Long Annihilating Poems
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Belladonnic poison seeps from your eyes,
like an electric serum of Venusian alchemy,
one that paralyzes my sense of pride.
My mind oscillating,
alternating,
your gaze,
annihilating.
An infusion,
Uranium radiating me into half life,
as I look up small to thee.
How can you be my painkiller,
stretching rack,
healer,
and a killer clown surgeon
with a knack for stealing autonomy?
Your touch burns with the fires of Purgatory,
a solar cycle casting elemental ghouls,
in a rogues gallery of impish valkyrie.
Propheting in New Moon phases
of alignment's interferon mightocon cell mining,
beaming morse code anecdotally-
You dress me in the dark's fairie mood ring-collar- manacle- you cause me to wear in my captivity.
Endangered in the midst of your wilds,
from your strange type of phi
that echoes from the voids-
enchantress- third eye.
I flop like a fresh caught fish
in your net of silk, patterned telepathy.
You are a siren, a villain- bewitching
the stormy seas- to shipwreck adventurous souls
and harbor them on your oasiatic Isle, Circe?
So why do I feel saved, even in your captivity.
Turn me into a fattened pig, then,
do as you will,
but be the truffle of my descent
as I forage for delicacy.
I feel a heavy weight go down, down, down, down, deep down in my chest,
Like an elevator descending rapidly down a deep dark abyss, and fear crashing in from all sides with all the weight of an ocean breaking loose closing from all sides, the loneliness stings like a nest of desert scorpions, and the desperation consumes me like the venom of a cobra annihilating me a living cell at a time,
They tell me “a will, will find a way”, religions tell me “hold the hand and it will lead thee unto the light ”But there is no pot to whip up will from, and I see no shining being`s hand,
I see no end in sight to this journey through the wasteland.
Could it end in a different way? Logic says Nope,
Yet I harbor a secret hope,
This was not my decision my call, this birth, I did not vote to live,
I am tired of all this negativity and some things got to give.
Books say, the body is temporary, so is the pain salvation is the ultimate goal,
All empty words with no solace and I am yet to see my soul.
What good is a salvation unknown when today passes in pain, what good is the miracle if the thirsty pilgrim dies and then it comes down to rain?
Reach out in the dark and you may feel me somewhere,
Wandering, wondering, dreaming, pondering,
Like a man on an endless plain chased by a pride of lions looking out for a tree,
Let the weight fall down, let the ocean drown, let the scorpion`s sting, and let the poison do its thing.
I don’t care, in the end I just want to be free,
No happiness, no sadness, no pain, nothing and into nothingness..
I wish to where it all began,
On the edge of the death land, beyond. Always beyond.
Taliban march on,
Kabul falls into the hands of barbarians
As
Chaos and death their steps follow.
-
Mothers mourn their children
Bereaved wives grieve the death of their husbands
Panic is instilled in every heart and mind of
Each freedom-loving Afghan.
-
Desperation and fear
Slowly but persistently establish their depressive dominion
Dragging society into the abyss of ignorance
By annihilating human rights and freedom of expression, and
At the same time
Depriving women, among other things, the privilege of education
For
The new despots wish to weave the web of their regime in
Total darkness so as to fit the color of their
Unenlightened souls.
© Demetrios Trifiatis
20 August 2021
*When the Taliban ruled Afghanistan from 1996 to 2001, the government banned music and barred women from attending school or leaving their homes without a male escort. In 2001, the U.S.
**According to a United Nations report, the Taliban were responsible for nearly 40 percent of civilian casualties in the first six months of this year, more than any other party to the conflict in Afghanistan.
Vladimir Putin itching
to loose nuclear bomb
end of the world scenario ofttimes
iterated throughout history
though an atheist (actually Unitarian),
no doubt this, that or another psalm
countless times the Bible
references Armageddon and doomsday
impossible mission to remain
cool, collected and calm.
Whether affiliated with donkey or elephant
Democrat or Republican viz
blue war red respectively
political hot issues don't amount
to a (Sam) hill of beans
when Sword of Damocles count
approaches zero hour
as global tensions mount
signaling increased chance
trigger finger will free
avast nuclear winter
(across world wide web) re:
leasing plethora, pyrocumulus
mushroom clouds tree
mend us planetary explosions
annihilating webbed wide
world, an irrevocable
indeed earthlinked debacle
spelling widespread species
multitudinous extinction
ex post de facto after super
bowling powers (wannabe) vied
to wrest empowerment spanning
entire realm sans third rock
from the father, sun and holy ghost,
who turned substantial pock
kits of flora and fauna
once populating oblate spheroid ad hoc
significant swaths of life forms
pulverized and/or turned to ash
transformed into radioactive wasteland
after war mongers brash
lee usurped hegemony
(ruling inhabitants
of Gaia with an iron fist
with a smidgen of flavoring
courtesy of Missus Dash
superfluous taste enhancer,
when sibling burnt offering views
between Venus and Mars incendiary
tolled mourning news
smithereens sole remnant
poisoned every square inch
from weapon of mass destruction
that did cruise
engendering thick noxious fog
disabling fox but not cockroach
while smoldering seas and continents
skull and crossbones didst poach
amidst the gasified, liquified, pureed
where holographic ghoulish super bowl coach
rendering lifelessness home for menagerie
where virtue trounced vice as organisms
(particularly one primate) didst try
(predominant 21st century simians)
tool heave with amity, comity, and empathy
animals and plants an experiment
that went awry
presaging a nuclear winter with nary a winner
implicating mankind as the absolute sinner
instantaneously after Doomsday Clock
signaled point of no return
where grim reaper the sole grinner.
By Paris Thulare
I feel like I've been a quite for a while now
Clearly they have forgotten who i am
Let me step out of these shoes
They Need to hear this one
I maybe a quite shy
But I'm not a playground
They should step messing around
And face me this time around
After this confrontation
You all going to feel the confusion
no more dissemination
No more discussions
I have questions that need some answers
I can't keep whining
While those that are responsible are just watching
You all have to face what you haven't been expecting
You will face reality
I'm done pretending
I'm done Devaluating
Watch me i will be Annihilating
When the roosters crow at dawn
Trump the clown, the president
Who thinks he's a ser and king, a prophet
Because he always has his fly half open
Surrounded by his entire celestial court of zealots
Well protected by serial killers
What will he say, perched atop his deranged head:
-“I announce to the new day
That today, like yesterday and tomorrow
I will do whatever the hell I want
Because that's how it has to be
For the good of all nations.”
Laughing and dancing like a disabled person
He will repeat:
-“What a mental masturbation of mine is worth
Given on time here in Mar-a-Lago
Soon to the twelve best beaches of Cuba
Which will soon be mine:
Varadero Beach, Paradise Beach
Pilar Beach, Cayo Blanco, East Beaches
Sirena Beach, Fishing Beach
Santa María Beach, Ancón Beach
Coral Beach, Cayo Guillermo
And Guardalavaca Beach.
Don't fall asleep, my Cuba
Don't fall asleep, my beloved
For your Trumpist dawn is coming
Full of life and death.
To your twelve precious beaches
My criminal drones will descend singing:
“This is how it must be
Because this is what this clown
Who thinks he's a seer and king wants
Who, without any bet
Full of rage will pounce on Díaz-Canel
And, in the shadow of his own balls
Will leave him half dead
Making Cuba a great Guantánamo, once
Causing his coastal Guantanamero people
From the municipality of Bauta
In the province of Artemisa
West of Havana
To laugh and be scared on his Baracoa beach
Contemplating that enormous cock of his
Hypocritical cock made drone
Of truly obscene balls
Of a terrible and fierce transsexual
Who employs so much ardor, so much effort
In annihilating, with the Jews
The peoples of the Middle East.”
Along time linear, memories blur
The ones recalled by mind, are those that bind
Mixed emotions stir, of which some endure
As we rewind time, life has left behind
Fleeting is youth prime, headed for deaths chime
Boon now bane, until desires to rest lain
Yet untouched by time, is bliss throb sublime
Free from ego borne stain, once darkness slain
Time in dalliance with our sentience
Holding its breath, in the void of stillness
Let then our dance, be in exuberance
Entwining our soul, with the That oneness
Bliss throbs within spear, as Gods love draws near
Movement of time itself, then disappears
24-May-2021
Time poetry contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Don't Look at Me with Eyes of Ice
Don't look at me with eyes of ice stranger that freezes my heart cold,
because something broke in us but everything still breathes in the cosmos,
don't look at me with eyes empty of light like at a stranger made of jade,
because your eyes were once galaxies full of magic mercury shining bright.
Don't look at me with cold eyes of stone sculpted in forgetting's arms,
because everything is wonderful still pulsing in the veins of the cosmos,
today I won't let you leave into the translucent and empty darkness void,
nothing with us has changed it just hid itself in black velvet night.
Don't look at me with stranger's eyes and see what you leave behind you,
because your eyes full of tears of liquid silver tear my soul apart,
your gaze annihilating cruel-sharp like a crystal quartz blade cutting deep,
makes my spine sweat cold mercury in nights of jade and cosmic dread.
You cannot forget in one minute a dizzying love made of fallen stars,
you always wanted at each meeting a flower of living fire bright,
we loved each other so much like the tree loves its own flower blooming,
now I stand and listen to you and cosmic desperation swallows me whole.
Our love was a poem with warm moments of living love that burned,
that's why I'm afraid now there was too much magic happiness within,
I wrote in late nights on your warm chest poems of quartz and light,
it was a sweet psychedelic enchantment floating through the universe vast.
We loved like two madmen love until it hurt like crystal breaking slow,
we were lit like two burning coals in our moment of sacred pleasure pure,
I think we reached the peak our love is now consumed and burnt to ash,
but still I want one long night of amor with you in velvet darkness deep.
One long night of amor to spend with you among the living stars above,
and after which I can die I can die but you must be with me in dreams,
to die with your jade hand upon my chest that slowly burns in flames,
to die while loving you in cosmos where everything is eternal and magic true.
How unappealing... the missus went bananas
courtesy hurling mandarin oranges.
Yes quite juvenile
unladylike childlike behaviour,
mine wife oft times doth display,
I do not deplore
yours truly reckons
tis futile effort causing furore
aye attest bull
in china shop incorrigible hardcore
exhibited by spouse
out of bounds antics bon jour
earlier within marriage
shenanigans twas the stuff
back in the day
sparking altercations, haint no lore
regarding wedded bliss
muddle aged doozy storied
married couple expressing
mutual love nevermore
did deux disparate
birds of a feather flock together
espousing total mortal kombat
(with looming fruity weapon
of mass destruction
living below poverty dirt poor
surviving (barely) hand to mouth
unable to afford
top of line high grade
clean atomic bombs rapport
re: ruining our reputation
as hoity toity main liners
portraying child's play
conflicts in East/West Timor
almost annihilating each other
i.e. zee Harris family
plus well nigh turning
planet Earth into vapour.
Sober realization of brinksmanship
brought now auld
geezers (defanged & harmless)
flinging foodstuffs cold
and/or frozen leftovers
(carbon dated), petrified extolled
as delicacy among Neanderthals,
who would value and
cherish fruit lobbed as
love's labour's lost more precious
(as a physical expression of affection)
more so than fine spun gold
thee rented man cave serves
atavistic trait hard rock cafe
functions as pleasant reminder,
where one percent genetic
stock originated (think noggin
rock hard iron maiden mold).
Backtrack to years spanning 2000-2010
wen furious red hot poker rage
twas unmanageable when living
under duress within Penn Valley
even tranquilizers could not assuage
harkening back when yours truly
under threat courtesy battle ax
and her henchwomen,
which matriarch took immediate dislike,
née rabid (foaming
at the mouth loathing)
towards yours truly
them days outright state
of undeclared warfare
found fury within me
exceeding the wrath of Kong!
Thank dog, I mellowed since then
gratuity prescription medication.
A wild flower, grew up through
a crack in the pavement, I wondered,
why already not trampled
by so many preoccupied feet?
Sat I down on a
park-bench, further pondering this yellow
charmer, to which I cordially gave greet --
“little tenant,” oh just missed another!
Thinking I saw it, knowingly parry aside;
(one wild flower, persistent, determined
not its beauty to hide.)
Unaware came a team of training joggers,
in colorful, striped briefs; legs and tennis shoes
thoughtlessly-trouncing-everywhere –
Feared I this brave little trooper had finally been
dealt its fatal wild share -- the wind of the runners' healthful,
self-indulgent passing, seemed more a cyclone of careless,
petulant stomping – no sense a little blossom would
they spare!
Deeply rooted in soil, it could not retreat, without vocal
cords it could not plead a shriek – could not shield itself
from such crushing, annihilating defeat.
Sat there I a sad bit longer -- would not dare open my eyes, felt
a tear slipping, my heart seeming knee-deep in morbid dripping.
Smeared blossom, and grieving sunbeams, saw I like a funeral's
dark-arm-band – a segment of my bright world, had just tragically
ended...gone with the lone blossom's, last futile, floral stand –
till a child opened my eyes, making me take peak,
a sweet little voice, not the least tinge bleak, as they carefully parted: “Oh
mother, isn’t that dandelion so dashingly chic!?