Ratios Never Learned

A cortical rendering

Insinuated a larger

Candor yet to come

A brigand with a posse

All his own, gently climbed

The steep inclines of mountains

Unexplored

A scarping formed, jagged crisp,

Fragmenting faults undeterred by a

Jaunting swoon of numb-to-pain

Ratios that never learned the cautions

Of which to chancily err during such storms

Of predatory doubt

Cringing I cowered like a chirping dove,

Clinging tightly for the peace to accept

Our plight for love….

waiting…waiting…for all these clouds to pass

Shared with D'Verse for Open Link Night, where Poetry is life, and life, is better with poetry. 

West of Continuance

When participating in formulaic endeavors, it’s best to carry a totem for luck.  I used to be partial to rabbit’s feet, but always found I’d wind up getting jabbed by the pointy end and regretfully cursing it, which, of course, negated any of the positivity it may have previously held.

Soldier of confidence…

     When confronted

By the daggers of the damned…

Stay silent…creep…but do not creek

The boards beneath your rest…lest

Entanglement inevitably shall come

Circumvention of wisdom

Through novellas spoke in plain

Catatonia begs me entrance now

As dreams of swaddling days

Corrupt my mournful wake

When participating in formulaic endeavors…it’s best to carry a pen, for those times the mind wanders west of continuance

Exhaustion as Navigator

Window cracked- 65,

     In what seems, like 30’s

The likely capped end-speed

Portent subdivisions, split,

by lines afar, glowing

pastels covet night, flickering

cast of moon’s radiant height—a quivering

amends the harbinger’s sight, clashing

with one’s wherewithal, as fate

relates akin—rapturing a lost fight’s sanctioned state—

unto the parallelisms, the shifting lines, the origami structures built within

Belladonna, blissfully close, eyes arrest, encaged

again, by the prematurely postured dream—

Relishing the happenstance of SRO’s unmitigated stance, especially since promotion’s long since been scrubbed and left to chance—

Of an ignorance indicting slow, the plausible power of the spreading word

         Angular brickwork, to which the conscience swerves, observing the bedrock that’s home to such machines abandoned—to rest, in limbo, beneath a starless sky—yet the signs and signals warn still—to which you question, not the thought, but the belief that they’re awake with you this stretch of night

Escape though you shall, untagged and free, breaking away from obstacles seen, unto an open space of asphalt’s generous creed—

drifting behind a steady coaster, oblivious to what time’s been spent— watching the horizon spread aglow—

 The lines flashing in fictitious streams, brokering this big city’s life, offering, but another grail you’ll never know, if this sleep continues glimpsing through it’s deadly flow

To which forcibly you pry ajar, the lids betraying you now…in the deadliest of subtle drips a-glance, accosting the reality forming it’s surreal syndromes allured, upon such corruptible states,

You are broken, you are weak…the knowledge is fierce…this straight-line will not stitch together seams, instead incomplete you’ll quickly see, as song’s blare quickly collapse, broaching caution’s warning once more—

As this slippage begins to fray apart, focus weaves and warbles timid slow, breaking into waves of rhythmic flow, careening lullabies the screaming child in you seeks, and through this and other forces unrecalled, fade you swim, out from and into such seas of unanswerable melodies

 A quick purge pronounces shock,

In quick flashes you are not convinced

This is not but a continuance of some

Severe reel of dream—playing, deadly games, the deadliest of larcenies…. where the mile markers indicate just how far you’ve travelled since, the last wince aware you were

And before the curtain calls again,

You know where this path must now go,

scanning the exits for

any inn with vacancy to spare, only

needing a door to lock, and a bed to

regenerate what’s been lost

is all you desire….exhaustion,

as navigator…there have been

worse guides

A Self-Portrait

Lines forcefeeding hope through

Invisible netting….history is a

Viable predictor of future events,

Again, and again, the robotic

Voice echoes this phrase, and hearing

This is one thing, but listening to it

As you stare deep into your eyes is

Depressing.

Times must change…pools of brown

Feel like the pits mammoths once

Suffocated soundly in…whimpering

As the tar trickled slowly over tongue…

Vines entrench us to our rooting, perhaps

A bit of choice is owed blame as well, but it

Does seem, as irrational as it may be, and is,

That we truly have no hope, especially if we

Cannot find it within our own person…

I stare begging myself to focus, focus and you will

Find, the one thing about myself that I find both

Comforting and my own…kind of odd to say, my own, when

Referring to yourself, is it not, for who’s else is it then?  The answers espy daggers depths….and then

Here

I have found that thing, the one thing, no two, that I appreciate most in my

Current state, and it, of all things,

Should’ve been the first of all things seen…

I do like my hair, as it freely flows about my face, draping down upon my spine, reminding me, it has no control but physical control….(yeah right>) but lets just go with it a little longer….I like my hair, fine, what was the other thing.?  It was the beard…

Which, of course,

Is THE thing

Everyone who

Knows me

Hates the most…

You know, I just have to laugh for a moment.  I wrote the prompt and posting over at D'Verse for their weekly Poetics tonight, and now, almost two hours in, I just realized I never posted my own poem yet….well, that pretty much sums up how the month's been going…

But, yeah, stop on over we're talking about ourselves.  People love that don't they…but seriously, we're composing Self-Portraits and bravely sharing them with one another.  Stop on by and see what we've composed.  I for one am now realizing, that for me personally, I probably should've waited until I was in a better mood to do this exercise, but, hey, being honest to one's self of how one feels is supposed to be cathartic and enlightening…so, we'll see.  

8 Stages of Regret

I.  Cabinetry

An immobilizing strength plumbed within

Temples left, scarred and alone

Preservation devised a means to push, an

Imbalanced shelter for a defenseless front

Partitioned walls once deemed out of place

Have since become the only blueprints ever drawn

Interred within these assimilated cells, cage doors

Conceal the lost-not-found

And it’s only through the sheer chance of occasion; the hinges may swell and sing their voiceless tilts, shedding skin through the suffocated creaks entombed

II. Thesauri

So violent in the vagueness

In which consent first came undone

So vague in the violence

In which definitions first formed to tongue

The stillness of the songs etch, impressed upon

a hollowed heart—procuring a beauty—persisting

through the unconscious’ paining path of plight

Contusions stir to surface, clogging lines of flow,

Where curiosity catches a fevered glimpse and forever forward is impelled to know, what lies buried, beneath the indulgent purity of snow

III. Breaketh The Dam

Your voice says one thing

     But the eyes dictate contrasting truths

Your words are crafted toward recovery

     Yet innuendo simply spells out an angst swelled deep

Your tone quivers in subservience, yet impotence is a flurry never shown

                       Your outlines cast impressive angles, only to

Eclipse each thought betrayed inside

                                                           Your reassurances are calculated in their candor, yet errors appear as one’s amassing loss

                                    And if such loss rests sightless to the day, the night shall forever forage upon the schematics of those repressions cloistered deep

                           And eventually the levees shall break inside, flooding forth all things unknowing, elucidating every painful stamp left unsorted yet stacked in place

IV. Frozen Posture

Tension bristles the embryonic morn, prickling the cote with metallic shards of veil in scorn, collapsible dignity unfeigns before you here, chastising all memories as broken periods of circumstance—as having been built be demonic scribes and bards fictitiously flirting with the pangs within, damage, repeal, stain and scar

Curtailing truncation’s brutal lop,

A memory, fragmenting forth,

Beckoning penance for sins that

Devoured innocence

You seek forgiveness, yet the soul is untainted, never sullied was this will you own,

                  But fault lines need reparations, cracks random once, breed lengths aligned intent to swallow whole

                                                                        And you cannot forget what was never known,

 Remaining focused, solely upon the broken scabs, remnants that both betrayed and glued, joining together flesh and soul,

         Understanding there’s more here than even you could have known…

V.  What If

What if’s begin to flourish….and wonder you shall, persisting quizzically in such preponderances, refreshing, what image would appear anew

 The shine of the mirror’s gaze reminds what once was and how but that person now, is known, to have been but an effigy, a cursed twin, some Angel once took pity in

VI. Denial in a Time of Advancing Schema

It truly is remarkable, how far you’ve come since misfortune’s kiss shown through the prism’s glass

                                                      You forge forward without delay, yet one must wonder when the stalling shall impede, this admirable advance through such tumults and misplaced apostrophe

                                                                                          You admonish those with good intents, to cease their pity, for its not their love you’re searching for

                                    You chastise the resolute, for not even you yourself entirely remember every nuance of the painful truth

                                                                                            Your resolution is astounding, and yet such pride may be, just the food from which stagnation feeds

                                    There shall come a point where address this all you must, for if not now then when

                                                      You claim all is well, yet ignore we can’t as ire’s rise their flames at those that care; where arrhythmia distorts truth’s gait, emanating unrest in each the shattered pieces that remain left as whole

VII. Betrayals, Buried in the Garden of Time

There are so many things that can and will be said. There are secrets buried that never shall be revealed.  A pain like this is one that will gnaw and feast.  It is not something that can be tossed aside. Pretending that only by paying credence will you draw out it’s worst offense, is nothing but regrettable to the watchful eye.  And still, one can hardly blame one to become engulfed in such a betraying return to one’s true self…in fact, I can think of nothing else…the one you thought you knew is no longer living, instead they are replaced by some vulnerable wretch plagued by the remembered pasts ruins realigned.

And I, the one who has loved you all along, feel I have played my part in this betraying song.  Out of love I allowed the education of others to sway my inactions.  I left you as they remade you from your very ashes; I let you grow as some alternate version of who you are, yet, I did this out of love alone. 

But if I would’ve known that wall would break and that dam would crack, I’d have eased you along, slowly matriculating you back into a world that no longer is the safest place.

Yet it should be known, you are not the only one to suffer.  Certainly our pain is not comparable to what you must feel, but nonetheless it is so very much real.

I, for one, and I will only speak of the pain I known now.  I will not discuss the hurt that lived when you remained in that state of ignorance, no, I will not detail that time, for it is gone, it’s forever gone away. 

The here and now, is far worse than ever could I have imagined it to be.  For, when you arose from your slumber, you could not, and have trouble still, looking at me as you’ve always done.  There is, you claim, a resemblance between your villain and the image I portray.  I’ve changed my size, shape, hair and face, but somehow, that betrayer you see in me.

VIII. A Coda, A code

And what, you, follower of this regrettable tale, may ask, what happened to this villainous man, the one responsible for disrupting this woman’s peace and calm?

                                    This, is something I dared not dwell upon, but the question is begged, and therefore, I must appease…I feel guilty

For I knew she must face her attacker, they say it’s a step toward resolving that within…but

                                    I heard he was leaving. Only I knew it was he that committed such actions…For, if I never dallied as I had, I would’ve been where you’d expected me that day, and if I had been, none of this damage would’ve happened as it has.   Many have claimed that if I were a mere moment later than I was, she wouldn’t have survived. 

They mean well, yet I, as you do now, know better.  But I did espy, this demon.  I saw exactly who he was.  At first I knew not his name, but it was not difficult to uncover.  This, was all information I withheld, a secret only I held close.

So, such a day was forced upon me.  A decision had to be made.  It was a decision that could’ve gone in several ways.  I could have reported this man to the police, but he would have been released, this, I shall not delve further into, but this, I do know.  I could’ve tracked his future, keeping tabs for such a day as is now, where she could confront him for his crimes, and offer whatever justice she deemed fine.  But I could not bear watching him escape.  I couldn’t sleep knowing what luxuries his wealth could provide him elsewhere, while the one I loved is but a shell, a clone of who she once was.  This was not justice, no, not just at all. 

So I chose the path that such situations often come down to.  I cornered him and he knew.  He offered me the world, if close my eyes I would, allowing him to leave, to go away for good.  But this was much too kind.  And I did what I felt I had to do.  But to detail what took place those 72 hours, would be too graphic and cruel.  And so, I alone took away my love’s chance at confrontation…and this, while the revenge was sweet, it was not the feeling I felt it should’ve been, and now I cringe telling you about how I have behaved.

Now, it is I, and I alone, who seeks and prays, for an irrational sense of forgiveness to somehow cease the beat of such a painful malady.  But in truth, it is only you, I wish to see me as once you had.