deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Absence of Magic
Crushed under heel, your cigarette smolders in heavy waves of gray, defiant to its last breath. Compare its progress to the formation of debris fields, Saturn's rings, the Kuiper belt. Smaller scale, the same physical principles in play. Force of momentum and attraction, mass and density, light and a path of longitudinal oscillations along the line of propagation. Beauty in the facility of simple movement.
She exhales and laughs bitterly, throws bursts of sound like glass at me that shatters against my face. I wait, let your silence reign, until you will speak again. What isn’t a debris field on some scale. So why is anything beautiful. She asked with bite, with bile veiled thinly below sarcasm that is saccharin in utterance. Her large eyes smoldered, sunk to slits, sliding left to right. What are you showing me, now. It’s suddenly so interesting to wonder.
She burns with heat in the cold wind on a late spring evening. She basks in the center of her madness fire and whatever brought her to call on me again, after so long. For long moments she inhales, exhales, pulls shadows and casts them back. Sunset, angry red, fading to purples and blacks in slow moments that pass as we pass right to left. Left, right go her eyes like a fire that fists of her thoughts had strangled to life from just earth and whatever she could find to burn, piled in some randomly chosen or perfectly fated place. She could stand and smoke and radiate outward. I could speak if I wanted or just be silent and burn with her.
Will you walk or follow me beyond where reason gives way to wanting. Covetous to possession. Invade you utterly. Break and fracture each other to become the one being. Protoplanets, as yet, we are scattered beyond orbital reach, too much thermodynamic energy for us to accrete into a single planet, as yet. You’re a hot mess. I’m no better. Maybe never happens, or just for an instant that I can hold onto in the long spans that will surely follow where I will be alone, in darkness. Where I will ache in tears and swear oaths to atone, to live again, but experience nothing. When that time comes, I will live for this. This and these, where I am briefly amongst the great.
I unwind. I feel. I am hands held by gears, turned by wheels.
..
Sector 1: Quo vadis
Or
Bound in chains of darkness
Wind is cold in the wild world tonight. Just such a night. I bend the fire, speak out the smoke. Burn it all down. Old timers said, leave nothing for the devil. I imagine again what I dreamt after we met.
Aloof and fleet of hoof, I am the animal you seek. It stands at the center of the vortex, wind and energy rushing round in concentric circles, my will has lashed out reflexively in the darkness, searching with outrage for this intrusion. Her mind has drawn down over me a cloak of poison. This unknown presence is heavy against the air, fraught with lusting desire for the fruition of its vengeance, malice for malice. Her hidden face that I knew without sight in the blind imaginings of the astral and the clash of energy that surged between us with a voice that cantillates a ballad of eons at this struggle, aching me to ruin with their passage through space-time.
My heart is cold and old with rings of dust that darken in concentric circles. I collide with you, crushed, broken and whole, together. Hold your wrist gently, speak in your ear. Just listen and be near.
If my soul is part rotten, is it all rotten. If my ankles are bound in chains of darkness, will mind and heart also be drawn down. What promise could there be for us, if this were just so. Perhaps to liquefy into the primordial again, broken down for parts. Gazing up vacantly into the face of he that hovers over the waters, I learned from that vantage, before there was light, there was depth. Few of my contemplations give me comfort. Some few are precious to me. You are sometimes amongst these.
When I was young, my lungs drew in water. I remember the horror of liquid filling into places I knew it should not be, as I am submerged, but forced to breathe in reflexively. A moment of mindless panic, I became weary and soon slept.
Lost moments where I roamed, blind in cold mists and rose again. Number me among the great, not the dead. Among the wise and strong. Listen for the silence. There is much hurt in words, much left unsaid. My heart houses the eldritch flame that here commands by force of utterance, this is all I am, carried beyond the breath and resonance when intoned in voice upon air. Measure me in dust halos, in fingers of depth.
I step out after dark, around midnight. Walk beside the avenue. Steps are heavy. Breaths come hard. I think the smoke hurts more, but it’s my eccentricities. My health is undeveloped or is my potential ignored, I am selfish and self-absorbed. Of all my failures, these stand alone in regard.
It's quiet. I am alone again. Old friends come in threes. One, two, who will it be. Which combination of events will spell doom and I will drown, this time not on water but on death.
Your pride is no less evil than mine. It is rank and narrow for the monster of twisting, sinuous corridors who keeps no love, but instead learns the contours of the maze prison. Restless in the subterranean halls of the pride monger. Heavy horns of the hate beast lowered to menacing posture. All this you are, I have been and keep still, the lesson of this incarnation.
I could not know these things and stay. So I invite her to go. I kept none close. You could not be allowed to know us, that I am called Solidus. You could not know what I had learned or how ugly I am.
..
Sector 2: Occam’s razor
Or
It’s not magic, it’s my heart
Time is short. There is much that I would relate to you before the end.
She is animated, burning with the worst of her spirits, sprites moving the curtains of her hair and whisper there, truculent words that trouble her. She is alive with pain and madness. Her eyes float like motes of light in a face of pelagic calm, broken by the countenance of bone. The shadow of death yet remained on her. I remember when she was still and elemental, alive with energies that assail me. She passes the bowl, tossing her head back and releasing streams of smoke from her nostrils, makes another demand.
Give me a reason to stay, if you have one. Tell me something I cannot disagree with or say something beautiful, like you do sometimes. I start with where I am at, right now.
I flick the lighter, hold the flame sideways and bend it into the bowl. I hold down the hit, let the heat settle in. It works because of physics, metamorphosis, but also because I want it to. If you are aware of only the former, you know only half a truth.
I open my eyes, pass off the bowl, issue smoke slowly from mouth and nostrils, savor the taste. This pleasure and nothing lasts. I turn from her, scan the stars. Bright Vega draws me to Lyra and it's cylindrical shape. Orion, it's visible stars like a knocked over television set with ears extended. I speak to her as it comes to me.
There is a price for this, as spheres approach, their massive rotations becomes the litany, hums in my ears when the song of self thus demands I impart these passages, it carves its path through me. This is my creation agony. It is life. Throats of winds speak these words through me, steady as wheels turned on teeth, when I can hear the grinding hiss of great spans that can and will fit in palm of hand, when my awakening comes.
I watch you burn with life, all that presently occupies you, wherever you go into yourself and what places you have crafted there. Clockworks made upon a pedestal, the strikes of deliberate blows is the aftermath music of your creative soul, as it touches me and concusses me both. I offer what I have against you. Void for void. Imagine the moldings of fingers over the contours you know intimately, the heart knows truth and the mind crafts these, ill substitutes in my efforts to reach you with fingers that cannot penetrate, just caress you. My own machinations and the devils that pilot these, I recognize my evil drives in you as well.
I ache to marvel at the monuments men have built, and those kept to yourself. So keep what you most covet, I will look at you, feel you and everything around us, still and shifting. Molecules in a universe of particles. We are yet cloud gazers, snow blind, drunk on newly acquired wanderlusts to the misty borders of what there is yet to know. You are mad as I had been. Wanting to be autonomous and all the benefits of synthesis. Wanting dominance. Myself, these planets that are mine, you and all that is coming after me.
If you feel anything now, it’s not for me, but for yourself, surely your time is quickening as well. It’s not all spacial vectors, radial vectors, dynamic calculations or the weight and size of objects that fragment and reform into a new whole. It does not all conform to gravity. Not what lives in the space between us when I stand opposite and burn beside you tonight.
It’s not magic, it’s my heart I lay open for you
In these moments that will be precious few
..
Sector 3: The Virgo Supercluster
Or
Aliis si licet, tibi non licet
What gods may do, cattle may not
Your love was the sun that men worshiped madly and you are totally insane and drunk with that love.
I am your Atlas and the pedestal that holds you aloft, my grip upon you is strong now. Shifting your face in full winds, feeling you break and scar from your tremulous interior collisions, but can do nothing. Just hold you until this passes. It was inclement weather that made us part ways. I speak as the Atlantean. I am old with polarizing love and menace. The emerald tablets come from a mind such as mine, as well.
Taking on the confines of solid
Images, imbued with emotion that
Somehow, comes across to
You and we are there, united
Equally, by our shared
Existence, is when these thoughts were
Struck and cast, these dice held in hand
And you, who was kind to stop and
Grasp
When fumbled
All of these are perfectly
Beautiful
Just for now
When beheld within the scope of their
Impermanence
And so, I am half of light, half of
Dark
Equinox, call me
Firebrand
Beside oblivion
Hear the furtherance of my tonal tides
And see these moments
Focused
Through my cyclopean
Eye
I wonder what was, from what paramnesia might have
Called into being, to answer what was
Missing
These love desires resonate and bend my
Soul mind
Together
All you have to do is look at me
Hear the tenors of my
Heart thoughts
To know
Which hemisphere is ruling
Everything is lost, in time. So much goes unsaid, words cannot suffice. Each step is a funeral procession and each sentiment begins its organic wilt upon inception. We are overcome, we rot from our core, outward.
I was not afeared or overcome by dread, I was nothing. Sometimes spasmodic in my movements with a funambulist’s over correcting gait, sometimes still as the same, calm on the surface, focused inward, finding the song of self. I wish I had words to tell you, how much the smallest gesture of warmth had meant to me. How I breathed life into its embers and its coals became all that I had to hold when I was within the grasp of the All Oblivion. Bent over me, broken and immobilized beneath its crushing weight.
Planets rotate with the unstoppable force of their progress through time-space, the concussions rip years from all in their wake. All is wilted as indeed it is distorted by the grip of some mal de mer, and this too is agonizing and beautiful to remember what we were and how we ebbed with the mad chemical intoxications of life.
That which goes into the dark, emerges again. Its passage is fixed through heavens that we do not yet possess plain eyes to see, but know they are there, our anthesis of sentience sure to continually breach those bounds of knowing. Though we are not those titans, we live and move in cycles, and close upon the shoulder of each others doomed spectre, in this final movement.
Long after we had parted ways
A short while before we are briefly
Reunited
I had been looking close at the Old Book
Again
It had occurred to me, then
Before there was light, there was depth
..
Got lost in verisimilitude again as significant events align and condense. Occam’s razor. Her shadow is still in the twilight. She’s still and waiting. What’s the last thing said, that I remember. Why is anything beautiful. So I start from there.
Because it comes
Around
And never comes
Again
Because it ends
..
The Absence of Magic
By
Daniel Christensen
Writing as
The Fire Elemental
She exhales and laughs bitterly, throws bursts of sound like glass at me that shatters against my face. I wait, let your silence reign, until you will speak again. What isn’t a debris field on some scale. So why is anything beautiful. She asked with bite, with bile veiled thinly below sarcasm that is saccharin in utterance. Her large eyes smoldered, sunk to slits, sliding left to right. What are you showing me, now. It’s suddenly so interesting to wonder.
She burns with heat in the cold wind on a late spring evening. She basks in the center of her madness fire and whatever brought her to call on me again, after so long. For long moments she inhales, exhales, pulls shadows and casts them back. Sunset, angry red, fading to purples and blacks in slow moments that pass as we pass right to left. Left, right go her eyes like a fire that fists of her thoughts had strangled to life from just earth and whatever she could find to burn, piled in some randomly chosen or perfectly fated place. She could stand and smoke and radiate outward. I could speak if I wanted or just be silent and burn with her.
Will you walk or follow me beyond where reason gives way to wanting. Covetous to possession. Invade you utterly. Break and fracture each other to become the one being. Protoplanets, as yet, we are scattered beyond orbital reach, too much thermodynamic energy for us to accrete into a single planet, as yet. You’re a hot mess. I’m no better. Maybe never happens, or just for an instant that I can hold onto in the long spans that will surely follow where I will be alone, in darkness. Where I will ache in tears and swear oaths to atone, to live again, but experience nothing. When that time comes, I will live for this. This and these, where I am briefly amongst the great.
I unwind. I feel. I am hands held by gears, turned by wheels.
..
Sector 1: Quo vadis
Or
Bound in chains of darkness
Wind is cold in the wild world tonight. Just such a night. I bend the fire, speak out the smoke. Burn it all down. Old timers said, leave nothing for the devil. I imagine again what I dreamt after we met.
Aloof and fleet of hoof, I am the animal you seek. It stands at the center of the vortex, wind and energy rushing round in concentric circles, my will has lashed out reflexively in the darkness, searching with outrage for this intrusion. Her mind has drawn down over me a cloak of poison. This unknown presence is heavy against the air, fraught with lusting desire for the fruition of its vengeance, malice for malice. Her hidden face that I knew without sight in the blind imaginings of the astral and the clash of energy that surged between us with a voice that cantillates a ballad of eons at this struggle, aching me to ruin with their passage through space-time.
My heart is cold and old with rings of dust that darken in concentric circles. I collide with you, crushed, broken and whole, together. Hold your wrist gently, speak in your ear. Just listen and be near.
If my soul is part rotten, is it all rotten. If my ankles are bound in chains of darkness, will mind and heart also be drawn down. What promise could there be for us, if this were just so. Perhaps to liquefy into the primordial again, broken down for parts. Gazing up vacantly into the face of he that hovers over the waters, I learned from that vantage, before there was light, there was depth. Few of my contemplations give me comfort. Some few are precious to me. You are sometimes amongst these.
When I was young, my lungs drew in water. I remember the horror of liquid filling into places I knew it should not be, as I am submerged, but forced to breathe in reflexively. A moment of mindless panic, I became weary and soon slept.
Lost moments where I roamed, blind in cold mists and rose again. Number me among the great, not the dead. Among the wise and strong. Listen for the silence. There is much hurt in words, much left unsaid. My heart houses the eldritch flame that here commands by force of utterance, this is all I am, carried beyond the breath and resonance when intoned in voice upon air. Measure me in dust halos, in fingers of depth.
I step out after dark, around midnight. Walk beside the avenue. Steps are heavy. Breaths come hard. I think the smoke hurts more, but it’s my eccentricities. My health is undeveloped or is my potential ignored, I am selfish and self-absorbed. Of all my failures, these stand alone in regard.
It's quiet. I am alone again. Old friends come in threes. One, two, who will it be. Which combination of events will spell doom and I will drown, this time not on water but on death.
Your pride is no less evil than mine. It is rank and narrow for the monster of twisting, sinuous corridors who keeps no love, but instead learns the contours of the maze prison. Restless in the subterranean halls of the pride monger. Heavy horns of the hate beast lowered to menacing posture. All this you are, I have been and keep still, the lesson of this incarnation.
I could not know these things and stay. So I invite her to go. I kept none close. You could not be allowed to know us, that I am called Solidus. You could not know what I had learned or how ugly I am.
..
Sector 2: Occam’s razor
Or
It’s not magic, it’s my heart
Time is short. There is much that I would relate to you before the end.
She is animated, burning with the worst of her spirits, sprites moving the curtains of her hair and whisper there, truculent words that trouble her. She is alive with pain and madness. Her eyes float like motes of light in a face of pelagic calm, broken by the countenance of bone. The shadow of death yet remained on her. I remember when she was still and elemental, alive with energies that assail me. She passes the bowl, tossing her head back and releasing streams of smoke from her nostrils, makes another demand.
Give me a reason to stay, if you have one. Tell me something I cannot disagree with or say something beautiful, like you do sometimes. I start with where I am at, right now.
I flick the lighter, hold the flame sideways and bend it into the bowl. I hold down the hit, let the heat settle in. It works because of physics, metamorphosis, but also because I want it to. If you are aware of only the former, you know only half a truth.
I open my eyes, pass off the bowl, issue smoke slowly from mouth and nostrils, savor the taste. This pleasure and nothing lasts. I turn from her, scan the stars. Bright Vega draws me to Lyra and it's cylindrical shape. Orion, it's visible stars like a knocked over television set with ears extended. I speak to her as it comes to me.
There is a price for this, as spheres approach, their massive rotations becomes the litany, hums in my ears when the song of self thus demands I impart these passages, it carves its path through me. This is my creation agony. It is life. Throats of winds speak these words through me, steady as wheels turned on teeth, when I can hear the grinding hiss of great spans that can and will fit in palm of hand, when my awakening comes.
I watch you burn with life, all that presently occupies you, wherever you go into yourself and what places you have crafted there. Clockworks made upon a pedestal, the strikes of deliberate blows is the aftermath music of your creative soul, as it touches me and concusses me both. I offer what I have against you. Void for void. Imagine the moldings of fingers over the contours you know intimately, the heart knows truth and the mind crafts these, ill substitutes in my efforts to reach you with fingers that cannot penetrate, just caress you. My own machinations and the devils that pilot these, I recognize my evil drives in you as well.
I ache to marvel at the monuments men have built, and those kept to yourself. So keep what you most covet, I will look at you, feel you and everything around us, still and shifting. Molecules in a universe of particles. We are yet cloud gazers, snow blind, drunk on newly acquired wanderlusts to the misty borders of what there is yet to know. You are mad as I had been. Wanting to be autonomous and all the benefits of synthesis. Wanting dominance. Myself, these planets that are mine, you and all that is coming after me.
If you feel anything now, it’s not for me, but for yourself, surely your time is quickening as well. It’s not all spacial vectors, radial vectors, dynamic calculations or the weight and size of objects that fragment and reform into a new whole. It does not all conform to gravity. Not what lives in the space between us when I stand opposite and burn beside you tonight.
It’s not magic, it’s my heart I lay open for you
In these moments that will be precious few
..
Sector 3: The Virgo Supercluster
Or
Aliis si licet, tibi non licet
What gods may do, cattle may not
Your love was the sun that men worshiped madly and you are totally insane and drunk with that love.
I am your Atlas and the pedestal that holds you aloft, my grip upon you is strong now. Shifting your face in full winds, feeling you break and scar from your tremulous interior collisions, but can do nothing. Just hold you until this passes. It was inclement weather that made us part ways. I speak as the Atlantean. I am old with polarizing love and menace. The emerald tablets come from a mind such as mine, as well.
Taking on the confines of solid
Images, imbued with emotion that
Somehow, comes across to
You and we are there, united
Equally, by our shared
Existence, is when these thoughts were
Struck and cast, these dice held in hand
And you, who was kind to stop and
Grasp
When fumbled
All of these are perfectly
Beautiful
Just for now
When beheld within the scope of their
Impermanence
And so, I am half of light, half of
Dark
Equinox, call me
Firebrand
Beside oblivion
Hear the furtherance of my tonal tides
And see these moments
Focused
Through my cyclopean
Eye
I wonder what was, from what paramnesia might have
Called into being, to answer what was
Missing
These love desires resonate and bend my
Soul mind
Together
All you have to do is look at me
Hear the tenors of my
Heart thoughts
To know
Which hemisphere is ruling
Everything is lost, in time. So much goes unsaid, words cannot suffice. Each step is a funeral procession and each sentiment begins its organic wilt upon inception. We are overcome, we rot from our core, outward.
I was not afeared or overcome by dread, I was nothing. Sometimes spasmodic in my movements with a funambulist’s over correcting gait, sometimes still as the same, calm on the surface, focused inward, finding the song of self. I wish I had words to tell you, how much the smallest gesture of warmth had meant to me. How I breathed life into its embers and its coals became all that I had to hold when I was within the grasp of the All Oblivion. Bent over me, broken and immobilized beneath its crushing weight.
Planets rotate with the unstoppable force of their progress through time-space, the concussions rip years from all in their wake. All is wilted as indeed it is distorted by the grip of some mal de mer, and this too is agonizing and beautiful to remember what we were and how we ebbed with the mad chemical intoxications of life.
That which goes into the dark, emerges again. Its passage is fixed through heavens that we do not yet possess plain eyes to see, but know they are there, our anthesis of sentience sure to continually breach those bounds of knowing. Though we are not those titans, we live and move in cycles, and close upon the shoulder of each others doomed spectre, in this final movement.
Long after we had parted ways
A short while before we are briefly
Reunited
I had been looking close at the Old Book
Again
It had occurred to me, then
Before there was light, there was depth
..
Got lost in verisimilitude again as significant events align and condense. Occam’s razor. Her shadow is still in the twilight. She’s still and waiting. What’s the last thing said, that I remember. Why is anything beautiful. So I start from there.
Because it comes
Around
And never comes
Again
Because it ends
..
The Absence of Magic
By
Daniel Christensen
Writing as
The Fire Elemental
Published 21st Mar 2023
Author's Note
Boy! That escalated quickly! I was an intense lad, back in the day.
This is a repost of my first post on DU from 7 years ago today, which is International Poetry Day. I cleaned up the audio and added music. Its been good being here with you, all these years.
Copyright © 2015 by Daniel Christensen
All rights reserved.
This is a repost of my first post on DU from 7 years ago today, which is International Poetry Day. I cleaned up the audio and added music. Its been good being here with you, all these years.
Copyright © 2015 by Daniel Christensen
All rights reserved.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 13
reading list entries 7
comments 23
reads 716
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The author encourages honest critique.
22nd Mar 2023 8:16am
Monster work Daniel,
Really got absorbed into that. It's on an epic scale.
I love the theme. You have captured an ethereal, majestic, Olympian-esque quality in your world.
I feel the immensity, if that makes sense.
The music is very apt and creates a brilliant backdrop. I will put that on the play list and revisit it on my riverwalk today, blow my curious mind a little. I'm very impressed. Brilliantly original. It's an experience.
Regards,
BITS
Really got absorbed into that. It's on an epic scale.
I love the theme. You have captured an ethereal, majestic, Olympian-esque quality in your world.
I feel the immensity, if that makes sense.
The music is very apt and creates a brilliant backdrop. I will put that on the play list and revisit it on my riverwalk today, blow my curious mind a little. I'm very impressed. Brilliantly original. It's an experience.
Regards,
BITS
22nd Mar 2023 2:44pm
Thank you so much. I was just glad I didn't need to rerecord the audio, that is my original recording with my updated skills in cleaning up the background noise and adding music. My first forays into the recording of audio poems began like anything, pretty shaky but building skill as we go. I hope there will be more audio poems by site members in the future, they add dimensions of the writing that are wonderful.
Anonymous
22nd Mar 2023 10:11am
Poetic powerhouse my friend. I wasn't here when it was initially submitted. Think it was 12 months later when I first encountered depths of your word force. Any literature which causes thought, reflection and magnifies the human condition, deserves to be published. Keep the faith. Rob
22nd Mar 2023 2:46pm
It's been good knowing you Rob and I'm glad we're both still here. I haven't smoked since the time of this writing, so I'm sure my lungs are thanking me for it haha. Would be great to get this work published, but I still sort of scratch my head as to the niche it would fall into. People have suggested stage performance adaptation such as opera.
22nd Mar 2023 12:41pm
22nd Mar 2023 2:47pm
Thanks sweetheart. I hope you're doing alright. It's almost NaPo time of year, looking forward to what comes out of it.
26th Mar 2023 6:15am
Anonymous
- Edited 29th May 2023 7:45am
22nd Mar 2023 4:48pm
<< post removed >>
22nd Mar 2023 10:15pm
You have a singular awareness my friend, you see past the surface to the soul. Your perspectives help expand my own and I can see with new eyes as it were. It's a gift of immeasurable value. Thank you.
22nd Mar 2023 10:45pm
The Absence of Magic being devliered through your incredible and enchanting reading. An epic piece of writing and I'm glad you decided to share it again.
LJ
LJ
23rd Mar 2023 4:28pm
Thank you LJ I've been sending my new writes to contests and agents but I wanted to post something for International Poetry Day and the audio on this one needed updating so it worked out.
23rd Mar 2023 10:49pm
You are a very deep thinker. I agree with Rianne in that this is a form of poetic astronomy. Your way you word the meaning of life is intriguing to me. Your message is clear. Good job on the flawless read! You’re right, your reading felt intense but fitting to the piece. Great write!
24th Mar 2023 3:26pm
🥰 thank you EA, the voice recording is actually about 7 years old, remastered with better understanding of the recording software and music added. Making audio poems without a recording studio is a bit arduous but rewarding. I'd highly recommend it.
The content of the writing is very much how you and Rianne intuited to me, it came out of the brief renewal of a charged but contentious relationship.
The content of the writing is very much how you and Rianne intuited to me, it came out of the brief renewal of a charged but contentious relationship.
24th Mar 2023 5:35pm
24th Mar 2023 5:37pm
25th Mar 2023 3:33pm
Wow. Holy shit.
There's so much in here that I want to piggy back a write from. It carries such a strong weight that I'd be but a whiff.
This is very good, Daniel . No lulls. You smoked this thing. Too many awesome parts to highlight one or two. I'd just refer the next reader to the entirety of this write.
Why cherry pick, when they can climb the tree.
There's so much in here that I want to piggy back a write from. It carries such a strong weight that I'd be but a whiff.
This is very good, Daniel . No lulls. You smoked this thing. Too many awesome parts to highlight one or two. I'd just refer the next reader to the entirety of this write.
Why cherry pick, when they can climb the tree.
25th Mar 2023 5:41pm
Run with the inspiration my man full throttle. I remember when I read your poem Grey Woman I was so filled with emotion and admiration I wanted to take that feeling and write with it and I think Absolem the caterpillar drew in part from that percolating feeling. That's the best aspect of us sharing our writing with each other I think.
I appreciate your presence here. So many old my old friends have left for parts unknown, but the site remains a haven for hearts and minds.
I appreciate your presence here. So many old my old friends have left for parts unknown, but the site remains a haven for hearts and minds.
You're always such a joy to read and listen to. I love that you've gone back to your origins here on DUP, Daniel. It's a testament to your valued and welcomed participation with us and your stellar writing chops. There's an enormous impact when reflecting upon your beginnings and sort of a comparison with your poetic place currently. You've been spellbinding the entire time!!
I count myself incredibly lucky to have met you and consider you not only a friend but a wonderful source of motivational inspiration as well as big contributer to my own creative learning. Thank you-💞
Yes, this piece is mind blowing.... I know I'll listen several times in the days ahead.
Happy belated World Poetry Day,
xo-Susan
I count myself incredibly lucky to have met you and consider you not only a friend but a wonderful source of motivational inspiration as well as big contributer to my own creative learning. Thank you-💞
Yes, this piece is mind blowing.... I know I'll listen several times in the days ahead.
Happy belated World Poetry Day,
xo-Susan
26th Mar 2023 2:21pm
Susan you're consistently a source of love and light for our community here, may the blessings you give be returned to you a thousandfold.
I've got something new in the cooker, in a more raw idiom I sometimes employ, something of a tribute to friends on site like yourself. 💖🙏🏻
I've got something new in the cooker, in a more raw idiom I sometimes employ, something of a tribute to friends on site like yourself. 💖🙏🏻
29th Mar 2023 7:23pm
Bro you keep the raising the bar in these spoken poetry pieces, and that metal background sound was perfect. So it must be the universe talking to us all because I’m prepping my April poems for NaPoWriMo and you touched on a couple of points that assured me poetry connects us, we all influence each other.
Amazon work sir
Amazon work sir
Thank you Walter. I noticed when I signed in on International Poetry Day that my first post on site happened to be on the same day, 7 years ago, so I updated the audio, which was really terrible lol and reposted it. It's great that you connected with it and hope it lent you some octane for the NaPo marathon!
6th Apr 2023 5:31pm
Sweet baby Jesus, the allusions have kicked my ass backwards.
The references to literature are (chef’s kiss) and I don’t know which piece to salivate over first.
It’s almost… it’s an actual epic that needs more than one read to
This was a fucking epic. You hit Quo Vidas, Occam’s razor, each a trope able to withstand the rage of angels alone. You had Odysseus. You had an epic quest and came back empty handed with an ever present half the distance
And half the distance
And fuck? The end? The revisit and bard-like closure from the final denouement was balls deep.
Kickass shit, man, glad you dusted it off.
The references to literature are (chef’s kiss) and I don’t know which piece to salivate over first.
It’s almost… it’s an actual epic that needs more than one read to
This was a fucking epic. You hit Quo Vidas, Occam’s razor, each a trope able to withstand the rage of angels alone. You had Odysseus. You had an epic quest and came back empty handed with an ever present half the distance
And half the distance
And fuck? The end? The revisit and bard-like closure from the final denouement was balls deep.
Kickass shit, man, glad you dusted it off.
7th Apr 2023 3:03am
Me too, good to revisit our roots. Shit I've been through in recent years, car accident, work and home issues, it through me for a loop, left me questioning things and myself. But what I write now still has this essential power of focus and scope. Compare this to Absolem the Caterpillar sometime, you'll see the years between the two writes, it is more contemplative, but in the same wheel house of epic poetry I tend towards.
When I discovered Ginsberg a couple years ago, it was like meeting someone who spoke a language fluently that I had been cutting my way through towards, painstakingly, write by write, the massive energy and willingness to through everything he was into every write, his knowledge, experience, emotion, everything, all at once.
When I discovered Ginsberg a couple years ago, it was like meeting someone who spoke a language fluently that I had been cutting my way through towards, painstakingly, write by write, the massive energy and willingness to through everything he was into every write, his knowledge, experience, emotion, everything, all at once.
