Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)


Our desolate, far-flung city
hung as endless and true as a corpse,
with its pitiful ruins lit dim with a hue
and shaded by a still and eternal blue moon.
All days remained as night
as all my veins were drained
inside of our ancient cemetery
of crazed adoration and theft.

My love and I, we catch such tired eyes
as she marches long and soldier-like
through the hard lines of men, or machines
I cannot tell the difference.

This cruel indifference, in the days of my youth,
was the one thing out of all which I could not bare,
and so I grabbed her hand before it dared to fade.
I kissed its poor and lovely back in a wanton glory,
and then the blood began to draw.

First it came in sparse, trickled beads through her tiny pours.
Then in a thickening, red flood of deep rose
that emerged from out of her dainty little fingers and wrists,
spilling out with a sickening sound upon the cobblestone night
and upon my weary naked feet.

The city ground was fed and satisfied with our gift,
and from there the broken things beneath would begin to grow.
My soul was without a dam to break, or to hold
the slow flood of my own horrified heart
from those cold, and endless streets.

Such was the life,
lit by the mocking blue of our eternal moon
as it shone true and forever upon my scarred back.
I walked out my years amongst the trash cars
the filthy casket bars, and the tombstone alleys,
with my ears echoing mad with piercing screams
of crazed souls howling into the depths.
This cruel, primitive metropolitan war waged on
and we came to don perfect suits of broken bottle
and sinful, rusty tin for our new skins.

Time then ran with the jet plane,
with the faint streak of a lonely comet,
far above our little beds and the prayers never said,
far and farther beyond the expectations of our scaled minds.
Like magic, the wrinkles and folds encased our shells,
and my mistress of life, she would smile so vicious,
the paint flaking in course stabs from her stone cheeks.
Skin and bones we were as we made sorrowful love,
starved and dreary, decadent but strong,
hanging bleak and solemn, bitterly wise in our place
within that eternal blue after-glow,
of a lost planet which we determined as but a ghost.

Without any guilty intent, or foolish hindrance
without any resistance to fate and its inevitable wing,
we fell lightly and relieved into death's eternal good sleep
with smiles jointly from ear to ear upon the ancient cemetery plain.
Happier than the wine of our best years,
bolder than the lions of our dreamy Serengeti,
we fell deep from our broken city of crazed adoration and theft,
fading from the blue to the purple, and back, back
deepening into a final black.

And we felt more peace than we ever had
for the long, longest time.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Man this one is such a TRIP!!! Love how you make us travel all over the place man. And also like how you close them always with a PUNCHING few words. This: fading from the blue to the purple, and back, back
deepening into a final black.

Good job again man.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

^ So glad that you can enjoy my work, man. Even if no one read them, I'd still continue to write, but it's nice to have that feedback. Thanks a bunch, Sir!

Blue Moon is partly inspired by an eerie dream I had just last night. Been having a lot of those lately, but that's alright with me, as they have their due place in a writer's mind.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

And I'll continue to support your writing endeavours.

But yeah, these weird dreams are part of my life. lol

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Gotta love those crazy, fucked up dreams, man. Upon psychological introspection, they're just damned intriguing. What I like is the fact that all of the symbolism connected with our emotions, memories and the random shit we go through during our day can reveal quite a bit about our subconscious thought process. They're like psych. tools for understanding your own Self, if you analyze them logically. The lucid ones can be incredible too.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

I skip the analysing them up part. They make absolutely NO LOGIC at all. lol

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

^ Yeah, a lot of mine are pretty nonsensical as well. Just strange conglomerations of randomness. Although some dreams of mine, while rich with abstract bizarreness, can be strangely linear...almost like a short story. Those ones are the most powerful ones for me.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Yeah I dig short ones too. They're the most powerful I think too. smile

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

I love this and I think it's the right place to put it. big_smile

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Roses are red
Violets are greener
I think about you when i touch my weiner

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Roses are Blood
Violets are pain
And the rest is Terror

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Colette Bryce wrote:

When a poem is written, like a fully remembered dream, its meaning can be withheld for a long time.

For you bro Creature man boy. big_smile

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

kXnPunk wrote:
Colette Bryce wrote:

When a poem is written, like a fully remembered dream, its meaning can be withheld for a long time.

For you bro Creature man boy. big_smile

Nice. Quite true, too. A good bunch of my poems still seem foreign to me as I re-read them. Though I know I wrote them with a lot of energy and feeling, so they have considerable meanings.

Was going through some of my old work, found this verse which I thought was kinda funny:

My face may be an abstraction
But oh boy, yours is the main attraction
You've got stuff I've never seen before
Something ghoulish and lost to ancient lore
No doubt about it, God fucked that one up for sure.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

I just have one thing to say...

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

^^^ lol Perfection.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Hahaha Yeah. big_smile

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

And yet another.

Rejoice, Ye Dancing Clowns!

Where there is cause for utmost misery, I rejoice!
Without shame, without guilt, without sin,
there breathes full that soaring spiritual joy of meaninglessness.

Across the expanse of mind
the multitude of oceans and the stars
the infinite barren and broken days
the infinite cruel and hopeless nights
and the idiotic splendor of mass suicide,

All eyes to the sun,
so as to be blinded by the light.
Head facing the polymorphous sky,
lost in vastness,
submerged in insignificance,
rendered stupid by the absurdity.

Life as corrupted by busied nonsense,
a finish line but with a late start.
Furried insect motion suffocates us
to the point of tiresome years and prayerful tears.
In the face of terror, a far off quaking laughter
shaking us to the very roots.

A billion trillion follies
of a billion trillion fools.
Strange disgrace, pitiful tone deafness
each man an ant, each man a tool.
Yet Earth spins, the skies change,
all suns explode, all memory is erased.
Chaos ensues in orderly fashion,
Feel no unbearable disgust,
but feel sick and shameless joy,
ye dancing clowns of life,

Last edited by The Creature (2015-04-01 23:13:22)

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Idiotic splendor of mass suicide. MWAHAHA AWESOME!!! lol

Rejoice Clowns RULE!!! Another kick ass one man. Loving it. Every part has a badass powerful effect I think. Bravo. smile

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Cool that you dig the idiotic splendor of mass suicide line, I like that one too!

Sir Punk partly inspired this one...

Rite of the Reborn
Shamans of the reborn
shake their dry rice grain rattlers
as I emerge vigilant from my cloak of shadows
with an angry snake hissing its wisdom into my ear,
preaching only the soul's great will.

My eyes, like shivering hawks eyes
my beaten, stained fingers sharpened talons
my broken-in back renewed steady wings!
I soar with the great roar of a train
as my palm lines begin to glow
with a light that blinds the night.

It is with solemnity
that I drink the good blood of my country.
Wings open with their wide shadows on all roads,
without fear I fly.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Hahaha Wonder why. lol

But all I can say is that.


Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

a poem I wrote up from late last night:

My Mortality

My mortality rests in a hideous strike mode
coiled comfortably, hissing in the dark corner
swaying in response to my every movement
staring into my being with wide open bug eyes
through the foggy, grimy window of my pariah castle
into my frenzied dark days and darker nights,
all the while laughing, kicking buckets,
sickly happy, and betting, joking, snorting.

Stars explode into eternity as I walk down Knowles Avenue,
smoking a damn cigarette...when all is done and over with
who is there left to forget?

My mortality screams in all directions
a universe of madness unto itself.
A psychotic triumph! hoping, fearing, flying,
eating away at my insides,
breathing my one breath, one breathe at a time
laughing absurdly, laughing too much
knowing absurdly, knowing too much.

Bitter wisdom in too few years make my eyes dry
and my head wet...getting wetter, soaked with dread.
All good men in time wet their bed.

My mortality is a gnawing cannibalist's rite.
The road is loaded, crackling in embers beneath,
evidently caving under, sprouting devils in each crevice,
heavy with bombs, sucking in the weary feet at each & every step,
leading to a distant nowhere that is anywhere,
stretching innately on into a haze, into an intense roaring fire
of bubbling molecules & empty vacuum air.
Such terrible, begotten infrastructure!

Can't you feel this trusty joke, this presence of a ghost cool as jazz?
This nasty, loving burden of the contruction of meaning
pushes my will to the brink of drastic eternal convulsions,
an existential epilepsy! Hence, the oppression of freedom.

My mortality lives in a tired house yellowed with time
time, time, and more time. With a million old friends
all touched by the same ancient sun setting behind their bended backs,
encompassing me with crippling, sagging faces,
all of them reminding, jeering, heckling,
wildly screaming, pointing in all directions, in none.

Who is keeping score at the bottom of the ocean,
or at the top of the shore? Ah, but this music flows into my veins
like scorpion venom, like furious dynamite,
opening me up toward the heavens,
sucking in the life of dying gods, of feeble odds,
of tremendous lives untold and unknown as I light a cigarette,
all rendering this bubble of moment supremely insignificant.
To think that I belong to this deified line, I!;
an ego king on the mountains of Speck,
a true martyr of the planet earth, a Christ of Nothing.
Please, won't you kindly attend my nihilst's funeral,
and nail hard these scribbling ant limbs to a new cross on Mars!

My mortality is an insane man, rife with skeleton mold,
pushing me on, championing me with this demented, futile,
lovingly wise try, that which determines the man that I am.
Let me march on as one great foot soldier in the cosmic war!
Place my ears solidly to the ground, mother...
and rain on me with trains, with jets and airplanes,
with old and weary faces growing more weary worn by the minute,
with an untiring laughing, with a demented swaying, killing, and swashbuckling
with endless bathing in phantasmic grace and the poltergeist light of virtue.

Let me keep dying, dying in this uncontrollable laughter instinct,
dying in clarity, in upsettling full-pitch nerve, in awesome illness,
dying in this incredible depth of good luck wishes!
I swear to each and all that my mortality will bare it.

Re: Poetic Corner (for the Artist in us)

Another very nice one bro.

And fuck I DIG THAT PART!!!

this presence of a ghost cool as jazz

Most of mine are Punk/Metal but still cool. lol