Details |
Candide Diderot Poem
Have you ever pondered
shadows are made of
softness, they are not
hard surfaced like
those of us existing
outside of the white noise
unable to grasp -
the invisible,
that speak meaning to us,
whispering their sagacious platitudes,
we see them briefly, then,
they disappear into the cracks
in the walls of us,
we are blind -
to the shadows that stand
and walk beside us,
they make us jump,
so we avoid looking
too closely,
at those penumbras
we shut our windows,
we roll down the venetians,
those masks we wear daily -
no one is an open book,
we are the bookmarks,
in our own recycling stories,
dog-eared each chapter -
returning occasionally
to understand what
long sentences mean
in the shorter less than
poetic moments
of our purpose
intelligence scattered -
running from the hell hounds
those shadows we never
successfully collar and lead,
they find us eventually
and lick at our feet,
praying for us to take them in,
to love them, to tame them,
but they are wild things, living,
all in their own dimensions;
the shadows that walk beside us,
the ones we hardly ever notice,
feed those baying Baskervilles light
to satiate, and to calm them,
we try to love them,
those hell hounds -
eventually they possess us,
for a while, their hunger strays
to other things
we ride the wild
like we are them,
they eventually turn on us
and take us by the throat, then,
we, unable to speak, resort
to writing poetry
they rip our hearts out
greedily, the blood leaves
a trail - and we look,
for the shadows again,
to bring us light, still,
something of the hounds remain
you can see it
in the eyes,
something wild
romping in the mind,
pulsing bright light
like a neon sign
advising,
"avoid at all costs,
The Uncontained"
avoiding at all costs,
for it is far far too expensive
to entertain the loss of time
in such darkness,
the ripening fear in others
steers them mercilessly,
they turn their backs
and walk away,
from all
that singular madness,
"no! never that!", they think,
that is never them;
that one, singing
beautiful unlearn’ed tunes
to mirrors in the darkness,
dances with ghosts
who remember
the brush strokes of a life,
listening to other channels -
who gift
strange meaning
embedded automatically
between the magik
refrains of music
of the forgotten
the phantom heartbeat -
that one
is with the Baskervilles
running wild and free
barking with shadows
loving the luscious life licking
the uncontained within
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Candide Diderot Poem
Existentially you think
you know me
having eaten a slice
of my mind
delicious you think
the bubbling froth
of this poetry
peppered with sprinkles
of rising undertones
the sugar depth charged
unstirred, yet
touch the lip of my cup
you’d feel the burn
the tongue means to speak
unhoneyed
the kiss stings
the pain
swollen
and
sweet
Candide Diderot. '24
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Candide Diderot Poem
“The Unknown”
Something beautiful in the ugly of it all
raised its hand in the classroom
and asked,
is that all?
The Reader considered it all.
Silently.
Perhaps there is Life
on Mars after all.
Safely removed from the
pages of this world.
Who in their right mind
would query
The Unknown?
give proper and correct
answers to it all -
The Unknown.
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Candide Diderot Poem
You could look for me forever
in the well of words that
float or drown in your mind
and I’d be forever
your reflection
lapping at your fingers
inky love rippling,
teasing and intangible,
just a little out of reach,
like a fountain,
the sweet condition
slow burn,
bubbling up,
you feeling
the familiar,
you’re about
ready to spill,
mind wet,
you take a sip
from the cup
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Candide Diderot Poem
"That Place"
In that place where you were abandoned,
that place, they never thought, you’d come back from,
in that place where it is believed nothing grows
in the long night’s tortured darkness, deep down, well,
a spark lit something quite quiet, far removed and forgotten,
and now it grows rapidly, coiling inside,
snaking sharp-edged like mother’s tongue root
it transmits something alive, something like love,
its veins drawing back in again a loquacious life,
the moisture from tears, a necessary nourishment
from the lake of disbelief, betrayal, trauma and grief,
a bless'ed blooming in disguise,
the succulent luscious life those all important tears gift;
what spreads from the darkness and its erratic reach,
calling into it all embers of ethereal light? Now ultra-lit,
some revolutionary reincarnation arrives back from the dead,
it soaks the unseen light up greedily, for it is extraordinarily hungry,
to taste if but just a drop of sunshine in the glory of forever and ever,
this is what it dreams when it sleeps;
after the amen, hibernation,
it grows and it spreads robust, rigorous (not necessarily), yet,
like a beautiful irregular disease, there is no turning back
once the light kisses it and it has a taste for life,
it goes looking for some kinder heaven;
yes, this is accurate, I do believe -
from nothing something blooms
from nothing, the arrival, awake,
life lessons learned,
what is poor, and what is rich,
what is true and untrue
Candide Diderot. '24
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Candide Diderot Poem
Like a gecko, that one changes their colours
speaks in tongues long then short blue
climbing up and down walls clicking
translating the draconians’ poetic profusions
all are night creatures in the absence of light fluctuations
they scurry along the cracks over the white and the black
5 fingers 5 toes, quite quite reptilian,
efficient in the chosen environment, useful,
amusing a muse, then, when the mourning sun rises,
contradictory, scurrilous, misplaced, undeniably ugly,
yet cute
Night creatures, light framed
lone vigils, velvet skinned strict vigilantes
on all fours preying Carthusian monks
nakedly bathed in absinthe chartreuse
through their clicking chants, looking for true
through the glass onion
peeling back layers
shedding skin
on a wall
5 fingers, 5 toes
amusing a muse
Candide Diderot. ‘24
sadeness.
enigma.
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Candide Diderot Poem
"Major Love"
My dear Major Love,
are You following me yet?
all the sunrising storms read?
soliloquys too many to mention
my very brave Major Love
You’ll find me yet
tomorrow
is never too late
in this dreamscape
it won’t be the Love
that everyone suspects
it commenced inside and yet
You made it out two weeks late
are You following me yet?
Footprints left
oh so very left, yet You
are right, so very very right
it's all very
black and white
messy and neat
romance of a lifetime
my brave Major Love
yet, somehow I know You
this You know alone,
You feel incomplete
dear Major Love
You’ll find me yet
lost in the crowd of
any leftfield audience
their better minds in hand
do not fit this catcher’s mit
that is a fact, You can be certain
of that, my brave Major Love
but You, my dear Major Love
1st base, 2nd, and 3rd
always watched, as if an eyeball
in the sky hovers over You
holds You
fast and intent
watching for all
the home runs you have spent
I am not in the bleechers
I am fixed on You focused eyed
the winning ball pitching Life
It is only for You
in dreams
I will always meet You
are You ready?
it is all for You
stoic Major Love
one two three owl
one two three owl
eyes wide open You now
strike matched and outrun
winning the race, yet
sometimes we lose, Major Love
but We losers
get back up again
there is no giving up
there is never no giving up
all the way home
my brave Major Love
the game already won
the field wide open before You
You'll fall again, this much is true,
but We get back up again
there is never no giving up
my much loved Major Love
the whole field before You
my gloriously embarrassed
heart read Major Love
face flushed, You are
always Loved
my best Major Love
We dance
We love
We fall
We get back up again
always for Love
it is always for Love
courage, my much loved
only Major Love
Candide Diderot. ‘24
lux gvlm lux
"There's no eye in the sky
Just our love
No unobstructed view
No perfect truths
Just our love, just our love
And there's no verse
No monument of words
For our love
For they can't hold
All I know
About my love, about my love..."
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Candide Diderot Poem
“Wildflower Sky”
I.
The sky is a canvas of forgotten grey,
where heavy clouds wash the colours away.
Yet hidden beneath the shadow and chill,
the thought of her laughter is vibrant still -
a splash of bright crimson on winter’s cold floor,
the cardinal sings its music,
and makes the wide heavens
look lonely no more.
Old memories drift like sheets on a line,
bleached by the years and the passage of time.
But just at the edge, where the overcast fades,
a single wild lily refuses the shades.
He reaches across the distance and space,
and breathes in the springtime left by her face.
He has carried storms in the palm of his hand,
quiet, looming overcasts all over his land.
But minds have a way of chasing the gloom,
the moment a ghost of a flower starts to bloom.
One touch of her essence, a spark in the dark,
and the big, lonely sky becomes a meadow, a spark.
The clouds are just thoughts that refuse to stay,
drifting in monochrome, fading to grey.
But deep in the corner, where quiet things grow,
She is the wildflower he grew to know.
He closes his eyes to the wind and the air,
and touches the sky, because She is still there.
Now he carries the vastness of an empty blue sky,
where the slow, drifting clouds of his mind wander by.
Old memories drift like white sheets on a line,
faded and quieted by the passage of time,
an endless horizon of beautiful blue,
that waits for a tint of a brighter, warmer hue.
Afterall, clouds are just thoughts that refuse to remain,
and deep in the quiet, untouched by the rain,
a single bright wildflower refuses the shades -
the one vivid blossom that never quite fades.
A splash of rich colour on summer's wide floor,
the thought of her laughter makes him lonely no more.
He reaches across the distance and space,
to breathe in the springtime left by her face.
One touch of her essence, a spark in the dark,
and the big, blue expanse becomes a meadow, a spark.
II.
At a great distance removed,
She looks up -
at the vastness of the same endless blue,
where the slow, drifting clouds of her mind wander through.
Old memories drift like white sheets on a line,
swaying so soft, bleached in the passage of time,
an infinite canvas of quiet and space,
that waits for the warmth of a familiar face.
Afterall, clouds are just thoughts that the wind carries by,
and deep in the quiet of her own open blue sky,
she pictures his warmth like a sun-gold embrace -
the one steady light that time will never erase.
A splash of bright gold on the day's azure floor,
the thought of his smile makes her lonely no more.
She reaches across the great distance and air,
to send him her essence, a breath of a prayer.
One touch of his memory, a spark in the dark,
and her big, blue expanse becomes a meadow, a spark.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2026
|
Details |
Candide Diderot Poem
"Treasure Box"
The etymologist considered "themselves" singular;
like a butterfly collector they pulled the pincushion
out from the treasure box and proceeded to capture words
pinning them to every wall, they felt a certain kind release,
voodoo prayers ran through their mind subliminally,
the agony of adjectives and verbs being kept
beside ampersands conjoining objective pronouns subjectively
was a fluttering kind of let loose ecstacy
their creation connubial was escoteric, beautiful and ingenuous
and insanely free, in a voyeuristic sense, the art was in the act,
the pleasure was in the generosity of letting them all fly free
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“Collected specimens can be identified to species using genitalic dissections and other internal and external anatomy that only can be studied through microscope work on a pinned specimen. The preparation of the wings spread and legs out, makes all features easily seen, including ones you will never see in a live insect.”
“Gently insert a sharp pin between the veins on the front edge of the left forewing and pull the forewing into place. Place a strip of paper over the left wing and insert pins to hold the forewing in place. Make sure you place the pins around the wing and not through it.”
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Candide Diderot Poem
"All Hail"
Within the sky of blue,
embedded liked jewels
the many hidden colours,
the truest hues
arrive in storms,
where all the hail
like eyes falling
from the vaults
of heaven
melt bad dreams,
and the better,
lost in cloudy vision,
are drawn back in
and up again -
all hail
the Inclement,
and their
cloudy whethers
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2024
|