deepundergroundpoetry.com
they call me poet
bleed on my canvas
-i-
though i lose you
when you contemplate
my so-called sophistry
i savvy you
for crab-toe elusions
are crystalline
to my would-be
appetite
-ii-
did i not confess my pen
a forest
of tangled thoughts
you cannot penetrate
though blindfolded
i fathom your frivolities
-iii-
did i not confess my ink
consummate
as the dead sea
taking wholly
and giving slowly
of naught
-iv-
penetrate me
you cannot
for you choke up
on the irony
of my imaginings
yet the entrée of you
swells 7-course menus
on my palette
delivering me
abated
into the bosom
of 3rd-person
ethnic fatigue
-v-
wooded am i
by the leaf of life
and evergreen
lost in my league
you cannot leave
for my lyrical life
must sing your
fragrant fragments
to a constant remnant
-vi-
i’d give you all
my love
were i not busy
compelling yours
your procrustean
preoccupation
with the deciphering
of my hyphenalia
misappropriates
my sentient
sentiments
-vii-
they call me poet
for the surgical removal
of my liturgical constructs
haemorrhages the world
in which you live
bleed on my canvas
perchance my dead sea
become your living ink
-viii-
perhaps my next episode
will standardise
my stanzas
so you can verify
the verisimilitude
of my every verse
and transliterate
my alliterations
into 3-D metaphors
so that in the denouement
you may comprehend
my impossible consistencies
-ix-
then perhaps
you too
will call me poet
and i can dare
to give you
all my love…
© Copyright 2019 August 26
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
-i-
though i lose you
when you contemplate
my so-called sophistry
i savvy you
for crab-toe elusions
are crystalline
to my would-be
appetite
-ii-
did i not confess my pen
a forest
of tangled thoughts
you cannot penetrate
though blindfolded
i fathom your frivolities
-iii-
did i not confess my ink
consummate
as the dead sea
taking wholly
and giving slowly
of naught
-iv-
penetrate me
you cannot
for you choke up
on the irony
of my imaginings
yet the entrée of you
swells 7-course menus
on my palette
delivering me
abated
into the bosom
of 3rd-person
ethnic fatigue
-v-
wooded am i
by the leaf of life
and evergreen
lost in my league
you cannot leave
for my lyrical life
must sing your
fragrant fragments
to a constant remnant
-vi-
i’d give you all
my love
were i not busy
compelling yours
your procrustean
preoccupation
with the deciphering
of my hyphenalia
misappropriates
my sentient
sentiments
-vii-
they call me poet
for the surgical removal
of my liturgical constructs
haemorrhages the world
in which you live
bleed on my canvas
perchance my dead sea
become your living ink
-viii-
perhaps my next episode
will standardise
my stanzas
so you can verify
the verisimilitude
of my every verse
and transliterate
my alliterations
into 3-D metaphors
so that in the denouement
you may comprehend
my impossible consistencies
-ix-
then perhaps
you too
will call me poet
and i can dare
to give you
all my love…
© Copyright 2019 August 26
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
Published 27th Aug 2019
Author's Note
View visual copy/paste):
http://mydo.cx/NDYzZTUw
http://mydo.cx/NDYzZTUw
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 4
reading list entries 3
comments 6
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
27th Aug 2019 8:29am
"bleed on my canvas
perchance my dead sea
become your living ink"
This caught me with my jaws literally dropping. Your Poetry are like paintings on a canvas crafted by the masters hand.
perchance my dead sea
become your living ink"
This caught me with my jaws literally dropping. Your Poetry are like paintings on a canvas crafted by the masters hand.
Thank you, Graceful, for your observations and the RL inclusion.
Sometimes one does not know how one's heart will dance until after one has said what has to be said.
There should be no apology for sincerity; nor does truth need to beg pardon.
So good to see you back here!
Sincerely
cab
Sometimes one does not know how one's heart will dance until after one has said what has to be said.
There should be no apology for sincerity; nor does truth need to beg pardon.
So good to see you back here!
Sincerely
cab
27th Aug 2019 7:09pm
I call you an OG because that is what you ARE my friend.
OG POET. (;
Bringing down da’ house wit’ that fire ink!
I would say you are a wordsmith of an entirely different realm. (:
A world that I can peek into from a distance wearing 3D glasses for those sick metaphors.
Yours,
LostGirl
OG POET. (;
Bringing down da’ house wit’ that fire ink!
I would say you are a wordsmith of an entirely different realm. (:
A world that I can peek into from a distance wearing 3D glasses for those sick metaphors.
Yours,
LostGirl
29th Aug 2019 4:30am
Wow, LG!
This Original Gangsta digs your style.
Bringing da house down, you say: I just hope not to be interred with the bones of the formidable Dead Poets' Society.
Thanks for your encouraging compliments. My pen is full of wisdom beyond my realm; I'm content just to be the willing messenger, so you might see into worlds way beyond my corner of earth.
Thanks for the RL add.
Sincerely
cab
This Original Gangsta digs your style.
Bringing da house down, you say: I just hope not to be interred with the bones of the formidable Dead Poets' Society.
Thanks for your encouraging compliments. My pen is full of wisdom beyond my realm; I'm content just to be the willing messenger, so you might see into worlds way beyond my corner of earth.
Thanks for the RL add.
Sincerely
cab
27th Aug 2019 7:12pm
Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamit!
This is one the THE BEST spills from You -- Wow!
I talking about the ink aside from the graphics!!!
This is one the THE BEST spills from You -- Wow!
I talking about the ink aside from the graphics!!!
Thank you, Brother Tallen.
The decibel count of any dammit from you always gets attention, you know. In other words, they're not all that common, so they come with purpose.
I was at first afraid of the length of this poem (I know many of us would prefer not to belabour the endless ones!). But when I saw the ink going in its own direction, I stepped aside and allowed myself to become the mere instrument. Surprisingly, the write became compelling all on its own.
You love my graphics but I see how much you dig the lyrical ink in this one. Thanks for RL-ing me!
Sincerely
cab
The decibel count of any dammit from you always gets attention, you know. In other words, they're not all that common, so they come with purpose.
I was at first afraid of the length of this poem (I know many of us would prefer not to belabour the endless ones!). But when I saw the ink going in its own direction, I stepped aside and allowed myself to become the mere instrument. Surprisingly, the write became compelling all on its own.
You love my graphics but I see how much you dig the lyrical ink in this one. Thanks for RL-ing me!
Sincerely
cab
