Long Concocting Poems
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Music is an undying
art of soul ~
an abstract eden, where,
euphonious unicorns
glide in strawberry sonatas,
amplifying rhapsody in
ballads of flight,
when fuchsia feathers
tease those
jingling breezes,
infusing breaths
in every lifeless aroma;
where I can soar
beyond the
brushstrokes
of symphonies that
planktons sing to me,
in the requiems of
forsaken pearls,
crooning with
silenced shimmers
beneath wavy blues.
Maybe,
I'm a songwriter
without words,
and my electric fingers
trace the tunes
of serene strings,
when guitars weave
a sonorous guilt
midst ruby runes
of regrets.
I wish to keep
swinging in a
cosmic cadence,
where celestial notes
choreograph
themselves in the
moonwalking
mellifluence of
lunar legacies.
I gossip with
neon nightingales,
laced with neutrinos
and compel them
to chant those
healing incantations
of love and glory,
like the forlorn
princess - Rapunzel,
desiring to feel
the glow of
familiar lanterns,
winged with
hazy syncs of
unsung yesteryears.
I wonder if,
I'm not meant
to compose
crystal canticles
in a Disney duet,
for, I believe,
I'm a soul searcher
in the flesh of
a soloist, concocting
an elixir of my
existence through
cinnamon anthems
of mystical
moonrises, as
they softly unfold,
a million
unheard tempos,
within tranquil
memoirs.
I'm the 'maiden of music'
resting as a floret on
every sepal,
yearning to become
a unique acapella
of nature,
where empathy
has an ethereal
dialect of
nurturing spirits
and tinkles
of magical waterfalls
whisper in
gentle lachrymose lulls
of our ambrosial Mother.
When the harmony
of my voice,
kisses those
ivory keys of
the heart-shaped
piano, they
echo a tipsy secret
in my sunset skin,
making me
believe ~
"I'm everywhere
in the essence,
yet nowhere
to be found...",
like the sweet
scents of
hummingbirds,
smiling behind
that first dusky star.
"In each husky hallelujah
of ribboned halts and replays,
life is a song ~
where every lyric,
phrases an ember of end,
and when passionate heartbeats
shall knit sombre medleys,
I will hum in the last 'chef-d'oeuvre'... "
The (former) Double Life Of Matthew Scott Harris
Dove finch he following iniquitous
licentious, lecherous longing
extinguished quite
some years ago,
when eldest daughter
stopped being polite
actually she ceased - might
tee angry talking heads
to this papa for months, whose
only asks prays foe praise,
and who doth newt
wish to ignite
animosity from any beloved fan,
whose critical judgement
toward my errant friskiness,
aye snuffed out light
and accepts dues
against prickly don'ts,
and opted to risk broad
casting general height
full actions, which attestation
spiritedly burst asunder
blitzing Lenovo external
screen within minutes bite
mutt hung lest
censorious replies pillory
this sensitive chap
I merely uncorked
irrepressible facet
(asian iron maiden
strangle choke hold)
forced these words
to help give hollow explain
nations of this nada
so shiny white knight
philanderer (juiced now cum
ming clean) by night just
an oon din
aery in Das scribe
bubble during -
the day until...zee...
wife found me absent - yee
(ping, and sowing, thee
rather desiccated oats)
celibacy playing tree
men dose impetus tryst,
viz midlife crisis spree
from sleeping quarters re:
at 724 West Rail
road Avenue, pre
planned within
the basement nee
tricked out as cellar quasi
pent house suite for me
comfortable sleep
ping accommodations,
pleasing this wander
lusting NON GMO lee
burr teen, sans mat,
(and also Scottish Matt)
tress atop boxspring key
ping stockpiles of prurient frilly
laced female lingerie, je
nais se quois, no matter
escapade usual lee
took place in pitch black dark
accouterments singularly, solely,
and strictly necessitated,
arousing, coaxing, and
exciting libido asper
one barenaked lady for
yours truly, whereat
aye do blatantly
confess flute'n glute'n guilt free
to concocting, hat
ching, and orchestrating
profligate secrete
rendezvous aspirations
toward sordid man of la
cherry munch ching Lothario
(a combination Casanova,
Don Juan) wannabe.
Dear people,
So...let’s face it,
this’s...
Taught to work hard and make it.
told;
‘Pull 'em boots up by their laces.’
But, Basically, history's based off biases. -
Got Histories of lies based off bias, they’ve provided,
The So called collectively decided.
So Then Why we hide Behind it?
Quite Secretly, in quiet: *shh!*
Remove said mistakes, cosmetically (to) hide, (it) correctively apply (it) like Make up,
pleasantly take up these Fake faces for the public’s- eye,
present a face for that eye, from out which form from, what they’were made up, (of )
Presently, the faces #1 focus’s a race, to map society socially. Rank openly create one self in contrast to the surrounding status of an indestructible class in a clash stuck between statuses, Racial identities, classes and wealth displacement, its tragic.
Labels from the past, pass, ladle it into a glass let’s go label-less at last,
hopefully helps us find a fortune, full of magic, for the unfortunate to embrace us to rip out the laces that hold us in tune with said races that rate us, chase us to race to replace one of our two true human faces with there-test template’s, its instinct at basic. it’s...fate?
No way to shake shape, no time to hesitate, to somehow-present late,
- to tempt fate, to amend faith, to Protest escape?
to live our LIVEs; contesting, concocting hate.
Picking sides; it’s…
A battle Behind the eyes:
...to needle in between to…
Try...
To... Train the outside to promenade, to long charade, simultaneously,
teach the inside to decide in & of itself is greatness-
At the same time, picket lines of hatred created. Create space, erase them...congregate, Stuck Safe in a place behind the one true face, in between the fake-front face’s-lace-curtain that divides us & hides us inside from ourselves, and decides which self stays in the shell, which self gets shelved with the surprise, of the placement,
of which one of ourselves from out ourself’ rises.?
Awake.
Awakened.
- for f*€%s sake people it frustrates me to the shakes? How many shakes does it take to awaken?
By a mysterious twinkle in an all perceiving eye
A form energetic gentle breathing
The grand consummation of design
Ignited by universal dreaming
Enchanted stars into their life giving
The dance conceptual
The ballet between
Principals masculine and feminine
These consorts of the living
Entwined into harmony
To write themselves on creations symphony
Express the form of universal diversity
A sun rising over mountains earth
Forest beneath a conclave of animals
The still waters first expectant rush
Sounds the cosmos fulcrum of birth
There formed the human footprint of infinite sand
Perceptions eternal touch
The spell of ages awakened
And one born into many physical forms
One into many
And as a thread now dangles loose
Disconnected from purpose of cause
Wanders a sea tumultuous
No belief in compass direction lost
Clamoring rudderless the thousand names of God
Pleading a million prayers to suffering must
A walk to the end of identity
This now scattered life of dust
Still searching the obvious for the sacred
Concocting explanations of conscious
Nit picking the tassels of paradises expected faults
The miracles of nothing more than dirt
So fallen to nightmare century
The enemy human devours humanity
And by oath swears itself
Be born of unknown divinity
In thousands generation of quintessence spark
A futures riddle plays diffident mark
But to confound the constant
And miss the perfect impulse of life
The willing blindness brings to darkness
All the blessings of light
Impetuous resolution of a fickle noose
To its own slavery has brought us
From spirits truth distracted
By bubble gum boredom infected
And to the cohorts of fear
Became so entrusted
What but death scares the child
Who alone in innocence could revive
These dull collective eyes
To the promised garden of eternal love
Enchanted stars kissed into their life giving
The dance between conceptual
The ballet of a circle
Feminine and masculine principals
Purpose and cause perfect the impulse of life
To be absent the miraculous
Such would be a true cause for concern
One born into multitudinous of form
When the Goddess of aroma
graces my caffeinated soul,
her milky quartz crown
shines in shades
of ineffable pleasures.
Invigorating arabica stars within
my senses to rise
like steamy silhouettes~
laced in seraphic
aura of lotus chastity….
If coffee personifies
the electrifying taste
of my longing soul,
will fruity scents stir,
to evoke hidden
metaphors within this
mocha heart?
I’ll sketch
decaffeinated skies
with roasted beans
of brunette bliss.
Let colors of the
golden sun splatter
harmonious hues
of cosmic sanctity.
I’ll embrace the
aromatic elixir of life,
brewed with
floral hints of faith~
allowing unfiltered
essence of
meaningless mornings,
to reawaken an undying
thirst to illuminate
fading stardust.
Quenching serenity
from granulated values,
that depict
karmic kismet
across divine rivers
flowing with
spiritual awakening.
Perhaps, with every
sip of espresso,
we indulge a scoop of
cocoa gratitude,
expressing the
inner purity,
while happiness pours
into a crystal clear cup
of constant clarity.
There the light
of cinnamon
oozes amidst the
cleansed canvas of life,
to rescript an
ethereal ingredient
that guides us back to
a realm of rosier runes,
where ego has no palette
to rest upon,
for within us dwells
an immortal barista,
concocting healing drips
from caramelized visions.
I’ll hold on to these
unexplored cravings,
while the liberty of
conscience remains~
the first ray of
warmth I inhale.
When daylight befalls like
tints of tuscan tiramisu,
let me find the strength
to lure pale pigments
of weeping wind~
I’ll be the thread
that untangles unsettling
webs wrapped in
bitter breezes,
for the king of solace
and I, will become one;
celestially intertwined,
infused in bronze ink,
as one in a million flavors.
Once upon a time,
There was a girl who thought of herself as being a great Dame
She would walk alone
And tell everyone that she had a heart of stone
She pushed off her admirers
Claiming they met not her desires
She broke many a hearts
By simply refusing to be their sweethearts
But one day, while she walked in the lonely forests
She came face to face with an enchantress
The latter was busy in concocting spells
To make of herself the world's only belle among the many belles
Angry for having been disturbed
She threw a curse on the great Dame
Be hated, she said, be ugly and be forever un-loved
Be made of fire so that anyone who touches you does perish in your flame
The young girl could do nothing
She tried to be to the world a bit more humbling
But everyone rebuked her
Everyone despised her, hated her
Why, if she did try to be good,
She scorched as would be a piece of fiery wood
If she did reach out to a young lad
She was laughed at, as if she was one so mad!
Why, she thought many a times of jumping into the raging sea
Maybe it would be good, if she did die way too early
Arrogant she had once been
Arrogant and one so mean!
But yet, she found not the courage to do such
She found not the courage to kill herself as such
Nor could she open her veins
Nor could she inflict on herself, other pains
Lost and discouraged, she sought out the mountains
She would live there, all alone, and in disdain
That was when she came face to face again with the enchantress
I shall cure you, only if you do allow me to be your mistress
Such was done and the young maiden became an evil slave
She accepted to do many evil deeds for her mistress, so abusive
So much that one day, as she looked at herself in a mirror
She shrieked with horror
She was old, wrinkled, ugly and witchy
No more did she have any beauty
Why, her life had been cursed, her life had been arrogant
Now, she could only accept her Fate's punishment!
Matthew Scott The Marionette...
(Concocting cock and bull poetic pap
promises to approximate bovine rap
worse case scenario..., you will snap
so friend me at funny farm in Trappe
Pennsylvania, or frankly yukon zap
this poppycock poetic
emetic entailing...vowel)
movements deftly managed skilled puppeteer
unseen hands adroitly maneuver paraphernalia
bajillion miles away deep into thee atmosphere,
where Soundgarden's black hole sun serves as
infinite energy-feeds performing artist career
inherent behind the scenes trickster leveraging
mine every move master of ceremonies appear
ring poking his oblate spheroid noggin thru walled
sky inquiring, asper state of being paternal care
oft times addressing him as father, cuz proficient
craftsmanship forged me from nought meticulously
rendering yours truly complex functions, an engineer
ring feat cosmic artisan whipped out applying greased
lightning rods (unbreakable accouterments) endowing,
and endorsing creation with uber tender loving care
divine intervention nary clue hinted, thus me unaware
leverage, sans remote control bound tethered bond
most every day of "FAKE" existence never suspected
every aspect of my being linkedin at mercy of pioneer,
who more or less cornered, fabricated, patented... the
market, sans configuring sophisticated kin o'man near
lee indistinguishable from offal housed in Augean stables
essentially explaining incessant mooing "holy cow" & rear
ring like a bucking bronco, though mastermind did milk
golden opportunity calf full not to exploit this cash cow
loose sing hybridized mutant amidst green acres, where
past chore age of cornucopia frequently dredges muck
cob bray, and remembrance of things past, I Angus here
hoof hit might be convenient Taurus to part ways lest
ye accuse me being lame provocateur, spewing this slop
(from well chewed cud) out the figurative derriere!
jenny got informed early in
life that to get by she needed
to lock up all her emotions,
she got told that there was a
proper way to be & if she stayed
that proper proper way, that
it would open up the road to
success, wealth & fame, if she
let it, if she desired it (the desire
of such things was said to be
the end-all-be-all by said
informant)---to excel in the
proper way, she found quickly
that to present each & every
person she met with a face
full of the most amiable
happy dappy which she could
muster (absolutely regardless
of what it was that she was
feeling inside) would ensure
the best possible outcome,
regarding her journey to the
top.
some people loved her, at least
the “her” that they saw &
some people weren’t convinced,
so she spent her days of youth in
that private campaign, that uphill
struggle, pushing that rock to
make sure it doesn’t roll down &
crush…she did so, in order to be
liked by all, she did so, in order
to try & erase what was really
going on inside.
alas, jenny fake happy’s innards,
they just didn’t agree with what
the mind & will had been concocting…
for them this was a wick that
had been burning at both ends for
quite some time---for them this was
a waste of energy…energy that was
not replenishable, energy that did not
come from a renewable resource.
so when her body rebelled, she just
wasn’t ready---for the campaign
will stress you out (but ya can’t
show it now, because somebody’ll
find you out), the campaign will
drain you (can’t show it now,
somebody’ll find you out), the
campaign will wreck you & leave
you out to dry
&
in that drying process, she had
no real friends, because they’d
never spent full time with her,
she had no real love because it was
all based on the image, she had
no compassionate medicine of
any kind &
the disease that had riddled her
distracted body,
did her in---
and
that
was
real.
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecake - oh yum!
Hard knocks Methacton school alum
ofttimes finds ruing his fate
while squarely planted on me bum
disheveled and unshaven,
whereby gray stubble encrusted
with wayward synonymous days old crumb -
after wolfing delectable entitled treat
buttered fingers drubbing upon tabletop
analogous to playing a drum
oy vey, yours truly cannot believe
he ate the whole thing -
argh... my poor tum.
ALDI GIANT supermarkets
(within small radius of miles
from me Schwenksville, Penna abode)
sell delicious delectable treat
goading, inspiring, and spurring me
to craft poem essentially
patronizing manufacturer,
whose skilled food technicians
engineered absolute winning dessert
courtesy their natural born talent
schooled (most likely at culinary institute)
possibly supplemented insync
with advanced degrees
at other institutions of higher learning
after various and sundry
trials and error
concocting mouthwatering secret recipe.
Lemme use hypothetical situation
to accent chew ate,
how alluded dessert tastes great,
especially when rumble in tumbly
clamors for glorious goody
regarding appetite to satiate
unfortunately circumstances
force your truly to wait.
If (the following
constitutes far fetched scenario)
stranded on a desert island,
I after falling to Earth
when parachute fails to open,
weighed down by an excess of
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecakes,
would finagle an empty pie tin
to signal an SOS.
If left to my own devices,
(where you dear reader
would discover one humbug),
I would be forced to scrounge around
rubbing two sticks together
to create warmth
plus distilling oils -
derived from edible herbaceous plants,
whence I would ejaculate
(not prematurely) - olé
to sauté said greens with wild mushrooms.
A truly wise man's intuition shall forbode him upon concocting a conclusion's to the wonder of
his tale's
Painstaking to avoid such indulgence choosing rather to absolve himself and the parabell at
Prosperities feet to be forged
The unwritten ending can surely never haunt its creator's , For what has yet to be concluded
can never be disputed
Cast unto an un timed Mantle piece clock mesmerizing your thoughts punctuated only by its
language Tick , Tock
Set in black and white pulsing to the beat of ones nature confined only by the subtilties of
thought , Your's alone to read and be privately screened
Played out to an audience weighed down by instilled beliefs , those inquisitive mind child like
in nature tittilated to discover
versus simple mind's blinded by mythology born out of man and perpetuated through ages
devolved of recrimination and reproach
Be your story one of love or of realities soft scented glove waved in ciptulation an order of
surrender to the world that we live in
contrived and contemptuous to our kin our fellows , Taught to disregard out of hand if
society's rules deem them not to be of equal status or standing
May your stories breath light upon darkened times and expose the brittle stage lights which
blur ones sight to the final conclusion the artists staged illusion
To the poor dispurce wealth the sickly unabated health and a commandment of love written
in blood to love that which is nearest your heart holds most dearest
Picture the future with clourfull strokes , care and abandon of a life worth living devoid of
wealth and immune to government stealth
Has history's lesson' not taught us that Hell is beneath us , the Heaven's above us and left
Man in the middle to ponder Gods riddle !