NEW STUFF AT BOTTOM

[charaman]

October
---------------
‘Through me the way into the suffering city,
   Through me the way to the eternal pain,
   Through me the way that runs among the lost.

Justice urged on my high artificer;
   My maker was divine authority,
   The highest wisdom, and the primal love.

Before me nothing but eternal things were made,
   And I endure eternally.
   Abandon every hope, ye who enter here.’
Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, The Inferno, Canto III

--------------

i: april
there is an emptiness here, among the untended graves
among the crying souls. a darkness; a truth
a revelation of apocryphal rhetoric

there is a hope among the hallowed halls
among the mourning. a light; but false
a falsehood of comfort

a schism between hope and truth,
how will we find our way home?
we were sent out from the kingdom
and sentenced to this temporal misery.

the blue lilac of april so tenderly calls out to me in my darkness
in her i find the guiding light to beyond our illusionary realm
in her is truth beyond the veil of death
in april is the redemption of my existence

the bright purple light stuns my eyes
but then in a moment is gone from my vision.
it’s presence is eternally stamped upon my consciousness
in that moment i was free from time.

we stand in awe among the living
the hallow and dead, we are one and the same
the stone of april stands present
and we watch.

ii: elaboration
it’s funny to me
how we can all be so free
to destroy ourselves.

and it’s funny to me
how a little validation
can go such a long way.

it’s strange to see
how backwards
i was

it’s weird to see
how it all
corrected itself

it’s good to see
that a little pink pill
can go such a long way.
in helping me be free to fee.


ii: there is
what what what what what real feel?
a final
unstructured
determined rant:


save me feel me heal me kill me suck me out of the pit of fear this whole hole of unconscious loathing. save me fear me stab me bury me shoot me into this hole of feeling. make me real make me feel make me anybody but what i am right now let me know let me show you how it is so persistent in its torture.
you’d be better off if you had someone better you’d be better off if i’d never have found you. you’re making a mistake you’ll regret it later you’d be so much happier if i wasn’t around.
i’m sorry i disappointed you, too. i’m sorry i’m never enough i can see though your reassurances i can see how you look away i can see how i hurt you so much please please please please don’t stay. you’re only making it worse for yourself and i’m selfish to keep you. i love you too much to want you to stay. you’re only injuring your own well being by being my sustenance. i’m so guilty i’m so responsible for all i seem to see in you.
next step i take, i want my foot to fall through the planet. i want to fall away into nothing. you’ll get over the loss, and be better for it.



iv: the eye of brahma
reclined under a peaceful waterfall, the wanderer gazes upward at his obscured manifestation of divine reality. yellows become blues, blues become blacks. the sun becomes his window to the supreme cosmic spirit, but he is not sure of the nature of being.
when it is supposed to be its clearest, his reality has lapsed into everything he once hated; he has become what he vowed never to be.
the devas lift him up as his wrists drain in the waters.


v: manifest
created, destroyed, one and the same. the dualistic perception you gave me is wrong. i don’t want it.
the freedom to be
is all i want, but you refuse it. why? does true freedom scare you? i am shackled by your insecurities. no no no. my insecurities.
freedom from me
seems to be the answer, but i am not done with my cycle. it is near its end, truly, but not until this body has served its purpose.

vi: trishuldhari
that one moment, that dizzying, elating feeling of pure detachment from my constant uncertainties.
that one second, where the pain of living evacuates my corpse.
that one instant, where it all is gone.
is slowly becoming my existence.

luna rosa, she calls to me at her appointed time.
i howl, and doggedly approach her perpetual residence.
my addiction is satisfied, and i succumb to the soothing, numbing sensation.

when will she call again?

vii: past
as i float twenty miles above my head, i am brought again to childhood.
dies natalis solis invicti
as the celebration of rebirth plays itself again in my thoughts.
i relate:
the last of the pillars has begun to crumble
already the temple’s priests remember the golden days
remember when the gods were with us.
now we wait, in despair, for the hero’s return.

viii: hers
a feline grace and precision in her words,
i feel safe in the confines of her wings.
i am the child on the eagle’s back,
looking down awestruck at the beauty
such great heights give all shadows below.

there’s something so soothing
about the sound of her voice,
like the low whisper of november’s leaves,
telling me so softly that i will make it through.

she is my reminder from the beyond
that there is more than i as of yet have come upon.
my reminder that in the end,
i will be free.

a taste of freedom in succumbing,
i will always bow before the altar of her desire.
true happiness in eternal devotion,
i now see of what they so long spoke.

i always denied myself the pleasures of existence,
but no more will i deprive myself of what i need most.
i need you. you are for me
the embodiment of fulfillment.



ix: report
cannon-fire in the far off distance, i hear her again call my name when i need her most, and i know it is lost. we fought our hardest against the inevitable, but even great rome fell. we have each other still, but not much else.
the great fall comes from great aspirations, but a lone short life comes from none. we are all alone in the end, but i have you. and nothing else. and that is all that matters.
i sit here, a candle casts a shadow on my drawn face, and i laugh at my irony in the blackest of lights. you sit there, next to me, the brightest of all lights, grappling heroically with the taper of death.
ten ten ten ten ten is the number of the beast. six and four. disconnect, release. fight fight fight struggle win destroy the destroyer. i am the one that casts doubt i am the one that wrestles god. i am he who is.
the spiral does its duty i spin spin spin. in in in in in in in in in. the flow the words the mantra does not cease i am i am i am am am i must keep telling myself. the physical is here and now and real and how i must confront reality. it is real while it lasts.
the fever intensifies.
the mahogany of your mother’s chest held sturdily thus, but the varnish is wearing thin.
the wall has held back the hordes to now, but the cornerstone just fell at my feet.
burnt norton, my friend, lead me to the pastpresentfuture
lead me to time time time.
redeem me, rose peddler, free me.


x: decagon
“drop the globe, great atlas, so that i may descend to the dark.
end your punishment, strong titan, and let the black consume all.
end our punishment, primordial ordinance, and let the bliss envelop.
defy their authority, dear deity, and let pure oneness pervade.”
twice over, in your head, recite this holy pentagon
twice, twice, and twice again, and the temporal will be gone.


away we fall.

xi: fracture
“the hideous dropping off of the veil,”
i fear what is to come. i can sense the euphoria leaving.
the opiate’s madness; ligeia forgive me!

your tender broken body lies softly at my feet
who am i to do such a thing? retreat?
i must.
beyond the shattered parapets
beneath the lonely waves.
i fight i fight against my breath
damp grave, i meet you.

xii: broken
one word
  turns
       tides
                from peaceful and contemplative to energetic and hostile. i try so hard to fight the feeling dragging me closer to the grave, but you seem to love watching me squirm.
i fall deeper into my pit, the images and sounds become manifest in the most hideous monster these eyes have yet seen. thrice rings the phone, and thrice my heart leaps in antagonizing worry. what is it they want?
“it’s me” sayeth the snake; slithering words of insidious intent leap from forkéd tongue. do not ask what is it, i don’t want to make my visit.
the blackest demon from the blackest depths, my thoughts thus far have prepared me for this sojourn. where is it you lead me? the darkest nadir of the quietest caverns within the coldest mountain could not have prepared me for this vision.
before the dead i stand to plead my case; to make known my worries and fears. emaciated and ruined, their quiet rotting bodies call out to me. save us save us.

save me.

xiii: please
words come to the page faster than before we fought and tried to fight the feelings of the before and the time before when you wanted to go but i didn’t want to we fought it down down down down to the end of its struggle.
psyche
help me
i’m a victim of my own
pretentious pomposity.
save me, heal me.
will you?

xiv: skylight
the fading sun hangs over her shoulder,
i see the last glimmer of hope die with the extinguished flame.
If we are free to be why is it that you leave me?
 I refuse to exist without you. Your sudden departure has dampened my will.

There is—I see it—there is a solution to this mess.
There is a solution in the falling leaves of October’s pall.
There is a solution in the frigid air of November’s fall.
There is a solution in the whispery wind of December’s call.
Fall’s decay does not lead to Winter’s death, but instead rebirth.

Oh Solis, I call out to thee.
Be reborn in the fires of the burning temple of love and devotion.
Recover in the wings of charity,
and comfort me in your
 warmth in frigidity.

Xv: meridian
A Fall Month’s journey, half way complete,
With none to show, none to compete.
Psyche answers me not, she turns a deaf ear.
A heart cold unkind, unable to hear.

“a pen provides clarity when none can be found”
Even now, a year later, my words still resound.
Resound, re-sound around and around.

A heart halfway broken
From words still unspoken
Cannot last much longer
Unless it’s bearer grows stronger.

“surrendering to a more ecumenical evil”
Are we still, like wolves and weevils,
Heed it now, that axiom of evil.

A heart torn in two
Is far gone for your glue
It cannot be saved
From its predestined grave.



Xvi: the point of no return
The phantom said it once, I say it now.
You lead me on, toward my fate.
I don’t know why, I don’t know how,
But I fear the Savior may arrive too late.

Line by line we recite their praise
It’s what we’re taught, we don’t know better.
It is they who we raise
It is they by whom we are fettered.

This is truly the point of no return. “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here”

Xvii: Incite
The crowd clamors upon their arrival, a red star flies overhead.
They are the redeemers, here to give us our new shackles.
On the battlefield for us they bled.
Now tyranny and redemption are wed.

One meets the other, authority formed
From the bleeding cells of unanimity,
The motley gang of jesters performed,
 Overhead the vultures swarmed.

I call out to you from across the masses.
I see you pushed up against the others.
The thought police release their gases.
I can’t see through the stains on my glasses.

I hear you cry back, against the din.
You seem panicked, afraid for your life.
I feel the power coming from within,
I see you come out from within your skin.

Xviii: today
You are always on my mind in one way or another,
Your embodiment of sweet pure perfection.
There is no other way to describe how I feel than this.

The eagle swoops not, but glides above the atmosphere,
And the child once again strains to see the valley of pain below.
She does not let him, and for her help in resisting the darkness,  
He is grateful.

Above the whitest clouds, above the brightest blue sky,
They are beyond the approachable, and he knows that there will be no fall.
If one such as he were to fall from such a precarious post,
Never again would he fly. Before now, this scared him,
But in his comfortable fortress of love, he need not worry.

Xix: Tomorrow
If I thought my words would reach one who could change but a thing
I would remain silent.
If I thought my deepest concerns would reach one who cared
I would think no more
If I thought my opinions would reach one who agreed
I would leave this cause
And if only my could words reach you
I’d never worry again.

XX: Yesterday
“An easy game to play”?
Never was it such a game for me, but rather a purpose.
It’s been my one success, the one place I’ve found happiness,
And it’s all because you believe in me.

Change not, but rely on me in such a way.
Never feel that pain again. I am here.
“Believe in me the way that I believe in you”
It’s funny; I thought I’d never say this,
But I think you already do.

It’s true, I can see it in your eyes,
A love reciprocated
So caring, so kind.
Why then, am I saddened by the times before?

Why does it sadden me to know that I could’ve had you earlier?
It wouldn’t have been the same; we both know it’s true,
But something makes me regret all the time we weren’t together
I just want to give my life to you.

XXI: Sojourn
But the sight of one word inspires me to put fifty to page. Was it Faulkner who said that grandiloquence was naught more but a sign of bad writing?
Grandiloquence itself, is an example of the same. A linguistic irony that never fails to amuse. Digression, disorganization. Am I only trying to fill a page?
The night’s journey has provided me with questions beyond all others, about the nature of the day, the night, the lie of the Truth, and the Light. Do you see?
A stranger knocks upon your door
And you open to see me out in the cold
Shivering the skin from my cold cold
Emaciated bones.
I have traveled far, and will stay short
I dare not inconvenience you this December night.
This warm December night, the eve before our celestial rebirth.
For in the sun, we have our Avatara.
I await his triumph, and I shall depart from your abode.

XXii: Blame
Again my self-loathing pity has claimed a life. A life tender and blessed. A life beautiful and unselfish. Her hands glide to mine from under the wreckage reflected in the cold, dead puddles of black water gathering at my feet. Hypotheticals rush.
“From this point on: COHERENCE!” I pledge there will be a logical end to a fragmented building.
 “The flags are all dead,” the red man said, and continued reaping the wreckage. The bodies piled in his tow were innumerous, and called to me. Still, her beautiful whispery fingers clothed in black and ringed in ice tug upon my being.
I will save you, I will save you here and now, and in my own heart, I will find the peace of mind necessary to sustain us.
Infanta, the maiden of black, opens her eyes.

Xxiii: The King
Anger is manifest and created
By Ignorance
Innocents?
But to what with whom shall call?

Ignorance deals and kills
Through waves of jealousy
What?
Why must I partake in Fall?

And it all comes falling down
The crown of the people
Porphyrogene?
And when shall the dying king call?

They all so deservedly call
To the king of the fall
Why must we all—
Bow to the king of the Ball?

Xxiv: Dead Flags
Nothing to do with the here and present idea, the dead flags preside over us.
The stars, on a field of black, are upside down.
All the stripes are red with the blood of a thousand and one raw deeds.
Robert Zimmerman plucks upon broken guitar strings, and Norma Jeane still lies dead and naked.
Gott ist tot, and we have killed him. Zarathustra, from the hilltop above the city, smiles.



XXIV: The Trapeze Artist
“I give to you the Übermensch” above and beyond us all
Straight plagiarism. A sound ideal rooted in the rejection of our own humanity.
I’ve got
Lyrical interpretation, metaphysical aspiration.
Tantric communication, esoteric observation.
I don’t need your realistic rationalization!
Confirmandic infiltration. Perpetrated by
Half hearted conversations.

XXV: Quarter
Two score crimes, two score lies, a life defined by five failed tries.
I dare to disturb the universe, I walk freely in the peach grove, but eat of only one tree.
You are mine and I yours. The maiden bedecked in black beckons both, but betrayed you will not be.
And duality will be transcended; we will be one in the garden of our love, Infanta left but to watch.
Forward march the ranks of the king’s men upon the fortress of Porphyrogene, and away the trouble-child flees.
Into
The dark is so cold and vacant for the lonely; so isolating, but they roam together.

XXVI: Tantra
Channel the energy, downwards from the great spiral of eternity.
Bring it now, and ward off the unheavenly army of human waste.
The weaver weaves, continuously, and we, the threads, oblige.
“Psyche save me, I’m a victim of my own pretentious pomposity” Do not deny me the reason why for which my soul so longingly cry since the dawn of youth: promising, spry; to now in old age, ripe soon to die.
The sands of time speed up of late, and the beast draw near to inspire the fear in us crying here. They jeer the return of the king who brings us home.
The lonely out in the streets look high, for the return of he for whom they cried, so long for us ago he died, but he is not coming.
The beast of Bethlehem come in force, primordial ordinance from the north and I can’t decry the reason why, I can’t find the reason why.
There is no reason here for me to be below under the sea. Nothing but black all around, human voices have tried to wake me, but I already drowned.
And the eye of Brahmin gazes down down down down
Down on hunger city.

XXVII: Challenge
They have nothing left to say, let them come.
It is not in us, people of the sun
Who are destined to end with the call of the one
 who will bring us all home again—to the sun.
We’re coming back around,
And all we’ve found
Is that the ground
Is upside down.
The walls resound
The calls that pound
Through it, that which we’ve frowned
             upon
And you and I reply the cry
I’ve more to say before I die.

“Scrape the hallows where sound resides”
I am a drum, my spirit flies
I see them come, those who have died.
Judge all of us, we who have lied.
For them we have not yet cried.

Until now, yes now
I don’t know how
I will speak for the forgotten.
Those whose laments are malformed, misbegotten
Have forgotten the truth
Their lies are rotting.

A black crow, a widowed wife
One left behind, woeful strife
She can’t go on, the blade of a knife
Will tonight conclude her tragic life.

Sweet red river. Giver.
We here, the severed, quiver.
In fear, here we shiver.
We slowly approach you, sweet red river.

The water over my ankles grows
A shroud of black towards me rows
Fear and fate, juxtapose
An icy gaze unravels my prose.

XXVIII: Fibonacci
And out spiral thoughts on tangents bold.
These letters I’ve written are so cold
And empty, devoid of purpose told
Serve only to remind, never to scold.
CONFLICT RESOLUTION, no more than
BLIND EVOLUTION, hastens us to
DIVINE RETRIBUTION, highlights our
KARMIC DISSOLUTION.

XXIX: I Lost
Endless vision and revisions, contradictions. Broken diction.
I can barely follow where you are taking us, so am I breaking us?
Will a moment reverse my phrase? Will a second save my day?
My feelings serve no more purpose than to hurt you.
Drive you away. All I want is for you to stay.
It’s time to stop feeling. I lost.









Took me a little over a month to write. Any of you have any comments?

[Prpl_Mage]

Nothing to say... *speechless*

[charaman]

haha thanks for checking it out. I've been reading a lot of T.S. Eliot lately and he's rubbing off on me.

[coasterkrazy]

Ah, so now you're posting it here! Well, you know I really like your poetry, and I think I'll post mine now too.

I'll probably read this whole thing once it's finished.

[MrMister]

I minored in gay poems! Coincidence?
I think your choice of words at some point is a bit amateurish and obvious. IE died, cried, lied. Overall I think it's pretty good, and you should definitely pursue something wit poetry.

[charaman]

Originally posted by MrMister
I minored in gay poems! Coincidence?
I think your choice of words at some point is a bit amateurish and obvious. IE died, cried, lied. Overall I think it's pretty good, and you should definitely pursue something wit poetry.

Thanks. I've been trying to work on that but I seem to go from one extreme to the next, either being completely obvious or almost non sequitur. Thanks for the advice.

[charaman]

bump, new poetry

--------
Cannons cry,
children sigh,
those around the fire die,
and I’m trying to find why
I can’t go any further.

Push onward beyond the apocalypse
to now here we fly further.
Push down upon the oak tree
to where the demon reads his book about Egyptian girls,
where fire lends water the power to stay above the wave break;
where he can float free. I take the wheels off a toy car and strap them to my feet.

The devil in the flames asks me for the diamond heart
upon which rests the souls of the dead,
in which lies the redemption of us all.
I can’t give it up to him.

You gave me it when we met in the peach grove
and you told me to keep it with mine so that we could meet again
when we were free from parental folly
A tryst in the greenery and you gave it to me:
all I ever wanted under that tree in the grass as the sun went down.

Those words you spoke encased in carbon
with the eye of Horus blocking it
from the light of day
the eye of Horus giving me
my dreadful dirty say
the eye of Horus leading me
away.

[Meiscool-2]

I'll probally sound like a jerk for saying this, but I don't like the new one. I think anyone can assemble words and attempt to give them a deep meaning. Seems to me that you wrote a story rather than a poem. It would be more impressive if you used some more original ryhmes, followed a set pattern (Such as AABABC) instead of randomly using ryhmes and verses when you please. Also, I know for a fact that your vocabulary is bigger than that. You used a nice word every so often, but for the most part, it was like reading any normal highschool book.

[charaman]

hey i was in an altered state, give me a break!

;-)


as for patterns, I can't stand using them.

[Meiscool-2]

Originally posted by charaman
as for patterns, I can't stand using them.

Why's that?

[charaman]

It seems too lyrical, I prefer a more open style and save the patterns for songs.