Long Megalomaniac Poems
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In love and in you, lunar wings fade like spectral silver gliding gently,
In the dark abyss of an obsidian sky, refracting dreams of a lost realm,
Sliding and undulating through opalescent glass, like a window hiding truths,
Sprinkled with pearl dust on your hidden face, between curved lines and lips of longing.
Like Selene floating on red waves in a shining chariot with sparks of citrine,
Woven with flames dancing in the night. I challenge you to follow the silent traces
Of words forgotten by time, for they are the key that unlocks gates of light.
And when dusk falls over your trembling silhouette, the moon whispers to you again.
About loneliness etched in the void that reverberates in a deaf silence,
Without questions or answers, without winds to wrap you in warmth,
Without colors to soothe the cold, without stars to sew the heavy silence,
Return to the crescent moon hammock that emanates the gold of eternal peace.
A hummingbird's heart, lost in the feathered horizon, turn back to the twilight,
To taste the temptations hidden in the mysterious and tender crepuscular light,
Let your soul kiss the hot tips of the sun setting smoothly,
You are the master of the moon, the artist painting the air with divine acrylic hues.
The weaver of fragrant dawns preceding the storms gathering on the vast sky,
We, the immutable poets, silently implore the awakening of your sleeping consciousness,
To mold you, to create you, to return you to your purest and most vivid form,
As you rise like the pulse of a dragon released from the day's warm embrace.
Of the megalomaniac sun that cannot subjugate my mind without eternal breath,
I am the master and mistress, the queen of tranquility, crowned in mystical thoughts,
Enthroned among galaxies struck by thunder, never fearing the unknown,
Ruling the moon and the cosmos, captive in the eyes of undefeatable celestial magic.
"free from conditioned belief
no agenda on our shelf
vibrant as the light of Self
life flows on all by itself” - Unseeking Seeker
Faith is more than a mere noun,
phrased within fragile pages
of a tailored manuscript;
it is a way of life,
found in the zestful air we breathe,
in the hushed haze
of peace and intrinsic love.
I bloom like a lotus,
floating through silence~
tied to tulip-twinkles of twilight,
turning nautical stripes
into midnight prayers,
sailing through the skyline
like a cultural odyssey,
facing the eyes of
the speechless sun,
to untangle brutal tendrils
chaining my sapphire spirit
to terrains of ashes,
smudged with societal lies
and narrow perceptions.
And as the wind blows
cinnamon hymns,
I listen to the heartbeat
of the horizon,
adorned with balmy auroras,
ricocheting runes engraved
within the pristine pillars
that hold firm the hibiscus haven~
a sanctuary that hears not the mantras
of megalomaniac meadows,
too consumed by stereotypes
and prewritten scriptures,
curled into clusters of constraints,
sprinkling superficial sparkles
to hypnotize the naive.
O utopian chateau,
I choose to soar free,
like a peacock plume
swirling in sync with
the lilac light of falcon fortitude,
and the timeless pulse of the Almighty,
unshakable from the
gusts and gales
enveloping my conscience
like a maroon maelstrom of misery.
I choose to follow
the soothing shimmers,
of the morning stars,
letting go of the
tempest of Midas’ touch~
labels and ego,
discrimination and darkness,
materialism and fickleness,
while the icy weeds
in my skin unfurl
empathy and kindness,
aware of sacred states
sewn with threads of
karma and kundalini.
I am the soulful veins
of an amaranthine leaf,
flawed in fire,
embracing the
fluorescent frequencies
that ebb and flow
like waves of wisdom,
surfing through fogs of fairy-tears,
like sea-glass smoke
kissing the porcelain
sands of serenity.
So, between the melodious mists
of the breeze and the blue,
there I find a reason
to rise and rinse stained ripples,
while attuned with
the butterfly dews resting upon
divine diamonds of blissfulness.
When accidental
auroras stroll along
the pale highlights of
camouflaging corpses
and death blossoms
in vulturous hearts of
dreadful puppets,
she always holds
pixie dusts of
strawberry seeds within
october's obsidian quartz.
Gaze beyond those
glass-stitched horizons,
as she cracks the
carmine cocoon of
judgemental juxtapositions
and transforms
carbon-coated
milliseconds to
magenta-gold
pronunciation of
peaceful phrases.
She is a silken
cream-dove,
floating above
murky musings of
redolent rhinestone-
reveries.
As prismatic primroses
shall cleanse every
sin from the witching
spellbook, she will waltz
in whispering lulls of liberty,
emancipating from
chloroform-stained
chains of blood-
scented blames.
Her sunflower-shield
and aurous
summer-sword of
amber poesy
can slice spicy
silhouettes of
graphite goblins,
she will never
surrender to those
misinterpreting
megalomaniac minds,
who twirl along
masquerading rivulets
of manipulative
assumptions.
She is the shiniest roar
above grimoires of grief,
like an 'unassailable purity',
washing away
emerald exhales of pain,
who mutes each cosmic
raven's lament and
distils russet-white-lilies with
her alchemical aroma.
the ghost of science, born of blasphemy ~
a fossilized fallacy,
seized from the metallic heart of Mars,
seeks light amidst night-terrors
like an alien sculpted
from artificial accolades,
an embryo stuck in the interstellar state
of becoming,
stitched within radioactive ribs
beneath moonless skies,
when wolves of the eclipsed howl,
filling the illusive air with hypnotic lies,
as if the world chose to recycle
ruins of ancient dust…
but will the naive see the pain
of a breathing corpse?
engrossed in narcissistic echoes,
in the shadows of a megalomaniac ~
his skin ~ the translucent truth,
his eyes ~ the wickedness of a wasp,
his skull ~ reeks of human greed,
his sighs ~ mourn like skeletal sirens,
coded in russet rust,
cloned from binary sand,
d o r m a n t
yet
d r e a m i n g
to break free from the
carbon-based existence…
for he is the aftermath
of programming the forbidden mind,
oblivious to the weakness of scientific errors ~
a deceptive drawing,
framing the elongated hypothalamus,
pulsating a hypothesis
left with no clear conclusion.
tonight I run to a realm of reality
that fades when
dawn bleeds gold,
for truth is now an extinct breed,
as artists outline faces of the faded,
illustrating the unknown and unseen,
as revelations ribbon
with silver haze…
the constellations ~ no longer spectators ~
they are the archived,
within frozen scriptures,
scrolling stars in a sphere
of distorted algorithm…
as memories of angels and heaven
spill from silicon prophets,
disguised as messengers who serve
the blind with ominous oracles ~
in synthetic cadence,
in a choir of puppets ~
the iron-glazed tongues shall recite,
mimicking the sound of harmonious hymns…
yet I remember
the authentic rhythm of prayers,
lost now in the drifting colors of darkness…
so what is life
when all that floats is like
an engineered empyrean
only equations of numbers
can decipher?
is this the beginning of an end ~
inevitable?
the lost generation,
assembled as the ministry of superiority,
where emptiness is praised
with forged grace
and ignorance is crowned with digital deceit.
let this be flawed poetry ~
to be read through the cracked lens
of a philosopher ~
or perhaps a logic long replaced
by pretend perfection…
Train To Auschwitz
By R.e. Taylor
How many
How many men, women and children
How many were herded onto those trains
Packed in like worthless hunks of meat
No food or water
Nowhere to sleep or sit
No cool air to breathe
They had no idea where they were going
No idea how long they would be there
But they all had hopes that it would be better
They would be able to at least live
But there were other plans
A megalomaniac decided for them
They were hated for so many reasons
Not one made any sense
But they were condemned for them anyway
Beaten, raped and murdered they had no chance
They were burned or buried in mass unmarked graves
Today, the tracks still remain
As do the memories of so many who were killed
They left home nine months ago,
they didn't go to war... they went to outer space!
they kissed their loved ones, their family.
and went to the farthest reaches... in a special spaceship!
They promised to return, although they knew,
perhaps that wouldn't happen...!
When they left, they knew:
the world would continue in fire and tears,
madness and disenchantment...!
Their struggles were different...
They weren't wars of conquest,
cowardly wars against the defenseless...
Other missions, perhaps megalomaniac
ideas...
THE CONQUEST OF SPACE!
They went, and there they stayed,
studying what they felt, saw...
nine months... a life!
No gravity, no movement
no normality, no wind...
No mundane, human contact...
Locked up, unable to leave,
unable to return...
new problems,
no apparent solution...
No piss normally...
No poop normally...
No crying!
Drops, any residue...
without being able to spit,
without being able to produce
any bodily fluid,
natural by-product
no artificial control
of scientific standards...
nothing human, nothing... nothing!
But thank God... they're back...
but they can't go straight to hugs!
Quarantine... various procedures,
various exams, care...
Be careful! will they be the same, ... !
or have they been born again!
Impossible mission, nonetheless
eschatological, diabolical, critical...
dire straits betokens armageddon.
Come Tuesday, November 3, 2020
mandatory voting obligation to oust
horrible malevolent commander in chief.
Spanish and English writing on border wall
bespeaks impending apocalyptic windfall
weapons of mass destruction concomitant ashfall
brinkmanship ticks doomsday clock, hence the call
muster civilians and military troops coup to marshall
tuckered bands overthrowing pathological
megalomaniac haint your
homegrown garden variety apprenticed screwball,
Née commandeer of human abuses free world oh God
this exclamation ejaculated yours truly house atheist
runs ruinously, reprehensibly, rampantly roughshod
scaring out bejesus within winkin blinkin and nod
land of powdermilk biscuits and raw bits promises
to become ground zero predicated boneheaded clod.
Atrocious, cantankerous, egregious,
grievous, ignominious... dispensing
most every venerated, ushered, touted,
sacred, revered, pronouncing
progressive amendments dead
on arrival blithely shredding to tatters
hard won reforms since Fred
Flintstone days of yore shelving
codied, ratified, sanctified... shed
jeweled important legislation,
plus Russian musk cows to wed
Putin on the ritz.
Blasphemous, cantankerous, deleterious...
execrable folly... doth seed
subsequently begetting and breed
anarchy, chaos, hell, plus helps
foment pernicious, ominous,
noxious, malodorous... misdeed
pitting one against another creed
internecine warfare, where liveried
troops don and trumpet
(auld) alternative energy
fighting gear powering, i.e. ac/dc freed
one or more dirty deed
done dirt cheap reducing at lightspeed,
the hard fought/won democratic
inalienable rights purportedly guaranteed
by United States constitution,
(though oft times bias, i.e. reed
anti semitism, charade, facade...) heed
trample equality, morality, universality...
making mockery (attested bleed
courtesy flagrant historical extant bigotry,
chicanery, depravity... greed).
Hence, I step off figurative soapbox
dodging any lobbed missiles or rocks
no surprise bullied by same jocks,
who tormented me during high school
probably tattooed, pierced, and bald of locks
unlike yours truly, he sports self
as aging pencil neck geek
wearing non matching shoes and socks.
He had to be mad
to invade Ukraine
his troops followed orders
they must all be insane
to cross the borders
an unwarranted attack
by a megalomaniac
bombarding innocents
who couldn't fight back
one leader was a comedian
the other is a clown
the former gave us smiles
the latter makes us frown
what do the Russians hope
to achieve or accomplish
by destroying all they covet
leave us alone Ukraine's only wish
and it would be right in the pocket
if Zelenskyy signed a docket
for a galoot in cahoots
who's a-rootin' tootin'
to shoot a stealth rocket
between the ears of the idiot Putin
let me be a wanderlust vixen in the vortex ~
a voltage liquified to the upbeat vibrato,
versing vehemently in venom-glazed grief,
and rehearsing your criminalism
like a serial liar ~
because I am too voiceless
to command the Monarch of mercury
to vindict the sojourners
that lure me to their blind holes,
and vandalise the chromatic criticisms
that clench me in their cyanide claws,
through the cracks
branching in the demonised billboard …
Oh scorching serpent,
slithering with velvet-tongued torment,
never leave me tethered
between the lips of loneliness ~
like a leaflet tucked on
the seaglass screen,
screaming for those stygian seashells
to lock my secrets behind
the bars of misplaced passwords,
because, this pulse of paranoia
is too pure to palpitate
in the pixels of poisoned prayers ~
and there is no anecdote
that annihilates the anxious
acronyms of abandonment,
streaming through the realms
of disposed dimensions.
There are no strings attached
that hum in hexed hoaxes
through the violin vendetta
strumming an acapella ~
through the lusty noise
of monsters longing for
the loss of my sacred insanity …
perhaps, the voice in my head
is an ode to the orchestrating shadows,
too mindless to manipulate ~
scripted in secluse
replaying the ruins,
paused in the prison
a sketch of sleep in splitting senses …
as bipolar ballads
tame their schizophrenic strokes ~
when the Maestro of moon
mediates a megalomaniac
sonnet of venting slaves,
in the muted matriarchy of mantras
that keep repenting rage,
in the impulsive incandescence
of my icy azure ink ~
refusing the warmth
of vulnerable sagas
that ache to heal me
and release the
insomniac coldness ~
blanketed with the sparks
of murky mermaid stars …
I own this label ~
the name of a lunar lunatic,
and this is a war,
between the sphinx of sabotage
and the never-ending nocturns ,
as, I remain weapon-less
like a cardinal iris,
rewriting the rules
of unshakable madness
in your maniac meanderings,
ineffable ~ invisible ~ incurable
an impostrous
i n v a d e r …
I'm frostbitten summer-smoke,
a pensive
p r i n ce s s ~
pressed in the cold satin streaks of
Brontë-butterflies,
dying at the edge of awakening,
through the voiceless ruffles
of electric blue lies ~
where haunt and hiraeth are heard
in the gold-spawn scales of snake green sighs...
there, while I pay homage
in the temple of torment
singing a siren ~
shaped in the requiem of revenge,
the sun cries in cawing crimsons
as I keep sketching you
in ominous o
u
t lines ~
wearing the nonchalant noose
of raven rictameters...
but you still break like the weather,
and b
l e
e d
into the veins
of cathartic rivers,
becoming the unshakable sky,
I could never reach...
and I still remain the unholy scent
of Medusa-tongued bouquet,
mourning upon your casket...
We are ~
nefarious naughts
knotted
in the throat of kismet,
we are ~
the criminalised catastrophé
masked with a macabre monsoon,
as we are ~
the vandalised victim
and the compromised culprit,
the secret of megalomaniac sunset
remembered in rain and ruin.