Tag Archives: #writers

I Am Love & The Darkness

I had a vision, not all a vision, I knew;
For in this world of strangeness, the sun had fled,
And stars, once fixed, now wandered lost and few,
Pathless, and rayless, in the sky of lead.

The frozen earth, it swung, blind and blackened,
In moonless air, with no hope of reprieve;
Days passed and went, and yet no light had beckoned,
Hearts forgot their passions in the abyss of grief.

Their hearts froze into selfish prayers for light,
As they lived by watchfires, no hope in sight;
The palaces of kings, and huts as one,
Were burnt for beacons, and cities fell undone.

People gathered round their homes, once filled with joy,
To look once more into each other’s face;
Happy were those who lived near the volcano’s ploy,
As mountains served to light the human race.

Forests were set ablaze, yet fell and faded,
With trunks that cracked and extinguished with a crash;
And in the end, all was black, nothing created,
With brows of men by despairing light, ashen and brash.

Some lay down and wept, and others smiled,
While some did rest their chins upon clenched hands;
And others hurried, fed the funeral piles,
With fuel, and looked up with mad disquietude on the dull sky’s demands.

The wildest brutes came tame and tremulous,
And vipers twined amongst the multitude;
Hissing but stingless, they were slain for sustenance,
And War, which for a moment ceased, consumed again with its renewed attitude.

All earth was but one thought, and that was death,
Immediate and inglorious, with famine to feed;
The meagre were devoured by the meagre, no breath,
And men died, tombless, with no chance to heed.

Even dogs assail’d their masters, but one stayed true,
And faithful to the corpse, kept the birds and beasts at bay;
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead,
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food, but with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand,
Which answered not with a caress—he died.

Only two of an enormous city survived,
And they were enemies, who met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place, deprived,
Where a mass of holy things had been heaped, for unholy usage in disguise.

They scraped with their cold skeleton hands,
The feeble ashes, and blew for a little life,
Which was a mockery, until the light,
Grew stronger, and they beheld each other’s strife.

Each saw and shrieked, and died,
Even in their mutual hideousness they perished;
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow,
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—
A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay.

The rivers, lakes, and oceans stood still,
And nothing stirred within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal, as they slept
On the abyss without a surge, for waves were dead;
The tides were in their grave, and the moon,
Their mistress, had expired before, leaving darkness,
Which needed no aid from clouds that perish’d soon.
She was the Universe, a shadow of emptiness.


The Little Thing

WHAT are we looking for within our Lives?

What are you looking for within our Lies?

is it precious or just depression
that eats our Souls?

We wander within the veil of what we call Life

And squander precious moments
because of our fears

No  matter if youth or old age
the fear still remains

and we fear the little thing
once strong and monstrous
now called fear.

:: 04.09.2023 ::


NewsPapers and Taxis and Texts

I saw it in the trees, in the way they leaned and twisted
as if in agony, a warning I had missed.

And then the night it happened, our hollow tree in flames,
and firemen running frantic, like ants in frenzy’s games.

The signs were there, but I chose not to see or hear,
the patient pine that fell, the maple’s snap severe.

Now as the world transforms, and all around me shifts,
the yellow house dismantles, fence lines torn like fabric rifts.

Ponds become backfilled graves, cabooses turn to tanks,
eagles to vultures morph, and wild grass to tiled ranks.

In this world of change and flux,
I whisper to myself,

“I should have known,” like Emily,
my heart a quiet delph.

For like her, I too see now,
the truth that I ignored,
the warnings that were given,
the signs I should’ve adored.

:: 04.04.2023 ::


\YOUR CELLO THROAT MOANS/

As the sun departs and the moon ascends,
I sense the beast of teenage bliss, my friend,
The silver orb of night casts eerie light,
And I roam, unseen, in the inky night.

Seeking a morsel that’s delectable,
Beware, for my arrival is formidable,
From the depths of my soul and broken heart,
I am a living corpse seeking a part.

My visage, a ruse, to lure you in,
For I am a teenage zombie, with a grin,
My prey, like Mona Lisa’s smile, beguiled,
As I, with bliss and blood, am thus styled.

Run, run, when I am on the prowl,
My savage heart yearns for a feast, a howl,
The city, a jungle, and I, the beast,
A teenage fiend, obsessed, unleashed.

I crave the most, but accept the least,
A zombie of blood and bliss, at least,
The hunt is on, and you’re my prey,
My fangs, they gleam, in the light of day.

Oh, the ecstasy of my teenage years,
In blood and bliss, my hunger nears,
For I am a creature of the night,
With teenage bliss and blood, my plight.

:: 04.01.2023 ::


Spiritual Machine Love

What is hate? what fate? to hate? What blame? Just shame? All complain. All we try. Paranoid.
Cut the fade down. Take it’s place. Mostly me mostly you. Said my faceless Soul to love:

Oh, charming guise and beauty fair,
Deceive the eye, but leave no care,
For in a woman, fear of Lord,
Is what is truly to be adored.

Her heart so pure, her soul so bright,
Shining through with a radiant light,
With grace and virtue, she shall reign,
And praise from all shall she attain.

:: 03.29.2023 ::


HOLLWOOD ZOMBIE (01 -1963)

Jason had this penthouse apartment that was centrally located in Beverly Hills. He was incredibly clean, but in an overwhelming kind of way. The carpet and stuff were spotless, the cabinets were plastic, and the paint was not chipping. I felt like I was in a Doctor’s office waiting room.

He was snoring loudly, and just at the right moment he opened his eyes.

“Ha! You are dead! This is a dream, right?”

I felt a bit offended, as I was obviously the one snoring.
“No, no!” He pointed at the clock. “It’s 4AM!” (Lucky number 8!).

“You’re a zombie! You’re dead and you’re dreaming!”

“I’m a zombie, alright!” I yawned and started to hack up zombie gore.
“Watch out!” He screamed and jumped out of the bed.
“All right, you monster! I’m dead and I’m dreaming! I’m dead and I’m dreaming!”

He chased me around the room.

“You’re not dead, you’re a zombie! You’re a zombie, that’s just what you are, a zombie, so it’s a dream!” He threw up his hands. “You can’t win!”

“I can’t win, yeah? That’s right, I can’t win. That’s my luck, ha-ha!”
I hope you like midnight horror flicks.” His face crinkled with confusion; the zombies smile that I was always afraid of flashing on.

“Well I didn’t say I was a horror movie person. Oh, that’s right, but you said, I’m dead and I’m dreaming, so that’s a horror movie, right?”

I thought about it.

“Okay, I guess it’s more like…like if a zombie comes to my door…”

As the sun began to rise, we finally settled down and drifted off to sleep. I dreamed of zombies and horror movies, but when I woke up, I found myself in Jason’s sterile penthouse once again.

As I gathered my things and prepared to leave, Jason suddenly appeared, looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry about last night,” he said. “I can get a bit carried away sometimes.”

I smiled and shook my head. “No need to apologize. It was actually kind of fun.”

Jason’s face brightened. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

I chuckled. “No, I’m serious. It was a unique experience, to say the least.”

We said our goodbyes, and I left Jason’s apartment feeling a bit dazed. As I walked down the street, I couldn’t help but wonder what other strange and wonderful experiences awaited me in this crazy city of dreams.

Maybe I’d even run into some real zombies along the way. Who knew? Anything was possible in a place like Beverly Hills.

As I walked down the street, a shiver ran down my spine. The streets of Beverly Hills, usually bustling with life and activity, were strangely empty. There was an eerie silence that hung over the entire city, broken only by the occasional sound of a car passing by.

As I turned a corner, I saw a group of people huddled together in front of a nearby building. They were all looking up at something, their faces twisted in fear and disbelief.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I walked closer to see what had caught their attention. As I got closer, I realized that they were all staring up at Jason’s penthouse apartment.

I felt a sense of dread wash over me. What had happened? Had something terrible befallen Jason in the night?

Without thinking, I pushed my way through the crowd and ran towards the building. The front door was unlocked, and I made my way up to the top floor, my heart pounding in my chest.

As I approached Jason’s apartment, I could hear strange noises coming from inside. It sounded like something was scratching at the door, trying to claw its way through.

I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should turn back and call for help. But then I remembered Jason’s zombie antics from the night before and wondered if this was all just some elaborate prank.

Summoning up my courage, I slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside.

What I saw next made my blood run cold.

Jason was lying on the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head. His skin was cold to the touch, and there were deep scratch marks all over his body.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

Standing over Jason was a figure unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was tall and gaunt, with eyes that glowed a sickly green. Its skin was a sickly grey, and its teeth were long and sharp like knives.

It turned to face me, and I realized with a start that it was a zombie.

I tried to run, but it was too fast. With a sickening crunch, it sank its teeth into my neck, and everything went dark.

Just as I thought I was going to die, I heard a voice in my head. It was a voice I had never heard before, but it was clear and strong.

“Stay calm,” the voice said. “I am here to help you.”

I opened my eyes, and to my surprise, I saw two figures standing in front of me. One was dressed in white, with shining wings and a peaceful expression. The other was dressed in black, with black wings and a menacing glare.

The white figure spoke again. “I am an angel of good. This is an angel of evil. We are here to help you in your time of need.”

The evil angel snarled. “Don’t listen to him. He’s lying. I’m the one who can help you. Together, we can take down this zombie and save your friend.”

I was torn. Part of me wanted to trust the good angel, but another part of me was drawn to the promise of power that the evil angel offered.

But then I looked back at Jason, lying on the ground with blood pooling around him. I knew that I had to do something, and fast.

Without thinking, I closed my eyes and reached out to the good angel. I felt a warm, comforting presence surround me, and suddenly, I felt stronger and more powerful than I ever had before.

Together, the good angel and I charged at the zombie. With a fierce battle cry, we attacked it with all our might, using every ounce of strength we had.

After what felt like an eternity, we finally emerged victorious. The zombie lay dead at our feet, and I felt a sense of relief wash over me.

But then the evil angel appeared once again, his eyes filled with anger and resentment. “You should have listened to me,” he said. “I could have given you so much more power.”

The good angel stepped forward. “Power isn’t everything,” he said. “Sometimes, it’s better to do what’s right, even if it’s not easy.”

I nodded in agreement, feeling a newfound sense of clarity and purpose. As the two angels disappeared into the ether, I knew that I had been changed forever. From now on, I would always strive to do what was right, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

As the dust settled and the danger passed, a new sound filled the air. It was the unmistakable voice of Kurt Cobain, singing a haunting melody that echoed through the halls of Jason’s penthouse.

“I’m a soul lost in tarpit traps, sinking deeper every day,” he sang. “The weight of the world is crushing me, but I can’t seem to break away.”

I looked around, trying to find the source of the voice, but there was no one in sight. It was as if the music was coming from another dimension, a world beyond our own.

As the song continued, I felt a sense of sadness and despair wash over me. Kurt’s voice was so full of emotion, so raw and real, that it was impossible not to feel the pain and anguish he was expressing.

But then, as the chorus came around, something changed. Kurt’s voice grew stronger, more determined, and I realized that this wasn’t just a song of despair. It was a song of hope, a call to rise up against the darkness and find the light.

“I’ll keep on fighting, though my heart may break,” he sang. “I’ll keep on searching, for a better way.”

As the song came to a close, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. It was as if Kurt’s music had given me the strength and courage to face whatever lay ahead, to overcome any obstacle and find my way home.

And with that, I turned and walked out of Jason’s penthouse, ready to face the world once again.

|| 09.24.2020 ||


Drowning in Fear

HOW faces smile how they frown
how they find treasures in life.

Being dead living life
in disguises
crying shouting destroyed Souls
Within Hell on Earth,
Living and dying each day
listening to mortal words
i scream Within my circle is a box
unopened and angels pray
to keep it closed
So give me a cold hand
won’t you come closer
inside me : fire mouth
tear me apart thinking love

Mimics call my name again
destroying time space
within all i knew were friends
were others not of Earth

No one changes like you
feigning death to make me cry
flesh like static sand
come

supernovae come
burn solar systems
Nephlim come challenge me
i have no fear bequeath
spiritual technology
destroys your black hole sun
so come so come so come
won’t you come

:: 03.19.2023 ::


A Hundred Poems XLV

and what of that desire
a pouring rain, from the heavens,
fall through funneled skies —
a splatter upon my roof
slanted tiles /\/\/_stacked.
Yet, another journey in the fall
; the figural shaped as my heart
& tears seep into me that
ground of my spirit
a | split
thunder-lightning: show my face
from celestial eyes came tears
as an arrow –>– my own eyes
which are that target
your tears pierced into
of countryside haven
to find a home
within my lonely soul
i kiss the tears
that bare your fire.

:: 04-09-2014 ::


Eternal Echoes

I

Toward dark blue skies, endlessly,
Where topaz seas shimmer bright,
In your evening, blooms ecstasy –
The lilies, pills of pure delight.

In our age where plants must toil,
Lilies drink blue distaste divine,
From your religious prose, they’ll coil,
Fleur-de-lys, for bards to twine.

Lilies, lilies, none in view,
Yet in your verse, sleeves of sin,
Soft-footed women, pure as dew,
White flowers shiver within.

Always, dear man, when you bathe,
Your shirt with yellow ‘neath your arm,
Swelling in the breeze, and wave,
Above forget-me-nots, the harm.

Love comes to you in lilac’s guise,
Wild violets too, nymphs’ delight,
Sugary spittle on lips, belies,
Dark passions on a moonlit night.

II

Oh, Poets, imagine you possessed
Roses, crimson Roses, blooming bright,
Adorning laurel stems, at their best,
With thousand octaves swelling in delight!

If Banville could make them snow,
Tainted red, swirling, in a frenzy,
Blackening the eyes of those who show
Ill-disposed interpretations, not friendly!

In your forests and in meadows so calm,
Oh, peaceful photographers, Flora thrives,
Decanters’ stoppers no different in charm,
Than varied veggies with cross-grained lives!

Phthisical and absurd, they seem to be,
Navigated by basset-hounds at dusk,
After frightening drawings we see,
Of lotuses or sunflowers blue, so brusque!

Pink prints and holy pictures we behold,
For young girls making their communion,
Asoka Ode agrees with Loretto’s window old,
Heavy vivid butterflies dung on daisy’s union!

Old greenery and galloons, fancy-flowers,
Vegetable biscuits of yore’s drawing-rooms,
For cockchafers, not rattlesnakes, like powers,
Pulling vegetable dolls with colors, like in cartoons!

Grandville would have put them round the margins,
To suck in colors from ill-natured stars,
Drooling from your shepherd’s pipes, in wondrous fashions,
Creating priceless glucoses, like fried eggs in hold hats, so bizarre!

Lilies, Asokas, lilacs, and roses, in a pile,
Inspirations for poets, like me, all the while!

III

white Hunter, running sockingless
Across the panic Pastures,
Can you not, ought you not
To know your botany a little?
I’m afraid you’d make succeed,
To russet Crickets, Cantharides,
And Rio golds to blues of Rhine, –
In short, to Norways, Floridas:
But, My dear Chap, Art does not consist now,

  • it’s the truth, – in allowing
    To the astonishing Eucalyptus
    boa-constrictors a hexameter long;
    There now!… As if Mahogany
    Served only, even in our Guianas,
    As helter-skelters for monkeys,
    Among the heavy vertigo of the lianas!
  • In short, is a Flower, Rosemary
    Or Lily, dead or alive, worth
    The excrement of one sea-bird?
    Is it worth a solitary candle-drip?
  • And I mean what I say!
    You, even sitting over there, in a
    Bamboo hut, – with the shutters
    Closed, and brown Persian rugs for hangings, –
    You would scrawl blossoms
    Worthy of extravagant Oise!…
  • Poet ! these are reasonnings
    No less absurd than arrogant!…

IV

Speak not of pampas in the spring,
Black with terrible revolts and strife,
But of tobacco, cotton trees that sing,
Exotic harvests, a fruitful life.

Say, white face, tanned by Phoebus’ rays,
How many dollars Pedro Velasquez earns,
Of Habana, a city that displays,
Excrement covering Sorrento’s seas in turns.

Where swans go in thousands to roam,
Let your lines campaign, oh poet bold,
For clearing mangrove swamps, a home
To pools and water-snakes so cold.

Your quatrain plunges into bloody thickets,
And returns with subjects great and grand,
White sugar, bronchial lozenges, and rubbers, tickets
To the land of plenty, a fruitful land.

Tell us, oh hunter, if the yellownesses
Of snow peaks near the tropics, hide
Insects that lay many eggs or microscopic lichens,
And scented madder plants, two or three, provide.

Nature in trousers may cause them to bloom,
For our armies, strong and brave,
On the outskirts of the Sleeping Wood, assume
Flowers, with snouts, drip golden pomades on buffaloes’ cave.

Find in wild meadows, where the bluegrass shivers,
The silver of downy growths,
Calyxes full of fiery eggs, livers
Cooking among the essential oils.

Find downy thistles whose wool,
Ten asses with glaring eyes, labor to spin,
Flowers that are chairs, a beautiful tool,
And gem-like tonsils close to pale ovaries within.

Find flowers in coal-black seams,
Almost like stones, so marvelous and bright,
Close to their hard pale ovaries in dreams,
Bearing gemlike tonsils, shining in light.

Serve us, oh stuffer, on a vermilion plate,
Stews of syrupy lilies, a delicacy divine,
To corrode our German-silver spoons, a fate
Worthy of kings, in a color so fine.

:: 03.06.2023 ::


All Our Dreams

That broken wheel, without a carriage or passenger,
whose journey is seen by most unreal eyes.

In that glimpse of forgotten reason,
you came to me as a good idea.

Begging my sleeping brain to be yours,
but the permanently attentive mind
could never yield.

So be it, in all our dreams
I am, the one who sees all four seasons.

:: 3.02.2023 ::