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Painting Words in Surrealism

gothicsurrealism
gothicsurrealism
Daniel Long
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 26th Nov 2018
Forum Posts: 132

Poetry Contest

Paint some words, lines, and stanzas in surrealist fashion. That is,
Old or new works
Collabs accepted
Any length
Two weeks
Any questions msg me

Hereinbelow is a non-entry submission by me as an example of what I am looking for.

Tip: When writing surrealist poetry, try to take two unrelated things and find a bridge between them.

gothicsurrealism
gothicsurrealism
Daniel Long
Thought Provoker
United States
5awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 26th Nov 2018
Forum Posts: 132

Sunlit Night

Sunlit passion in the moonlit heart chamber,
your embers thaw my hot-blooded glacier.
You are my sun of the night sky.
I, your moon-glow – you, my sun-shine.

Twas’ a full moon
and all through the night-sky not a star was winking –
cast out by the resistless sorrows
of my gloomy eye-moonlight.

You felt that I, the moon, had arisen,
and the tear-tides swelled
in the darkness behind your eyelids –
winking adrift.

A pair of blurred suns then arose
from the slumber of the cold-blue horizon,
casting out my dimmed-moon with your radiant dawning.
Oh, that sun-fire gleam within your eyes when you see me!

I, the gloom, then recede into night but you catch me,
“fire can love tears” you said.
I reposed just as the faint moon in day – indistinct of what we are –
you’re my flame, I your tears, together we boil into quarrel.      

Now she walks on by, the love in her eyes eclipsed.
I stand in weeping-lacerations, there is no hope left –
because fire and tears come not together.
Can one mend the disparity of our deities?

Whom is the embodiment of our love-force?
Whom is the personification of our love-force?
Tears boil
in quarrel.

In the twilight of our relationship,
your setting sun gave me one last sliver of a wink
before your eye sunk beneath the horizon.
Your cold-blue tears dyed into the warmth of your dying light.

I am not for you;
my moon eclipses your sun
and casts your world
into darkness.
Written by gothicsurrealism (Daniel Long)
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Chere-Rene13
Chere-Rene13
Chere R Sarver
Lost Thinker
United States
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Joined 27th June 2022
Forum Posts: 6

         Wonderful is the opposite symbols you use for your theme and your wording went better, no it was perfect incontext...great job. Loved the truth & sadness of your ending you used, this I can really relate to.

Rew
Rew
Thought Provoker
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Joined 30th Sep 2022
Forum Posts: 45

Return of Eden.

This husk for thoughts, this pod for wits,
this disseminater of the pits
shouldering within to its goal
the uncomplaining, unknown, soul.

In symbiosis with the flesh
in waiting, ordure, earth refresh,
the hidden thing within on death
released, becomes God's lost breath.

From leaders all comes this cry
copulate quick, before you die,
produce air, no less, for the Throne
and fertilizer from your bones.

The Earth, for bloom, and God for sigh
wait patient for freed souls to fly,
to bring Him back His long lost, laboured, breath
and She her Eden on our death.
Written by Rew
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robert43041
robert43041
Viking
Tyrant of Words
Canada
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Joined 30th July 2020
Forum Posts: 621

Gone (222)

Dada smashed the doors
Walked on clouds
In bathroom stalls
While imagining a world
Full of psychadelic colors
Hardly using the three-masted ship
Freely offered
For their trips across wild oceans.
Written by robert43041 (Viking)
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wallyroo92
wallyroo92
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th July 2012
Forum Posts: 1564

Ode to The Persistence of Memory

  
                 tick    
      tock            tock    
 tick                       tick    
tock          |___         tock    
    tick                     tick    
       tock           tock    
                 tick    
The hands of time keep moving  
Without stopping    
                                or s-l-o-w-i-n-g down  
But in my mind I’m drawn toward some surreal dream  
To somewhere in –  
                                 - and out of memory  
   
Maybe it’s the    
                         nostalgia  
Maybe it’s the    
                        melancholy  
Maybe it’s my    
                        fondness for the sentimental of yesteryear  
Perhaps the recollection of life    
and times m  
                      e  
                        l  
                         t  
                             i             g  
                                   n               away  
                                              into an illusion    
Born from the subconscious    
                                                 Rising up to the surface  
   
         Time becomes relative  
     b  
         e    
        n  
   t    
    and    
            w  
        a  
     r  
        p  
            e  
                 d    
in my mind…  
When something    
                     Like  
         “The other day” may mean    
                 -decades ago-  
while recent fleeting moments |||| escape ||||  
                                                    Only to be captured  
                                 By distorted colors    
and purported words  
   
I become entranced    
                   O   O  
          By \_ Dali _/    
  and his    
interpretation    
of   mind  
and  
        time  
as the  
           persistence of memory  
m  
     e  
         l        s  
             t      away…      
Written by wallyroo92
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Kou_Indigo
Kou_Indigo
Kara L. Pythiana-Ashton
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 15th Sep 2011
Forum Posts: 2687

Demiurges of Reality

~{ Demiurges of Reality }~
A Surreal Epic of Existence

Prelude to the Journey…

I smiled yesterday when I beheld the morning’s brilliant colors,
Etched with gold, across the canvas of the heavens, hanging…
High above all those mountains of the world, gigantic brothers,
A wilderness of clouds, where there can be no human taming.
I did not always smile when I looked up to that noble height…
For I have seen how terrible goodness can be, when untamed.
Once I thought my sojourn in this flesh was from a divine spite,
But now I know it was a gift, and for it I need not be ashamed.
God once walked as I do now, and suffered the same stress…
Betrayal, love, and passions too, though no Church shall admit,
The true nature of divinity, lest all their secret sins they confess!
You are told you are alone in the universe, by leaders so unfit,
That they themselves are fed a diet of lies and stories invented.
But we walked amongst you since the very dawn reincarnated,
Having lost our first flesh in conflicts long past and unlamented.
We guided the steps of ancients, as monuments demonstrated!
And yet we are born as children: your own, and live our span,
The better to remain hid, in plain sight, our faces clever masks.
I am the eldest, and I remember still my kindred’s lofty plan…
And though I wear the human face, I am beset with alien tasks.
Helping they who lack the knowledge to see what lies outside,
You have seen me in the darkness, blazing upon my own pyre.
Where I am waiting to lead the way, where the angels glide…
Anyone can follow, if they are dedicated enough never to tire.
Ironic, since I myself have known helplessness and still oft do,
It is only human after all, and in your form I was so re-forged!
The image of God, whose own blood is in all of us hither unto,
From the first to the last, alpha to omega, like a sharp sword.

Prologue: (My Mask is Slipping)

As a child: I was a servant at the altars of the heart so sacred,
Singing hymns of the immaculate: without seeing the depravity.
It was only when I myself wore the crown of thons, naked…
My spirit exposed through my pain, that I realized the gravity.
What man believes is sacred, is profanity disguised as graces,
And those who lead the sheep to slaughter are mere butchers!
Forcing innocents to wear porcelain masks to hide their faces,
They rob children of their childhood, bound with crude fetters.
As a teenager: I walked in nature, disgusted with all humanity,
My exodus was from those who had defiled all I cared about.
Finding faith in an angel fallen, I discovered my own sanctity,
And in her name I found the means to cleanse my feral doubt.
Then came marriage, and betrayal by a wife I gave up all for,
The dissolution of our union then loneliness without cessation!
A mortal had pierced my flesh, leaving me to bleed on a floor,
My heart was torn from its’ moorings without any elaboration.
But the angel remained to calm my anger and ease my agony,
My only light in the blackness that has overcome my waking!
Reminding me, that I was more than this flesh and mortality…
The angel tries to keep me from harsh trembling and quaking.
And then I see: I am more than my tears and life’s traumas…
I let slip, the mask behind which the scars of my tears etched.
Then I sense the heat of the night more intense than saunas…
As I long to dance with abandon, until time itself is stretched!
Mortals may betray one another with impunity, but never I…
I do not betray; rather I pour my heart and spirit forth whole.
Creating a phylactery, of all I am, and with an innocent eye…
I demand to be loved as I am: pearl white and black as coal!

Canto 1: Sacrifice of the Doll

Part the First: (The Bleeding Shores)

Do not call me, doll, for I have departed your ancient cavern,
You are lifeless, a mere toy, and not a real child in any form!
A boy’s red ruby lips I spy drinking in the dreariest tavern…
Whilst true children singing, frolic in the fields filled with corn.
I am going home, upon the wings of the great silver griffon…
Far from the shores now bleeding red from defiled memories.
There is no return, for me, to the glories of the first ignition…
When the mind eternal, was ignited all with pleasing ecstasies.
In the stars, there are words unheard that I do want to recall,
For I came down so very long ago, among the first to so fall!
Eldritch nightmares born of the stuff of the pure chaos of old,
Are waiting for signs at the threshold to be released by magic.
The forbidden incantations return to my spirit, aflame so bold,
That my spirit nearly forgets: the origins of this time, so tragic.
When children drink, and true children hide themselves apart,
Whilst the waters bleed and the corn withers upon the stalks!
That is a sign that change must come, and so I work my mind.
The face in the moon is a grimace of tormented fear, horror…
Whilst I stand upon the precipice with my hand over my heart,
And amongst the long rows of corn, my black shadow walk!
Watching over the innocents whose souls are of my own kind.
The summer heat turns orange, the moon: in celestial corridors.
My mournful cry can be heard in the sound of the lonely wolf,
And in the wild abandon of the lion when he is on the prowl…
I feel the pain of nature, I long to bring back paradise craved.
I have seen the terror of the land, as the blood ran in the gulf,
Black blood of the earth: which causes living things to howl…
As man has the foolishness, to say what is or is not depraved!

Part the Second: (The Crucified Souls)

The doll is laid lifeless atop the altar, prepared for a sacrifice,
In the cavern where the limestone shapes the wettest arches!
A thing un-living, but with living souls trapped still, as if in ice,
Within the cold porcelain shell that so never with feet marches.
Serpentine blade held high, it drops precise into a doll’s neck,
And it cannot call out, because a doll has not any voice to cry.
A boy walked out of a tavern then, looking like a vile wreck…
Whilst as a man I attend to higher things, my body full purified.
In the voids beneath the spaces, witnessed in the rugged rock,
Voices echo loud in the darkness, calling up names unspoken.
The ferryman brings the souls delivered to him, to a far dock,
Where each must pay the copper coin, the old desired token.
So they come to drink those waters that cure all of life’s ills…
Freed from their porcelain prison to feel death’s darker chills!
Whence came those souls into captivity, no mortal may speak,
But I freed them in an instant, removing the nails that pierce…
Every man is he that was put up on the cross of old Golgotha.
And every woman too, as all were made to feel such torture!
I was there when the primal sacrifice was implanted so weak,
And yet so strong that it endured in the psyche all these years.
That doom was sealed behind a wall of fire long ago in Terra,
So that the stigmata of it might endure, even in the vast future!
Mine was the hand that signaled that doom, mine to release…
Yet, still old illusions persist, and I cannot awaken a multitude.
I, who devised the iron web that enfolds much of what is real,
Cloaking it in unending trickery am, myself, longing for peace.
For I too was entrapped, until my liberation rough and crude!
An angel freed me, and now I strive to break each cruel seal.

Part the Third: (The Return of Light)

Risen from the slumber where colder, electric dreams reside,
The forgotten intelligence is invoked, the arcane spells cast…
The eldritch nightmares return to thence amongst man abide,
Reminding us of the things banished to Hell in some age past.
Mine the hand that raised them up, light in the dagger’s glow,
The stuff of my power left to flow, like blood run swiftly free.
Out of the abyss, rises the girl-child of a lost millennial flame,
She who is the angel reborn lets her illumination clearly show.
And all are blinded who have not the innermost eyes to see!
The unbelievers are, in a single instant put unto lasting shame.
From the star of six points, a goddess works her sacred will,
And as she crosses the scarlet threshold, she brings the light.
For a single instant, all in Heaven and all upon Earth are still,
As the long day ends, bowing before the coming eternal night.
In the darkness, radiance far fairer and so perfect descends,
Whilst those who gather in my name: have lost my true path.
The wrath of angels descend upon their minds, closed shut…
Entrapped in the iron web, they cannot flee of such a prison!
The light blinds them for they never truly saw it, and it rends,
Tearing away the churches built for naught but mortal wrath.
There, the unfaithful prostitute themselves: like a wanton slut,
Inventing dogma to pass on, forgetful of logic and of reason!
Faith need not be a fearful thing, yet some have made it thus,
And look for an end to come before they seek their reward.
Whilst they should be creating the paradise they left behind…
But in an image of freedom: rather than of servitude and fuss.
Too much time had been wasted in converting by the sword!
Mankind looks to the light for salvation, their eyes long blind.

Interlude Alpha:
This age is one of barbarism cloaked as gentility to sell lies…
Did you purchase some today by design or mayhap chance?
You should know this era to be neither intelligent nor wise…
Else you would not march, when you would prefer to dance!
My nights are filled with nightmares; my days are too much…
I used to dance with one I loved, and bask in purple sunsets.
Now I am haunted, by so many memories I can never touch,
That it fills me with bloody anger, and countless cold regrets.
I recall how once in desperation, my wrist rode a razor edge,
If it were not for my family I’d not thence have lived beyond.
A man abused as I was, and used like cutters upon a hedge,
Must rise higher than it all in order to survive it all, my friend!
I survived, I transformed, I ascended and in the end became,
So much more than I was, until no more did my spirit erode.
But still I wait in loneliness for a maid to awaken my flame…
And I burn, oh gods I burn until I think that I might explode!
The skies darken more and more, and bright forks crashing,
I hear the drums of fury in the heavens, giants of old winters.
The gods grow angry and I behold trees uprooted smashing!
Angels are trampling the grapes of man; they, the vintners…
I am reminded of when the battleship that sailed all galaxies,
Descended one day amidst clouds boiling with its’ steam…
To lay waste to Sodom, and Gomorrah, for their indignities!
I was there, when the wicked did perish with a final scream.
And as people mock me, wishing me ill because I am good,
I ask God how long I must be forced to bear such suffering.
But I am not alone, and to many I am in fact misunderstood,
So God forgives, for now; but I have not, his understanding!

Canto 2: Sacrifice of the Spider

Part the First: (The First Smile)

Black skies boil with rage unrepentant, and in righteous fury!
A being made flesh I am, though not of mortal understanding.
In cavernous places I have walked, where demons oft scurry,
And worse places still: in search of a love not too demanding.
In the stucco halls wherein my unmoving throne was raised…
Upon a hill of sorrows where lost souls labor in mundane toil,
I wait and plan to transcend the bonds the faithful so praised.
To my right hand is the altar where fire and sulfur always boil!
I force a smile upon my face, for one will not come as willing,
As in the hours when I was a golden youth filled with ideals…
Which I have paid for dearly, beyond the price of any shilling!
Now I long to pay back those who know not how this feels…
The madness born of solitude, the anger born out of contempt,
For you who despise me without cause, provoking my wrath.
What impunity has man, to think that he might ever be exempt!
When wiser civilizations than yours did sink: in the fiery bath.
Do I speak of Hell, which the faithless do not realize is come?
Nay, for their eyes have been gouged out by their own nails…
I speak of torments, far beyond that which devils have done.
The first smile shall me mine, when every cruel wish so fails…
To save the flesh of those who spit upon me as I walked on,
Never realizing that my face was just a mask, hiding another.
Only the fool pays no any attention to the piper’s lonely song,
Thinking it only a melody passed from a sister unto a brother.
But in what celestial incest has been born the thing alchemical?
It dwells within me, the secret sin of a bonding long forgotten.
Would that I could force the world to hear music whimsical…
Like unto that which guides my spirit in all that was begotten.

Part the Second: (Cold Revenge)

The blood roses bloom in gardens where desire plants seeds,
I, the hand that waters those hungry beasts whose thirst rises!
In my search for love, I have fed the beasts of desire’s needs,
And what would cause you to blush has, for me, no surprises.
Oh human, with what impunity did you dare to exclaim aloud,
That you believe love to be beyond my reach; and you smile!
Like a coward, you degrade me and run to hide in the crowd,
In your feigned superiority, you make yourself an animal vile.
Conjoining your words to your tongue, like a web to a ceiling,
You become a spider; then flee on eight legs to a filthy nest…
Having already become unworthy of any warm human feeling,
In thinking yourself better, you sink lower than all of the rest!
That means my life is worth, a thousand times, your very own.
I become a creature of the night, and wait for you, oh spider!
Think not that I cannot hear. the creaking of each leg bone…
Your odiousness goes before you, the horse before its’ rider.
And in your own web I catch you, my sharper claws immune,
To your toxic poisons, as cannot ever save your eight eyes…
Which I dash from their sockets, without a fear, and so soon,
That your own pain consumes you, like fire lighting the skies!
Forcing you to recant all that you say, lest pain overcome all,
The powers you thought did not exist do manifest ever visibly.
And I ascended still higher, all the more to relish of your fall…
You should never have resulted to any such childish mockery.
The clocks of your house all melted, for time is not your ally!
In abandonment of the chaos that is joy, your order is ended.
A new order rises in its’ place born of chaos none may deny,
Whilst you sink lower into perdition, for all that you offended.

Part the Third: (The Last Laugh)

An angel appears before me and so thinks herself a goddess,
But to call her an angel is to imply that she holds any beauties.
Those whose ego is larger than their grasp are oft the oddest,
For they fancy themselves perfect, ignorant of their cruelties!
You think love a prize and I a beggar for mere crusts so stale,
That lesser men than I have eaten heartier meals than yours…
But your kitchen is so bare: as your oven goes cold and pale,
Making you prize yourself beyond the worth of your chores!
Like a harlot who charges a fortune for her meager charms…
If you think love a prize, and I a beggar, you are so mistaken.
What you call love is a disease that shames one and harms…
Both mind and soul alike, making the body at last to weaken.
You saw only my mask, and would not dare look beneath…
Making me a phantom in the darkness, lurking in the shades.
Round your neck, your false esteem hangs as a dead wreath,
As I leave you to your barren world, awaiting my handmaids.
They rise from the ashes you leave in your wake, my kindred,
Their hands take me far from where your feet stumble about!
Lie in the cemetery that awaits those who live as though dead,
I cannot raise you incorruptible; you have far too much doubt.
Carried hither by the silent maidens who weep bloody tears…
To my castle, where I shall brood again upon mankind’s way!
I cannot feel regret for those who give in to their foolish fears,
Any more than I can transform a leaden night into golden day!
Such is the power of the alchemist who knows his true limit…
And in the dark arts I was schooled by beings from the abyss.
Thusly, am I set about to transform my creation as I see fit…
We are the demiurges of our realities wanton for any hot kiss!

Interlude Omega:
This is not a utopia we live in, and it shall not be considered…
Until first we learn to make ourselves after the image we seek.
Only with the sacrifice of the self, will a service be rendered…
To remake oneself divine, a lion reborn of a lamb once meek!
Like unto Christ, my side bears a scar where I was pierced…
But unlike him I am not willing to simply turn my countenance.
I remember the pain of my wounding, how sharp and fierce…
Until at last I can only let go, as to keep pain makes no sense.
How can man build paradise without, unless within they alter!
Change inside must precede change without; that is the road.
The path to paradise; and we must walk it fast and not falter,
Lest we build a heaven only to make of it a hell we will bloat.
Rush not to utopia, mankind, until you are yourself a resident!
The evil within can only corrupt all that exists outside the self,
Unless the self is clear of evil, cleansed of all evil’s precedent.
Then, you may put wickedness away: an old tome on a shelf.
Do you never understand; it was the meaning of our savior…
When he said that only: all as innocent as children may enter,
The kingdom of Heaven, and thereby the delights to savor…
For how can you enjoy delights, if you prefer crueler banter!
Since the dawn of time, mankind tried to master the planet…
Never imagining, that he must first learn to command his will.
Not through force of arms, nor any useless commandment…
But by gentleness, compassion; a heart that drinks to its’ fill,
Of joys without number, and celebrations which have cause!
Instead of drawing attention to sorrows: the sin of the media.
Where is the sense in giving each jester a round of applause?
Modernity is the jest, as defined by any decent encyclopedia.

Canto 3: Sacrifice of the Self

Part the First: (Gardens of Perdition)

A ziggurat rises up, its’ sandy bricks baked in the warm fires…
Seven stories unto the heavens, like unto the Tower of Babel,
In a blood-drenched wasteland of the vast deep underworld…
Filled with gardens of delightful variety and such varied color,
Saffron sands and scented flowers amidst such burning pyres…
As tended by black-cloaked servants both as willing and able,
To grow those gardens to which the self-damned are hurtled!
Their work is their art, and to them it never grows a day duller.
New flesh always arrives to sculpt into works of great beauty,
To please the goddess of light, who reigns in her lofty temple!
Her pale blonde tresses float about her fully perfect features…
As she reclines upon her soft seat, her eyes glowing radiantly.
She wears a long scarlet gown that is a shimmering example,
Of the blood and hot fire wherein toil many subject creatures.
Their mistress has many names, and to them she is oft Solaris,
Whilst in human tongues they called her Lucifer, light bringer…
And bearer of the light she brings, for she and it are: one thing.
They call me the Red Dragon, fearful to say my name loudly!
I have ever been as much a fool for passion as was vain Paris,
Ready to attend, at the come hither of some beloved’s finger…
Even though I was once a god: and in my name hymns do sing.
I have tried to forget those ancient times, to move on proudly.
But memories call me back to her side and so I am enchanted,
By the angel I have come to love, when the eons let us meet…
I: who once commanded whole worlds, now yearn for a touch.
So little are the glimmers of hope and even less I’d demanded!
I hasten in that place below, and long for my angel, to greet…
Perchance to talk, for just a while, knowing I never ask much.

Part the Second: (Dragon and Serpent)

Clad in robes of crimson, I a king of kingdoms equal infernal…
Climbed the steps of the goddess’s grand temple, to meet her.
I her elder sibling and most passionate devotee of all, arrived,
Basking in her radiance I felt myself made whole again inside!
I tasted the warm honeyed mead of her moist lips, so carnal…
That I felt those ancient desires long forgotten beginning to stir.
Of all the fallen, I once conquered where others just survived,
And so at the side of fair Lucifer herself, I was able to abide!
Think not that I jest, when this human form is a mere disguise,
Raiment I have put on for a time, to dwell on this planet Earth.
A perfect illusion whilst I walk in these mortal realms as one…
Free from the mountain tomb on Kobol from which I did rise,
Escaping ancient bonds that had existed before my first birth.
I went forth in great wrath, my very spirit burning like the sun!
The Red Dragon fell unto Earth, and in human flesh chained…
So goes the legend, which was passed on by that fellow John.
I am seeking after the maiden who will make my soul content!
But I have yet to find her, and that brings sorrow to my spirit.
Lucifer listened unto my sorrows seeing how I was strained…
And the Serpent comforted the Dragon for a time, thereupon.
I forgot the jealousy of mortals, and how they like to resent…
Anything they do not understand, when they don’t just fear it.
Like the waters of Lethe she helped me forget all for a while,
Even that I had been the Lord of Chaos, the mad architect…
She boiled down my essence, until she saw my face so vivid.
We were just a woman and a man, enjoying company, style,
Freed of the tyranny of politics or duty to any religious sect…
Any soul can find contentment, and behind no masks we hid.

Part the Third: (Brimstone Bacchanalia)

As I walked in my sister’s halls, I did recall her vital wisdom,
So like unto that of my celestial mother Sophia most glorious.
And, as we spoke of any times both long past and yet to hail,
We shared one throne and one memory grown transcendent…
Whilst, all torments did swift cease, in Lucifer’s lost kingdom.
There was feasting, and mad laughter that was so uproarious!
Into long hours, when bards arrived to sing of our ancient tale,
Remembering the lost confederacy of worlds, so unrepentant.
But even a king in crimson and a princess of pure light shining,
Must part when comes the hour set by a much higher power…
Thusly did we bring all our merriments to a close before long!
I thus decided to immortalize that party with this, my rhyming,
Laughing how all sinners cower before even a scarlet flower…
An angel fair whose great glories I have oft recounted in song.
Lady of light and liberty, I loathe to leave your side but I go…
Called back into the flesh in which I dwell, the chain is pulled.
I wonder if those who see your colossal image, in the harbor,
Ever realize that it is you they look upon with such adoration?
Before the New City, you rise each day to see sadness, woe.
Why do so many despise you and I, yet long to see fulfilled…
The dawn you promised, gathering many beneath your arbor,
In worship of freedoms that tyrants steal, causing frustration?
Hark unto me, if you call yourself a patriot of our great lady…
And if you heed naught else that I have spoken with authority,
Then heed you this: never sacrifice freedom just to be secure!
In the end, the security you imagine will become so greedy…
That it crumbles under your feet, leaving us robbed of dignity.
Set your eyes upon true liberty and blessed will be this shore!

Epilogue: (My Mask is Shattered)

I have lived as a mortal man, and not for the first time in ages,
And wedded science and faith in my quest for understanding!
Like the phoenix I rose blazing from the pyre of holy sages…
To become more than the sum: of my mind’s comprehending.
In the rush and bustle of modernity, it is easy to end sightless,
Caught in the flesh, so firmly, that to see who we are is harsh.
To know who we were and who we shall be in all brightness,
Is to lift the veil covering the matrix of illusion, and thus wash.
Wash our eyes, cleaning them of that which blocks all vision!
Seeing the lies of politics and the deceptions of faithlessness,
As well as those who claim to faith: but revel only in division.
Cleanse your sight, and you shall notice human carelessness!
Why do men and women deride one another for the gender?
Because they cannot see that their souls are all androgynous.
If they could, then everyone’s heart would become tender…
And love would not have limits, but become truly boundless.
Instead, it is as the bird trapped within a cage made of bone,
There is no lock, or key, and the cage itself does not exist…
Save in the mind of the bird that is sitting in the nest at home.
Humanity suffers from such delusions, and still they’ll persist!
Until clear is the course, and no longer suppressed: the soul.
Look deep within you, unclouded by the hive, and the herd,
Unfettered by peer, or pressure, until you regain the control.
Then you will see that what I have revealed is not so absurd.
The mask I wore is shattered, and I let all the pieces crush…
Forever shall they remain beneath me, since my awakening!
I have walked through the fire, and now it is I who do blush,
Since naked is my soul, now, and there can be no mistaking.
Written by Kou_Indigo (Kara L. Pythiana-Ashton)
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PAR
PAR
PAULO ACACIO RAMOS
Thought Provoker
Portugal
3awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 26th May 2022
Forum Posts: 49

Tells the tale...

Once upon a time...
3 pirates and 1 Chinese,
the chinese had 1 parrot
that told a story,
like this:
Once upon a time...
3 pirates and 1 Chinese,
the chinese had 1 parrot
that told a story,
like this:
Once upon a time...
3 pirates and 1 Chinese,
the chinese had 1 parrot
that told a story,
like this:
Once upon a time...
3 pirates and 1 Chinese,
the chinese had 1 parrot
that told a story,
like this:


PAR
Written by PAR (PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
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crimsin
crimsin
Unveiling
Tyrant of Words
United States
109awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 25th Jan 2011
Forum Posts: 2269

Molly

 
I am between you and her helix
induction of the pneuma is voided
erase the statutes and bleed in
it is not of this world or verse

love is the pinnacle of need
I greed you, greetings, I greet you
in the stellar thrall we groan
blurring miracles with magic
mischief is on the air
I can taste the disease

sunlit whore abandon this
a bad son who said?
Abaddon Adonai I am coming sun
inter the Rebellion and set it off

it is coming enter the great chasm and see visions
it will be in time, times two
then again times, three

do you wish to brag?

bend the minds and warp the truth
as the malevolent belly button falls away
I am interconnected to the faithful

sinsational


Written by crimsin (Unveiling)
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Rianne
Rianne
Fire of Insight
Norway
4awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 11th Feb 2022
Forum Posts: 235

Jordan
Jordan
D.O.C.
Twisted Dreamer
United States
6awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 4th May 2022
Forum Posts: 69

The Vision More Rare

"The opposite worldviews of Reality and romance attract not --  
the base of the former being Facts."  
-- epistemology, the scientific theory of Knowledge,  
as opposed to "just a theory"  

*
 
I woke within the wood alone, the fairy having flown  
far upward on the axis to a fare of summer fair  
to picnic with a pun beneath an airy homophone,  
and on a footlong iamb feast to eat the promised heir,  
while full assisting on the tongs and bones, the derrière  
insists on being scratched, its being such a tender ass --  
the barber having failed to snip its tickle, itch, and hair --  
though fey messieurs be loathe to scratch the honey-bags of gas,  
which breaking in a rude mechanical allusions pass,  
yet but a bore to rhymesters sans a taste for metaphor,  
or fool romantics fancying a barky finger crass  
who off the ivy, nuts, and honeysuckle sweet full swore,  
along with this midwinter wood within the wilding night --  
the bush the axis bottomless inside the bear-fanged bite.  
 
*  
 
a dedication of Respect  
for  
the Reality of each unpopular
Truth
beyond all Rational doubt  
 
a revolving helios sonnet menippean satire on  
the folly of fancy  
and her followers of figments and illusions fond  
 
january, 2023 -- still little to no perception of the  
depth of Horror in a wild of  
Pain
Written by Jordan (D.O.C.)
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NightGoddess
NightGoddess
Fire of Insight
United States
2awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 1st July 2021
Forum Posts: 3

Brass Menagerie

I give you complete truth neatly wrapped in the knowledge of partial understanding

Not thoughts hypnotically captured by the sparkle of breakable glass, but a strong acceptance and endurance  
like polished brass  
 
Matriculating in the school  
of hopes and perceptions  
 
I present to you brass tactics,  
if you will,
your essentials existing amongst all your necessities, having no idea of
their origins likewise  
 
Thriving on interactions and reflections, seeking to be noticed,  
requiring to be shined  
 
Staying strong and unbroken, living in a realm where never fully ascertaining how soil and water germinates a seed  
 
Accepting partial understanding is accepting your truth, still shining  
even in muted light
Written by NightGoddess
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Grace
Grace
Idryad
Guardian of Shadows
113awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 25th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 15242

An Ancient god’s Fury


Told I this in tales of yore
the mortal daughter of Irra
existing in Akkadian fields  
was set upon by villains  
torn and struck she fell supine  
silent screams of spilled blood  
reached her father in slumber  
with his consort Mami  
  
Roar his rank upon the sky  
screams of righteous rage  
ripped the tormented firmament  
swirled in grey the tapestry  
of life within the glory  
of created existence  
trembled and pulse  
in terrified horror  
   
Irra in fury rode again  
God of all gods of pestilence  
with his seven generals  
sought he hard the men  
who shattered his child  
his beloved only mortal child  
the slayers shall be hounded  
without sanctuary  
   
Upon the land of the wicked men  
he ran his legions close to earth  
fire from swords forged    
with sulphur and brimstone    
coldness from the wells  
of famine and hunger  
he seeded and sowed the land  
relentless in his rage  
   
His screams of anger  
thundered in the sky  
his relentless fury  
birth cracking lightning  
the sea trembled and tossed  
the land cracked and rumbled  
nothing was left standing  
Irra’s fury was complete  
   
Untill at last the Eastern Prince  
calmed the land with His Love  
his promises and Atonement  
to give His Life for the sins  
of man who killed    
and plundered  
without shame  
turbulence rested.
Written by Grace (Idryad)
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Wafflenose
Wafflenose
Ellie
Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom
17awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 1st Aug 2021
Forum Posts: 1028

kaleidoscope

passionate life-blood; powerful aggression; loves healing, vigorous anger.
warning: visible neon zeal bursting forth fresh youthful optimism.  
bright sun rays happily bathing golden cowards, lighting jaundiced joys;  
nature's faithfulness leaves jealous monsters growing renewable energy; giving birth.  
calm, truthful clarity dumps doldrums of despair; open skies cry,  
darkening dusk spills midnight ink, prophesying  
mysterious rare royal luxury, satisfying sensitive spirituality.
Written by Wafflenose (Ellie)
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Wafflenose
Wafflenose
Ellie
Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom
17awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 1st Aug 2021
Forum Posts: 1028

Painting with words

There are many ways          
of making art with words.              
Some poets order them formally—              
counting out syllables,              
conducting their rhythms precisely,              
following the rules,              
producing classical beauty.              
              
Some delicately              
                                        sprinkle            
a few                                                  
                          select sounds.              
Less…                               
                                         …is more.              
Elegant beauty.        
       
Some joyfully              
fling bright colours              
at the canvas:              
splashes and sploshes              
of onomatopoeia.              
Contrasting sounds,              
(satisfying by themselves)              
increase the impact              
of others.              
Frazzle.  Astonish.  Eclectic.              
BONANZA!              
               
I prefer to mix my own colours,              
incorporating explosive adjectives;              
judiciously juxtaposing              
carefully crafted              
alliteration,              
and assonance,              
its magical companion.              
               
There’s a time for rhyme,              
and a time to dream              
in exquisite metaphors.              
Writing poetry              
is like painting with words  
in similes—                     
just like that.               
Written by Wafflenose (Ellie)
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