An In-exact Rendition of Analgesics Induced By Ill-Conceived Variations of What Once Was So Fondly Known as Histrionics

Vexing winter, culpable, equally

In each her ghastly appellations,

Pronounceable or not—

To annunciate, if but for a solitary syllabic

Representation, regardless of key, you are to

Feel, what flames writhe through her internally—

Slack-jawed, amazed, yet mainly from fear, each

Observation allowed, becomes a memory ruefully

Spent, in depreciative dissolve and disillusionment—

To witness is to feel, the snarling hooks paring clean

The canvas from its frame…watching as the paint, is apportioned randomly—stylistically similar, yet confusion, also has made and continuously makes such claims consistently…

In a manner of speaking, a cloud exhausts the oxygen, as the last breaths befriend an approaching maiden sent from afar, where her beauty alters, in waves, toggling between, asymmetric recollections, abused by a deepening lust, ignorant of just how representative grow the scars…

Hallucinatory amplification contorts the demonic vice grip that strangulation bestows upon the parted cleft of lost worlds reunited in forced mergers and therein reuniting the fallen with the spawn of Adam…

And in those first few unmeasured moments, to where the end began a sequence—one that illustrated the birth of abhorrence, and just how quickly a kingdom of infernality, could be created in such a place, as the most unbecoming of southern stalls.

Shivering…yet cold is not understood…

Enflamed and razed, but the coals are like rocks placed beneath a rill so quaint…

The shapes and forms would’ve continued their skew upon perception, if not for the blissful accompaniments, of which the heavens shawled down to comfort thee,

Guarded, even the worst of us garner the sympathy from family, even those we’ve shunned aside, turning our backs upon…for no father wishes, nor can bear to watch such depths of pain and suffering blanketed unkindly over the eternality of kin…

Such incoherent byproducts of this unsettled estate, a placement or tomb of state, which is that thing, so far removed from the vocabularies of what most, hopefully, can truthfully comprehend…

And when the worms covet what remains, you’d have been long since removed, and we will have then, long since parted ways…

Floating ethereally above, the vision grows smaller, losing its impactful proximity with each fluttering ascent of your downy-feathered heroines and apathetically devouring elves…

Yet still, you are encouraged to keep watching…for it is known, that only sentiments of unconcerned psychologies will confront you therein…as angels escort you to that place above, way beyond and far away from the defilements that ever so persistently remain determined to singe and sear any and all incoherent melody relegated to distaste, pain and all things wished invisibly felt…

And then…the shame of what once was, becomes again…a relic, a history untethered…bound no more, by the shell that for so long had bore your name…

The Letting Go

Softening the blow, letting go—

An entrapment’s set, a trigger’s tripped,

Beguiling solemnity, into a boxed chest of wood

Made of oak, notched and cured—

A tiny key violates a lock of bronze,

Concealing a past betrayed by love

Possessed by lost emotions, a vacant heart persists—

The forecast predicts a surging storm beneath,

Unearthing the many passions deadened by grief

Tethering tomorrow, with the fibrous tithing’s of today—

A venous strain, an ascription stirred within,

Initializing myriad dimensions, then staining them in blood

Vultures circle the hypocritical norm—

A broken voice cracks and screams,

Illuminating the sounds of a shadow fevering the skin

Softening the blow, letting go—

Things happen and then they don’t

Well, I seem to be a day off with my responses this week.  This is two consecutive D'Verse evenings that I've missed out on the link-up, but each time an excellent theme was provided, and therefore, I just had to respond regardless.  For this week's Poetics theme, Claudia presented us with the notion of Letting Go.  

I've always been intrigued by the open-ended possibility with this idea.  One can interpret the theme as a release, where tension is broken and this then opens up new and often undiscovered pathways.  Another possibility is looking at the theme in the manner of eliminating constraints and going with the flow, giving oneself up to the spontaneity that this new movement takes us. Yet another is the old idea of letting something go, giving it your blessing to leave.  Here there is a notion of freedom, yet also the portrayal of giving up control.  I think this also fits the popular saying about love, "set something free if you love it."  

Then, along the same lines of giving up control, one could look at this notion of letting go as being something akin to giving up. Perhaps you no longer have the will to fight whatever is oppressing you, whatever it is that is ladening such a burden upon your shoulders.  So here, you just give up, letting go, and allowing what will be, to be.

In any case, Claudia provided an excellent article on the subject and opened up the discussion to the poets of D'Verse, who, to no surprise, offered excellent insight through each poem shared.  I urge you to check out the post, read many, if not all, of the poems shared there, and perhaps, you, like myself, will find the inspiration to compose a response regardless of missing out on linking up to the Poetics discussion itself.  Cheers.

Raindrop

Had some other things to do today, so I took a poem I had done a long, long while back and remixed it so to speak, changing a few words, structuring it a little and adding in a bit of projective verse.  Am working on some new pieces as well, and am planning on getting around to catch up on all the sites I've been not able to visit the past few days.  Anyhow.

Rain keeps dropping

at my feet,

feet,

feet

I look up

To the grey cloaked sky

and watch the drops fall

and watch the drops fall d

                                             o

                                                      w

                                                               n

The grass fills

Its thirst is quenched

The water pools on the pavement

Into cracks

it seeps

seeps

seeps

I hear the sounds

From below

So down stairs I do go

Flip on the lights

Flip that switch

And watch

As all things stored

Are    f        l        o       a       t        I        n       g by

I’m soon joined

By a concerned pair

Of eyes

No purring

As he meows

As his bathroom dr If ts slowly by

I put on my coat

And head on out

To the car I will go

But first

Raindrops

Keep f       

         A

         L

         L

         I

         N

         G at my feet

                           Feet

                                    feet