Acidic Beasts From Way Beyond The Self

A fire anthem preens

Amidst a canticle of paralysis

Troubled thunder unleashing

The misplaced claws of disease,

Where desire at its core, becomes

The key to a spiritual unraveling

Force-field weak, worthless even,

When the debris scattering towards,

Are disemboweled shrapnel fragments

Originating from within some unclassifiable fiend,

An abomination of the worst kind…an acidic alien beast….

Yet stand we can and stand we do

Against all odds, amidst a severe state of

Uncertainty…we must ignore the realities

Sorrow holds no wisdom here…not in this world,

Only perseverance and courageous acts of vandal,

Can offer absolution to this type of scourge

Interloper

Interloper,

O’ what have thee made of me?

Beautifully tragic

And devilishly clean

Sticklers for perfection,

Conjugating all perils to pillars tall

The sacred space of air

Bears witness, as time is amputated by the wind

Stale diamond flecks of salivation

Seeping stealthily from the creviced cheek

of all who dares to enter

Turn round; Gather ye horses

Do not look back; hurry fast

For like barnacles attracted to the external frame

Interlopers, once adhered to rules as well—

Never leaving without inducing the most severe measurements of strain.

Questions From A Room That We Believed To Be Off-Camera

I go through shifts…

…Actually they’re more like swerves…

Moods fluctuate from serenity and stability

To paranoia and indignity

I fly above the choral reefs…

Always pausing briefly to hear the

Chime of their inscribed song…

In such a moment, at such a place…

I wonder, I dwell…and am sent afar…to some invisible place

Can one reverse that which has already occurred?

Can he will the fates away, insist they gouge out a path for some other frayed child of abandon?

Is destiny designed, truly, with unrelenting accuracy…if so,

Then how can we be expected to change?

Perhaps this is all but a game…

Where we each have a specialized role to play,

Some grand performance, meant to entertain some

Ancient and alien breed…

If such is so…. then why, did I accept such a character to play…or did I ever truly have a say?

It often feels as if every movement we make were never our own to begin with.  The mood adjusts to the highs, and then again, of course, to the lows…

When we curse and scream, (awake), riddled by sweat created in dream…

Basking in the afterglow, of some impossible moon, is it any wonder why we question each and every rule, all in order to find the answer to the reasoning to why nothing has yet to donate to us a shine of any kind.

It’s the brightest part of growing, trying to locate those beams of gold.

Are we all slated into each our own positions? We are taught to believe, to strive and aim.  We are told that we can be and do whatever it is we want or need, yet, why then do we settle for what little it is that we do…and why do many simply concede without questioning, giving away every desire, forfeiting all the answers to all those questions we never did think to pose…

Why then, I would really like to know?

Is there even a case to be made…. should we even create goals and believe that we can achieve what the heart’s mind pines to grow?

Or are we but pawns and kings of a different sport…where in this game, we exist entirely on our own. A contest without referees, where the rules are made up on the fly, ones that must be obeyed to a set of guidelines that seem to do nothing but only ever change before we even get a chance to learn the ones that have since grown passé?

And, is it just me, feeling like I’m the only one to recognize this anarchistic state?  Is it in my mind alone, believing that what is supposed to be fun, is anything but?  Do others begin to find that even pretending weighs one’s person down eventually?  Again, I’d really like to know.

…

Is this all there is?

Could it be?

Is this…is it, as it appears to be?

…

Have we all truly been played for patsies, even when the playing field is squarely cemented in between the most precious parts of our individualistic minds?

…

Is it true, have we all been masterfully deceived?

…

And can it be possible, that we’re the ones that invited these devious opponents into our lives? 

…

And did we really do so, with a handshake and a smile?

… 

Oh, wouldn’t that just be sublime?

…

…

…

If Then, How?

Nervously shifting position—right knee atop left thigh, both feet pressed to the hardwoods ever lineated alibi, left sole in clear view to anyone entering from stage right

Towering clouds of charcoal tinted doubt strain in search of breathable space, dusting the passing terrain with an acceptable case for the brutality of an asthmatic too earnestly dismissed as having been too eagerly indulgent upon those panting displays of breath

Tangerine florets linger the walls above

Heavy feet scamper in now apparent direction

Leaving scuffmarks those below can feel, no matter

The sensitivity of that particularly unwashed face

Amass and hoard, we consume sparingly

Yet hold onto every shred, when it would have been too easily

Permissive to share, even an ounce of overage—One would have to wonder, if such generosity could exist, and if so, than what undiscovered aspects of the home might show.

If then, how?

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.