Poetica
Smoking the Sun
I am smoking the sun at last -
Its flavor like the burning orange I have always flamed
inside the infernal love and lust of my mind.
I am dragging the vast and greying force
into slackened form of fated crumble.
And with the craving of ashes to become one
with blind, scattered oblivion of origins and ends –
this is the eternal moment of mad imagination!
I am smoking the sun at last – the core of a pleasure –
The cure for sucking as it lights the way to the filtering desire.
It’s now stained with hellish deposits of revolting black nauseated - my shade satisfied.
I am breathing Sun as she absorbs the moistened flesh.
And as the hot ashes of being cycles cold into heat once more;
And as the breathing rhythmically nears its repose
It reeks incessantly of glorious revolt!
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HAIKU (A riddle)
You can’t choose me – I’m
Yours – choose not to use me, and
You have used me
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the mad orange is
the roots from origin sprout from the son of our Sun
that which forks into the core of light and dims the darkness
the orange grows as
a moist dam in the midst of our dry hearts
it cuts on the spiraling forces making way to a vein
flowing into a mass of waste
the mad orange is madness
not the sanity of a starving mind in the universe
of questions we can only answer by query
when certainty kills truth
the super mind doubts whether questions need be
it voids the answer by vaporizing eyes in undressing mode
but as the orange becomes
devoured by our own dreams the body leaks and the mind dies
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the dark clouds of nausea of soul
in absence
perturb an already mind aslant
as pure is
the being of being in continuation
and absurdly arrows itself into solid absolute
while against that into infinitely spread relations
all white light suffocates
under a brighter dusk of rotten black substance
the elevation decreases in increase and stretches forever
into bonded eternity in damned consciousness
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Sonnet of Depression
Was it too great in scale to my poor thought?
Was chaos bent across its careless crest?
Or has my trance and dream by mind been caught?
It ruined my mind’s womb - the tomb where it may rest!
My sanity is now so void of might
Inside the darkness on the verge to flood.
Yes, either that, or great eternal plight,
Alive in rage outside my flesh and blood.
So now my sense is fiction on a ballot
And spiral force invade my brain in vain,
As horses dark on cries of mine may gallop.
I coil my sinews madly with a chain:
But as my stomach dances on its edge,
The world divides in two without a pledge.
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Wings of Flight
Do not so proudly cripple or kill
the birds of the bluest heavens.
For on their inspirational wings
we are soaring today even higher
than the confines of their terrestrial skies
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Longing
Longing for warm presence while there’s cold absence
Is longing for absence of the present cold,
For in the absence of our love and meaning
Our own essence feels absent;
It wells from Being itself endeavoring to escape itself
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War
The clouds are blackened to the end
And the soil's reeking of a hellish burn.
All awhile the human sense endeavors to surface.
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Sonnet 1
Through strife he created and writhed the sinewy form,
For splaying the layers of chaos and muscular norm
Is a talent not just born, but raised to race
Itself and direct to a novel and transcending pace
There may be no hints or familiarity showed;
Plaudits may stay in their wombs not to serve or to‘ve flowed
At gestures that splice the muscles which wrenched and ruptured
And wry judging eyes should go shocked by our moulds of raptures –
‘Cause of more dimensions is pointing ostensible judgment.
So now we may seize that old judge – the soul’s ointment,
For our new coming wave of invention
Will stretch that ancient horizon while fashioning:
New thinkers and moving creators that witness the instance
That new natural intent to feel existence
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Sonnet 2
A bending being seeks some sort of lighted end
While questions pervade and perturb the subjugated term
The request will transfix the body of reason and send
Some messages from above the world of perm
And though they might but permit perplexed effect
Our notions and perspiring views of perpetual resist
Might relay to forces alike so to win respect
That this new relation to truth will in fine time shine first
Against those fitments about the room of debate
Perceptions must transcend; transpose old directions
For to treasure forever that used – and scions by fate
Might shove nature’s hand and heighten that stinting rejections
Come. Combine. Transform that sight of ages
Our beings will seem superior and soar on sages!
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