Long Phantasmagorical Poems
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Just waiting in line to register for college courses.
I did not relish such crowded coarseness.
Then, mon Dieux, my eyes fixed upon you, lost was I!
Your brown eyes, made me feel like I was flying in the rainbows
Of a star phantasmagorical sky.
No, I told myself, I was imagining such things...
But fate arranged our years together, beyond my limited imaginings!
We lived and loved together under sunny and rainy kweather.
We were somehow born to be soul-tethered.
Cooked quiche Lorraine, salads so divine amd kthe best part was,
at bedtime,
This old fashioned girl was thine, and totally shined.
You got me to attend the Old Town School of Folk Music and learned
to play guitar.
You introduced me to Second City, where I was to ibecame a minor
improvisational star.
We studied Baba Ram Das and went to sensitivity trainings.
My life with you was neither boring nor draining!
We blew weed and went to see the "Yellow Submarine", together.
Came out laughing so hard, we walked home in the rainy weather!
You gave me my first cat, Luvey, my first sweet Calico,
Hal, the fantastic, far-out life I had with you,was quite the show.
For my birthday, a book of great poetry ....Kahlil Gibran, so cool!
Thanks Hal, for loving me and never treating me like a fool.
I will forever hold you in my beating heart,
From my inner soul, there is a gem-filled Hal part!
With you, I was forever dancing on freshest air.
We were on the wings of time, a rare, loving special pair!
11- 13- 2020
To appreciate our planet,
begin with its snowcapped mountains:
where sunbeams morph crystals of ice
into gems of glistening light.
See pink clouds hover in the skies,
afloat on a vista of blue:
and a setting sun smear scarlet,
onto puffs of marshmallow white.
And jungles, at its equator:
create a sash of vibrant greens;
while burnt sands ripple Earth's deserts,
with shifting dunes of tans and creams.
Watch Earth's leafy forests change from
deciduous to evergreen:
and tundra, pitted with blue lakes,
fade to stretches of virgin snow.
And volcanoes erupt in flames
spewing plumes of ebony smoke:
as lava bleeds from gaping wounds,
while giving birth to molten Earth.
See cobalt and aquamarine
waves, crested with white foamy froth:
and two tilted poles, capped in ice,
sparkle, like crystalline jewels.
View it from afar, as it twirls
within the vacuum of space:
like a phantasmagorical
cerulean marble: called Earth.
The Infant won’t paint, cried out the Father;
he sensing an otherworldly genius
in the toddler’s eyes.
The painterly parent bought paper, acrylics,
oils, brushes, chalks, and crayons…
not even a finger painting emerged.
The child steadfastly refused to paint.
The father exclaimed:
“For the glory of God why not paint!”
His offspring turned away to suck his thumb.
Days past…years.
The child grew to be a sullen teenager.
He began to write poetry – and such woeful,
doleful poetry!
Exclamation marks rose up in heaven
as thick as bamboo forests.
His father read them, and his face grew ashen
with a sickly alarm.
The poems spoke of phantasmagorical visions,
hordes of screaming demons dismembered
herds of hapless humans.
Abysmal were the visions unleashed
from the boy’s erupting consciousness.
Presentiments flew up from the pages
as horrid as the blood-red dragons of Hades.
After reading his son’s latest works
the father exclaimed:
“For God’s sake, NEVER paint!”
He took the young man for long walks in the country,
forced him to join a local soccer team,
suggested a military career,
alas
the boy began to paint.
Pessimists leave the art of dreaming
to optimists with a half-full cup.
And whenever I am feeling down,
poetry lifts my spirits back up.
Poetry probes the human psyche,
with witty words bandied to and fro.
And helps to keep the doldrums at bay;
by keeping the tides of boredom low.
Magic and reality mingle,
when understanding first comes of age.
And secluded deep within my heart,
hope finds its way to the written page.
Morphing into a creative mood,
anxiety uncoils in my head.
And this phantasmagorical world
keeps my imagination well fed.
I value the little things in life,
like a shooting star etched on the night.
And I need but gaze at the heavens;
to inspire my muse, and give it flight.
I have fallen in love with a winged dragon alebrijes,
Have to buy it of course, is it signed?
What artisian created this piece of bright gorgeousness?
I look for a signature.
This phantasmagorical creature has none.
No matter.
She is from Oaxaca, the ultimate home of the alebrijes.
Pedro Linares had a fever in the 1940’s.
His fever dreams turned into fantastical creatures.
Made first of papier-mache, painted in Zapotec patterns
Circles, dots and stripes.
Did he know he was starting something big
when he made up the word alebrijes?
Colorful folk art made more famous by
artisians like Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera and Arturo Cabellero
Alebrijes are hybrid creatures carved in wood, painted in
bright colors.
Representing animal totems or familiars,
they are part of the pop culture of Day-of-the-dead parades.
Horns representing earth, wings representing air,
fins representing water and dragons representing fire.
It makes sense I am completely drawn to the winged dragon.
Try to wrap your mind around a gust of wind,
a rainbow, or the shape of water.
Let your thoughts swim in a pool of imagination,
and dive into the depths of the abstract;
letting it help you understand what defies definition.
You can inhale a breath of air
and feel the wind on your face.
But can you describe its shape?
The wind, although tactile, is invisible;
and it's constantly transforming itself.
You can envision a rainbow arched across the sky,
and yet, it's ethereal, without mass or weight.
It's a magical illusion, composed of water and light,
that only appears to be substantive.
You can see, smell, feel, and taste water;
even observe its transformation into clouds and ice.
But can you describe
or sculpt water based on its shape?
Our mind connects all the missing dots
that make sense of this phantasmagorical world;
letting us contemplate the shape of water.
When we sleep, we dream:
and emptying our souls,
thoughts pour out;
tumbling freely from one to the next.
Dreams interact
with a multitude of conflicting emotions:
as they flitter and flutter
like butterflies,
within the garden of our subconscious mind.
Fantasy is the absence of reality:
creating a phantasmagorical playground,
limited only by imagination.
And dreams invite us
to step through the looking glass;
and follow Alice into Wonderland.
Plugged into our psyche:
dreams connect our minds
to an imaginary world,
unlike any other.
A jumbled mix of interactions,
dreams are phantom thoughts:
that manifest like ghosts,
rummaging through our mind's vault;
filled with secret hopes and fears.
And as opposed to delusion;
dreams, buttress fantasy illusions,
with recognizable truths.
Love is magical;
a marvelous explosion of emotions
that morphs into a series of intimate moments.
Migrating from your heart to your soul:
it captures your imagination at the beginning,
and delivers a sense of belonging at the end.
Doubts, insecurities, and misgivings
acquiesce to the ecstasy of love;
allowing two hearts to share one dream.
Euphoric and ethereal:
love is full of joy-filled energy and promise.
Like a secret fantasy come true;
the magic of a kiss
gets tethered to trust and hope:
allowing dreams to tap into forever feelings.
Intimate, phantasmagorical, and sublime,
are but a few words that come to mind:
when describing love.
An intense feeling of affection:
it summons a smile,
that gives life meaning and purpose.
It has no territory, no borders,
no accountability and no schedule.
And because it takes on different forms,
defining love: falls into the ethereal realm
of poets and romantics.
Falling in love is breathtaking:
but feeling loved defies description.
Sunlight paints your blush with ruby highlights,
inking you in stunning cinibar tints.
And romantic thoughts glow in your aura,
inspiring both artists and troubadours.
With wafts of romantic inclinations,
your fragrant aroma summons a kiss.
And oft fills sultry souls with thoughts of bliss,
imagining a world built on a wish.
Laid in a book, you await tomorrow,
your crimson color crumbling into dust.
But happy thoughts wash all that's sad away;
as your charming disposition blossoms.
Your buds bloom into a symbol of class,
along with caviar and Cadillacs.
And fuchsia adds glamor to your array;
in a phantasmagorical display.
You accompany faith through dark shadows;
as you ward off scary, sorrowful thoughts.
And mourn with all who cry, clutching your thorns;
comforting, distraught souls without a word.
Claustrophobic, saturated white walls constrict,
sucking the oxygen from every molecule of deprived blood.
Hypoxic cells circulate through an increasingly unstable body,
whilst rivulets of sweat flow from clammy palms.
Insomniac reality blurs with insidious shadows,
dancing upon the ceiling.
Naive faith keeps insanity just at bay,
but with each sunrise, hope is chipped away.
How much longer can a soul survive without respite
before it splits open—
spilling into the realms of delicious delusion?
Counting spots of dust in sunlight streams
now becomes the norm.
Two hundred yesterday—
is that two hundred and four today?
Slowly losing grip,
twisted nursery rhymes play out in a fracturing mind:
One, two, no one is going to save you.
Three, four, get ready for the relentless gore.
Five, six, they will play with your bones like sticks.
Seven, eight, for this occasion you better not be late.
Nine, ten, you are now in their sadistic den.
Praying for sleep, it never comes,
as reality dissolves
and this phantasmagorical nightmare commences.