Hermetically Poems

Gnosis

I swim in the vast ocean of mind and 
plumb its depths for treasure 
The pleasure is all mine as it exercises 
my will to be great 
Many covet life's precious jewels but aren't 
willing to give what it takes in return 
I've learned that nothing is free in this game of 
life and high stakes
The price can make or break a man depending 
on his perceptions reach
High science is a vault that can never be breached
by the mind of a layman
You can climb Jacob's Ladder high into the sky 
of a mind by saving life
Heaven awaits atop the stairs like a loving and 
faithful wife
Just & true are the words being spilled from the
hermetically sealed
The sight of such truths can blind a man with eyes
that don't see & can't feel
Giving faith to those who didn't previously believe 
in what's real

Poem written in 2021 from my book Poetic Gnosis 
available on Amazon to read for free or purchase

Jackpot Eyes

How close it was but sadly not to be
  with chosen numbers falsely provident -
deserving no such serendipity
  lest I remain reckless and delinquent.
Mine are the sins of a Protestant son
  for which I am well blamed but not well-heeled,
which robbed my vulgar life’s fortune undone
  till I’m pale and hermetically sealed.
Lost are foreign cars, no pockets of gold -
  no libertine joy till O’ happy dirge!
My Faustian spirit that sold its soul
  alas will not my blunted senses purge.
O’ well, seems my fate is not to abscond
with some giddy perky pneumatic blonde!


           Written: December 1996

One Poet's Confession

Sometimes my mind wanders aimlessly
I find myself indulging in silly frivolity,
When I think about it, rather shamelessly.

Occasionally I pen things distastefully,
Not considering my life’s finer quality
Sometimes my mind wanders aimlessly.

Often, I am reminded of this by family
In their special positions and filial capacity
When I think about it, rather shamelessly.

And taken to task, I react apologetically,
For I sometimes get trapped in triviality
Sometimes my mind wanders aimlessly.

I’m guilty of some silliness unabashedly,
I have even written my share of parody
When I think about it, rather shamelessly.

Most of these I’ve kept sealed hermetically
Lately, I’ve indulged in some bawdy comedy
Sometimes my mind wanders aimlessly
When I think about it, rather shamelessly.

written March 23, 2022
revised March 24, 2022

The Sealed Box

do you see this hermetically sealed box?
inside it I kept the greatest anguish
things that would hurt me too much
if they were out there
I already told you about the deposit
Where do I accumulate similar boxes?
I think so
It's a huge edifice and it threatens to collapse
I walk around the building
making the repairs I can
time passes and i'm becoming a watchman
protecting the content from theft
I'm afraid 
because I've already taken so much from me
that I don't even know what's left...

My Muse

Racking anguish vandalize my soul,
as my pen crawls across the empty page,
leaving the mirror image of my vitality.
A futile exercise turns into self pity.
A useless effort in self agitation.

Months of inactivity has left my muse
abused, misused, defused.
It seems I can write no more.
Is that correct?  Is it the writing or the muse?

Writing is discipline, a few words each day.
Do I countervail my imagination?
For subjects must be born within the soul,
that soul I forgot about months ago.

Should I dream of valleys green,
or ice capped mountain unassailable?
Is my muse so hermetically sealed. 
Perhaps I'll find it again....or perhaps not.


A Silent One Contest

Lovers of Wisdom

What are we
but
inquisitive lovers of wisdom  
striving 
to comprehend temporal reality
on  
the material plane of existence  
by
closely studying nebulous phenomena
that
are mere reflections of transcendental verity
which, alas,
is hermetically sealed against our perception
till
the advent of illuminating death? 









© Demetrios Trifiatis
    07 APRIL 2020

Within My Quasi Immediate Environs Number 2

self to expound,
whereby scrawling how painful
     eye experience,
     where 21st century
     urban jungle doth abound
     to exacerbate anxiety and panic,
     aye noticed round
about puberty, and plugged up ears

     to dull the nerve wrack
     king Breitbart cacophony
even family pet
     dogs (part Border
     Collie and Hell Hound)
barked with shrill torturous yap,
     which reverberation did
     assault and pound

delicate constituent
     audiological organ of mine
impossible to avoid unwillingly
     being part of loud culture club
emanations impossible to dub,
thus helplessly bombarded, exposed,
     and subjected to discordant
     damaging noise found

     me to flub
attendant tasks, especially grub
bing to earn chump change
     to avoid mingling at social hub
rather remain hermetically
     sealed, where nub
body cant see me, hence
     that concludes thine literary rub.

Love Slipped Away From Me

Love rang my heart where I rebuffed her advances, hoping to heighten the longing love felt despite my fickle indifference, complacency and obstination. Love walked away and stoutly locked her door hermetically. I rue my puerile procrastination...

Love slips into longing 
hearts quiet, unheard, unseen
until it vanishes.

A Vision Turned Into Carrion

Mornings of great days bathe in sublime sunrise
Inspiring confidence and glowing with swathes of hope
That good tidings of a magnanimous size
Were afoot on the slope

Where sadness struts its stuff
Brandishing pessimism and nihilism
If the going went tough
In the context of sadism and cynicism

Drowning optimism
Whose pride of place I treasure
At the expense of the short-termism
Rolling in duvets of pleasure

Instead of conveying positive messages
I reserve for friends and acquaintances in my inner circle
Where together we devour sizzling sausages
Despite prospects of a potential debacle 

That encircles and imprisons the vision
Which holds the key to the hermetically closed door
Behind which lies my progress provision
Which if mishandled would turn into carrion on my floor.

Emaciated and Depreciated Love Lozenges

From the back of a woman’s mind
A thought creeps, peeps and slips
Meandering through layers of blind rind
Summersaulting to scan sweeps

Teeming with spaces in vessels
Where the thought investigates
Which epistles and whistles
Blow hot in the vicinity of gates

Hermetically closed
Shut so tight
The thought wonders who disclosed
Innermost secrets to delight

Ears and eyes that
Pry with neither repose nor pause
In their flat
Moves designed with no gauze

In sight as the thought
Snaps to attention
Peering left and right although caught
Up in a distraction direction

That tells the thought the coast
Is clear to proceed
To a toast
For the feed and seed

Unbeloved
Unappreciated
In a myriad of pesky problems unsolved
In love lozenges emaciated and depreciated.

The Hum Mew Zing Night Owl

more often than not, a knightly surge
     combs a pawn me,
     especially after the stroke of midnight, when
hermetically sealed in my rookery,

     where bats in the belfry
     flap their wings at the speed
     of sound times ten
thence, this king heads to his counting house

     (which doubles asthma
     Perkiomen Valley bishopric)
     to economize on space,
     especially during tax time

     (as April fifteenth slowly approaches,
     me heartbeat doth) quicken
though becalmed, when imbibing
     idyllic, fantastic, and bucolic kingdom

     Americana paintings courtesy, sans nomen
Percevel Rockwell, thus jitteriness pacified,
     particularly speaking
     on the telly phone with Ken
Burns, whose trademark documentaries,

     particularly War between the States,
     where even roosting hen
got into the frayed scrimmage vis a vis, even
chilly being egged on to surrender as Ben

a fit to this American
     Civil War Yankee incarnate,
whose doodling word
     ya probably don't give a hoot -Amen!

The Heavens Be Praised

We no longer immolate babes on Moloch’s hideous altar. 
May Heaven be thanked.
We no longer burn heretics at the stake. 
May Heaven be praised
We no longer stone men and women for committing adultery. 
Thank  Heavens for that!
We no longer subject defendants to trial by ordeal.
We no longer engage in witch hunts.
We no longer hang men for stealing sheep
We no longer make children work  in coal mines.
We no longer keep slaves.
For all these things may the Heavens be thanked. 

Thus many forms of cruelty and oppression have been abolished, and yet
Today’s evils, the real whoppers, are hermetically concealed behind white walls and bland, sincere faces.

To what strange deity, utility, necessity, security are we prepared to immolate not only ourselves, noble suicides, but our children, our babes, our future.
Whom would we then have to thank?

I Come From a Land

I come from a land of distant diluted dreams
Healing hearts and stagnant separative streams
I come from a land where the midnight glows
Rivers rendered red, rituals of the relentless rose

I come from a land of wavering wintered wills
Frozen ferocious fires and avalanche spills
I come from a land of scurrying selfish smiles
Where love rushes through the many miles

I come from a land of warring white and black
Where day and night are under unfair attack
I come from a land of where you may reside
An unfinished universe where I hermetically hide.





June.20.2017
Where Are you From - Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph Soper

Raising My Mind

Shutting my senses 
Hermetically 
Permanently 
Decisively

for Vanity 
Negativity 
Conceit
Arrogance

Puffiness 
Imagination 
Witticism
Presumption

Crisis 
Judgement 
And while I'm doing this 
I open my senses for love

Raising my mind

Very Close

(upon inspection of varicose veins)

Above and below married
Micro-cosmically, not as Hermetically sealed
As previously thought.

Something very physical reveals itself
In the hue of everything spiritual,
Connects outside with inside,
Branching outward, eternally grounded,
Charged with the memory of the throbbing core;
The vain pulse of plasma
Ostracizing the sun.

The outward branching, leafless as slumbering trees,
Remember the warm center
As they gaze into the light of a frozen world.

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