Long Cathode Poems
Long Cathode Poems. Below are the most popular long Cathode by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cathode poems by poem length and keyword.
Raft branch buoyed in canopy crossroad
Ocelot pillow paws rail rainforest rotunda
Yataghan claws trail trunk, track cathode
Assailant arouse pounces, stiff tail rudder
Lithe, while night looms, lightspeed silent
Ogling exotic shores - she yanks anchor
Centipede nimble Queen needs her tiara
Evermore adorned, baubles bean arabica
Lustrous pearl dozes on dark décolletage
Opulent moon mother of tides, sly tyrant
Tortures subordinates to claim her island
Iridescent iris treasure hunt sailor ocelot
Spotted sea captain keeps snake for halo
Lapis lazuli exclusively steers royal yacht
Asphyxiating prey, Casper crouch lay low
Navigating her way to throne, puss pirate
Drapes cashmere ears in conquest crown
Nautical Nineteenth November
Surrender to the rhythm
under the world!
The night music of ages
Dance the Dance Macabre
Clubs deep bass seeps
Into Dark corners
as the lunar keeps the time!
Electric lights keep the rhythm
under the world…
Absent images in cathode
rayed tubes keep the thump and hum…
The feet move to the groove
The pulse of a heartbeat
in ascends in rhythm and rhyme
to a world beyond worlds…
Divine!
A never-were that never was a
Neverland…
Nevermore!
Keep in metronome march.
The ruthless ragged raging rhythm.
In the earth under the currents of life
dance the Divinities, the dance Macabre!
Of the world within, and the world without surrender to…
The rhythm and rage
of the metronomes grace!
The rhythm under the world…
I saw the bloody ending
My generation destroyed
My heart wrapped in razor wire
How I mourned their dramatic demise.
Down, down, down into the darkness of this obscure House,
Gently it goes
Sanguineous
Righteous
Whores of my Babylon
In my blinding pale yellow light
I see my soul my razored
I look at the faint glimmering
Down, down, down into the darkness
of an obsolete House
Gently it goes
The vignettes play
The light stays in absence rhythms
A fearful Generation
The neon and cathode rays blinding
Head long into that good night
Nothing in the finding
I saw the bloody ending
Generations from now
Tangled in my razored heart
We sit in our idle houses
plugged-in to the world wide web
of digital madness and make-believe.
We text tweet posts from on far and shadow fight in elections streams but hide our eyes in the burning light of day. We crawl in the muck of media social septic sycophantic discharge.
The immaculate ejaculation of simple minds
lost in hate inspired by a buffoon's fury for the masses of a race at war with no one and everything.
We are the spoor of an absent absolute adolescent god.
The degeneration of a nation.
Walk on the left side of what is right.
Daggers to the left brainwashed, irrational.
We are the lost souls, shades of our former selves.
The whitewashed out wasted youth of a once-great nation that never was, and is only in the wet dreams of gun-loving, militant, mutant myopic ‘mericans.
We are the last bastion of some mad American empire that once never was and will be ever again from sea to shining towers of righteous jaded glass that reach to heavens zenith only to come down as men with destination if deaths deeds conspire to bring down.
An airliner of 767 designation demolition by design a government conspiracy that conspired to kill and to procreate war for profit and malicious malfeasance fester in flight of a mind at war with truth and a god at home of the brave land of the gun.
We are the product of our dysfunctional family that plugged us into the cathode ray tube, the wet nurse of the damaged damned and demented delusional diluted and dangerous.
We sit in our idle houses
plug-in to the world wide web
of digital madness and make-believe.
Of some mad American empire of crumbling crimson and cobalt blue fluids of stars sliver bright raining like falling embers or wormwood, blood, and sky and white light influx we are the offspring of some mad American empire…
Haunted by its simplistically,
All the masses work for nothing,
Power drones I watch the meek alone.
Bare white the afterglow.
Power of blackened glass reaching for the zenith.
To touch the face of creation.
The masses must toil as I do in this Leviathan.
A Silicon made oblivion.
Thump and hum,
Cold white light in these aged eyes,
Once sky blue now blind in my inner mind.
Now only the passing stare she dares,
I hear the data in the cathode-ray tubes scream,
Cold is this light, I watch it fall in oblique patterns.
On the pavement of a city ordered in chaos.
I feel this thump and hum deep in my soul.
The shadow hangs there,
I see rays of an abandoned SON…
TO BE CONTINUED...
a blue chevy impala basks in a suburban driveway
like a beached whale it oozes gases and black oils
its seeping white walls beg for rubber movements
little boy inside the house sits on a pleated couch
he watches the setting sun through a screen door
fat mother stirs pudding in a wall-papered kitchen
smoking father works a tv guide crossword puzzle
he flicks white hot dust into a crystal glass ashtray
the corner television set transmits black and white
cathode rays of a half-naked wrestler pinned down
the destroyer with mask on lifts his victorious arms
little boy hears calliope music in the green distance
the ice cream man comes with dry ice and cologne
still three blocks away he makes another long stop
fat mother fries bloody meats in a fiery blue skillet
she turns on boss radio to hear elvis sing the blues
little boy goes to the admiral and turns the channel
bishop sheen appears in black cursing the darkness
skipper frank implores the kids to brush after meals
tennessee tuxedo chases tiger tornado to megapolis
smoking father finishes a tv guide crossword puzzle
the ice cream man arrives with dry ice and cologne
At the museums, we shudder
In vicarious delight
At the spectacle of the Aztecs:
A high culture founded on human sacrifice.
All the while not seeing -
Because we don't want to -
That the cult has never died;
Only the name of the god has changed.
Now we reverentially bow the knee
Within private cells
Before the votive flames
Of flickering cathode ray tube
In service to the great god TECH,
The Iron Form That Has No Face.
He sends the rain of bombs on foreign soils
That we may reap Renewed Economy,
Answering their madness with our own.
He sends the check, that our children may eat,
While others' learn to scream at the sound of planes.
Yes - We see The Need.
Yes - We understand The Reasons.
But we don't have to like it.
Our revulsion, at least, we can still call our own.
What the hell - this time, let's do the honors ourselves.
Let every mother, father, sister, brother, child and friend
Of tomorrow's "Disposable Resources"
Take a knife from the withered hand of one of TECH's
Decrepit four-star priests,
Plunge it deep and cut,
Rip our own hearts from our breasts
Bear them beating before us in our outstretched hands,
Marching en masse to his temple,
Staggering down his sanitized audience hall,
More and more crowding to the doors,
To lay the bleeding mound of them at his feet.
On that day,
Let the Heartless meet the Faceless and scream as One:
'IS THIS ENOUGH?"
'IS THIS ENOUGH?"
Weaving Your Sunrays
I weave the rays of your sun with such dedication,
feeding my nights with a certainty of presence;
the shattering of an eternal instant, with edges too visible,
the uselessness of our lives, satiated, blurred in the air,
just so from now on, for an eternity, I may sometimes hate
the opaque light—the temporary radiance, a living one—
that stagnates unconditionally from beyond E-A-S-T,
like a musical howl that recently killed us, in the north,
yesterday's and the day before's ice, like a profane hymn—anode;
your youths—silences, black rain whitening visibly;
my old ages, which I will never see dying,
unleashing us with weeping ordered in chaos;
a new uncertain life will graze us, downstream, below—
another me, from a recently past future,
building with my sterile palms—a cathode of water.
To any singular, inept giant, the incomparable mysterious present;
shall I listen to life's life? all the more—in excess long ago…
and yet, between anode and cathode a light-abyss still flickers,
where the alphabet of flesh reads with droughts sonorous syllables;
there calendars stop, greening from outside of space,
and the south fixes its poles on a compass of flame.
we part again—two strangers of the same early end—
to pour into a whole cloud, flowing in diamond cups;
sleeping, an organic demon listens to our thought with amperes,
and the spirit, alternating current, extinguishes in the night.
I forget you by the first name that will consume you only tomorrow,
as if the past were holding the future at canvas breasts;
and when the roar will caress us, wildly, the opening in our eyes,
we will cry crookedly, like two shadows undressed in velvet—
for life's life, my love, is only the silence from the fire
of an eternity that, behold, we have forgotten and lost.
There is not a day
Not a day goes by that storm cloud do not accumulate, gather in the deep recesses of my throat, and choke off my life’s breath – that do not rage on, behind these sorrowful, doleful brown eyes, just waiting for a chance opening, that will let out a deluge of pain, pain that has rained down upon this tired old soul for far to long, cutting deep groves into my spirit, leaving thick scares that may become the walls for another to try and tear down as I have tried to do with your walls .
Acceptance will let me know - finally – that alone in this world, I will walk, alone in my room, were the bitter sweets, sound waves of music, dance along the acoustic meatus and beat upon the tympanic membrane on their way into my brain and were the rays from the cathode ( boob ) tube light up the gray matter ( that sits in this stark room ) with it’s illusionary images of imaginary lives with a thousand stories that feed my – and so many more – empty moments. Alone in my bedroom, I lay, were darkness and dreams fill my empty nights, alone in my bedroom were preparation of energy feeds this old body of mine, alone in my bedroom were Mother Nature’s embryonic fluid flows beneath me, surrounds this tired old body with the heat of her life giving essence, her mysterious forces submerging all my cares and woes- for a few hours anyway .
Alone in these rooms, my heart lays, alone in these rooms may be my fate, my destine and alone in these places may allow me - along with all that I have written and written to you – to be able to grieve for the loss of someone and something that was never mine to loose in the first place and would never have been in the first place, it seems .
B. J. "A" 2
Janurary 11th 2008
Fireflies twinkle in to the night
little stars winking off N on
each a light a sudden rush
of memory
Each hit me hard
as tears trace the inner scars
memories of a time long
almost forgotten all those years ago
a millennium apart
go then these fire flies
twinkling deep in to the night
memories of family float by
on a distant ark of reality
far from the right
all these fires flies
into the eye of the storm
memories a drift unmoored
floating free floundering
they come to me
of fields in green painted
in twilight chasing firelights
of twinkling lighting bugs in the sultry southern night
of jars holding lighting mythical in thought
of long evening of dialogue between elders
or the buzz of open channels lost,
the cathode-ray tube hum
after the national song
deep into the night before each dawn,
memories of burning cigarettes and regrets
a millennium ago
as I chase fire flies
across a field of gold,
the world blurs
the images burn,
coming fast they hurt
almost to my knees
as the world swims again
Fireflies twinkle into the night
each little sun winking on off on off repeat
each a crystal light
sudden rush of sharp memory
hit me hard
a tear traces the inner scares
A memory of a time long almost forgotten
all those years ago
a millennium
apart
go then these lives fly
fly far far twinkling in the night
like memories of family
and
friends float by absently