The Last Samurai

Soft Focus

This is not a beautiful poem...
These are my ramblings on Space Time Creation...

Soft Focus

Pierce the veil
My igneous eyes
I want to
I have to see
More than what's
In front
Of me...
No...Gods
False
Frontiers...
Smoggy horizons.

There's a reason that seeks
Crying out loud
Existence
Define me.

We are born...
Life goes on.
Then season finale
Death...

After thousands of years
Has mortality evolved to this?

A comet streaks at lightning speed
Or just the light from it...
The universe cooks cosmic buns
In its cavernous oven...
Slow food for thought.

The scene
Is past...a setting from the day before the day before
What is seen
A smokescreen.

The Heavens that witness bore
To creation...
Our lives on this little planet
Lit by its small sun
Smart and absurd.

Perchance
People on a far away planet
In the future,
Are witnessing us now
From distant quadrants of
Future universes.

The heavens
render Time
Non sequitur
Space becoming a stage in motion
For Lord Chronos.

Temporal vision
Spatial abstraction
Tell me
Who designed
This grand deception?

Methinks thou art
Unduly shy
Come forward
Now
Take a bow.

Soft Nothings

I'm so soft
The frost in your voice
Makes me feel lonely
Lost in the void

And I'm so hard
When you discard me
In rejection's armor
I'm alloyed.

I have been lonely
Best days of my life
Sitting in the bedroom
Of my cloistered mind
I have laughed and
Have cried...

Those childhood terrains
Soft formative plains
Have rivers of emotions
Hard swollen blue veins.
And laughter like snowflakes
Brushed off my pain.

Your flints of disgust
Your fundamental lust
The chips raining down
Make the right choices
Or this will go bust

But I'm glad if it's gone
You see
I was never alone
The mind that I carry
Carries a throne

There sits in shadows
A king
Of sweet pain
The keys to my kingdom
Hands back again

No one has the right
To enter my mind
Lock it up
And throw away the key
My love is strong not blind

In the fall of my rejection
In the casting away
In the truth of disaffection
I'll find another way

Another approach
The truth I will broach
Then the lock unturned
Together we open each other
The keys to return
Mine opened up you
And yours mine
Did turn...

Stone me with hatred
Inflicting pain...
This heart sponge soaks
It
But wringes again
Rising higher stronger
Than ever you will
I wish you much love....
Beyond ordained Nihil.

Cruel

If I cry anymore
I'll go mad
so I stock up on my tears
Saving them I suppose
For a day of uncontrolled
unabridged rain...

Unable to shed it
When the day arrives
My tears
Turned to a philosopher's stone...
In endometrial folds
exposure to moonlit madness
Causing occult blood
Decaying the desecrated soul
provides no healing.

I want to shed a single tear
A simple soul drenched tear...

But this mouth of mine
Decomposed corpse like
Turns upwards outwards
Into the fetching rictus of a
Smile......

The Clock

Sorry...something has gotten to me...

Clock

My skin's delicate
Things get under it
Jarring harassing winding down
My inner mechanism
Coiling in tensed serpentine fashion

I must meditate
Get out of this state
My body's howling
In foreign tongues
Perhaps in other countries
I would be known
As a condition

Self diagnosis self healing
Crystals purify me
Water downed reversed Fountainhead of knowledge
Life giving elixir

I must understand eliminate
The cacophony the wailing
Of the mourner behind my music
The practiced lament in my speech

And I think people would say that I think too much
And I need to sleep
Have happy android dreams
About annoying sheep

Aah...such depths the profound may plumb
The umbral shadows break silence
And scream
Don't dumb me down...
This life in the penumbra
Half light and shadows
Is Halloween existence

Take me thither
Beyond graven netherworld
From whence I may arise
Never
To see blue skies
Or electric dreams

In the distant star studded galaxies
Light is the rare visitor
Darkness then
Is our only option
Business behind the
Tombstone...

Yet such a sunny epitaph
When you recall me
With a little jerk

And hearken my name
All shadows lighten then

Part of the pact.
Party gets over....
And dearly departed
Is the fact
Beloved your
price on request
Required
For existence...
It's isolating angst..

To Be A Poet

To be a poet is a terrible thing

To be a living breathing being
To eat to sleep to dream mundane lying
Amorphous yet crystalline
Fine etched and tightly wound
Slow to change yet swift to respond
Far more hurt to receive than give
The soul crucified the heart forgives
The art is a single part
Yet the sum of the tawdry sundry parts
Greater than the whole
Sometimes I think the poet
Usurping light
Becomes black hole...

And the best of his hideous heart
Released as finest distillate
Misunderstood and misinterpreted
In an alien universe.

The Temple of Fear

The Temple of Fear.

Timidity's sacred temple was erected.
The inner child bewildered hiding her hurt
Behind stone walls...
Sandstone and sandalwood incense
Built on quicksand sinking
Inwards...succumbing
On the brink of the precipice
Of chances not taken
Swinging out through
Trapdoor of eternity.

Life's peaks....shunned
Ferociously
Fear breeds ferocity
Downwards dizzying fall
Eyes shut...blinking
Comatose shrieking
In morse code
Someone help
Save our soul...

Temerity's temple on the quagmire leaching... see sawing on the sandbanks of surrender
Little girl has locked herself in
Knows the keys
Are not beyond her reach.

The shelf of disaster. ..
Must be stood upon
To reach the skylight
Of hope.
Sweet escape beckons
Still in darkness
She gropes

There's no easy way out
Of this
Temple of Timidity.

Temerity smiles...shrugging her shoulders.
She is deity of deities
In the dark sanctum sanctorum
Of the temple.

Still digging in her heels
Dreaming of worm holes and
underground escape routes
She claws in the dirt...
And hopes.

Duh...Monkey

I sit head down legs crossed for meditation
The cold floor robs me of heat
Earthing my energy for its surreptitious transactions. ..
Eyes like eager peas bursting out of their pod
Oh God
How to surrender my will
I'm owned consumed by stuff
Stuffing me till I
Leak inanity from every seam.
Bubble wrapped in invidious priorities
Green tea or black
Rice or noodles
Pasta or chow mein
Woollens first or linen
Pen and paper or cell...
Poetry or prose
Or nonsense. ...

To bed then
But burrowing into my
Pillow trying hard to find that comfortable niche
I focus my eyes onto the blind spot
The locus of oblivion
The far pavillion is in my face
Blocking visions of stellar space
piling up onboard the dais
scurrying onstage
ants carrying baggage
I thought
Lost or unclaimed.

Some salvation army type ant
Air drops me an aid package...
I catch its fall like a greedy monkey
unwrapping eager for help...
It says
Try meditation.

The Last Samurai

Monday, March 23, 2015

Soft Focus

Soft Nothings

Cruel

The Clock

To Be A Poet

The Temple of Fear

Duh...Monkey

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