Tag Archives: #writing

The Voice of A Poet

The poet is a man who feigns,
And feigns so deep, with artful guise,
That he, at length, with ease attains
To feign the pain he truly sighs.

Those who read what he did pen
Perceive, within his plaintive strain,
Not the pains he felt back then,
But a distant, unknown pain.

Thus, around its constant track,
There runs, to keep our minds in part,
The circling, ceaseless clockwork’s clack,
Which men have named the human heart.

:: 08.05.2024 ::


Not The Love We Dreamed

Not the Love We Dreamed
We cross our grievances,
Speak of our sorrow,
Utter solemn prayers

To live another day.

We speak of laughter,
Share our private tales,
Make our promises

To live another day.

Life plans another week,
Each day a challenge,

To live another day.

We shed our tears,
Sometimes it’s blood
From a broken heart,

To live another day.

When the sky bleeds,
He comes, that Day,
Comforting the lonely

As we live in despair.

It is the spice of hearts—
My heart embraces
Crying inside your tears

For the rest of my life.

And alone, I weep,
Measure your absence,
Adore you in solitude,
All my life, needing you,

But it’s not the love
We dreamed of, my darling love.

:: 07.05.2024 ::


The Terrors of Infinite Realities

The day is midnight at noon and the skies are bleeding red yokes.
And the skies and sky scrapers are on fire ./cars on fire with no one at the wheel
and the government\corrupt/ tens of thousands of suicides and the wind is hot
everyone trapped within the belly of this machine and we are screaming. And the machine
is bleeding to death while the flags are all dead on top of all those poles.

In the quiet town of Eldridge, four teenagers—Alex, Jamie, Sam, and Casey—stumbled upon an ancient book hidden in the dusty attic of their school’s library. Bound in worn leather and adorned with strange symbols, the book seemed out of place among the mundane school records and old yearbooks. Intrigued by its mysterious appearance, the group decided to take it to their usual hangout spot, an abandoned cabin in the nearby woods, to explore its contents.

As the sun set and shadows grew long, they gathered around a rickety wooden table, the book’s eerie presence casting an unspoken tension among them. Alex, the group’s natural leader, carefully opened the book. The pages, yellowed with age, were filled with intricate drawings and cryptic text in a language none of them recognized. But what caught their attention was a diagram depicting a series of interlocking circles—what seemed to be different worlds connected by thin, dark lines.

Jamie, the tech-savvy skeptic, used their phone to take pictures of the pages, hoping to decipher the text later with some translation app. Sam, always the curious one, noticed a small inscription at the bottom of the diagram. It read: “Beware the crossings, for they reveal the unseen.” They shrugged it off as an attempt to scare them, but a strange chill settled over the group, as if the words held a hidden truth.

Over the next few days, they delved deeper into the book’s mysteries. Jamie managed to translate some of the text, revealing that the book was a guide to the multiverse—an infinite number of parallel realities, each slightly different from the others. Excited by the discovery, they continued their research, unaware that their curiosity was about to lead them into unimaginable horrors.

One night, while experimenting with an incantation from the book, the air around them began to shimmer and distort. A portal, glowing with an otherworldly light, opened before them. With a mix of fear and excitement, they decided to step through, finding themselves in a world that looked like their own but felt off—darker, colder, and filled with an oppressive sense of dread.

As they explored this parallel world, they noticed subtle yet disturbing differences. The town was eerily silent, with abandoned cars and empty houses. The sky was a permanent shade of twilight, and an unnatural stillness hung in the air. It wasn’t long before they realized they were not alone. Dark figures lurked in the shadows, watching their every move with glowing eyes.

Panic set in when they tried to return through the portal, only to find it had vanished. Stranded in this nightmarish version of Eldridge, they had no choice but to seek refuge in their old hangout spot—the abandoned cabin. There, they regrouped and tried to figure out how to reopen the portal. The book, however, seemed to have lost its power, the once glowing pages now dull and lifeless.
As days turned into weeks, the group struggled to survive. They scavenged for food and avoided the shadowy figures that roamed the town. During one of their expeditions, Casey discovered a journal in the library of this alternate Eldridge. The journal belonged to someone named Dr. Alistair Crowley, who had apparently been studying the multiverse and its horrors for decades.

According to Dr. Crowley’s journal, the shadowy figures were inhabitants of the “Dark Worlds,” parallel universes consumed by evil. He warned that once someone crossed into these worlds, they risked drawing the attention of these malevolent entities. The journal also hinted at a way to escape, but the instructions were incomplete, the final pages torn out.

Desperation took hold as the group faced increasing attacks from the shadowy figures. Each night, the creatures grew bolder, their glowing eyes peering through the cabin’s broken windows. Alex, feeling responsible for their predicament, pushed himself to decode the journal’s cryptic clues. Sleepless nights and constant fear took a toll on him, and he began to hear whispers in the darkness, calling his name.

One evening, as the group huddled together in the cabin, the whispers became too much for Alex to bear. Driven by an unseen force, he wandered into the woods, where he found an ancient stone circle. The symbols carved into the stones matched those in the book. In a trance-like state, he chanted the incantation he had memorized, hoping to summon another portal.

The air crackled with energy as a portal slowly opened within the stone circle. The rest of the group, realizing Alex was missing, followed the strange light to the clearing. They found Alex unconscious but alive, the portal shimmering before them. With no other choice, they carried him through the portal, praying it would lead them back home.

To their relief, they emerged in their own world, but things were not quite the same. They found themselves in an Eldridge that seemed untouched by time, as if they had traveled back to a version of their town from the past. Confused and disoriented, they made their way back to the library, hoping to find answers in the book.

To their horror, the book was gone, replaced by a note that read: “The crossings have consequences. Beware the ripples.” As they pondered the note’s meaning, they realized that their adventure had left a mark on their world. Strange occurrences began to plague the town—people disappearing, mysterious lights in the sky, and whispers in the night.

Haunted by their experiences and the knowledge that the multiverse was real, the group vowed to protect their world from further incursions. They became guardians of the secrets they had uncovered, always watching for signs of otherworldly threats. Their friendship, forged in the crucible of terror, became their greatest strength as they faced the unknown horrors of infinite realities.

:: 06.16.2024 ::


God is a Lonely Child

AFTER I finish my statement
as confessed I, my fear:
if you should ever leave me
i know we love each other very dearly
,more
than tears from clouds and how they
need sunbeams and then they make
Mayflowers in Spring

          my breath of gentle touch

how the heavy Moon is twilights’first
thrushes may awake a pleasant country
and awake some world)selves

                .La. da. Da Da Dada da

(how i would live without you in madness
or in mere death or both who is la guerre)
you could simply me. darling

    how precious this point 

of creative never known
how unspoken words were feeling
before words before the moon
before God wished Himself into a Father

and then even<
we love and crave smiles and hugs
and immemorial of whos and hows
and whens )
before
how each Soul and heartbeat touches me
which I kiss.

:: 06.05.2024 ::


Blood As Art

You shed your coat in the stormy rain,
Ever wild, a phantom in the night,
And I watched from my shadowed pane,
An outsider, hidden from your sight.

Enigmatic, with eyes so dark,
And hair wild as the tempest’s call,
You moved like whispers in the dark,
Sensitive, yet beyond it all.

You stood silent in my door’s embrace,
With words like ghosts of weather,
Unseeing my heart’s bleeding trace,
My knees to ground, a broken tether.

Love’s games, a spectral art,
Your thoughtless words, breaking my heart,
Breaking my heart.

Morning brilliance in your eyes,
Cigarette smoke, a wraith’s caress,
Over coffee, art’s demise,
Baroque, Mozart, in shadowed finesse.

Tales of love, you wove with ease,
While I, a shadow, strummed my tune,
Taught me truths, elusive keys,
Daring, clean, beneath the moon.

Hid my soiled hands from sight,
Lost somewhere along the line,
Mistook you for a heart of light,
A soul more like mine.

Love’s games, a haunting plea,
Tearing me apart,
Your thoughtless words, haunting me,
Breaking my heart.

You shed your coat in the stormy rain,
Ever wild, a phantom in the night.


I am Not Who I am

It was the woman that I saw in the bookstore. And to whom I spoke and who spoke to me. I was in a public library of sorts. All people coming and going. The room then became without light. They came to tell me that she was at my house. Waiting. Why? She, that one at the bookstore was now in my bed, all mine but I did not wish to possess her. Her eyes were without lights. I was nonetheless very moved. And a lot because it was my family home. I was also overcome by distress! I was in rags, me, and she, a worldly woman, giving herself away; which of use had to go! A nameless distress, I took her, and let her fall out of bed, almost naked; and in my indescribable weakness I fell upon her and dragged myself with her among the lightless carpets. The family lamp reddened the neighboring rooms one after the other. Then the woman disappeared. I shed more tears than God could ever ask for.

I went out into the endless city. O Fatigue! Drowned in the deaf night and in the flight from happiness. It was like a winter night, with snow to definitely suffocate the world. The friends to whom I shouted: where is she staying, answered falsely. I was in front of the windows of where she goes every evening: I was running in a buried garden. I was rejected. I cried a lot at all of this. Finally I went down to a place full of dust, and sitting on the frames, I let all the tears in my body end with that night. – And yet my exhaustion always came back to me.

I understood that she was in her everyday life; and that the turn of kindness would take longer to reproduce than a star. She has not returned, and will never return, the Adorable One who came to my house – which I would never have supposed. – True, this time, I cried more than all the children in the world.

Then, I realized. My life, my skin, my blood, my smiles and heart made me who I am.

I am not human.

I am love.

:: 05.22.2024 ::


E T E R N A L R E V E R I E

The moon has whispered silver in the curve of your smile,
The dusk has painted twilight upon your tender thighs,
The dawn has kissed gold into the shadows of your eyes,
And dreams weave sapphire upon the path where you tread.

The winds have sung secrets through the strands of your hair,
The earth has cradled your feet with a lover’s gentle care,
The night has draped velvet around your graceful form,
And stars have danced in rhythm to your heart’s quiet storm.

The rain has traced poetry upon your silken skin,
The sun has warmed the depths of the soul that lies within,
The universe has bowed in awe of your serene grace,
And love has found its echo in the light of your embrace.

The flowers have bloomed crimson at the touch of your hand,
The mountains have stood tall to watch where you stand,
The rivers have sung lullabies to ease your gentle sleep,
And time has paused in wonder at the beauty you keep.

The shadows have whispered of mysteries in your gaze,
The flames have danced wildly in your passionate blaze,
The skies have stretched wide to mirror your expanse,
And fate has intertwined with the steps of your dance.

The echoes have carried your laughter through the air,
The seasons have spun tales of your love and care,
The galaxies have spun threads of dreams in your name,
And eternity has sighed, forever unchanged by the same.

And still, stars, silent.

:: 05.22.2024 ::


No One But Us

NO one but us
i want to stand and stare
for all that is which remains
| our eyes ~~

Accepting the tears
of your jewels of love
from your eyes___

No matter, i will touch
your tender wall
of love and life ~~

It’s in your eyes
all within your eyes
so i stand and stare

All within the life
of your experience
(in your eyes)

Life | i gave sometime
and sometimes /easy/
but nothing connects\

to the place
where you are

So soon without noise
i feel your fingers

Like heat | i’m complete
in your heart | i want
to touch your face

In all my incomplete dreams
I want to be a part of you
so let me dream ~ in your eyes


Illusions Are Lies (Like You)

the Fly ate the paper
its thin legs stuc k
on economic condition

it won the war
flying away

the monkey saved
itself by not
eating the fruit
of God’s tree

shit escaped the human
orifice and became hero

piss passed the tubes
of humanity

and fed the rivers of
human nonesense

God’s eyes died
watching creation

and evil prevails
slinging mud princes

buy and princesses
pain eyes and cost

souls aching for
the lies of illusion.

:: 05.10.2024 ::

Poet’s Notes:

THIS poem is a poignant commentary on the human condition, filled with allegorical imagery and profound insights into societal and existential struggles.

The title, “ILLUSIONS ARE LIES (LIKE YOU),” immediately sets the tone for a critique of falsehoods and deception, directed towards individuals or systems that perpetuate deceit. The use of parentheses around “LIKE YOU” is a direct address to someone embodying deceit or illusion, adding a personal and accusatory tone.

The imagery in the poem is striking and multi-layered. The depiction of a fly consuming economic conditions, only to “win the war” and escape, symbolizes the transient and ephemeral nature of victories in the face of larger systemic issues. The monkey refraining from eating the fruit of God’s tree alludes to the biblical story of Adam and Eve, highlighting the human tendency towards self-preservation even at the expense of moral or spiritual fulfillment.

The juxtaposition of bodily functions like defecation and urination with broader themes of creation and divine observation adds a visceral and unsettling dimension to the poem. The notion of excrement becoming heroic and bodily fluids feeding the rivers of human nonsense suggests a degradation of values and a perversion of natural order.

The mention of “God’s eyes died watching creation” conveys a sense of abandonment or despair, as if the divine has turned away from humanity’s destructive tendencies. The concluding lines, with their reference to “mud princes” and “princesses,” evoke a world where power and privilege are built on falsehoods and suffering.

Overall, my poem serves as a stark indictment of human folly and the illusions that perpetuate suffering and inequality. Its imagery and language demand reflection and introspection, urging the reader to confront uncomfortable truths about the world we inhabit.


God is Static Thoughts

FOR the IQ below 110

  • Jew is not a race

for the IQ below 90

  • Jesus was a Jew

from the IQ below 70

Your mother
and father
are not blood related

UNLESS…

you are on this TIMELINE

then ALL ARE RELATED.

:: 11.30.2023 ::
(c) 2023-9999

Poet’s Notes:

As the writer of this poem, I approach “GOD IS STATIC THOUGHTS” with an appreciation for its brevity and its potential for profound insight.
Let’s analyze this poem:

Title: “GOD IS STATIC THOUGHTS”

The title immediately suggests a contemplation of divine or existential concepts, with “GOD” representing a transcendent force and “STATIC THOUGHTS” implying eternal or unchanging ideas. This sets the stage for a deep exploration of metaphysical themes.

Stanza 1: “for the IQs below 110 – Jew is not a race”

The poem begins with a provocative assertion, challenging conventional notions of identity. By tying intelligence levels to understanding, the poet highlights the complexities of categorization. The statement “Jew is not a race” challenges simplistic classifications and invites the reader to reconsider the multifaceted nature of cultural and religious identity.

Stanza 2: “for the IQ below 90 – Jesus was a Jew”

This stanza continues the exploration of identity and challenges preconceived notions. By affirming Jesus’ Jewish heritage, the poet prompts reflection on the interconnectedness of religious and cultural identities. The juxtaposition of intelligence levels with theological assertions invites the reader to consider the implications of knowledge and understanding on belief systems.

Stanza 3: “from the IQ below 70 – Your mother and father are not blood related”

Here, the poem takes a deeply personal turn, disrupting traditional notions of kinship and lineage. The assertion that one’s parents are not blood-related challenges biological determinism, suggesting a broader understanding of familial bonds and relationships.

Closing Lines: “UNLESS… you are on this TIMELINE / then ALL ARE RELATED.”

The final lines serve as a profound conclusion, emphasizing the interconnectedness of all existence. The word “UNLESS” suggests a conditionality or exception, highlighting the unique circumstances of individual existence. By invoking the concept of “TIMELINE,” the poet underscores the temporal context of human experience, while the assertion that “ALL ARE RELATED” speaks to a fundamental unity that transcends conventional boundaries of identity and understanding.

Overall, “GOD IS STATIC THOUGHTS” offers a thought-provoking exploration of identity, intellect, and interconnectedness. As the poet who wrote this prose, I admire the poem’s ability to provoke deep reflection on existential themes and challenge the reader to consider the complexities of human experience.