Black Soul Afidavit

Death on the surface of a plague,
Spewing serum in rabid abdication,

A perjurers first instinct
To rot upon that vial,
Thunderously bellowing for absolutions he devoutly hates

Finding bonds with decrepit fellowships
A putty for a craftsman with distinctly darkened vines

Cradling close the dearly fallen,
An appetite whets upon in blackened anticipation

And as a feast of blood sates his wicked tongue
The beast acknowledges the impossibility of nourishment
As fatal pangs asphyxiate the morsels just devoured
The cravings emulsify within
Delineating the unrequited compensation
Delivered to those who discard the graces bestowed when choice was still free.

Central Waters

listen to ‘Central Waters’ on Audioboo

A varied strain upon forgetful sins

where therapeutic measurements

may strangely dictate, a stance of

protracted ignorance when deep

bruising’s unearth— It is often

sage advice, to shatter all and any,

large to shard, splices of contradiction

that could undermine the shared experience

of the truthful tone—

Breaking this façade, where all time heals old wounds, in

mental mannerisms bound to suffering, is but a known agitation of

the scars of ones past, buried, interred well beyond what

even surface logic could detect, is but a diviner of internal

justice, foretelling the honesty that pervades this directionless

mass of indiscretion, known, to this point, as the last known remnants

of what was but a partially-lived, previous existence.

Vague perimeters are constructed,

shielding feral interference from indiscriminately rearing its unwelcomed range of questioning—the signals spike when patterns of

detrimental discourse are urged before a susceptible crowd….we ask not, what eventually becomes of such words….

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

to see what you could find

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

with deception burdening your mind

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

to see if still a light could shine

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

yet the lies have bound you blind

To discover what is delivering concurrent

is but a vestige of re-creation, a smiting taste

of the venom, in which forced us from our homes

Unknowingly this led us in search of new terrain,

offering many tears to shed, for the boundaries blurred before

yet, in spite of intent, you re-acclimate the buried strains

siring futures laced by burden; inciting…an advanced discourse of pain 

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

to find yourself a home

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

to evade those forces unopposed

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

for the promise of rebirth

You came to CENTRAL WATERS
for the lore spoken of in poem

Instead of finding freedom

you’ve spread the shackles of disdain

despite the promise spoken of in verse

your presence has once again, awoken forth this curse

They took you in, they cleansed your wounds and made

you, a stranger, one of their own—only to become a facsimile of the place you’ve tried run from

Where at first promise flourished amidst your grasp,

all seemed deistic to such the whetted glance—but

paradise, to an infectious scourge, is but a wealth for

this virus to explore—

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

thinking the past had been disowned

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

with only the best intentions planned

Yet, as is the case with purity,

it only takes but a singular encounter

to forever redefine its form

Yet, as is the case with poetry,

it harvests all emotion, as the tempest’s seeds be sown

where infliction redresses its viral chords

bludgeoning the innocent’s chaste accord

with an evil…an evil distinctly your own…

Another Tuesday is upon us, and the lovely Natasha is tending bar over at D'Verse for Open Link Night.  Make sure you stop on by and enjoy the amazing poetry that permeates the night.  

On a side note, been kind of out of it the past few days, really didn't get much of anything accomplished.  I did get a chance to read, Manic Daily's wonderful posting about the "Unexpected," she wrote for this past Saturday's Poetics though. 

I also read through many of the poems linked up, and have to say, I just didn't have it in me to reply, to do much of anything really, but out of the twenty or thirty poems I personally was able to read, outstanding is the word that consistently came to mind.   It was a great theme, and I actually spent a good deal of time pondering it, to which, sparked an idea for a short story.  For those with the time and care to read, I did post it over at my wordpress site.

Darkness Sheds Its Shade

listen to ‘Darkness Sheds it's shade part I’ on Audioboo

listen to ‘Darkness sheds it's shade part II’ on Audioboo

And darkness sheds its shade —

An immutable décor… of tragedy and ambiance—

Decorates the stairwells dry… in cautionary tales…

Resembling attitudes forlorn

An overzealous laundering—flashing fortnights tourniquet

free—sparkling stimuli—erecting variety from every creative creed…and unto the misanthropy…we gaze into the primal clutch…

the forbearance bred from what’s beneath…

cluttering the stairwells dream…of unattended phobias…

yet ignoring…the cadaver’s misaligning gleam…

It’s in such ambiguity, where forgetfulness casts its hollow net—

displacing the swoons of nonchalance…unto creatures of behavioral supremacy—arresting all the audits there…those that comingle, share…where soon, becomes more than a certainty to come

Of virtue and vigilance, a valor caged amidst a crystalline crypt…mesmerizing…blinding still…as (distortion) befriends the whispered air… where catastrophe drives forth its haunts… those miscreants toting barren shields…a precursor to one’s unbridled sarcophagus….sealed…slamming shut…the entombing rhythms to disrupt…the permitting raindrops, their preferential forgery…staying…etching upon…that which repeals too easily…ceasing timbres encased sleep… beating out the last…harmonious tracts of minutia’s pattering recline…

And darkness shed its shade once more…

To end their fall…

The reflection, in Gemini’s sympathetic mirage

To end their fall…

The albatross, in empty space, white as day, shackled yet disinteresting

Where the draper lays his nightstand for the eve…

And darkness reigns sublime…a superficial aplomb to climb…razor edged in sepia stain…conjuring the scars parade…rekindling the knotted root…ensnarling clasps pinching deep…into those crevices we shouldn’t keep…

And a fragrance of wood…burns…it is of once swift glance of this lost façade…embellishing all inherent charms of shame…brokerage of tapestries…every inch…but a myth…indicative of inhibitive indications….a temple of tragic appeal…

Exposed to a crustaceous arch of mortality…rendering it’s sharp pitch of chord...elongated dins to steel…bearing but a minimum of shrapnel once sent…out into the outer depths of perimeter…amongst the salacious personnel…forced sit tied unto misleading rationale…ne’er permitted the penitence behind

the truthful décor…within

A crimson blush is summoning,

Through interjectional accords…manipulating…manifolds of opiates…devouring the platitudes…into arrangements apropos 

To such delusional discourse

Seemingly, such verbiage, ecclesiastical in tone throughout…yet disjointed through the words of mouth…our secularity…mimetic contrivances…gambols about…a ricochet of omitted hand-scaled seams…that have…always been

Here, there and everywhere

Amongst the howling fay,

beneath the falling sun

our preeminence, here

obtains the thought contained within the

diverted tongue..

And behind the shade-less mesh

The scars, the scars catch… upon the thickets of whispers—no, the whispering cisterns…enticing our fluidity…even though…the dream has been deciphered naught…yet always…paving clear arteries…leas reserved for the emptiness we’ve always known…

And it is here, as well, where darkness sheds its shade,

For rapture secures no pleasure toward…a fate encouraged to permeate in manners scorn…however, one cannot change the motion gathered thus…without the confrontations you’ve interred deep below…

Persistent agonies must cede first its postulates…seek reformations…risk deliberate dishonor…before the shades

may wither away…

And pretend…to have disappeared…

as it is with all things pertaining to flesh…

[temporarily permanent…]

Head on over to D'Verse, Open Link Night is in full swing.  Check out all the amazing poetry, where every week, a wide variety of styles and themes are always on display.  And while you're there, link up a poem you wrote and share with the incredible poets of D'Verse 

The Mephistophelian Provocation

Well, I'm a bit late to the pub this week, but I'm thankful that Claudia kept the doors open as I definitely needed a poetry fix.  And that of course means that, as is the case for every Tuesday, Open Link Night is up and in effect over at D'Verse.  Stop on by, read some terrific poetry and while there, link up a poem of your own for others to enjoy.  Cheers!


I. CAGE OF SIN

In this age of terminal belligerency

A hex, a pox is placed upon thee—

Tingeing forth the pummeled plant

pressing through the groveling glass—

Thine heirs be slain,

in judgment for thy sins,

Each those chosen prior to

and the ones yet coming to pass

Silence these ne’er-do-wells

housed enslaved, voicing perditions

for which man’s inner weakness craves

Dwell in the aged moment’s freeze in time

linger long ere thy dreams clash therein

Fore in such a place, amidst the blinded vermin,

friends be replaced by the slithering tongue,

within the wretched serpent’s cage of sin

II. A Signature upon Shedding Skin

Beware the pomegranate kind—

sacrificing winter, for a fleeting summer’s moonlight dance

Bathe long in thy sweated skin—

before ye blood hath spilt upon demon’s pact

Return ye shan’t; regret falls moot

for what has waxed, will surely wane—

Returning all thy suffering—from fathoms deep

to an ever weeping flame charred sky

When debt comes due,

redress accrues the interest kept

III. Forcing the Hand of God

While thy prayers be pronounced,

And thy annunciation understood—

  

The heavens must flood forth its tears,

flowing forward, despite—because

of God’s ever-existing paternal love

Yet—because thy scrolls be scribed

by bloodied pen:

Thy penitence must be denied,

Thy soul, to Hell, must be sent,

And such is the price one pays

for abandoning:

Thy belief in ye self,

Trust in God’s will

Thy Faith—Thy wisdom—

That God shalt keep ye safe

And such is the fate,

of men who:

                           Fraternize with unholy beasts—

                           Break bread at demonic feasts—

And there is no saving

A man consumed by deicide