Long Cacophonic Poems
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In the absence of complication,
trials and tribulations become distant memories.
Above, sapphire skies delight sanguine eyes
and inspire forthcoming musings of the mind ***
Traverse with me oh blessed soul into a world of silence
together we can breach the Universal laws of order
and wrap our dreams with silver bows of mercy and love.....
Ensembles of beauty will ignite and claim our hearts
as we become students of the inner light ;
Place the spotlight onto heaven with ecumenical delight
recall the stars ablation as they blink and disappear
for sake of morns relinquish,she yields to sacred night;
Go ahead resign your tribulations and comply dear Mystic,
sing your cacophonic songs as miracles abound
beneath His tribal skies, new contracts await you,
so now that you know, go set the world on fire
with your afterglow and gait.
Nov. 16, 2019
The Invisible Strings of Black Light
I sing my mute blizzard on the stiffened string of full void,
the shrill echo of silence gently undoes time's curtain for me,
like a luminescent howl from a transparent sarcophagus,
that aspirates my breath through the pores of an effervescent abyss,
cacophonic symphony of angels with wings of calcified plague,
conducted by white crows singing in psalms of evaporated matter,
adorned with the phosphorescent keyboards of the abyss-color,
that blinds with its radiant blackness any lucid non-seeing,
abstract paintings of crystallized tears in dried blood,
a hypnotic rodeo of petrified butterflies in arrested flight,
metaphysical courtesans of a sterilized and eternal amor,
king without crown in the kingdom without throne and without stern,
where love is an amnesia that remembers everything in forgetting,
and presence is no longer needed to always be living disappearance,
my sinusoidal trajectory through a crystal of solid fog,
that wove our eternity into an exploded second,
to the nectarous curses floating through your granite thoughts,
the mosaic of my solar nights with fate's luminous catastrophes!
It's the hush of morning calling me,
the subtle cacophonic echo awakening
discord on windy hallowed eaves
of distant chimes and church bells ringing;
December singing in my ears
Christmas hymns and olden melodies
that plague the sound waves endeared
with old lost stories and memories;
the heartstrings drawn together over time
stitching threads of encounters amassed
sutures of heartaches and heartbeats primed
quilting the tears and laughter passed;
some toss and turn beneath the covers
blanketed in its thermal warmth and dreams
grasping at midnight hopes discovered
waiting patiently anxious for the scenes;
if only the memories could return
of father, mother, uncles, aunts galore
grandparents, cousins gathering in turn
waiting on Christmas to greet us at the door.
The flop and flurry of wide, woozy wings
clatters over dawn hedgerows.
Claws scrabble, feathers flounce.
An ounce of twitters rebounds
into raucous sound.
Here a rowdy cackle,
here a coddled coo,
there a deeply fluted hoo-hoo
all together in a ruffled flutter.
Birdsongs pump up,
light airy balloons into chattering tunes.
The sky jitterbugs a cloud or two.
Listen, listen do,
Listen to the hullaballoo
the mad glad galloping away of a musical play
where the singalong nips
at our ears with catcalls and cheers.
Another teaming twitter and fuss
strikes up its band for us.
Another cacophonic day lurches
as sleepy birds and the wide awake
gleefully roll off
their nocturnal perches.
Calmoruus calamity
Calm, in feather doona encumbered,
slept soundly.
Even the stars twinkled
in hushed, squelched, muted tones.
Silence reigned in solemnity, in peace.
All of a sudden
the deafening din
of cacophonic hard rock shrill
rattled the rafters,
jolted the sleepers
starkly to upright awake.
I ran into the living room
with hands covering my ears.
The wee little 'Nest' device,
throbbing there next to the
rumbling pulsing speakers
was hallucinating, tripping.
Its lights doing a late-night give.
The telly was flashing
bright disco light shows and tells.
I shouted to Siri with all my might
"Off, All OFF, Cancel, Reset, Exit, F-Off",
But all to no avail.
How could dear Siri,
nested there so snugly, hear me
above the infernal din?
I grabbed the remote but it too
was away with the pixies, pixelating.
with its LED's flashing, winking a beat in tune.
In desperation I dragged
the speaker's electrical cables
right outta the wall.
Ah! silence reigned again.
But then, then, then,
the neighbors lights all around lit up
like a Christmas tree on steroids.
The irate banging on doors began,
shouting and screaming.
"Turn it Off", "Turn it Off", "Stop"
The phone and all the mobiles
around the house rang.
The alarm went off.
The kids were screaming
We alone, all blown,
must atone, condone,
Siri's slip up.
In the twilight realm of shadows, where whispers weave tales of discontent,
Politics, a guilty addiction, ensnares the souls of the desperate and bent.
Addicts of power, they wander, their hearts encased in cold steel,
Lies and deceit their currency, stealing dreams we once held real.
In the dark corridors of influence, where truth fades and shadows extend,
Each maneuver, each word, is but a note in their cacophonic blend.
They lie, they cheat, they steal, driven by a hunger deep and wild,
Sacrificing morals and kin, their minds like an untamed tempest refiled.
In the fever of their frenzy, their eyes shine with a vacant light,
Feeding their cruel habit, they cast humanity into night.
No cure for this affliction, no balm for their tainted souls,
They drag us down with them, as they spiral into deeper holes.
Through the fog of false promises, the addicts navigate,
Chasing illusions of grandeur, weaving a tapestry of fate.
Their greed knows no boundaries, their desires a poisoned well,
In their quest for dominance, they turn paradise to hell.
Yet in this darkness, a whisper of hope still lingers,
A dream of a world free from the clutch of corrupted fingers.
Where truth can rise like dawn, breaking chains of deceit and gloom,
And the human spirit, unshackled, can find its true rhythm in bloom.
In the shadows, let us not falter, but seek the light's embrace,
For even in the darkest corners, truth leaves a trace.
Let us craft a new melody, where honesty and justice blend,
In a world where politics heals, and corruption meets its end.
Somberly and perpetually, it plays
Dark melodies in my days
Rumblings of guitar and piano play at distant
corners of my mind
Lingering concerts of sorrows so unkind
Willie Brown said, "The blues ain't nothing but a good
man feeling bad."
I want to be a good man; maybe this is why I'm
feeling sad
Deep, deeply in my soul
Cacophonic blasts so piercing and bold
Echoes of a distant and short past
Melancholic riffs, runs, and good licks long last
Blues,
Blues I did not choose
Instead, I was chosen
So many monotonous strums...
And deep pulsating drums
Play,
They play in my mind and heart...
When will it end?
Better yet, when did it start?
She has a pair of subtle eyes to brood in forlorn,
the vile tale of heart rending cacophonic dissolution.
Those eyes were meek, never crude
to yearn the ties of proximity longed!
Those meek adorable eyes have endured
the absolute phases of reckless decimation:
have witnessed the brutal armageddon
of its plunderers desolation,
who have thwarted her genial expectations!
She has those mystic musing eyes
to impulse in pensive disposition,
an amiable abode of assured assertion,
to recreate the invisible affable bonding of elation;
a placid reciprocating ambience of virtuous relation:
has flair for the protection, the care, the infallible affection,
despite, those hands' propensity for imprudent desolation!
Those pair of sober eyes longed to thrive in composure and attention; in delectation,never in aversion!
Oh! what a horrific sight, with the axes in the hands,
the slayers and usurpers of its tranquil serenity
are waiting like sordid savages for her dire extinction!
Her latent moistened eyes are witnessing the march of those executioners:
are sobbing in utter horror and dismay,
cursing and shrieking quietly her non kinetic endeavours,
to conserve the sacred entity in virgin forests; pristine,
from the unscrupulous callous ventures of the predators.
She has those whimpering eyes to foresight;
to remind the dire repercussions
of dereliction of reckless deviations;
Are wailing and mourning in utter seclusion,
the ceaseless thumps of the usurpers' annihilation.
Those Pair of Latent Eyes are Nature's Eyes, neither vague, nor obscured:
silently screeching and watching,
the relentless heedless ravagers' devastations,
Not yet any restoration, despite beseeching imploration,
needless to predict, will reveal in various manifestations!
In the cacophonic chaos of life I seek peace,
delve into my soul’s serene niche,
perceive the pleasure of nothingness
in the void and tranquil depth of bliss,
where I savor the sweetness of solitude.
In the lonely island of life I like to be
suffused with supine shower of quietude,
find at the inert depth within a new me,
turned into a hermit I realize it as my reality,
in the quiescent insight I lose my duality.
As the full moon traverses my sleepy sky,
night’s opaque aloneness the stardust dilutes,
I drink eyeful while indolent time passes me by.
Mind gets drenched in delight my inaction elutes,
and in charmed trance of rapture I become mute.
Across the still sea of my serene soul,
the alluring horizon of love
I long to see wait at the edge of eternity,
where my yearning soars through emptiness
with the idyll thoughts in my idle time.
life had written an etude in D minor and barely gave him a pass
D for defeat denial disintegration dour reprise of the inevitable
bottom of the class for society sang to its dominant song book
while he was tone deaf and kept quiet hiding a coarse inner voice
his internal melodies sounded like a rusty cheese grinder on arrest
detained him after school hours to punish his apparent shortcomings
but it is difficult to make fine parmesan from blue veined fromage
and the blues of his childhood suffered under cruel constant assault
´the boy has got no sense´ and the child was never spared the rod
when all he wanted was a bit of cane sugar yet he did not suck up
to their blows which knocked out a few teeth in the long process
that laid the cruel basis for his trademark cheeky and sardonic smile
´when you have grown you will show gratitude for our kind efforts
to change your attitude and give thanks to our shaping your mould´
as it came to writing music-sheets he scripted them in lemon juice
secret messages because when life gives acidity you have a choice
one teacher was gentle with him and gifted him sour boiled sweets
for every time he hit a note from his own repertoire of aspirations
he almost chocked on such a gesture of compassion and novelty
breathed out slowly and poured out his heart in cacophonic sorrow
‘I might never become a tambourine major or master of ceremonies
no choral conductor or symphonic regent in other's marching bands
my choir will be a small ensemble and quality strikes vocal-chords
right where they need caressing and cradling but not false elocution’
‘if I can wipe the cheesy grimaces off the face of my crude tormentors
so be it then´ but this is in truth not about a vicious viscous fondue
gratitude has to be earned and thanksgiving follows genuine kindness
attitudes meanwhile may change or strengthen ´for this is my music´
A composition in Roquefort major with walnut crumble and cherries
on my cake and some can see clearly the grinder has its own purpose
when pungent milk turns into custard and some have egg on their faces
‘Its not about perfection but progress is built on effort and appreciation´
26th August 2020