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.

Heart Song's Devastation Device

Corridors of ancillary porticos and retractable switchblades, Macrocosmic sentry’s patrolling the scenery’s v-cut scape,

In their boots, the sole is clothed in lathered concrete—

Worn

Sworn

Torn

Devastate

It is but a foundational approach of beheading—An arsenals instrument, still clanging, even on into the post-mortem survey of disciplinarian design.  Shackles are chafing the inner thigh—its lines are brutal and corrupt, bankruptcy in a cauldron of maleficence, proposing nightly, during the encore, upon the stage crafted by a lightning strike—filibusters become the lucre, the damning suet of exsanguinated space

Damned.

Crumbs

Of

Neer-do-alls

Devastate

And then the heart sings, in putrid voices made from crocodile tears. They are all combusting at a euphoric pace, blinding the children and heiresses alike.  With dreams of tomorrow, they thank you for the kindness you share with them now. Their liner notes have since been blurred, recollection transformed into an absurd shade of paste-framed blonde. 

Devastate

Alleviate

Pulsate

Palpitate

Crush.

Swing.

Heart-aches

This sculpted axe swings it’s arms short to long. While the pastry chef expands his tonsils, still reddened by the convoluted inhalations that have merged too often with the birth canals of silent screaming.  Squelch. I love that word. It’s influx settles high. Into, and exchanged from without, the assistance of a predisposed effigy, some creature you wish you never had known, all this, during the moment of argh.  The agony of the ecstasy…the shifting sounds of sighing SHHHHHHHH’s!!! And listen, to the highways divided and the sky, as it sends forth its parade of effervescence, one, not yet diluted by life’s hologynic rapture—

Diodes

Implement

Salvation

To those

Of us,

Those among us,

That still cares….

I sing with a vociferous tongue.

My heartstrings are frayed

My range has betrayed my trust

Drawing mute, I reflect and clutch,

Unto a prismatic unveiling,

A claw used to scratch away the damnedest itch..

Simply put

Devastation,

Devastation to,

The most heart-curdling degree

Shared with the outstanding poets at D'verse for the incredibly potent evening of poetry that is Open Link Night.  Haven't had the time to properly spend swimming the seas of poetry lately. I've been in the middle of something and trying to figure things out for myself logistically in the meanwhile.  Writing alone has been much more sparse than I'd like.  I have done a fair share of writing lately, but still far too less than I'd like.  But again, it is something that I'm working on, trying to regain the groove of writing and reading the amazing poetry that is available across the world daily in the poetry blogging universe.  Hopefully things will trend back and soon for me.  However, until the end of the month at least, I doubt I'll get much time online, let alone the time to write and read, as I'll be taking a flight out west for that time and while I'll have my Ipad handy, it's the wifi only kind, so, I'm somewhat at the variable fate of wifi availability.  Anyhow, for those who follow regularly, thanks, I do appreciate it, and again, hopefully I'll get back into a regular routine sooner than later.  Until then, thanks for being there and bearing with me as I attempt to logistically sort things out.

The Ancient Fever

With the fever of a claw, protracted briskly before the

North day’s sun—bristling leaves of ancient flora rain subtly from below—Until, swiftly, the deeds are followed through

Resting peacefully adjacent to the

Covered toes of an intendeds step—resonates the fallen ivories genuflecting upwards from the hollow lake

Fangs of sincerity, biting woefully unto

A leathering type of skin—Poring over—are the Jagged excursions of remorse—in code—yet willfully exorcising the last institutions interred upon kismet’s forlorn smile

Sovereign territory.  Gated, in unrelenting irony, alive within—tenuous fibers of scarcity unchained—the whispers of the weakest heir—(Calling)—Daring for its unlocking sigh

The wisdom that is dwelling herein should be received as wisdom, not fact, but intelligence beyond assessment—just as

Circumstances offer inference, so do the intermittent cries that strain melodically underneath the windswept overture

Found From Within The Talon's Side

A flagrant volition—a violation, an action and a scowl—determined aggravation from the tongue of pawn—intrigued by the rapturous ideology presented in the late—by an allegorical phantasm of chance, an echoic beauty—one whom not even time could prevent the inviting allegation to conceive it’s concocted arrhythmia to the weather-worn hopes of one as he—

 Held in awe, by a desperate princess, bearing fruitful presents and an unholy proclamation of some love-stricken scheme that preyed endearingly, to every impossible shard of dream ever awoken from—

Encased was a promise, a scented sentence if detected, for this vow, was considerable in all it stood for to the two at hand, yet dynamically catastrophic by those in opposition.  This love, between two such as these, was in fact, in direct disobedience of the caste each were forced to lead their lives upon.

Sufferance would indeed be remarked. Damnation would, in all effect, be set in spades, even as twin bounties corrugate between the sky and all the Heavens it protects, and the reams of suet still freshly stifled, as the heart’s contents remained—where still set the bone, strangling upon the saltiest of teardrops ever wrung.

Vitality was denied through end of breath. Parturient strands unabashed by the chaotic consequence at bay—unintended for, yet persisting nonetheless, were its strides—a collateral

Striation, bound by sinew’s string, looping through the bitter entanglements of the amnesia stricken torso to which the factions fortuitously release, divide—segregating lower lip, pierced by steel and ember and the upper manifestations—the mutations estranged by first sin’s blaspheming kiss.

Protracted involvement. Sacrilege upon the altar of the

Withered. Flesh of songbird, broken wing—yet clung it had, dearly, paying ultimate price to perform it’s duty, clinging tightly with pride, onto the message placed within its’ talon’s

Side.

Tuesday is once again upon us, and that, of course, brings about the greatest night of poetry around.  Open Link Night is a world-wide phenomenon, where lover's of poetry get to read, listen to, write and share poetry of all type.  Make sure you stop by D'Verse starting today at 3pm.  Cheers!

 

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.

The Crux of the Hex (A Lullaby of Pain)

A delicate estrangement—an insurrection of high stakes—

The costs beset the murmured voice—jostling for dismay— Panic stills the arches, belittling what’s been frayed

There’s fervor in the accolades and damage in the cup—Tarnishing the wind chimes, deconstructing all that’s loved—

Skewing the firmament in all things corrupt

As addled insteps disable, a forgotten seam is stitched—Contaminating the structures, envisioning the touch—The howl of the banshee—stretching the crux of this hex

Tainted rains stir deceptive—with emotion, syllogisms grow— Windswept and staining, the compositions first possess the truth—eagerly diluting trust, turning friends to foes

Duplicity covets eyestrain, through disjointed combinations—

Furtive glances whisper—each syllable eclipses stillness while dancing in the half-life—abusing the elements of sedation

And as moisture fondles, each symbol demystifies—the salve and the possession—the cymbal and the crutch—caressing the suffocation softly—as do the lullabies of pain

For Open Link Night at D'Verse.  Stop on by and consume some of the best poetry in the world.