Long Manipulator Poems
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"I filled the night's chalice with knots of desire..."
For you have set my untarnished heart on fire
"I learned how to live unkissed, until" we met
Now, we dance all night long, a romance duet
"The moon is an honest Manipulator"
Gives us away with its light, like a traitor
"It's raining roses and love riots" tonight
Together, we make an enviable sight
I'm the passionate pulse that beats in your veins
Wholly yours to explore, 'coz you hold my reins
The midnight stars groove to the rhythm of our souls
We are in a place where amour, us controls
Let's share our ardency with milky moonbeams
And with the sleeping world, our soft stardust dreams
Hands joined, lives intertwined, we will never part
For you and I, we live in each other's hearts...
UNCANNY
A poem arises firmly from my thoughts.
I can see it reflected in my adversary's mind as well.
Mine is undeniably poetic, but theirs had an unsettling quality,
Mindful individuals with unusual liabilities!
Those two or three long lines on the forehead are simply lines of expression. (not)
I do remember their names: Errol, Wayne, and Manny
Those suiters were born deceivers implementing a series of strange plots.
It took women like me years to correct their mistakes.
Where are they now, lost men without the love of a woman?
I had made it my mission to look into their eyes.
The lines on their foreheads have aged with their bodies.
An embrace or a touch from them disgusts me.
They can see the hate as I slowly reject their touch.
I have rewritten those names through the years.
As Errol transformed into Mr. Uncanny,
Wayne became the manipulator,
while Manny took on the role of Pied Piper.
Today, I observed a slight trait with Gen Z.
They seem overly enthusiastic about catering to the desires of their suitors.
Leaving so many of them with suicidal thoughts,
Words to the youth of today,
Protect your emotions carefully.
Getting a real love reaction is tricky.
The offspring of those vipers carry their father's DNA.
The moon is an honest manipulator;
she makes no secret of what she can do.
She pulls at the sea like a long-ago lover
and wakes every ache we believed we outgrew.
She covers in silver what daylight made plain,
softening edges and changing the view.
She dresses old sorrow in something like longing
and makes what once wounded feel tender and new.
She knows how the lonely will stand at the window
and search through her light for a face they once knew.
She knows we grow tender beneath all her silence,
believing the past may still ache for us too.
She turns empty roads into paths worth returning,
makes shadows seem holy and heartache seem wise.
She lends borrowed beauty to all we’ve abandoned
until we mistake it for truth in our eyes.
But the moon never claims that her light is forever
or promises healing for wounds held within.
She cannot repair all the things that were broken,
she only persuades us to look there again.
Perhaps that is why I still trust her completely,
though I know every trick she performs with her light.
She may bend what I see, but she never deceives me.
She reveals what I hide from myself in the night.
The moon is an honest manipulator,
and the heart knows her ways just as well as the sea.
Both draw us toward what we thought we’d forgotten,
then light what was hidden and ask us to see.
She does not create all the longing we carry
or summon the sorrows we buried too deep.
She only uncovers what daylight has quieted,
the truths that grow restless whenever we sleep.
Fate
In the guiding hands of Karmic, force ?,
directs the soul of One, on life's coarse ?
This One, knows only to well, I must confess,
just how much One, Fate, Karma, can make of life, a mess
Can it be that Fate, is but a court Jester,
played by the hands of a Planetary Enforcer,
that master manipulator, the Cosmic Puppeteer,
who leads One, to see life through a crystal tear,
a multi facet, rainbow refracted, look into One's fears,
fear in all it's colours, across the face of One's years,
reflected in the looking glass, upon the face of many mirrors,
realizing that life for many, are but years - of many horrors.
B.J."A" 2
October 2nd 2009, in the twilight hour .
Dear anxiety
Nemesis to my reality,
mental manipulator of tentative trust,
massacring my once sagacious soul -
you cut me into a slice of loneliness.
The fault is in our thoughts,
so I am haunted by the things you never said.
You remain silent to society's subjective eyes,
but a glimpse of a poet's soul shivers,
to these vivid verses held by ghosts -
echoing a repetitive chorus in a cathedral of screams.
I'm an uninvited guest in an audience with you,
so I drink poison in every line I write about you.
These words burn my vocal chords,
but I swallow them anyway,
as my paper heart pumps onyx drops
crying through my veins to heartache's recital
of an infected celestial mind yearning for a remedy.
But life is a cupid cruelty in dulcet disguise,
when your heart is a sinister seashell,
oblivious to potions of omen brewed in pigments of pixie-dust.
You're an unwelcome melody to my mystic,
composing an internal deadly demeanour.
I am the ink stuck in your cage,
dissolving like acid in your controlled carnage,
confined to trembling bleeding intuitions,
lost in corridors of horrific obscure mirrors,
whilst paranoia palpitates in a whirling haze of
magnetic ice warmth, melting my sanity,
amidst crumbling stars that lure cavernous comets
of silver grief to pirouette above frozen seas draped with
a fluorescent creme of skies.
As oceanic tides of topaz rise and fall,
flatlined into pewter streams of emptiness.
The moon coruscates in coral blue lies,
passing through intractable phases of trepidation,
abandoning light in black tourmaline nights -
pivoting into a psychedelic trance.
Rainbows fade before we can embrace
their colorful showers drizzling jade jewels
that rhyme with kaleidoscopic kismet,
as life through rose coloured lenses turns
into a provisional poetic manifestation.
If only I could escape this self-inflicted dungeon,
but you pursue like a perpetual predator.
I'll forever expose your oppression through my poems,
confessing how I never asked for this enforced affair.
I know I'm my own storm, I'm my own calm -
I just hope this is the last time I write about you.
Unlock me set me free
Allow me to be myself
I’m tired of being here
In this prison of hate
You’re so confusing
Unlock me set me free
One minute you adore me
And the next you imprison me
I’m held captive by hurtful
And deceitful words
I’m a puppet in chains
Clinging to your every word
Unlock me set me free
You’re a master manipulator
Where is your shame
Your heart and soul is dark
Love doesn't exist in your world
You are a cold hearted warden
Let me go, release me
This isn't love, It's just a sham
I want my independence
I’m tired of independence day
Only being a far away dream
Alexis Y.
7-4-18
Some ghost in peoples mind need to control,
every aspect of circumstance to enroll.
The raging spirit in constant demand to chase illusion,
with sweet words, drama and phony conclusion.
The fear of not being in charge by all means,
destroys all good attention in short coming’s not seen.
Hidden fragile uncertainties covered by shallow believe,
creating painful structures with no relief.
Destinies beatitude pointed towards all direction,
chained to the source of this infection.
The perjuries towards the illusion of freedom,
is the constant rising of another millennium.
The catastrophic ripple effect towards the relative,
by poor judgments sensed has competitive.
Megalomania is the belief of power abilities regardless,
shallow emotional intellect performed by ruthless charges.
Powerful and admirable pictures are usually the point,
questioning others towards responsibilities being a ‘disappoint’.
The dragon of false illusion has many heads,
taken others credit and values as alphabet.
Mystic pseudonyms is the fire in the oxygen,
riding the beast of burden to the melancholic dungeon.
Try to do good
Smile. Be nice
When asked for a favor
Don't have to think twice
I 'm charitable, generous
Believe that kindness is key
Trust good karma is cyclical
It'll come back to me
But disillusion and pain
Is all I get in return
Lies and backstabbing
Somehow tables get turned
I'm portrayed as a villain
That I am to blame
For all your misfortune
It's part of your game
You play on my sympathies
Take advantage of me
Then twist and manipulate
Rewrite history
You are the reason I can't trust a soul
Why I hide in the darkness
I'm always alone
I'm tired with hurting
Done being played
Lost faith in everyone
Always feeling betrayed
But you are the farmer
You watered this seed
No good deed goes unpunished
You did this to me
I'm not the person you think me to be.
I do vile and disgusting things.
Where nobody else can see.
As the public sees me, I'm good.
I'm not the person you think me to be.
For you see, I'm the great manipulator.
That you never dream is me.
I'm sweet as candy around you.
But in reality, I do things you just can't see.
Though I'm a pillar of the community.
Because that's all I allow you to see.
Goodness and light are all you think of me.
Until that is, until, you catch me.
And still, I will say, It wasn't me.
11/ 28/ 2010 I was watching American Greed Scams and listening to a helicopter circling as they were looking for someone.
The circle of atrocities
Life is obvious
Regardless it bitter side
Is clear we keep a particular
Circle alive
We do same things
In different ways
It obvious if you notice
Each man for his own
Like another don't exist
Protect something we
Never knew the reason
Of it begining
What an obvious life
Yet ignorance is the
Author of the days
The circle of actrocities
Protect this
Defend that
Don't allow this
Don't accept that
Never associate with this
Never go close to that
This will save you
That Will destroy you
When you die
If you are good before you die
You will go to this
And when you are bad before you
Die you will go to that
I guess I sound similar
To a manipulator
Cos will all this this and that
Comes limitations in the mind
No wonder so many could
Accept to die so cheap
With a particular mentality
Believing they die to defend
What was a lie in reality