Posts Tagged poetry

Symptomatic

December 5, 2009 at 7:52 pm · Filed under Uncategorized ·Tagged , , , ,

Is it perhaps symptomatic
Of inane inventions,
Self-conversations…
That the senses of such a system
Will wish to certify assumptions

You call it extended functions.
I call it delirium

Is it perhaps idiomatic
That you long to be cold,
Just to feel anything?
Self-preservation…
It is just another word for fear, or apathy
For why build a machine
Which will only serve to hunt you?

You call this love of living.
I call it cowardice.

Is it pessimistic,
To believe the sky is not blue,
But melancholic?
And is it too natural to assert
That small-talk is histrionic.
For how long can big-talk play hide and seek,
Before it grows tired of such nonsense?

You call this political.
I call it distracted.

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Distraction

August 20, 2009 at 8:52 pm · Filed under Misc. Poems ·Tagged , , , ,

Distract me, humble vibration.
Preoccupy this preoccupied mind
Give me a pattern to find
And I will happily rip from reality
Like a shredded letter from an old foe.

Distract me, fleeting words.
Preoccupy this preoccupied mind.
Give me a motive to find
And I will dutifully leaf through your pages
Like flat stones skim the water’s simple strata.

Distract me, passive chi.
Preoccupy this preoccupied me.
Give me a flavor to find
And I will reach for the bottom
Like the proboscis of a bee
Innocent search for mother’s riches.

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In the Lobby

June 11, 2009 at 3:58 pm · Filed under Misc. Poems ·Tagged , , , ,

There is a timid storm
On the unfeeling airwaves
I am the furniture
That lines petty stairways

There is a furious calm
That pacifies the antique
But I lack the intelligence
To be unique.

It is you,
In the hallway,
That heavy oaken scent
Which fills a confused corridor
With echoes, with lament.

Ambiance tears asunder,
A weakened personality.
So I ask who’s turn it is

…To make the tea?

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The Audience is Always Most Illusive

June 7, 2009 at 9:08 am · Filed under Misc. Poems ·Tagged , , ,

He writes not for an audience
But for himself.
The flicker of the lamplight,
Upon the turrets of obscure allusions
He loses a hasty glance towards the ego
And it ages his soul.

The lonely room;
Co-authoring this melodrama.
Lays a gentle hand on his beard,
Despondent at the lack of support,
There is rarely support nowadays anyway.

In the bizarre night,
He calls it a day.
And packs his things away.
All the utensils of a domestic performer -
Back into the draw you go.
As he sips much needed coffee,
And reflects upon the meeting of the eve,
Of a weary winter he could not, would not, conceive.

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Flourish

May 28, 2009 at 1:59 pm · Filed under Misc. Poems ·Tagged , , , ,

How does it end?
The flourish of the sun.
In a volley of the scuttling plague

3 billion years.
I am old, cold and worn
Bearing no progeny,
But the flares of what is torn.

In a final burst,
The stretch and convulsion of skin.
I leave it for you to guess.

What lies herein.

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Recumbent pose.

October 9, 2008 at 7:15 pm · Filed under Misc. Poems ·Tagged , , , , ,

The solutions seem to separate,
Recumbent; eyes fix.
Forced to stir.
Same result.
You have to change it -
Change the Chemical.

Not recumbent.
Eyes are making the world palpable,
A two way exchange of information -
Extrinsically transferring aid. It’s reciprocal,
With its obstinate pattern like a spreading split in the coarse soil.
My obstinate pattern of behaviour.
Inextricable.

So I apologise.
But it’s implacable.
And I recriminate.
But only to edge further away,
In my lonely recumbent state.

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The Irony of my Writer’s Block.

February 29, 2008 at 10:59 pm · Filed under Misc. Poems, Random Rants ·Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

Nothingness invades the mind,

Launching it’s long war.Emptiness; the siege of time
The beauty of seeing more.

The pen walks the page idly,
Retracing it’s tracks occasionally.
Encrypting its long history
Destroying my literate sobriety.

Why. Why am I blocked at this time.
With so much to contemplate.
Why. Why must I blank out the truth,
Why must I dare to look at you.
When no words enter my head.
I lie still, gazing into the spaces imagination ran from.

Simplicity encompasses my entire complexities.
The paradigm shift of my thoughts has taken me nowhere.
The hegemony of lethargy hijacked my system.
I wish in place of my lost skill.
But wishing only spreads the spill,
And makes me ill with morbid behavior.

And the tendencies of tentativeness join in allegiance
With the crusade of passiveness,
Exploiting my loopholes to the extent,
That the virus’s crawl into everything I know.

I’m nothing without controversy.
Nothing, without my epithet of ingenuity.
There is no epitaph on my grave.
For the world became ineloquent, immediately.

Mercy evades my gaze,
Again, I am cold to the heat of spontaneity,
Again, I am alone with my insanity.

I wave my white flag, but the persecution of continues.
The serenity is disturbing.

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Requiem for a forgotten memory.

January 19, 2008 at 7:49 pm · Filed under Misc. Poems ·Tagged , , , , , ,

I lament over you, forgotten one
Writing requiems till my heart is dry
My ode to you lies in lyrics of sorrow
My song to you will be gone tomorrow

I mourn for you, forgotten one
A threnody of joy, to a crying son
My ode to you sings in spurts of weeping
My dirge is distressed from your days of calling

I kill you, forgotten one.
I write without a soul.
My pain is for nothing that exists in this world
My pain is in vain for the fall of the dawn

I escape from the madness and chaos of postmodernist mayhem
I seek refuge from the industrialist inhibition
I seek inhibition from capitalism.
I seek inhibition from prohibition.
Remove my thoughts, exclude my memories.

What I am doing is nothing of you.
I mourn for you.
But what I mourn to, is apocryphal. Is unknown. Is esoteric. Is secret.

And it shall forever be kept that way.
Until I write with a soul.

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I’m nothing

January 19, 2008 at 7:47 pm · Filed under Misc. Poems ·Tagged , , , , ,

Hypocrite
Living inside my
Shallow heart
Lazy, useless spirit
Dormant; Rotting

Liar
I love a thief
Steal away scrutiny
Smash your friends teeth
All talk
No action
Lazy, useless
Dormant; Rotting

Get me out of my hole
Get me something to scream about
Get me a soul
And cut the cancerous hypocrisy
Out of me

Pure deception
Only receptive of information
Cheat, fake
Two-faced bigotry
I can’t do anything
I’m just rhetoric

I’m a two-faced pig
I’m nothing

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Cold

January 19, 2008 at 6:02 pm · Filed under Misc. Poems ·Tagged , , ,

It bites; it gnaws at the flesh
It is the cannibal of living tissue
Cutting into your cells
Altering your mind, your mental state
Twists your chromosomes into contorted shapes

It slices your consciousness
Dissects your bones
It short-circuits your nervous system

Burning fiercely, serenity screams
As it tortures your halcyon thoughts
Blurs once clear judgment into a fog
A haze of ambiguity

Vomiting your preoccupation,
Swallowing it again
Creeping insidiously, surreptitiously
into your contractions of paranoia.

Knocking at your door,
but waiting for no answer
Barging in and clasping your insolence
Throttling your impertinence
Hovering into a state of solitary pride

Turning off the light of solidarity
Forcing you to stand alone
Until it can decrypt your mystifying spurts of spontaneous soliloquy.

Steering your brain towards the hum of tinnitus,
And the cries of desire to escape its icy fingers.

Stuttering, your lips break the silence;
‘Cold’.
Eloquent precision evades the glow of vehemence
In these times of great darkness, one cannot help but to be pushed into the din of weariness.

At last, you overthrow the ubiquitous power that usurped your only true possession, and a sense of arrogant pride overcomes you, and you look remotely upon your heretic past.

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