Defrosting that damned freezer feels like a lifetime’s work;
a silently leaking judgement from something I’d neglected.
Midnight cracks reveal something wrong, something broken -
hot steam, blankets and warm pans mock a makeshift spa.
In the dripping a wall is revealed, a cavernous backdrop uncovered;
White Cliffs of Dover in a snowstorm, traversed with ice picks.
The infant rays of sunlight
Filtered through the small panes
Of the sleepy Hobbitons, a wake-up
Call to the start of the day.
Shire-folks smoked weed
And Argentine ciphers born of
The plumes ripples into thin air
Carrying the dream of the day.
The wild Brandywine in her stately
Updraft, washes away the suffering
Of felled logs disturbing her flow
And dips them straight into the marshland.
The pretty flora of the ancient woodlands
Stack their dreams in swirling petals of which
Are later reborn in the night.
The proud Three Shire Oak stands as
A silent guardian to Whitwell wood
As woodpeckers prick into the cavernous
Echoes of his heart to find out his longing.
Remnant of white clouds like ancient
Ruins wander lonely over the Hills of Evendim
And reflections of a century’s History float
In their accord.
Shire! Fill me with your rainbow colors
And let me dive deep into your essence
And let me stay drowned in your dreams
Forever.
An emerald behemoth starts
to ride
From dark, abyssal,
labyrinthine caves,
To cut across the pale,
autumnal skies
And rule the undulating
realm of waves.
It bears the heavy, multi-
layered weight
Of architectural and sunken
ships,
A powerful, predetermined
fate
That seals the coast in cold,
metallic grips.
It curves into a cavernous
design,
A translucent, iridescent ring,
A temporary, fluid, silver
shrine
Without an earthly palace or
a king.
The sudden architecture
starts to fall,
To leave a flat, geometric
hall.
“Red Velvet”
The bookmark placed softly
deep between the red velvet pages
of a midnight mind unfolding like a labyrinth
slow and winding, irreverent in over-ride,
hypnotic draws you in from outside margins
through strange dimensions opening echoing portals
into her world, warm cavernous hollows,
kissing lost ships, lips like sweet absinthe,
the addiction swiftly follows.
Discarding white sheets,
“..let them eat my cake”, she says with a naked grin.
The crazy cat smiled,
“You can paint your words all over me anytime Sin."
Her sharp ebony talons softly traced the first word,
over his beating heart, like a Renaissance master imprinting her Nouveau muse,
his blindfold mind rising like an ocean in her bed.
"A safe word", she said, "this may hurt a little."
"RED"
Candide Diderot. ‘26
Soaring on a cloud
gently numbed
in esoteric heights
beyond the strident boom
and strobe glare
of leviathan
rearing to lasso multitudes
into cavernous jaws
that never rest
forever famished
in a perpetual stasis
of angry craving.
My hands in the autoclave
It is no disaster
No mistake
Complete sterilization
Not quite yet cremation
Free of my predation
I crawl through a cavernous cave
Its wet walls perspiring
Nooks like glands
Gulleted by the monster
Steep feet without falter
Skull space I foster
I lay in a shallow grave
No need for depth
In this loamy cradle
No longer death I seek
But whatever keeps me weak
Hyphae drink the fluid I leak
Protected; not me, but you
Dissected; they bore me through
An ending to my disgrace
Put me in my place
A curly corded telephone rings in a distant room,
its black Bakelite bulk vibrates behind closed eyes.
An old-time fire-engine parks its flame and brass chassis
inside a cavernous skull, though no conflagration
sets the dark alight.
It is that shallow pit of night when faceless clocks
expose themselves to be landmines.
A far past is calling; disembodied tongues drum loud
in an echoing ear.
A cumbersome receiver tumbles off its cradle
an accumulated dust of misappropriated yesterday’s
softens its fall.
Nothing has grasped at nothing.
A line is dead and buried; there's no resurrection,
the call however lingers, as a voice dissolve's
deep within the combustible light
of another day.
In cavernous Swiss bank vaults
Slavery, is a word filed under anecdotes as valued as gold caught
By some inbred morons I’m told
To be resuscitated, wasn’t evil then
Elated? There was power to be
Used, unabated they put leaders; into
State shoes, ‘no matter if they chafed em’ paid for like goods
To lead, astray whole nations
Unto tangled brambles of fanciful
Climate alarmist notions, sickness was their remedy
In fact; they even introduced the maladies!
With them it’s all just theatre and hype; they have a
Consistency like tripe. Just a body of
Flatulence…..Craving much
Opulence, descendants of nazis
With all that old nonsense if you
Just tease, the narrative of disasters, you’ll find they
Are fully plastered; zonked out on toxins
Remote of awareness, default locked
Of cognition' lacking, no empathy;
Just histrionics; is all I see is big
Plans they sure thunk-em, yet
‘Twas. ‘All the bunkum that sunk em.’
©Joe Maverick 4-12-2025
There is a forest in my chest—
It grows no trees, only space
where willows once stood.
Where light rives in but answers nothing
Illuminates only the certainty of Eclipse—
Creatures born of Lack—
drift-ice flecks of snow
that fell inward and refused to thaw
They pace in slippers threadbare
unbearable—breeding Hunger into Dissent
like wolf-teeth gnawing Bone.
They are the sounds Lack makes
when Loneliness grows lungs
feral for the breath
I still must spend—
One day I’ll wrench them
into Riven Breath of Sky—
cavernous, storm-wrought
yet clawing still—
They’ll rasp the Void
like blades through Snow
my chest a Hive of emptied Bone—
And I
remain the Forest without Trees
oozing riven Light
that answers Nothing
being inscribed in snow.
Can you not be what you made me to see?
My siren song of woven poesy—
Sealing my choice on your brand with a roar—
Am I right, or have you blinded my core?
You are my mountains, my rivers, my hills.
Why, then, indictment after your cheap thrills?
Honeyed lips lie behind lipstick and paint;
My verdure, my air, my people you taint.
Your essence of playful epiphanies,
Perfect, filtered, adjusted sanctities,
Are the dreads of death in the heart of hearths—
A cavernous gloom of illusive arts.
And upon that stand, blow the Judas Kiss:
If repentance fails, who would be your tryst?
The Endless Universe;
In All Estimations:
Endless In All
Directions...
Not Merely Substance,
But A Unique Characteristic
Choice In The Cavernous
Realization Of Probability's
Muse, A Passing Result In
Another GigaBaZillion
Final Answers In
(Apparently) Random
Machine Gun Decision
Bombardment.
And I'm Aimless
Wandering...
See A Little Leaf
Stuck To A Concrete
Floor, And Wonder
Why I Just Don’t
Do Something
About It.
Don't Tell Me.
Please?
I Really Appreciate
The Amusement.
-Gray Squirrel
09-12-2025
Take initiative go to the light where the force of darkness ends
A flame needs its kindled source as a sparking awareness mends
Our enlightened energy wrapped in an array of cavernous colors
Ribboned radiant impressions given in vast deepest depths squalors
A shadow self may live dormant and await unveiling the chaos within
When it has become an unbearable journey to live in your own skin
Opaque indigo stones skim over shallow waters in an empty well
Stratas rock labyrinths chiseled lies of neglect in a nautilus shell
Warm sorrel ribbon evokes sympathy in a disparaged tale of woe
A sorbet of violet, green, and tangerine conjure a melodious flow
What is truly a wellspring of a healing rainbow palette renders
We find the key to unlocking magic embers in dormant chambers
Dank darkness may lead us astray from individuality and truth
Take initiative, find the light of all brightest light reaching for you
Sexuality marooned jellybean pilfered spigot refugees vomit hazelnut in some static plain cloud cupboard.
A stifled hexed harvest, suffer the stagnant taffy contraception,
Oxidized gut-string lyre feeble mast crippled rod.
Shall you be parallel on the naked stem on the shrunken pagan altar?
Penguin whale jackal follicle carriage orgies
I have the cavernous trunk of thirst,
Permanently altered, famines, droughts.
Loosen your sticky grasp upon an evening so slutty bean Venus squaw chubby stone figurines
languid horny speed gutter bunnies.
let down cord straps drop fiddles kneel whip cable ties.
Snickering geriatric hags cupcake outskirts of one
Platypus settlement
My mind hibernates in the void of cavernous complexity,
wakes up in the sensual seasons of mystique living.
The wild psyche forms a sleek and sly unique entity,
as with whisper of intent hiss, dances the reptilian feeling.
Within the deep cold layers many ancient secrets hide,
the sinuous slither of the silent senses can’t find.
Coiled in still shadows of the verdant world outside,
the echo of hostile footsteps is left to fade behind.
A prisoner under the disposable skin of own pedigree,
with an animated grace of fear in introvert isolation,
I see all the frightened faces flee from me,
as I trace my tortuous path in the web of ardent adulation.
In self-adoration, as a symbol of style steeped in serenity,
I see in me a serpentine Narcissus lonely lurk.
Metamorphosed stealthily from an obsessive entity,
it holds the threads of life, waits insulated in the dark.
The lonely shadow aside from the worldly poles
Wrenching like an unhidden find to hold
And the horrible ink of dreadful poison swiftly mold
Eyes were injurious red like a bleeding bed
Thoughts of frightful threads wrap
and rashly roll the clutching traps
Shadow envelopes like a black door
Tears were tip and tapped one after more
Shadow of shades deeply shallows
Only the gist of suffering and melting melodies
Are fluttering over the sleuth of emotion
God knows the happening in cores of motion
Sometimes, a burial bleed on the surface
Lips bewail like a snubbing scroll
And silence echoes in the cavernous hell
All Alone in the stiff stage of sicks to bell.
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