Submissions by utenaka (cyanide kid102)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
We have something to say to each other, and how well we argue - you drew passions, i am full of grounds. /F.N.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Nov 2014 4:15pm
9th Nov 2014 4:15pm
sonnet
A.V.
acrid bombs drip from your inkwell
you seem to be resurrectionist of death after death
by discovering your rabid verses
my 'poetic will' treasonous withdraws semi-blast,
& wraps itself up in beautiful shroud....within it i will dwell
as long as Imperium Romanum of modernity decays
future wont appear
only repeating past chants its chapters for greedy mankind
presence is death - death is presence
how many fumes of sacred poisons one should inhale
to grasp astute delirium of 'childish' truisms
you utter in 'absolute...
acrid bombs drip from your inkwell
you seem to be resurrectionist of death after death
by discovering your rabid verses
my 'poetic will' treasonous withdraws semi-blast,
& wraps itself up in beautiful shroud....within it i will dwell
as long as Imperium Romanum of modernity decays
future wont appear
only repeating past chants its chapters for greedy mankind
presence is death - death is presence
how many fumes of sacred poisons one should inhale
to grasp astute delirium of 'childish' truisms
you utter in 'absolute...
670 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
16th Oct 2014 3:36pm
16th Oct 2014 3:36pm
Hate poetry
in interstice of some useless verses,
which make hardly some things happen or change
unless leaving fleeting trace to ephemeral methamorphose of insipid mind
i ask, what actually is a poetry?
What an other name for this as noble madam?
to say the least, poetry seems being just an excuse for deeds,
marauderness of sin, undergoing of blame----
lubricant niggers of necrorealism, instant banana-chokolama minnesingers, or unarmed maudlin (like me)
web their nets mostly even not as subtle as spider web it in their...
which make hardly some things happen or change
unless leaving fleeting trace to ephemeral methamorphose of insipid mind
i ask, what actually is a poetry?
What an other name for this as noble madam?
to say the least, poetry seems being just an excuse for deeds,
marauderness of sin, undergoing of blame----
lubricant niggers of necrorealism, instant banana-chokolama minnesingers, or unarmed maudlin (like me)
web their nets mostly even not as subtle as spider web it in their...
857 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Oct 2014 9:04pm
15th Oct 2014 9:04pm
and you stare hypocritical from your screen..
And again my emotions melt in a surplus
against next as cool as sublime majesty!
My abandoned jardim is blowed away
by your tundra-permafrost
by your uncouth provocant manner..
nothing happened
All right, babe
nothing went wrong
even with your replica of 'victims' and 'cops'
be-
cause
this jardim- is itinerant, & prodigal tramp
it may vagabonds to another sand, to another pave
The same feelings at once is myth . i saw,
there is too many layers of...
against next as cool as sublime majesty!
My abandoned jardim is blowed away
by your tundra-permafrost
by your uncouth provocant manner..
nothing happened
All right, babe
nothing went wrong
even with your replica of 'victims' and 'cops'
be-
cause
this jardim- is itinerant, & prodigal tramp
it may vagabonds to another sand, to another pave
The same feelings at once is myth . i saw,
there is too many layers of...
776 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Oct 2014 10:35pm
10th Oct 2014 10:35pm
Evanescent regard on poem
poem isnt an asparagus neither a mackerel, which has to be shiped on track and delivered to consuments..
poem is a creature itself, its enigma, a mystery.with her reason, her timing, her guilt, her schicksal...
it has her life and her death
but ha, seldom who has a cemetery of his poems..and this is deplorable
for like poéte maudit once coined it: all writing is a garbage..
poem is a creature itself, its enigma, a mystery.with her reason, her timing, her guilt, her schicksal...
it has her life and her death
but ha, seldom who has a cemetery of his poems..and this is deplorable
for like poéte maudit once coined it: all writing is a garbage..
773 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
30th Sep 2014 11:21am
30th Sep 2014 11:21am
elegy
twilight, late evening
boulevards wear melancholic mask
i walk along trees,benches and bars
steped behind those
of whom i prayed nights and days
and nothing holy i preserve
and nothing what i remorse
for nothing drift centuries
visage of nature is unknown
we live like everything what lives
just several cosmic moments
and there is no chance and no sense to dwell in light
if you happen to be a spawn of fire
obscurity remain be a single realm
while dim satyrs are odd waiters of clouds delight
the...
boulevards wear melancholic mask
i walk along trees,benches and bars
steped behind those
of whom i prayed nights and days
and nothing holy i preserve
and nothing what i remorse
for nothing drift centuries
visage of nature is unknown
we live like everything what lives
just several cosmic moments
and there is no chance and no sense to dwell in light
if you happen to be a spawn of fire
obscurity remain be a single realm
while dim satyrs are odd waiters of clouds delight
the...
790 reads
6 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
12th Sep 2014 11:33pm
12th Sep 2014 11:33pm
autumn's child
on autumn twigs spring sways
cant you feel emerald may?
emerald may on golden-red alley
was it far ago, when we met on that wintriness?
our two abandoned hearts
cold, oscillating with jars, twisted in tongues..
your handicraft was your only beloved one for long index of time
while me, wrote verses, sake selftherapy
reflecting my past seven black springs..
on this january calm eve, tequilla freed words from our lips
so sincere so folly, so airy-fairy,...... so infantile?
we were two indians exchanged goodies
Hiro Kone..
you gave me yours,...
cant you feel emerald may?
emerald may on golden-red alley
was it far ago, when we met on that wintriness?
our two abandoned hearts
cold, oscillating with jars, twisted in tongues..
your handicraft was your only beloved one for long index of time
while me, wrote verses, sake selftherapy
reflecting my past seven black springs..
on this january calm eve, tequilla freed words from our lips
so sincere so folly, so airy-fairy,...... so infantile?
we were two indians exchanged goodies
Hiro Kone..
you gave me yours,...
676 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
12th Sep 2014 9:10pm
12th Sep 2014 9:10pm
love is dead*
L eft you tremble in delirium of exstasy in turn with melancholy
O ver, so never will rise again in same trust to magic unity
V ernicular of last phon-talk is merely what remains behind on ground
E vil of passion still blinds, spreading elation of masochistic wounds
I ngridients are written in ethereal heaven
S o long as i drift in infernal maze
D eath cracks her mostly dire grin straight to marrow any moment i touch this phantom's face
E voke me, inside out, dwindle into dasein of nothing than last lost ghost ...
O ver, so never will rise again in same trust to magic unity
V ernicular of last phon-talk is merely what remains behind on ground
E vil of passion still blinds, spreading elation of masochistic wounds
I ngridients are written in ethereal heaven
S o long as i drift in infernal maze
D eath cracks her mostly dire grin straight to marrow any moment i touch this phantom's face
E voke me, inside out, dwindle into dasein of nothing than last lost ghost ...
818 reads
5 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
31st Aug 2014 4:44am
31st Aug 2014 4:44am
Attic of Janus
o vida loca!
how vague i am
to 'conform'
you
who am i to be?
voyeur or participant,
stiff cynic or rigid soldier,
tired nihilist or blissfull buddha-ist,
nonsectarian shaman or impartial commissar
desperate waster or boldly fighting resurrectionist
blind blueser or fairly free from illusions writing hand?
those are quandaries of imaginare twillight.
when darkness is as if the shadow of the light,
and the light - like a reflection of the darkness...
...
how vague i am
to 'conform'
you
who am i to be?
voyeur or participant,
stiff cynic or rigid soldier,
tired nihilist or blissfull buddha-ist,
nonsectarian shaman or impartial commissar
desperate waster or boldly fighting resurrectionist
blind blueser or fairly free from illusions writing hand?
those are quandaries of imaginare twillight.
when darkness is as if the shadow of the light,
and the light - like a reflection of the darkness...
...
808 reads
3 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
31st Aug 2014 4:00am
31st Aug 2014 4:00am
in most gentle memory of Marina Tsvetaeva*
carry love on the frail ice surface- up in skies
sang saucy songs for those incomplete lovies wallowing on fatigue of your bones
bleed plain dedications to imaginative lover who would be able to love you like you used to love-to the limits..
even if urge to love to the limits is urge to death, as wisely coined one of the most odious man of all times and folks
you little dancer on the tightrope, lunatic of two dark moon, yer bits were not the fruits of your imagination, but glowing pulse self., pulse of yer...
sang saucy songs for those incomplete lovies wallowing on fatigue of your bones
bleed plain dedications to imaginative lover who would be able to love you like you used to love-to the limits..
even if urge to love to the limits is urge to death, as wisely coined one of the most odious man of all times and folks
you little dancer on the tightrope, lunatic of two dark moon, yer bits were not the fruits of your imagination, but glowing pulse self., pulse of yer...
796 reads
4 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
24th Aug 2014 6:03am
24th Aug 2014 6:03am
stolen moments
in the autumn park, mids of the town
i went to watch trees..
there was one, bent and vandalized,with the splits of beerbottles stringed on twigs, the tree lay over ground but still lived..
so i went though alley to to revisit this tree to see wether it not cared by some gardener,
who usually work in such landscapes as park...
moisty air of grayish day wasnt obvisiously inviting for many visitors
why park looked almost like abandoned district..
or may be i felt like that after i sow them?
they, were three persons, most perhaps...
i went to watch trees..
there was one, bent and vandalized,with the splits of beerbottles stringed on twigs, the tree lay over ground but still lived..
so i went though alley to to revisit this tree to see wether it not cared by some gardener,
who usually work in such landscapes as park...
moisty air of grayish day wasnt obvisiously inviting for many visitors
why park looked almost like abandoned district..
or may be i felt like that after i sow them?
they, were three persons, most perhaps...
901 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
21st Aug 2014 4:01am
21st Aug 2014 4:01am
shaky worts
shaky worts cross the bridges of next and next sophism
shaky worts stumble on flat paves
shaky words descend in gloomy canals of the town where they drift restless
shaky worts stitch laces, torned in splits by razorblade of distruction-nerve
shaky worts deride themself..
shaky words consist throurougly of needs but sometimes of wants
shaky worts want reflect frogs in pond, dragonfly larva with a permanent presence of mossy skull of that pariah, the plainly fool..
jes, shaky worts lean on crutches they dont lift their wordts knees to move...
shaky worts stumble on flat paves
shaky words descend in gloomy canals of the town where they drift restless
shaky worts stitch laces, torned in splits by razorblade of distruction-nerve
shaky worts deride themself..
shaky words consist throurougly of needs but sometimes of wants
shaky worts want reflect frogs in pond, dragonfly larva with a permanent presence of mossy skull of that pariah, the plainly fool..
jes, shaky worts lean on crutches they dont lift their wordts knees to move...
759 reads
SELF POEM
Published
11th Aug 2014 8:34am
11th Aug 2014 8:34am
skizo-impromptu #49b
skizo-impromptu #49b
herald, fade
fireman, freeze
attendant, die
suricate, fly
*****
шизо импромту #49b
глашатай, отвядай
пожарник, замерзай
санитар,умри ...
herald, fade
fireman, freeze
attendant, die
suricate, fly
*****
шизо импромту #49b
глашатай, отвядай
пожарник, замерзай
санитар,умри ...
682 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by utenaka (cyanide kid102)
