My Repressed Poet

I'm feeling my repressed poet wanting to get out.

Burnished Stairs

Use my light to sweep the stairs to Heaven,
And on my knees I'll use your heat to burnish
them into copper and gold

Shhhh...whilst I asphyxiate on divine love
My skin mottling
Breath quietly into eternal silence, echoed
against ephemeral walls

I'll conduct my love affair with death
whimpering ecstasy against the railing

Where you'll stand on copper and gold
wantonly looking on

In your cerebral intoxication, you'll mouth and name me
Destiny

Shall we ascend
to the next step?

Apon the dept, apon the fore.
Apon the first, apon the last.
Apon what is, and apon what was.
A story was told.

Deep is the world and many are its woe's.
I run in the dark, I stand in the light, but in the shadows I walk.
Between the respites I rest, and the lines in between? I always skip over.
Once while feeling witty, I even skipped over myself.
Then I ended up tripping over my own foot.

Unlike a cat, I almost landed on my feet.
But I did land on my foot.
Then in a flash of briliance I asked my shadow.
"Which by the way can talk"
What is the point of life If it is above chance?
This story is like poetry in motion, that is told by a drunk in a bar.
For it to get anywhere.
You will first have to get over the smell his breath.

To which my shadow replied.
Sorry I wasnt listening, did you say something?
And so the story turned into a tale.
That was told later in another poem.

Once apon a time, I once had time to be a poet.
And in that time I scribled but mostly chicken scrathed.
Then I had a flash of understanding and enlightment.
And in that moment the poet in me died.

So I shall call this poem.
A tale to be never told off again.

I am unaccountably delighted.


Legends of the obscured soul
Paladin of Grace
Avatars of rejected weakness
Revolutions of fractured minds
told in scarred woe

Omanopoeia
of Shadows
Who are not listening
Chittering, screaming, whispering
Omanopoetic objectification of Billions
Spinning legends told in livid blood

Shared shadows of War
Avatars of Destroyers
Ignore you to take your crisises elsewhere
Their shell game are not done
No one yet desires to truly own themself

Yesterday, I walked by a coffee shop that some of my acquaintances moved to after the diaspora from the closing of our dingy David Lynch-esque coffee shop of punks, street whores, environmental terrorists, anarchists, aryan nations, Pagans, street ministers, university students, drugs and chess. It is a half block from the coffee shop that no longer exists where I wrote that poem. Twelve or so years ago.

When I finished it, I had this thought. A child. What if he's still a child? What if I don't see him because, he is still a child, when I am a woman? To loop through, and through, and be aware this time....only to be in the wrong place, and the wrong age.

Then I put away the poem, and went on about my life, amused with myself for my odd thoughts.



Caressed by Lightening

Alway waiting to be caressed
from the mantle of the Earth
by the Sky's Grace

Call it out of me

A Kiss granted by the Earth
to the Sky

Beautiful in its brilliance

Silent in its birth

Roaring against the abyss
between Sky and Earth
after its gone

Blindingly illuminating

Frightening in its power
remembered only in its wake

Immense and powerful as the storm
at the centre of
our own being

Wedding Dirge for a Siamese Twin

When we were young
There was no division
betwixt heart and tongue,
And our condition
no dire perdition
Despite our shared lung.

When I was smacked,
Your cheek stung
So tell me how did he come
betwixt us?

It's your wedding night
And the "I dos" are done.
The ring is screwed on tight
Now the brute wants his fun.
Poor me, your plus-one,
Choking on spite.

When you are kissed
My lips burn
So tell me how did he turn
You against your other self?

I love the smell of scorching poems in the morning.

reply to post by Eidolon23


That was fantastic.

Out of the Earth You come
Riding the screaming Mare
Never born
Lead the Wild Hunt
A scimitar to
Slay each day
Tap you lightly on the
Roof of the ground
and Unleash the Dead from Your Hand
Lover from the Tribe of Dreams



A work still in progress.

Don't know what to call this, its not a poem really but kind of.
Somewhat like a story but its not a story really.

I think I will call it more mad ramblings.



To know you now, as I knew you then.
Before we doubted eahchoter.
Before our shadows were cast.
Even before there were shadows to cast.
And even before we believed in shadows.
Wearily on an ocean of woe we wondered.
Wondering were will our ship wander on to next.
In perpetual dismay, in storms undoubting.
In the depths of longing, in all things wanting.
Through gray fog, and by amber skys.
From pale moon, past red moons.
Under stars and over bridges.

Apon the river styx this jurney started.
And like all rivers lead to there source.
This one as well lead to an ocean.
But in time even the stars lost there luster.
And we lost eachother as we knew eachother.
Like Eternal strangers in our own abode.
Always suprised the other is there.
Always suprised when the other is eslewere.
In fragments, and in tatters, my sould was left to travel.
Withing that mist, that fog, that lane, that path.
That never trully ended.
As it left, It left me.
Always wandering, Always wondering.

With a heart of stone, sealed lips, a tounge of wood, and feet of lead.
With abyssmal toughts, relentless hopes, and unquenchable thirsts.
Against all that was, all that once will be collided.
But in the embers the flames dwindled.
But in the ashes the flames rekindled.
And as the storm receded, all was left silent.
Even the questions were silently answered.
And at the edge, all was quite.
The precipice of its epitome, left me in accord.
Past the edge, it left me in discord.
So once again, I go in circles to my dissension.
Like a snake eating its own tale. Itself all consuming.
By the abyss things unfathomable found I lurking.
Some beckoning, some silent, some humdrum, and some laughing.
Images, Illusions, Mirages, Ghosts, Demons, Gods.
Beging, Pleading, Calling, Leading.
All the while my sanity.
Seething, sliding, slipping, grabbing, missing.
Falling... Always falling.
And in that we arived at our ascent.
Unknowingly, Unsuspectantly, Unquestionably, Undouptedlly.

All things have there bottom.
And even in the bottomless abyss.
I eventually landed on something.
Unlike any that I have fallen for before.
To it all my mind was left unquestioning.
Once reeling, twice recalling, and thrice foreboding.
What is it?
This thing that binds me still.
Its name like a shadow, its voice unto a ghost,
In touching it always flows.
Like water it can never be held, nor ever grasped.
What should I call it!
what could I call it?
what will I call it.

New langueges shall have to be made.
To begin to describe it.
As such, on I stumbled, as I mumbled.
Weary, dreary, frightened, and forever lost.
All the while, my vision bluring, my mind numbing, my senses stalling.
In a moment of respite that brought clarity, and once again.
Out of the corner of my eye saw I this shadow.
This thing unfathamable, which left me unbridled.
Forgeting myself I wisperd to none but the the silence.
"Are you a wonderfull stranger, a luminous mystery, or just a beautiful ghost"
And with its silenece it answered.
"All that was and will be, is ever after,
Repeat the cycle to weave the paths together"