Every stagnant day is a violent exhaustion,
coercing a broken frame to hallucinate its repair.
Within, my chest is a blackened crater.
Last embers burned out long ago.
No smoke.
No lingering warmth.
Now, only grey ash remains
where my beating heart should rest.
I spend every ounce of fading strength
just to pass as a lesser shade.
I am petrified.
Should I stop acting?
The void would swallow me whole.
Yet no one bears witness.
No one hears the rapture of my collapse
behind the polite greeting,
the quiet smile.
Am I just a spectre at their boundary gates,
bare hands wrapping the bars
while they gather by the light?
The threshold is an uncrossable chasm,
carved directly into my bones.
To want what they take for granted,
to not reach out,
to leave empty palms resting in the leaden air,
is a quiet, sterile agony.
The weight
is slowly,
inevitably,
walking me to my tomb.
Birthdays.
What a dubious way to celebrate the imminent proximity of an epilogue.
A concept I have found myself familiar with, as I wait for its darkness to breathe my flesh into an eternity of condemn.
It’s so monotonously profound, rousing my revulsion into a cavern of numbing ecstasy.
The hallucination of confetti blinds me in a disdain of joyous vibrancy I beseech for a defrauding.
A joyous vibrancy I elude in a hope of inevitable invasion.
A joyous vibrancy I hunt until the trail of its scorn boils with the distraught of my blood.
The mascara pours down my face; a river of infamy, coercing the heft of my obscenity.
The lipstick smears down my chin; a sadistic endeavour to ravage the dereliction of my leeches.
The highlighter gleams; a grotesque jubilation of a fibbing mockery.
And the fundamental rigour of my perished rot derides in a soul prompting conjecture;
I hope this is my last birthday.
Urban street decay,
let’s get off at the wrong stop.
Subterfuge to muzz
is coercing you to ride.
What else could be left to say?
As the poorly-programmed project
had received no traction
badly borne out by the evidence
of no enthusiasm or action
with accumulation-based speculation
pulling strings as a puppeteer
when whipping up interest
then asking for a volunteer
inducing imploring inveigling
and coercing someone to commit
"It's more than my job's worth,"
said Jack, "but I'll take a crack at it."
Fallen angel.
Great manipulator.
Narcissistic psychopath.
Predominant pretense.
Merely existing.
Demon.
You have dishonest eyes.
And a sinister grin.
I didn't want to see this side of you.
Even When I saw the glass as half empty, you'd pour it out.
The walls went up to infinity.
Believe what you want, you said.
Your dark eyes.
Your grappling hands.
Your explosive anger.
Your word baiting.
Your mind s.
Your love bombing.
Enough with the grooming.
Enough with the coercing.
Enough with the twisting.
Enough with the manipulating.
Enough with the stories.
Enough with the fraud.
You could never make me drink.
I saw right through.
Eyes are windows to the soul after all.
When push became shove, I went on my own.
If you don't have integrity, what do you have?
Beyond everything, stay true to yourself.
The abyss.
The black hole.
The after dark.
The soulless.
The silver lining.
The light at the end of the tunnel.
In the gratifying embrace of the sun's glow
a delightful plight, a verdant tableau;
Where the blazing sovereign of light reigns
scattering, a gleam of kaleidoscopic refrains;
The sweet sounds of the dulcet birds
coercing me to summon these words;
the pulpy fruits with its mellowing taste
with an azure sky, so simple and chaste;
I wished more of these benign days
For I could enrapture my mind by I single gaze.
“Dreams Coercing Memory”
You want cherries jubilee
with a little Krug champagne
but soft custard is just the same
when reality plays its game
by the spoonful
morphine comes
to save the day
the light changes
subtle refractions
of dreams coercing
memory
long elegant fingers
poised painted apricots
those false '70s fingernails
tremendous talons
for Tchaikovsky takeoff
gracefully shimmering
glamorously sparkling
eyes smiling, clicking keys
without fear, the notes become
a romantic Chopin mystery
pianola peddles
next to her laughs
and says with glee,
a good exercise
back then, we didn't
have the time, says
the matriarch smiling
just like a mother
come to collect
on the other side
her sister, hand on shoulders
sits next to her
a Nightingale Linnet
the number
at pianola
3
one number
most
profound
one number
devine aligned,
most hard to forget
or push aside
kept close
in Love and loved
for all eternity
this one
as 3
should never hide
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
LM/HMM/LJM
17.9.23
mlb, klb, llb
There’s a charge against you
Though we can’t say what it is
In time, your list of crimes will be released
Pardon our procedures –
We consider grievances
We’ll clear your good name after you’re deceased
A labyrinth of halls and secret tunnels
In a bureaucratic lair
The ambiguity of nightmares
Is the only business there
This deviant behavior
Must be addressed at once
Our agents will turn up who you really are
The whole investigation
Could take a couple months
Please be on-call, and don’t wander too far
A labyrinth of halls and secret tunnels
In a bureaucratic lair
The ambiguity of nightmares
Is the only business there
Nothing makes sense
When it’s Kafkaesque
In a language spewing jargon,
Behind coercing eyes,
Our Grand Inquisitor will take his turn
One half-expects a pardon
When one’s past is scrutinized
Lest one is subjected to public shame and then burned
Nothing makes sense
When it’s Kafkaesque
I could find my child, who's a butterfly lover,
Often bunking school granting many a reason;
Knowing her mad love, over the air to hover,
I allowed her to continue with no treason...
Having decided to find the reason from her
When, finally, persuaded her to open up;
Observing sage-like silence and eyes with no blur,
She blushed as though there's a tempest in her teacup...
Pleasing, easing, teasing, tiring, tempting, mocking,
Persuading, convincing, coercing, smooth-talking;
Silver-tongued sweet words on her slowly showering,
Ultimately, she spoke up as though rock-shocking...
Does schooling teach one to fly like a butterfly?
Does butterfly, in a school, ever long-time lie?
05 July 2021
Contemporary Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charlotte Puddifoot
The fire and the fury
Misplaced expressions of truth
Punished by society
For my passion, for my youth
The torment coercing
The good in me breaking bad
Torn between right and wrong
Losing any sense, i ever had
Give me a crutch
Anyone will do
Escaping this adolescent prison
Seems the honourable thing to do
I don't care for your rules
I enjoy being misspent
See you on the other side
Of this Teenage Lament
~
Glorious, these midnight dreams they come,
reaching deeply into the vast aching of my desperate need,
euphoric visions of sublime tranquil beauty appear
as I slumber neath quilted yearnings of you,
tempting my weary mind to make its escape
Ethereal promises in your voice, a hushed whisper,
sensual teasings to arouse my dampened flesh,
coercing the rapture of my longing imagination
alone in these darkened heavens where endless
passion floats on moistened angelic wings parted,
eternally waking me to the depths of my desire
~
1/14/2020
For the Great Escape Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
I have come to the end of my tether today and although you think I’m adorable
Enough is enough put your camera away for what you are doing is deplorable
You promised to take only three or four pics that you want for a memory book
Enough is enough no more coercing, or a black eye you’ll get from my left hook
Hear what I say just look into my eyes; I could be a heavyweight champ
Move in too close you will get a surprise, losing my fuse I’ll kick and I’ll stamp
Inside I'm smiling, a sweet little lad, but if I’m provoked what else can I do
Must nurture a smile without further ado; this look could cause fights to ensue
Peaceful at last no cameras in view, just you and me cuddling like we always do
Cooing and smiling, nothing to fear; it’s all on my face Mum I’d never hurt you
9th January 2019
Competition: Baby Face what’s you THINKIN - Baby B
Sponsor: James Edward Lee Sr
3rd placement
I dream in the morning
As lowly constructs constrain at night
Coercing my memory:
Death's cousin makes me their dancing fool
As a child, I had nightmares and thieves--
They indulged their appetites from my solace
Now, I only dream in the daylight
For my sleeping beauty calls me at night
"My Heart Is Unobtainable," she says
I wake as I had gone to sleep--
I do not dream of intangible mystery:
Not flying cows, or Dali's Persistence of Memory
I ask: are sleep and rest mutually exclusive?
For, the night owns my mind
Each night, I recall my dreams of old
My subconscious repeats their feckless words:
'My sleeping beauty never wakes
And soon, I will recall
I know this much, we both are fakes...
We never feel at all'...
As they say, there goes the neighbourhood
A nefarious group of seniors, up to no good
Swearing and cursing
Belching and coercing
Causing distress for all the young girliehood
Sometimes I just want to be in the darkness,
Alone,
As I listen to music about demons till the beats drop dead in my ears.
Slit my wrists,
And feel the warmth coercing through my skin,
As the droplets fall through my shaky breath,
A storm of emotion building all around me.
All the pain drains away in the tiny pool of red on the cold floor,
Oh how my blood looks pretty as moonlight floats on it.
I love the winds outside.
How it pushes, pulls
Raises then drops
The thin curtains
I love the pain
So I do it again and again till I feel my veins hiss like empty taps.
Did I say sometimes?
No.
I mean,
Every night am not in a hospital bed
Nurses pumping that red poison I work so hard to get out of my veins back inside.
Wanted a secret?
Well, that's mine.
The one they won't say on my funeral.
_tiny.secret_
Elliepoet™
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