Best Static Poems
I want to be fully unwrapped
within the arms of your heart ~
the effervescent efflorescence
effortlessly cultivating our truth,
with your heat as my clothing,
your throb as my psalm,
your love as soft thunder,
soothing in silence
my mind’s mayhem, malevolence…
But to be your chosen heirloom,
must I turn fears
into flowers of resilience,
mask insecurities with interstellar lies,
pretend to be prepared
for the poisoned persistence,
as if ink trembles not at the
thought of losing the light
that found me ~
weeping on the edge of nothingness?
O lion’s mane huntsman,
my warrior scavenging
through storms and starlight,
come sail with me
to the distant dunes
of deepened devotion.
Succumb to this surreal seclusion,
cloaked in captivating colors
of branching attachment,
where you and I will
face the nefarious unnamed
like Persephone,
strolling between thistles
and abyssal dawn,
oblivious to what blooms above,
the labyrinth of love-starvation,
finding clarity through static panic,
returning to your dream,
where cacophonous control
calms the inner conscience
clawed to the catastrophic
currents of craving.
I am the midnight wanderer
intoxicated on pomegranate’s
forbidden ecstasy,
euphoric amidst the orchid
haze of Hades.
For what is happiness
in the absence
of fulfillment or contentment?
I have long learned
the adjectives to accentuate
peace through pain,
serenading serenity
beneath skies adorned
with doomed diamonds.
So let me stay alive in
the lines of allure,
find lucidity through distortion ~
hope through helplessness,
rise again to a spring
that pulses
for piercingly perfumed passion ...
Forever lost in space and time,
These stagnant seconds are divine.
With steady hand and shaky mind,
Pursuing something we’ll never find.
Drawn out hours that never cease,
The mental crypt allows no release.
Passing moments as best we can,
Devising yet another ill-thought plan.
Time stands still for those that wait,
Unable to face their looming fate.
Evading restrictions of endless rules;
Brushing shoulders with mindless fools.
Forever lost in space and time,
Those static seconds were divine.
Forever wishing we could rewind:
This is the delusion of our kind.
`
Slandered wavelengths
from an old worn out speaker
cracking with each unbalanced bass note
Finding my brain on overload
and a slower heart beat
out of tune
Static becomes the union,
tuning dial gone, volume at high
glowing in the corner of cobweb melodies
lingering on a distant shelf
now sinking lower in this
roadside armchair (Where are the earplugs when you need them)
An empty bottled fortress
protects the pain at my feet,
brown glass soldiers stand guard,
bottle cap mementos flip
like dancing beans on a folding table
at El Mercado
One more for the road
(like I need this)
along crooked dotted lines, weaving nonsense
two at a time, smirking
snickering like children hiding from a babysitter,
mimicking the way
Still the static, white noise,
drowns out the joy and the trees cry,
when birdsong of night haunts with a sound
interrupting the dance of the
beer bottle chorus line
and I tap a painful toe
So to you,
My love:
In a moment
i
ponder,
with resolve, I call.
Without distraction I
move affectionately
to your life.
Resolutely,
to capture a morsel
the images that you portray.
I have a wander lust;
unquenchable I seem.
I am a reed; a stick
lying near the drink
of an oasis.
I long to move my roots
into sumptuous bounties
and soaking delights
of your wondrous waters.
I am so in need to let the dry branches of my soul be lavished in
the life force of
your being.
I dream
I chase.
Be the answer
the repose to my quest.
I have blown in from the desert.
The wind that carries me is hot.
Now, where I stay is in solitude
and threatens to mortalize my existence..
Though I meander in the mysticism of Gods and Angels
I feel a beckon to unloosen my wings
to fly.
So I stretch and flutter.
Poised on a ledge, I listen for the call.
"Please take me and I will be Yours."
I will unleash
the drive within me.
I will reciprocate your soothing lotion
with a fire that only you
deserve.
Do not neglect my burning
and I will not negate your
passions.
To you I call!
Doors within doors within doors within doors
just like some silly three stooge comedy.
Now I am standing on some Scottish moors,
Islamic Jihad is setting out tea.
It just never ends, and it never stops,
this insane babble just plays in my head.
Now this tower of inanity flops
from one subject to the next subject, dread
visions flow to joy, but now no nearer
to divine Godhead than to the blackheads on
my chin. Oh, I'd love to be the bearer
of glad tidings but nirvana's been down
on her luck lately and still needs a fix.
Getting past that third chakra's just a *****.
I met ANGIE in a bar where grief drank quiet,
where HONKY TONK WOMEN spilled perfume and regret.
She moved like WILD HORSES with nowhere left to run—
said, “I’m safer UNDER MY THUMB than out in the open.”
She kissed like a dare and left like smoke.
On RUBY TUESDAY, she vanished into rain,
murmuring, “YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT,”
and I didn’t even try to stop her.
She used to laugh when we lost at TUMBLIN DICE,
but the last time she smiled, she was already gone.
I tried to PAINT IT BLACK, but some songs keep bleeding.
The Rolling Stones still hum behind my ribs.
Every track she touched skips now—
her chorus etched in static.
She didn’t take her coat,
just the part of me that knew how to stay warm.
Watch existence burn; see vermilion flames flicker in my eyes
Whilst you stand amongst the ashes and bones of what was never meant to be.
Inhale the murky smoke of contempt,
Choke on particles formed from your contrition.
Feel the accelerating heat scorch distressed flesh.
Quiet—lest my demons hear you scream.
Perched, waiting to devour
A soul so frigid, frostbite seeps from your stagnant veins.
Mercy is nowhere to be found.
Hysterical laughter escapes from my broken lips
As you writhe in pain, trying to escape.
Vines of razor-wire belladonna barricade;
The hunter is now wholly ensnared.
Visions of the past materialize like static,
Disrupting the penultimate bits of your sanity.
Microscopic questions flow rapidly:
Is this version of reality just a delusion,
Disrupting the very fabric of time?
Or are you suffering for your incompetence?
The smell of sulphur grows stronger with each thought.
Through melting breezes, the Pied Piper plays
Such sweet music—wrath’s revenge.
The Devil’s Inferno is calling you home.
1.
My head is a transom
Light pours in but cannot escape
There is no window into me worth peering
2.
I hold dear to things
A grip so viced it defies metaphor
And my clutch does not know the difference
Between love and rage and I don't
Bother to correct it
3.
I am no one
I am nothing and yet far too much
I am selfish, and ugly, and brutish and even
My art is only ever about me
4.
I dreamed I was a butterfly
Free and open and beautiful
And when I woke up I knew it had been a dream
My head is a transom
Light pours in but cannot escape
There is no window into me worth peering
I dreamed I was a butterfly
Free and open and beautiful
And when I woke up I knew it had been a dream
I am no one
I am nothing and yet far too much
I am selfish, and ugly, and brutish and even
My art is only ever about me
I hold dear to things
A grip so viced it defies metaphor
And my clutch does not know the difference
Between love and rage and I don't
Bother to correct it
I hold dear to things
A grip so viced it defies metaphor
And my clutch does not know the difference
Between love and rage and I don't
Bother to correct it
My head is a transom
Light pours in but cannot escape
There is no window into me worth peering
I dreamed I was a butterfly
Free and open and beautiful
And when I woke up I knew it had been a dream
I am no one
I am nothing and yet far too much
I am selfish, and ugly, and brutish and even
My art is only ever about me
I dreamed I was a butterfly
There is no window into me worth peering
Between love and rage and I don't
Between love and rage and I don't
Between love and rage and I don't
Between love and rage and I don't
My art is only ever about me
My art is only ever about me
Between love and rage and I don't
I dreamed I was a butterfly
I dreamed I was a butterfly
I dreamed I was a butterfly
I
I dreamed I was a butterfly
All he can see is at the end of a pencil,
Sedated by a 3 inch piece of lead,
Self-portraits are of only a stencil,
A picture stains the paintings in his head,
How far does the land go beyond the window?
Far enough to see the end of the day.
And does the bird fly as far as the wind blows?
Far enough to find a warm nest to lay.
Her ears scorched by the sound of scorn,
Laughter tears and turns tears to her eyes,
Bows to down into the form as to which she was born,
And dreams of dissolving into a dawning sky,
How numb I have become only known by numeric?
Taught only in the trenches of comparison.
How cold the hand grows held up in hysteric?
Endure and you’ll ensure your end, my son.
The accumulative miles could astonish,
All those tongues, with nary a story uttered.
All those eyes that never "saw" a thing.
All those soles, the antithesis of "only".
All those heels, still attempting to lift in silent dignity.
From a still shot, a dynamic response is invoked!!
Oscillation in a static realm. Stalking desolation, a haunting reminder of
transcendence. Sporadic fractures paint a decadence flourishing confined mortal.
Omnipresent the triumvirate, yet fallow diversity feigns a collapsing periphery.
Malleable beings vivisect the strings of eternity for clarity divine.
Static......
Radioactive man is cool.
His brain is fried
but he still wears chinos.
It is sixteen days
since the bomb dropped,
not many people lived
but radioactive man did.
He is dazed and confused
but alive.
He staggers about,
not knowing
he is glowing.
The radio static
claims lots
of things.
Like....
The Russians
are like sour grapes.
A bad bunch.
No need to be that bad
though.
Claims static.
Radioactive man
shouts words.
"Let them lead what
I can"t have
down
the
path
of
righteousness."
Sigh, he must
have been
a church goer.
He will be dead
in two hours.
But the radio
wont know.
Nobody will.
Well, maybe God.
Oh and the Russians.
Static Electricity
Gives quite a jolt to you and me
It will attack without a sound
Unless we both find common ground
Here we are again,
Humming, the ceiling light gone:
Welcome home, static.
Static
Electrifying flashes
Fabric on charge
As sweater pulls over
Conductively