This modern machine age
Wakes a noise
If not of Hell, inhuman
Inspired by.
In the general uproar
That flame-shot
With lost souls filled, convulsive
Hear; and sigh.
In each separate whine,
Rough grating
Those cave-shackled; those drag chains
Pains, more I.
.
and cauze mine
froze
i reach'd out
mine duke's digits felt
burn
Az vesuvius
Up out mine
ash
convulsive
sh'moke
((poof))
'cauze
she were
cute
I live trapped in a basket of predators,
their skulls crammed with futile idleness.
They celebrate misery like a morbid feast,
with the suicidal arrogance of heirs to nothingness.
The flames of humanity have burned away
in the abyss of their barren souls.
They worship the anarchy of weapons,
I see nothing but fields of ruins.
Their battles are the masquerades of capital,
poverty spreads across the Earth like a plague,
and the closeness of deprivation becomes a nightmare.
I spit upon their rotten idols,
those false sanctities with profaned orifices.
I have piled up sins to taste the ecstasy of raw freedom.
Born from the wounded entrails of the Third World,
I refuse to bow before the putrefaction of consumerism.
Free from the origin, yet prisoner of a banana republic
delivered to the savage plunder of predatory empires.
I fight my demons in the trenches of the mind
to adorn my reality with fleeting mirages of this convulsive world.
They consign me to the dungeons of their alienation,
but I rise, insurgent against their servitude.
I can be a wretched fake, in private, intimate performance.
I’m an actress capable of imitating spontaneous pleasure -
by tricks of hesitation, convulsive vocal play and postures.
A mimicry undetectable to an immediate spectator.
Aww, thank you, I’ll sigh, as if leaving a good party.
“I’ve got a lot of homework to do,” I’ll add, a minute later.
To clear the stage.
Her evening gown was studded with opalescent sequins.
She had chosen the dress herself, deadlier than the male.
Why had she brought him there, when doubts could kill?
Why did she choose this drowsy reverie, music enhanced?
A fairyland of opalescent lights and intoxicating perfumes?
A kaleidoscope of prismatic colours that confused the mind.
She felt the frenzy of love and lascivious emotions in her heart.
Doubts overwhelmed her. Did she dress for him or for herself?
Confusion curled into her convulsive mind, an uncontrollable force.
He led her out to the uppermost terrace. The moon had risen,
But its mild illumination was slightly obscured by softly moving
Cirrus of thin, iridescent mist. Time was of essential essence.
He drew her to him and looked steadily into her shimmering eyes.
Lips met, soft and warm. Her heart beat with extreme elation.
She then knew for certain, he belonged to her forever more.
13 February 2023
Writing Challenge - E Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Zafar Supari killer chemical Drink produces
numerous symptoms such as Pale urine,
Stomach swelling,headches,fainting,despair,
Palpitations,convulsive & psycho behaviour etc..
Note.1.Drink.2.Drugs.3.Injection..GAME..
Lesson.Zafar Khan Dan is dangerous...
My poems are ghost-written.
I scarcely identify the visitants
Mingling with heedless shadows.
Poltergeists outfit my words.
Though we converse,
I hardly know them,
And seldom fathom
Their prophecies.
My poems hemorrhage
In convulsive madness
Like the speaker in tongues,
Unleashing foreboding fragments,
That I might discern some divination.
But my autonomous hands move on
Planchettes over enigmatic spirit boards
For which I act only as outlet.
My poems are ghost-written.
My stanzas are tent revivals arrayed
Down the page with ritual dance.
Faith healers shout and wail,
bending my lines
wending a trail of travail,
They conjure all specters to avail.
My poems are ghost-written.
My words breathe and writhe.
They live as cells squirming for life.
Yet, inflections within them always
Mutter from another,
A propulsion between impression and
Arousal.
The dark lake only buoys its own natatory denizens,
it allows some to swim, some to glide, dip or delve,
but those sombre waters pull down children
seeing them only as the cloud spawn of alien shores.
The waters are one unnatural creature, a sucking swirl;
a single stomach, that throttles, snags, and crushes,
it clogs the mind with the coiling swirls
of convulsive ghosts.
I am drowning, I fall upwards into a darkness
that contains no earth or sky.
The lake is a basilisk, it snakes into wide open eyes,
darkens the blood of small boys until they choke,
strangling on their own fear.
Decades later I awake, expelled once more
from the churn of its malignant maw,
still struggling inside a heartless embrace.
That cold lake remains within me to this day
It is a liquiform parasite that squirms in my dreams;
a submerged memory of my death - in waiting.
This world misplaced me long ago
From the bully to the bullied
I cris cross time forgot the past
Been lost for so long
The anxiety overwhelms
Distractions on my mind
Lose focus lost hope
I can no longer hide
Reality is never it in this game of hide and seek
I run so far and gain no distance
Replaying regretted time
Is there a fix for this handicap I see
Convulsive behaviors oh how they surface
Tried to bury them like my childhood
But again they knock louder and louder
This world misplaced me long ago in this abnormal realm I created called my own silence.
Longing
by Michael R. Burch
We stare out at the cold gray sea,
overcome
with such sudden and intense longing . . .
our eyes meet,
inviolate,
and we are not of this earth,
this strange, inert mass.
Before we crept
out of the shoals of the inchoate sea,
before we grew
the quaint appendages
and orifices of love . . .
before our jellylike nuclei,
struggling to be hearts,
leapt
at the sight of that first bright, oracular sun,
then watched it plummet,
the birth and death of our illumination . . .
before we wept . . .
before we knew . . .
before our unformed hearts grew numb,
once again,
in the depths of the sea’s indecipherable darkness . . .
When we were only
a swirling profusion of recombinant things
wafting loose silt from the sea’s soft floor,
writhing and sucking in convulsive beds
of mucousy foliage,
flowering,
flowering,
flowering . . .
what jolted us to life?
Keywords/Tags: life, evolution, love, desire, longing, passion, lust, sex, sexuality, relationship, chemistry, biology, hormones, appendages, orifices
The world a stage,
Shakespeare noted.
And we the imposter,
in our final call.
A few catch our last show.
Unwitting, they s on cue,
our fatal prelude,
our convulsive caricature,
our final self-deprecation.
A clown milking our last mockery,
our closing burlesque pratfall,
our irrevocable tremor,
our departure in floodlights.
The guffaws intend no harm.
No one knows our real name.
We are just the familiar disguise
of impulsive chuckles.
Yes, the stage is our world,
where we regale in our farcical regalia,
where we playact the death we die,
defined abruptly only by the privation of others,
their season of grieving like elephants.
Perhaps it’s better this way,
decomposing, never to be recovered,
just the sound of laughter lost,
or the fading fragment in someone’s
sleepless night.
Published The Magnolia Review 03/2020
Days of letting ignorance slipping by
Seducing my innocent silent soul
All in the name of satisfaction
Hitting my kind gesture of hospitality
Eating up my futuristic nourishments
Letting go of all the sarcastic ill says
And leaving fingerprints on my double coloured face
To weep with convulsive breath in silence
Are over.
I can't recall the last time i was laid, rather
I Sit on my moist blanket enough to smear
I didn't get in to imagine how it's done
I am in to please and be pleased the pleasure
To speak aloud and get life with no pressure
Will the law hold me for shutting you forever
For i endured enough to speak of no more
You pushed me to uncuff my silence
And put an end to the nightmare violence.
©Pensayf
1.
Bubbling with laughter…..
The blissful profile,
Scrutinizing the milieu…..
Oh! The wondrous optimism !
And here am I,
Stressing over the entity,
That would have no gravity….
A momentous thing more or less useless
And here is the irony…
The optimistic fades away
It lasts for a second
And then is gulped away!!
Oh the froth…. The bubbles,
Paving the path to success,
Rising up and out
Into the clutches of death
And so is the story
That ended too quick
Of the optimistic froth and the bubbles
that brings about a hick
“And so here you go….
Now gulp it down!”
Said the bartender….
With a convulsive frown
20-octocber-2019
I Almost drowned,
which is to say,
I fell upwards into a darkness
that contained no earth or sky.
Ten years old and a strong swimmer,
but that lake only buoyed up
its own natatory denizens,
it allowed some to swim,
some to glide, dip or delve,
but it consumes skinny 10-year-old kids;
that being the cloud spawn of an alien shore,
must be dragged down and chewed,
like the pale moons reflection.
The muddy waters are one creature,
a sucking swirl, a single stomach,
it throttles, it snags with cuffing weeds,
clogs with the intestines
of convulsive ghosts.
I am drowning,
then they pierce that lusus naturae
with a long pole thrust from a skiff;
yank me out of its crushing press
like bait from a basilisks reeking maw.
Years later I still awake
from that heaving ‘lac sombre’,
an infection of the imagination
I’ve been harboring parasitically
inside the moil of engulfing dreams.
Perhaps incongruously,
it takes some time before I will enter rooms
with too high a ceiling.
At the centre of the sea
A calm a quiet a still
All commotions at bay
There we us lay
Just you and me
At the centre of the sea
At the centre of the sea
No greed no malice
No need of outward polish
No call for any police
Just seated face to face
Turquoise thoughts of grace
Just you and me
At the centre of the sea
No noise no commotion
Despite the waves of ocean
No convulsive motion
Just hearty devotion
Pink tulips of emotion
No sales promotion
Just a tiny transaction
Of purple peace and bliss
Eyes closed a kiss
.
September 2, 2019
Silence Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
Sub Categories
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