The cup must be empty, self-parched bone-dry,
The ego stilled, no thirst to drink till drunk.
For emptiness becomes a boundless sky
when space opens up, to move a slam-dunk!
Joy becomes bliss when you stop chasing tails.
When you envisage, emptiness to be
incoming inclusive, to what prevails.
A playful sage, in modus vivendi.
No need to fight for what's already yours.
Your form and shape, are worthless to command
what enters, or arrives at open doors,
slipping through fingers, splayed on honest hand.
Joy ripens fully, when chase is at bay,
Blissful contentment, lingers with the sway.
His fragile frame spills scarlet still warmed by the fervency of his love
Love never to be betrayed further
Stolen from me in his naive pursuit of a modus vivendi
Between my alcove in his heart and his virtuous morality
We spoke so often of immortality
Of eternal legacies of splendor
While your lulling warmth obscured its austere nature
But now my hands are stained with carmine life
And my aureate tresses are dull with guilt
I am Aristos Akhaio, the best of men
yet i pale in the face of your magnificence
Doomed to a fleeting hope for mortal life and glory
When you were all I ever truly longed for
Even in death you watch me
Not in reverence but adoration
Your shrouded figure etched into my recollection
But sadistically lost to me forevermore
Glory befits the strong
Or so i once heard
But I never sought glory of any name but yours
Broken down into 3 syllables sobbed into the air
You were never your fathers' glory but to me you are everything
My only life, my only legacy, my only love
And my strength was stolen by the whisper of your broken breath
I know something of betrayal-
how lies can be white or hide in the silence;
a kind smile that glides over violence-
rifle to scope to dilated iris.
The left hand that beguiles
and the tight right fist
Denial of the dawn, sunlight from the mist.
I’ve seen eyes try to hold mine
but waver.
What is it to decipher a smile
that refuses to be labeled?
Mired and incapable.
Tired.
Replaceable.
A void inside bends the mind
and makes it feel unstable-
A too taught wire
Or a fire, insatiable.
This is not a test.
If you should choose to salvage what’s left,
uncurve your spine from rest.
Breathe one breath
(deep, two seconds)
and seek three ribs down, then left.
Crack open your chest.
Wet smooth muscle
pulsing,
daily
divulging
time,
always lamenting,
always despondent,
infinitely bereft.
This isn’t the part that’s best.
This isn’t all that’s left.
You’re more than tissue,
algorithm,
breath?
You’re made of this
and made of what’s left.
Ars vivendi ars moriendi est.
Tinkerbell
Loved to cast a spell
With a wave of wand done dusted
Until her wily, wiggly wand got busted
Peter Pan
Troubles began
When his modus vivendi
Dust splut, spat empty
--------------
29 August 2021
For 'Cleritoons Poetry Contest'
Creating avatars in political and law reality,
contracts and controlling stability.
Modus vivendi where the money flows,
oceans of spirit fears in tows.
Irresponsible silence of motions,
honored sheep’s and their devotions.
Munchausen’s syndrome via comic book,
kindly bulling with every look.
Home at causes, churches and cult,
never able to see the own insult.
Insisting on taking over and fixing things,
manipulated moments for the kings.
Being aloof with natures flawless bound,
no key for the self chain can be found.
Pride in the unfathomable meek,
pointing fingers to the seeming weak.
Motivation all about themselves,
to shine in opportunities like sparkling elf’s.
Taking care of this the millionth time,
when the world needs them in that golden frame.
Justified by abusing others because of it,
stories of the leading role in every bit.
In control to the freakish point,
if not involved so bitter anoint.
The masters and puppeteers put them in charge,
then everybody loves a hero at large.
Lying in an augur's aviary..
Reneging on my virtues,so credulous..
The feying fay being taken to
bury,
I see things called ambigous.
Slowly fading odour of scantity..
In Attica, end of augustan age.
Wings of Azreal, the martinet
deity,
I see these, with espied rage.
Hydaes casting spell every
night..
The abysmal wizard of dark
kinglet.
Between scylla and cherybdis is
my sight..
Seeing through the torment
outlet.
Through that window, with
arriere pensee..
I see me, the ambling ember
Once alive, now frozen modus
vivendi..
Promenading with flowing ichor.
Still with each sunshine..
I see hope blazing through..
A jocund scene,hard to miss.
The changing magniloquent
hue..
Palladium of gamut bliss.....
PREFERED THE SKIN COLOURS
ACCEPT THE STRANGE HEARD NAMES
RESPECT EACH RACES DIGNITY
SWIFT HALT EXISTED DISPUTE
ACCEPT ANY MOTION BROUGHT
THIS COULD SUM UP
MODUS OPERANDI TO VIVENDI AMONGST
HE DOES NOT DISCRIMINATE
UNIVERSE IS AN EXISTENCE OF COLOUR
THERE PRESENT WHITE, BLACK; STONES, ROCK
BOTH OF SIMILAR NATURE AND STRUCTURE
FROM THE CREATOR
THIS COULD BROUGHT UP
MODUS OPERANDI TO VIVENDI AMONGST
BAD IN AGE IS THE ACCEPTANCE
AMONGST THE WHITE AND BLACK RACES
BOTH POSSESS SOMETHING IN COMMON
SOMETHING THICKER THAN WATER
THE END MAY BE THE BEGINNING
THIS COULD APPREHEND
MODUS OPERANDI TO VIVENDI AMONGST
Miles of broken, sunbaked seashells,
resembling pieces of porcelain of lesser value,
lying across a populous beach subdued by misty blue,
as hungry sea-gulls pounce the fiddler's crabs..
The beach entertainer draws huge crowds;
singing funny songs and making comic skits
by spicing up his unique modus operandi,
and modestly mocking his modus vivendi...
He has never made lots of money,
but settles for dollar bills to earn their sympathy;
dressed in tight and colorful ministrel's attire,
he amuses the public with his monkey-shine...
And he pulls out his fiddler and the crowds go wild,
awakening, by its high-pitched sound, a dope fiend,
who has built a temporary shack threatened by the blowing sand;
He puts on his sunglasses and disappears in the groovy sunshine...
The beach entertainer follows him, leaving everyone behind
saying," Sorry, brother...I didn't mean to wake you up, the bum turns around taking off his lenses.
and exclaims, " Music doesn't fill an empty and aching belly...and cheer up a feeble mind! "
" Here's all I got...take it and get something to eat!" He says stretching his hands.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
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