Long Disappearance Poems
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Vespers of the Void
I called it dusk — the first stammered syllable of a child orphaned from light,
I worshipped not the void in my chest, but its stubborn insistence on being,
the way one kneels before the wound that bleeds light, not before the cure,
and every prayer was a lightning bolt turned inward, point-first.
I anointed my own forehead, a priest without church or name,
I raised altars from the bones of stars long dead but still burning,
I wore robes woven from the pollen of wandering comets,
colors of mourning and of celebration stitched into the same sacred thread.
I came down to earth to dress myself in leaves, in dust, and in mud,
I painted my cheeks with the rust of clay, instead of the rouge of stars,
I crowned myself with stones, not constellations, so I wouldn't compete
with the light I was already burning in, thin, toward disappearance.
I called it black — the freedom I had lost without knowing,
the womb I was born from a second time, without priest, without altar,
the temple that asks no sacrifice, only a surrender both free and gentle,
a darkness that hides nothing, but stands in for skin.
The darkness called to me on a night with no backup star,
black bleeding through my dreams, leaving a trail back home,
the void — my only destination, written before I was born,
and life — just a short flight between one closed door and another.
There are certain deleterious effects
consequential developments and
conditional signs and symptoms
of being called-out, named, accused, or branded
of being, ever so slightly, a poet.
People may assume you live s cloistered, retiring,
purely academic existence, sipping only the rarified air
of your meditative being. Or
they might label you and your ephemeral art
as the drunken babble of an incoherent street poet. And
sometimes this is indeed a fact in all the case scenario's
here-for-to mentioned above, however in actuality,
though you perhaps might wax philosophical
on rare occasions, for instance when you opine
upon the mysterious disappearance of one matching
sock of any given pair of once matching socks,
however, in the main you are just a guy or gal
sitting with a laptop perched precariously on your belly,
trying to sound a whole lot brighter, more whimsical
and interesting than you really are.
Don't despair tomorrow's promise
Justified in your beliefs.
Don't resign him 'Doubting Thomas'
Seek his answers, seek relief.
Mind is torn from fear to love
Good to evil, black to white.
Dual nature speaks thereof
Lost in darkness, found in Light.
I did meet this ancient soul.
Joined his quest in perseverance.
Claimed his virtue, I extol
The need to push the disappearance
Of the universe of which
I claim no allegiance to.
Heaven bound, his ride I hitch
Where doubt is null, for Love is true.
He did know the 'chosen' one
Whose words revealed this mystery:
Fallen angels, there are none
All are Sacred, all are Free.
*Inspired by "The Disappearance of the Universe" by Gary Renard.
Oh I’m looking for my missing piece
Hi-dee ho, here I go
It’s been two days since you left
It feels like I’ve been rolling for centuries
You’re the piece that is just right for me
Maybe you may miss me, too
Yours a happy kind of missing
Not one wedged down a throat
Not one choking someone’s song
When you’ve gone missing
I question object permanence
Disappearance seems forever
Revolution seems to stop
Electrons grind to a halt
I miss you as free radicals do
A hungry kind of missing
An empty kind of missing
Only your love keeps me rolling
I am glad you are loved
Even though apart from me
You wedged into another
Making another perfect pie
Within the hollow of your space
I sing a lonesome howl
Unable to soothe my emptiness
But, pies are meant to be carved
Till only crumbs are left in a tin
No one gets the whole pie
The Eucharist illuminates the whole
I won’t stop my missing piece
I can't stop him from rolling on
He will come and go as he pleases
I won’t stop him from crooning
How do I deal with the cavity left?
I’ll learn how to talk to a worm
Slow down for a butterfly to land
Hi-dee ho, here I go
Shel Silverstein be damned
I’m no good without my missing piece
Peter Pan Comes Visiting
How well I know Peter.
He comes over now and then;
Entertains my children far better than I
They love to see him, pine for his wild laugh
In the gap times between visits.
Known him since Kindergarden,
Then as now a golden-haired Forever Boy
Eyes of ice blue always seeming to be looking
Into some babe fresh world nobody else could see.
When the children have crashed into bed,
Worn to exhaustion from excess of joys,
We sit and trade lies, pretending
It's Never Too Late; Lots of Time to Grow Up
Ignoring the steady disappearance of his golden locks
As my own shine silver.
He's eluded the adulthood that's claimed us all
But knows it steals upon him yet,
A little closer every year
The tread of time relentless
As the turning of this little Earth.
A favorite friend is becoming
A strange fear that grows and grows,
Every day the kids get a little heavier, reminding me
That sometime soon this last Lost Boy
Will fly to my door one last time
On a carrion wind
And stand there, all out of Happy Thoughts
And beg me to take him in.
When a life well lived has ended,
it leaves an incomprehensible hole.
How can we ever conceive of
the disappearance of a soul?
Yet, I think what's even sadder
is when the things that could have been
remain undone, never flowering,
finished before they could begin.
A new mother, with undying love,
how her heart is harshly torn
by the unfathomable tragedy
when her new baby is stillborn.
Untold words of a lifelong, faithful friend,
the words of passionate love
that can no longer be spoken
to a would-be lover up above.
The unattempted dreams of a man
afraid to try, only to himself, betray,
a little grief each day, waves on a rock,
slowly wearing those dreams away.
I need your ultra desperation
your ultra conflagration of love making exhilaration,
I want your ultra shout and pout
give me your slap attack
the amber of your abuse, the saffron of your emotions,
I crave the playful plenitude of your ultra uppidy attitude,
you let me experience hyperventilation at your disappearance
then inflation of euphoria in my Heart's utopia by your reappearance,
I want to know your ultra sadness
that song you share with the twilight of despair,
your ultra madness, your vortex of female complex,
I desire your hot and haunted psychology
your genius of ultra ingenuity, the pulp of your passion,
sometimes you love me most when you hurt me
a pathology of love cut sympathy that I can handle best,
earning the ultra soft surface of your pillowed chest
where I can rest the weight of iron soul, and slumber at your behest,
I want the whip of your hips and the sip of your lips,
I want the pleasure plethora of your ultra vulva
to access the pagoda of your sexual yoga
to concoct in you the froth of organic soda,
I want your Gospels and Revelations
the Path and the Wrath, your cross of ultra conquest
the morning of your ultimate ascendance
the midnight of your ravishing bite
the bounty of your breast and the burn of your brimstone
give me the lyric of your ultra breath,
your ultra love keeps me alive!
J.A.B.
The sun sets over an alabaster hill of elements to me unknown
Adrenalin still pumping from the thrill of the alien spacecraft in which I’ve flown
Abducted from the earth several months ago
Wondering if anyone is still looking for me
Hiking alone in the wilderness
My disappearance is probably a mystery
The horizon has a purple haze, though this air I easily breathe
I am not sure if they are the same sun rays that warm the earth we did leave
Three moons appear in the darkening sky as the sun bids her final adieu
Strange creatures above me start to fly; several planets come in to view
And now the purpose for my abduction
Is made very plain to me
They need me for more reproduction
Their males have lost the ability
Sunsets on this planet are different from those on earth
But if romance is what the aliens want …
I’ll give them all I’m worth
DISAPPEARANCE
Light baptised my forsaken body
red whirling a glimmering ocean
Perseidon’s crystalline tears
drip-dropped into mine
manifesting oyster shells
Odysseus smiled blinking
compassion from diamond
rays of Arcturus
embalming my shoulders
with his terrible travels
Silent my soulmate disappeared
crawling onto an opposite bank
into fields of chaffed wheat
towards abyss black
She moulted into grains of rice
or maybe a ladybird’s swoon
floating between Venus wings
seeking her paintbrushes
cleaned and singing
I sought strawberry
yogurt
What else could
sorrow do ?
©GhairoDanielsPoetry
&Song2013
Bulldozers, drunk with gasoline
once again have scarred and maimed
a place, once green with grass and trees
Where we once heard the sound of breeze
and ghosts of children played their games
and were forced to leave their childhood memories
There trembles now an engine's roar,
that drowns the sounds of echoed glee
In trenched out holes, in broken trees
The big top guns....pour the concrete, build the towers
Ravage earth, take the power, then run- run- run
The dinosaurs raise their iron heads
Jaws dripping with loads of earth and grass
Like a gopher rampages through his halls
Forcing the small guys to their knees
One by one the disappearance of the land
And while the green world our grandfathers knew
Is gone in days, with every oak that falls
When this new invading presence someday is done
Has had his fill of dollar bills,
Then soon abandons one and all..
What will be our fate
Who will mourn, who will recall?
Will we stand up, change the course
Can we stop invading forces
Before it’s too late? Before we have lost it all?
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