Best Salvador Poems
Caustic memories dissolve on my tongue
Lingering tastes of battery acid and nicotine
Cause me to choke on putrid saliva.
Staring at melting walls, clocks tick in unison.
Distorted birdsong hums outside of jagged windows
Under the warped sun, an unrepentant landscape blurs.
Freshly budding peonies liquefy;
Veils thin, evaporating the delusion of reality.
Why must I mould to the edges at your bidding,
Contort to the point of my own dysfunction?
For such fleeting worship, this devastation lingers -
Devours and disconnects my inner workings.
I lie highlighted in shadow, a beacon of quiet distress;
A dislodged scapula desperate to be labelled angelic.
Grounded, wingless, and forever out of time -
Wearing the last face you cared for as a comforter.
Neon venom warming twisted arteries,
Sinister patches stitched upon a breaking back.
A narcissist's crown digging into my head
Like rusted nails plunged into worm-infested wood—
Permanent disconnection, frayed cerebral cortex.
Blurred vision obscures insidious figures hiding in hushed corners,
Whispering in Babylonian tongue. Hallucinatory illusions haunt
What was a once-pristine sanctuary,
Now morphing into a surrealistic asylum.
Revelation exists above shadow in temporal machination,
I'm consciousness not yet swept up with sand;
Closed eyes cleanse my corneas - I rest in a balm of clarity.
Your power superficial, a cankerous cataract peeled clean off.
It is you who is bereft, washed up with the shell you created.
All the walls of your empty room fallen flat,
As I unfurl in the mirror beyond the shoreline,
I realise - it was never me you couldn't stomach.
The sky is a Luciferian estuary
rolling and roaring in crimson flames,
a twisted design of detonated debris,
like splitting sighs
from internal implosions,
raining fragments of the past:
matchbox memories
piercing through suffocating silence
as time tortures the mind
with flashbacks of floating fragility…
O invisible moonlight,
pour me a purple potion
to erase the pain behind
perplexed pupils.
I no longer desire to be
cast in the clamorous clusters,
convicted as the captive ~
a ghost of games
playing on the bones of brokenness,
this cave of shame,
this cell of hellfire,
this emotional shrapnel,
reflecting self-loathing nightmares.
Perhaps I crowned myself
the commander,
leading the devil’s disciples
into a war assembled from fear…
And this heart ~ a metallic maelstrom
mourning in the turmoil of melancholy ~
breaks from the inability
to step beyond wrathful walls
to a landscape of holiness,
to seek the footsteps of pilgrimage.
For I am caught in
the whirling whispers of
spectral regrets,
replicating rectangular ruins,
electrifying the empyrean
with greyed grief
and yellowed yearning.
Pondering ~ am I the blasphemer
in the cross-eyed faces of monsters?
Am I the breath
that trembled ~ disrupting the peace?
Am I the empty spaces
filling the crystalline cracks
between haunting hours,
while darkness devours
treacherous tales
climbing from the
archives of devious agony…
But can love gift this skeletal sorrow
a twilight-kissed cloak of hope?
Will heaven be a witness
to these bleeding carvings
within the tall pillars
of my splintered spirit,
while the dying lamp of life
slowly fades and waves farewell
in faint colors ~ depicting misery
like demons decaying,
shaping a sadistic sanctuary
of malignant madness~
a familiar insanity inked
as a heinous home…
emptying of the mind into the ether
contained reverberations
sent suddenly skywards
firmly rejected by gravity
bounce back for the haunting
we live on with the fallout
truth ruins the illusion of necessity
spittle ruins the illusion of beauty
you can't rewrite ripples caused by history
only bury the dead on loop
then repeat the mantra of moving on
there is beauty still
in the bright light before nothing
that lingers on the retina
becoming layers
light that needs slivers of insanity
to fill the gaps
but gaps to separate the insanity
nothing is new
as evidenced by what is etched in stone
coffee cup stains
create self made crowns
in those faraway hideouts
the uncut planners
never lose a drop
or burn their tongue
their hum murmurs on
in the perfect world they build
everyone else gives their all
to fulfil whatever dream
they need to be sold
in the inner workings of every dome
rest the chorus of lives that built it
silently watching on
mouths agape
bridges shatter between downcast eyes
everything wriggles
finds its way
once again to a finish line
for a fresh wave
as inevitable as the first
in this thirst for glory
in every direction lay the fallen
leaving spaces
for the glorious mourners
to preach their refrains
eventually no fight or song will be left
only moistened air descending
kissing your cheek
light and sound fade
atop mountains
thoughts of mortality are shushed
legacy leaving its mark
to echo into a final slowed motion silence
I speak to the skylights
of your tender soul
in formless forms
in eccentric accents
aching in aloneness...
when tragedies of footprints
remain a sculptured secret ~
like an untitled nightfall
dressed in denied definitions
avoiding the touch
of perception
for mindfulness mirrors
memories I hoard
within titanium trays
of masked melancholy…
but I long for you to wear
chronicles carved within
my cold conscience ~
a universe layered
with moulded memoirs
tell me how it feels
to be a beautiful burden
to the jinxed jewels
feasting upon
scrutinized skin of silence
skeletons of psyche ~
too complex
for concave light...
let me stay ~ stretched
in the still solitary sketch
of surrealism ...
I am not a vision
of gold and glitter
that wicked weavers
can materialize
but an unnamed sight ~
a breathing mystery
the eyes of unfelt dusk
fail to stroll through…
intoxicated on pain
~ an ecstasy etched through angst ~
to never be tamed
to never be told
transparency is mirrored
you may stare
right through
my chest
only catching
your reflection
in the subterfuge
of rest
the self it splits & triplicates
stays bound by feet alone
an ecstasy of horrors
spliced & given space to roam
I'm undone yet placed on parchment
to bleed & bloom
in equal quarts
a reaching hand
that never grasps
with light & dark
ascending thoughts
all I need is printed
in signs & patterns
I can't read
as I float through all eternity
half-aware of warnings
I didn't fully heed
Below within the dwelling deep,
while tumbling in fitful sleep;
the rumble-hum of furnace keep;
the mouse and Cat Lord Bo-peep.
Fluttering lids and labored breath
below within the dwelling deep,
furious dreams do waken sleep
attributes of childhood’s bequeath.
Horrors rise on temporal tides
a stew of insanity bides.
Below within the dwelling deep,
the cat fiddle-screeches life’s weep.
Dali cobbles retinal creeps
the mind dittles and cows moo oon,
The nightmares ending none too soon
below within the dwelling deep.
His mind is know to roam
But he's not one to rat
With very little known
About Salvador Dali's cat
Whips his tail back and forth
Fourth dimensional for all it's worth
All this time sitting in
Salvador Dali's lap
His thoughts are known to wander
But he's not known to talk
Purring like a cosmic generator
On Salvador's melting couch
Electric fur stands on end
Grooms himself surreal, immaculant
Whispers in Salvador Dali's ear
Never hear the doubt
Dear Homeland Security Director No-em
I feel compelled to write you this po-em
They won't let me post bail
Get me out of this jail
I'm not a gang member and want to go ho-em!
My bright and exquisite pink heart-shaped tat
is being mocked by a gangsta in a Maga hat
All hope I must banish
I don't even speak Spanish
My doomed fate is sealed, just another stat
I regarded us on Tuesday, after finding Monet in the closet, and thought our lives
resembled institutions, I thought I'd tack that painting right above the fireplace, I
imagined we'd laugh...
He took ten minutes to figure it out, he took fifteen to tell me, he took three minutes
more to kiss my lips and I told him he was seven minutes late, so he glanced to the clock
that raced tomorrow above my head and told me that late was better than never as he
grabbed tomorrow right out of my hair...
This tangled me, you see, and I gasped for air as my thighs fell apart, it seemed to be
distinctly him as he swirled into me, and I lost the definition of myself shortly after
Wednesday rose, and we smeared Van Gogh all over the walls as my screams became edible and
he licked his lips as I sighed his name, he removed the fabric that kept me warm, he wrote
forever with his tongue and I thought, better forever than gone, right before I dissolved
into nowhere....
I think my hand prints were distorted and I searched his chest for some resemblance of
sanity, but I only found myself in the swirls of moonlight that ventured in through the
window we tried to block...
he had told me of blankets years ago and I wished they would cover me when December came,
but I haven't seen December yet though I've watched snow fall and settle on his eyelashes,
I've studied the melting of time when he blinks...
“You have the most beautiful eyes in the world,” I informed him, minutes after the night
solidified herself and I realized we were tired.
“No, I don't,” he replied, in a tone that sunk beneath Tuesday, and offered me the calm of
Monet...
“You do,” he whispered, and I could hear that smile and the echoes of his eyes closing, I
could hear myself enter his dreams as I watched my hair flow abstractly through the weeks
he remembered, and sometime before I fell asleep, thinking about St. Petersburg when the
visions that dance underneath my eyelids resemble the imagination of Salvador Dali, he
told me he loved me...
right on time.
Melting clocks hanging from the branches of trees.
A strange array of objects without time or place.
Butterflies emerge flying against the breeze.
Nothing makes any sense within this inner space.
Salvador, you brought us into a world so strange.
A motley of colors within a plane of two dimensions.
Disseminated disproportionate entities within a range.
Few of the brightest can grasp comprehensions.
You are gone, but your work we can see.
It is all a venturous escape from reality.
"Persistence of Memory"
by Salvador Dali
Did I even Mention before?
Theres some tension in my core
I can't be silent, no more
I always close my doors
And try to forget unsettled scores
And try to complete undone chores
Try to numb myself
Set on collision course
Try to hold down Hulk
With incredible force
Rather facing
Emotions ignored
To myself I swore
Never to fall unless sure
Unless I find myself adored
Unless I find myself restored
Unless I am treated like Thor
Unless I am willingly explored
Unless loves willingly poured
I refuse to be Metaphor
I'll rather be Commodore
Fight storm like old boar
Then rest in peace ashore
An undefeated SALVADOR
Breast with me,
beating like a bird.
In our moment
all hope soared
with a fragrant moon
and kissing
was the mixing of culture.
At these depths
I felt what tore
at the threads
of your music.
I met the guns
of El Salvador.
I touched the pallid
flesh of your dead
riveted friends.
I hosted your nightmare
of butchers.
Your fingers are refined
for the making of music.
Your thumbs
are peasants,
ready for revolution.
Published Black Buzzard Press - 1982
Political- personification
subconscious genius
by painting your own nightmares
enlightened my dreams
By
David Kavanagh
Standing in front of this enormous masterpiece,
Seeing his life story as the layers release.
I wasn’t warned to expect a wonder so rare.
I guess I expected a melting clock here or there.
Venus di Milo inspired his hallucinating toreador.
Dali features her likeness fourteen times or more.
Three of the statuesque figures are full life size.
The painting is over twelve feet high, quite a surprise.
For his toreador with all the masculine strength of Spain.
He chose a goddess of feminine beauty not in vane.
Encompassed in her body is the face of the toreador.
His cream shirt and the button to hold it, as placed before.
The toreador’s green tie fits neatly into place.
Flies marching in straight lines, his hat they retrace.
A splash of color and patterns depict his suit of lights,
The bull exploding through his cape is in our sights.
A Dalmatian dog, its head down to the ground.
Is in what would seem light flickering all around.
And a tiny portrait of Dali as a boy is to the dog’s right.
Dali’s wife is in a cameo top left, she hates the bull fight.
His whole painting is the bull fighting arena to engage.
The magnificent toreador is resplendent in center stage.
The color and flow of the scene being artfully set.
Such hallucinations and even more to be found yet.
Venus is so cold and sedate, the flamboyant toreador.
Swishing his giant cape masterfully the crowd adore.
He shows the banderillos used to taunt the bull.
Blood shows as blue and the bullfight is here to its full.
Could it be ironic a swarm of Girona flies once deterred a fight.
Yet as strong as the bull is, it can do nothing to escape its plight?
Collaboration With Di11y Da11y
I see you there beneath the sheen
From high atop my neck I lean
Reflect upon the waters glare
Beneath the sheen, I see you there
Keep me stable, inverted trees
In stillness to just be at ease
I exist without judgement or label
Inverted trees keep me stable
In pensive thought, shadows cast
I turn my back to futures past
Uncertainty behind me fraught
Shadows cast in pensive thought
In ivory dreams, in feathered whims
We're not born to contemplate our sins
Don't stagnate, follow rivers, streams
In feathered whims, in ivory dreams
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