Alphabet of Alliteration or (Civil War)

An ambiguous army of apostles Breaks barriers of brick and bone, To claim controversial kings as Deities destined to destroy Eternally employed enemies of entropy. Freedom finds its fitting form in Ghastly giants of grotesque growth, Holding heroic hopes as holy, Instead of employing interred ideas of intent. Jeers jar our jaded judgments of jewels, Causing canonical killers to claim kin as conquests. Lovers lie longingly in lustful leaps, Mortared to the mistakenly motivated moment. Nearby, nefarious knights kneel to Nox Openly offending ordinary opinions of “ought”. Permissible, perhaps, in the privacy of a person’s palace. Quintessential quiescence quells the Queen, Returning reason to … Continue reading Alphabet of Alliteration or (Civil War)

Χάος

IT is quite apparent that this blog is drifting more and more towards the side of art than the formulated side of philosophy, following a trend in my life of the same.  Perhaps if the co-authors actually posted, there might be a variety in the methods of presenting information, but then again, perhaps not.  Even when I am not pushed to express my thoughts in the form of poetry, I do not default to strict rules of rational thought.  I’m not entirely convinced that the world we feel and touch and smell is what we think.  We attach so much … Continue reading Χάος

How to call my voice

There’s a trip coming up in my life. But it’s no vacation. More of a safari To hunt the most elusive entity Ever to leave tracks on this dirt: Me. You see, I can’t write. I don’t know what poetry is, Because I don’t know who I am. Fuck all that noise about an age limit on writers, Life doesn’t work that way. You don’t put in 30 years to get a promotion of wise proportions. We just get old and settle down, Wherever we last walked to. Ended up here, And “Hey, The view isn’t bad”. But I can’t … Continue reading How to call my voice

Love of a Mother

La marionnette inconscient rampé, Blinded by a birth-born love, Matching the twitches, And conscious tugging, From the matronly Puppeteer. With a twist of her wrist, Another path is rerouted. An illogical shift towards the city-shaped cliff. Legs lift from a far away hand, And crash down, Ignoring the impulses that erupt. The soul-anchor snaps from tension, And the golem loses his/her/its love in a sweeping flood, Cracking the clay that encases, The pain erupts from inside, He/she/it feels needles all through\in\out. A flash of white hot light explodes behind his/her/its world-at-hand: Un corps, ne permit savoir pas le beauté de … Continue reading Love of a Mother

The Deconstruction of Dependency/Narcissism or Qui est-ce qui; qui est-ce que

Appellez-moi par votre nom. This empty cove, With thirst unquenchable, Littered with sea-shell shaped memories, Is the dock where my desire leaps, And sinks through the cloud, Of dreams I thought could hold me. Appellerai vous par mon nom. Step back from the edge of my sight, Closer and nearer to me and you. Embrace you and me, And the fellowship that held us back from jagged cliffs, Whispering silent confirmations, That time isn’t standing still. Appelez-moi par votre nom. Take me away from the horizon, Bring me back to here, Onto the sandy shores that sink so perfectly under … Continue reading The Deconstruction of Dependency/Narcissism or Qui est-ce qui; qui est-ce que

Familicide

Mother may I say I’m sorry? Is it allowed for me to reach back behind aeons to which I have no claim?  How do I apologize for my cancerous cannibalism that led me to milk you dry?  There aren’t even words that I can use to reach myself around you, to try and choke back the sobs and tears that aren’t meant for me but signified by me.  You gave me the love that even mother’s dream of, with only whispers of complaints that I managed to drown out in drunken distaste.  I can’t not say I’m sorry, though. My whole body aches … Continue reading Familicide

Lover, Light the Way

Lover, my lover, Can I call you such? Do I have your permission to dismiss, Your birth born title that does no justice, And replace it with my private whisper, That both screams my thanks at existence, And begs time to stand still? Lover, my lover, Come close and remember not to stop, From fear of getting lost. For I will hold the night at bay, As an aphroditic Atlas, With stead-fast shoulders, Keeping you ever under my gaze. Lover, my lover, You can never leave me, By the gift of Father Time’s compass, The lines of our boundaries were … Continue reading Lover, Light the Way