey fine lines, intoxicating fine wines, uninterpretable fine arts, tiresome finance, with unjust fines, ...fine, I'm doing just fine. O.Q-N

8

Inspiration can be hidden, Search your whole life for more, Then in other weird moments, It comes knock on your door Not invited, Desired, Ordered, Or planned, But here it is lying in the palm of your hand And sometimes it's still blurry, Like an empty gold map, It's value is there, But directions - their crap! Still directionless, Meaningless, Uninterpretable, Trash, But it still lights your face up like a bag full of cash. So In trying to use it, So it won't go to waste, I thought writing a poem, Would decipher without haste. But the meanings still lost, and all I can say, Is the joy that it brings can come back any day, But, if you look like directions, please, lead a way. Tell me, what would you build with a random lump of clay?

0

Nov 18, 2014

Nov 18, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC

steaphan-markotanyby

Spur of the Moment

Inspiration can be hidden, Search your whole life for more, Then in other weird moments, It comes knock on your door Not invited, Desired, Ordered, Or planned, But here it is lying in the palm of your hand And sometimes it's still blurry, Like an empty gold map, It's value is there, But directions - their crap! Still directionless, Meaningless, Uninterpretable, Trash, But it still lights your face up like a bag full of cash. So In trying to use it, So it won't go to waste, I thought writing a poem, Would decipher without haste. But the meanings still lost, and all I can say, Is the joy that it brings can come back any day, But, if you look like directions, please, lead a way. Tell me, what would you build with a random lump of clay?

26

Transcribing my emptiness, like emulating an ape― to study the anatomy― of a scar. There was a brutal assult. Uninterpretable was the ink, like the blood spilled after the vein collapsed. An egg within an egg would change the gender of a name. A different money was needed to appease the god. The skin-sperms, and the cut flowers. Times have changed. I cannot fly like you. I would write an ode to the nightimglae.

0

Sep 16, 2016

Sep 16, 2016 at 12:29 AM UTC

satsih-verma

Something Different

Transcribing my emptiness, like emulating an ape― to study the anatomy― of a scar. There was a brutal assult. Uninterpretable was the ink, like the blood spilled after the vein collapsed. An egg within an egg would change the gender of a name. A different money was needed to appease the god. The skin-sperms, and the cut flowers. Times have changed. I cannot fly like you. I would write an ode to the nightimglae.

16