White Noise and the Motherload of Dark Matter
"White Noise and the Mother Load of Dark Matter"
underneath the static
what exists
is never seen nor heard
for what it truly is
the eyes and mind
retaliate in the deciphering
the invisible return
each night and day
to speak their voiceless peace
like morse code
forever circling
in purgatory, non-replete repeat
bats that are not bell free
chasing nightingales
and bluebirds from their keep
owls hooting forever
flocking souls speaking
wondering jibberish, non-replete repeat
like wretched pantoums,
twisting verses in poetry, yet,
interwoven quatrains
never best for
suites of 3, the delivery
never quite complete, non-replete repeat
when the view
is really 2
what was begun
never finished
until the kalashnikov is held
by 1;
seldom do the sounds rhyme
but they are coloured
deep red bells, resounding and on fire,
almost always
ringing like alarm bells,
sirens anti-clockwise,
it visits the nightmare
in reverse, a funeral in ghost's brain
gone off again with Death in Dickinson hearse
unheard, ignored,
as ridiculous, never quite believed,
for it's thought as too absurd
the jury in,
the verdict passed,
tucked away, non-existent, they think
ghosts in a good haunting
mostly never ever do retreat
evidence suggests, daily
they need to imprint
their glowing vespers
versatile and explicit
pushed
through a wall,
that leaks and bleeds
the translation of it all
eventually arrives as seen
terribly memorable, and concrete
some say they require
an exceptional exorcising, and
a rollicking good feed
silent wars
thought dead and gone
are never soundless, they never sleep
for eternity in expulso,
is granted, hell,
it's never ever neat
while
on the outside
tap dancing demons
keep under the radar
their physical existence
untainted and treacly sweet
they smile as if they
will never die, nor their
tawdry actions and a maker meet
that which doth review
and eventually questions
their right to a blessed seat
in that golden place -
Hotel Pearly Gates,
a table away from brimstone
lavatories and boiling sirocco heat
demons hide in their
camouflage, versatile
personalities psychopathique
blooming in dung
cultivating flying monkey screams
yards of ingenious lies
selling their souls for freedom
sweeping truth underneath
well-hidden carpet crimes
along with its companion,
covetous buzzard
that, which in its reptile beak
stole something
very precious
from benign bluebird’s retreat
the buzzard, seen for what it is,
two faces and snake eyes
making noises like a Lyrebird
is through the flimsy veil seen,
at last by the unseen,
for what it truly is
true medusa, barren monster
sitting in its nest, obsessed,
possessing its long-wanted prize
what it never is
nor was,
a hellish story this,
of rotting skeletons,
ghouls and goals,
and true Queen, robbed
a nightmare
in a
living dream
the usurper,
sits planted in artificial turf
polishing its lies with Mr Sheen
it wears a sainted halo,
of no great worth,
so well-worn, it’s bent
the one,
that isn’t
the other
takes the true other’s
sainted dream, but this sad truth,
is seldom ever seen
The Lyrebird
wears its fool’s gold halo
like a well-won paper crown, false queen
in reality,
it is a circus ring that slips,
eventually the noise of truth
will wear its grasping fakeness down
sought to be seen as
holier than thou,
oh no, it remonstrates
it never did transgress
finding homes for the homeless,
while the other goes without
kicked to the curb
and left rotting
on non-replete repeat
graces once given
by the ghost as gift,
for all the forsaken good it did
underneath continues
the brashness of white noise
a relentless harbinger of poise
messages
each night and day, arise,
indistinguishable at first
but one way or another
the haunted, make their voices
clear as a resounding bell,
they most always will eventually,
with or without Pentecost,
have their call for true justice heard
the truth, that long-time kept
in locked dungeon released
by destined fate, escapes non-replete repeat
it’s seen and known
by those it's meant to
touch
there
is a moral
within the story, nightmare
music never sits alone,
while white noise
crushes dark matter
to move miracles
through suffocating
concrete walls
white noise befriends
the mother load
of dark matter
it's never
gibberish, nor
empty purile chatter
always -
this ghost story
for all good
boys and girls, that matter
and,
a neat serving
of Hell,
for black-listed, two-faced
snake-eyed buzzards
and soul-sucking vampiric ghouls
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Dungeon Ambience/1hr/Loop
https://youtu.be/lnJNkjORboc
Mr Sheen
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr_Sheen
Lyrebird
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyrebird
White Noise/EVP/Dark Matter/Haunting/Ghosts/Demons
"Ghost Wiring" / Neko Case.
https://youtu.be/uvHAnb7z2jM
"Things that Scare Me" / Neko Case.
https://youtu.be/EBLI9jq6tUY
"Black Listed" / Neko Case.
https://youtu.be/AMgkop02h7s
"Deep Red Bells" / Neko Case.
https://youtu.be/ScT9eo5cljk
Emily Dickinson
"The Soul Has Bandaged Moments"
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56453/the-soul-has-bandaged-moments-360
Emily Dickinson
"Tell All the Truth but Tell it Slant"
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56824/tell-all-the-truth-but-tell-it-slant-1263
Broken World
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/broken_world_1372090
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Lady Labyrinth
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