The
white whale~
Whiteness appearing
in this story
as a whale~and as
other appearances
in stories including
yours and mine~
Whiteness
a name for the
unnameable~~
In a box full of Shadows...
Dwell objects of Cryptic Imagery...
Through ancient Frosted glass...
Fractured like spider webs.
Creep items of the unknown or the forgotten.
From rusted gears of broken
clocks and crazy cracked crystal rocks.
To skulls of black cats,
And wings of Vampire bats,
Lay objects of mystery,
A severed claw of a dove,
A cards proclamation of someones
undying love and haunted misery.
Gears, strings, and wound springs...
Some very strange things fight the decay.
Worms crawl, flesh pluses, blood seeps,
Onto faded families secret photographs.
Unnameable insects beat their wings endlessly…
While stuck with pins in a frame
from childhood experiments.
Next to some exotic erotic toxic
Rune manuscripts.
Old odd bones roam
Forbidden machines hum
Spiders play, pray on sliver humanity
All these things lay quiet and forgotten in…
A BOX full of deep SHADOWs
And haunted histories
Things, beings, and deities
sit in a forgotten corners
deserted, forlorn, unknown
In a House that no one knows
Secrets dwell within...
the sealed, SHADOWBOX!
"My passion is to see poets' souls, brilliantly on fire!"... .P. Romios.
" Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world!" Percy Bysshe Shelley, romantic poet
Without us being phony politicians mucking about with pants on fire.
We cannot change things without the courage ourselves to see evil, write about it, and see it ends.
The silence is deafening as the media cheers on Communism wearing the deranged mask of Socialism.
One day, we may lose this right to be truthful as poets forever.
Stop hiding behind butterflies and flowers, as none will keep you free.
Patriots will cheer you on, do not worry about those who avoid you."
"A poet’s work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep."
— Salman Rushdie, award-winning writer
2/26/2021
~1~
Unnameable the moment when it starts
The sun goes turns black and flowers die on the stalk
The agony in the garden of the heart
Unnatural rhythms subvert accountants’ charts
Poor nestlings feel the onslaught of the hawk
Untraceable the moment when it starts
For always seemed our love, and quiet its art
Banal the labels in a doctor’s talk
Of agony in the gardens of the heart
Speechless,cold and numb the separate parts
Each one with its indirection walks
Untraceable the moment when it starts
That one who knew our measure must depart
Wounds our sense of self now writ in chalk
Such agony in the gardens of the heart
Like a skylark trapped,untimely, caught
I the one time lover fear the night
So minute at the moment when it starts
Agony strips the garden of the heart
last I checked I wasn't one of you
I was ultimately and overarchingly one of me
apparently fortune had brought him to this instant
to the point of questioning fate hard
when the child is smarter than the parent
what then is expected but rebellion
it generally wasn't reported
that he had bested the Devil
in a game of fool the baby
lightning had struck him 3 times
another flat penny train wreck
which managed to remove the cotton from his head
a paradoxically effortless lesson proving that
the bearer of the message is blameless
still they kicked his ass into orbit
tethered to the great psychic magnet
he divulging secrets of unnameable dimension
to anyone on the passenger list of the Titanic
riding the cliff wagon of perfection
in a sea of treachery and amnesia
the new amusement
Ripped from womb
Slapped to teens
Used by all
trapped within this fleshy cage
Anger feed upon my emotions
And slowly changes all to replicate its form
Life sits upon me squeezing air from my broken core
Held together by bruises and cuts
This bitter heart responsible for killing all thats sweet
This savage soul ripping the body from within
My screaming tears soften hardened flesh
Escape no option, freedom chained to death
This cage was chosen wisely
Suicide would kill the beast
But whos the savage then
The keeper and the captive
Both untamed
and never to be named
I. Your ears, your eyes
Impact
My hands and the door knob
Still intact
No lightning
Just trying
To be or not to be
Frightening
I ask
Please don't worry
It’s writing
And nothing more
II. Mine
More more
Burned into my throat
A door
That bites back
At language
In anguish
And eons toward
tomorrow
When knobs have already
Rusted
And no one is left
To be trusted
I am or I'm not
I'm frightened
And I think that you should be too
The streets I trod
As an innocent and naive child
Appeared as gold-paved and rosy-hued
And the brilliant light of optimism
Shone on all and everything,
Banishing worrisome dark shadows.
Only now as an adult,
Weary with experience
Does walking those same streets
Reveal their true character.
There are cracks in the pavements
And weeds line the kerbs.
The house windows seem malevolent
Like the eyes of a beast
Indigenous to the Concrete Jungle,
Waiting to pounce and devour
My childhood hopes and dreams.
Shadows are dark and mysterious
Filled with secret snickering and threat
Of unnameable hurt and pain.
The streets of my childhood
Are hardly changed in all the years
I have been maturing into adulthood.
I have changed and found perception.
How I wish to be a child again
And escape this cruel reality:
Rediscover the age of innocence
That once protected me from life.
My face flushes and tingles as I near your presence, encountering that
unnameable feeling, giving off a palpable buzz of joy, an almost electric field that causes the hairs on my arms to stiffen like soldiers coming to attention
My muscles tense in anticipation, like a boxer about to take a liver shot
with the possibility that your hand might brush mine; if you should reach out and touch my face, I'd surely reel and stumble, perhaps even fall
If sex had a flavor, it would be the taste of your skin. If it had a scent, it would be the smell of your hair on this sweet summer's day. If it had a sound, it would be your impossibly feminine laugh.
Desire; yearning and pulling on my mind until it can think of nothing else
but breathing in the sweet, shiny, sparkling atmosphere that surrounds the glowing super nova that is you.
There is no dictionary large enough
to contain the words I need
to write this down. Virgo, child of doubt,
server of scars. My perfection is
a cracked pot that knows only questions
and voices huddled round silence that
shape an unnameable darkness
with singing impenetrable by light.
Curled up deep inside every dream,
my song rises in the throat, but
will not come out. This lump
that lives down deep, inside hope.
We learn too late the unteachable things -
like how this Abyss overtakes us,
even if we refuse to jump.
Creatures loyal to the asking,
we tear ourselves apart and call it life;
and love, at best, a temporary healing.
something unteachable.
Where is the bandage that can cover
this tear? As if it wanted fixing.
Promises are made to be kept, though they are wrapped in a cocoon of razor wire.
The words that fall out of your mouth turn into insects, and are instantly
consumed by the reptiles. Everything consumes everything, all God's creatures go
below. It is quite evident that our souls at one time were of a single unit prospering
and thriving. Ripping through the Cosmosphere. Splitting and burning
endlessly. Scattered about, only to be reunited. This magnetic pull I feel is
not of me. This longing I have to be with you is unnameable. I don't fear it. I
don't fight it. I want to embrace it, understand it. the unexplainable is
definitely one of life's more perplexing subtleties.
May i have your undivided wilderness?
Please. Some place where ‘me’ might lose
its self without forgetting what I am.
I know it exists because you exist,
& all those unnameable things that hide
in silence between the heart beats of trees.
If I were to offer a prayer or a stone
it would not include matches or road maps -
but some ancient chanting heard from afar
when the mountains hold their breath,
and romance runs free of camps & campfires.
Here, I’m taking off my shoes, my clothes.
I’m throwing away the book. There are
some places you can only enter unarmed.
Your undivided wilderness is one of them.
Everyone needs a place to grow.
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