 |
Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
|
||||
| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 15:28:03 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 147178
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => THE HUMID PERIMETER
[time] => 2009-01-02 16:19:17
[hometext] => 2nd part of larger work see Transylvanian visions pt. 1
[bodytext] => THE HUMID PERIMETER Which one of you would kill the offending issues Of self of life, By sacrificing it’s precious extreme and beauteous strife? * Who is afraid of Elias, See the lightning shapes of god or The devil’s volcanic facial fires? Who’s your Jonah? Jobe caressing spiders, Your societies’ perfect passive sobrieties. Chief censor? Visions, adverts, Techno-ratic, addict perverts. Untesting opium, Unsettling sanctum. * Come with me down the streets Of unrealised dreams. Here happyness has slowly Dripped away, like water out of your cupped childhood Hands dripped away. Remember dry thirst & moist satisfaction. Here impact & ambition trickle Down the gutter, swallowed in the corner of some vast Grey-toothed mouth. Somewhere, sometime, every idea & aspirant Thinks & dreams & thinks he dreams as original as his fingerprint. But here every dream, loss and heartache, longing has The familiar shadows of a neighbour’s house. Only acceptance, survival & surrender Reveal the painful prints of the unique, The methods in waiting & self deception. Down such a labyrinthine & bedecked ghetto Watch despair unfold like asphalt. See the tragedy of loss in every cemented brick. Feel society’s even & safe worship, The sojourn in suburbia, waiting Come deliverance. The gardens sing of these Camelots & coronets Slowly dying there. * I played in the gutters often as a boy. I built three masted frigates From corks & toothpicks, Battleships from straws & ice-cream sticks. There I christened & launched them, There they ran before the breeze Sinking to a concrete maelstrom. * I remember something? Arts older than the planetary wheels. It’s an instinct an intimation, The dragon’s shadow across the landscape, The trespasser over your grave. An ancient mosaic in blood, A familiar scent in the nostrils. * The explorers of Empediclian mountains, Deserts, rivers, Readers in pots of ancient volcanic vastness. The town’s afraid of fear, the wanderer something. Bars on windows, Daughters in silk hose, I see you through the key hole, Let me touch your sweet soul. Morning in the market-place The charlatans as shopkeeps Congeal with congegal purses. In emporios & behind bars They recite their register verses, “Buy low sell high” he whispers, “That’ll be $9.95" he sniggers. They conspire to vanquish & excommune THE DRUIDS OF RUNE THE PROPHETS OF REASON, SHAMANS OF BEAT SAYERS OF TREASON, SAGES OF STREET & WITCHES OF WOOD, ALL THE ANGELS GOOD. “Sweep them from the corners, In unprofitable dust they scorn us.” Mental gypsies, lustful mysteries. The beggars of spirit & lepers of future, In rich cloaks of ignorance their profits they nurture. A home range & Rat trap, Flap jack & fly crap. A whore exchange With gold for change. * When the fraternity of natural mistery is forgot, A universal corpse begot, Only the assassin’s heavy pocket Is left for profit. Ledgers, notebooks, parchments hold the Figures & laws of scribbling action, all For rational murderous factions. * Descendant decay, Shadows of yesterday Wunderlust, forlorn and dulled, Sold cold, a spirit betrayed and culled. Regurgitation, a past fickle fascination Public masturbation. A New Deal, Big deal, Fates revolving pillory wheel. Repeat it on the radio The westward unsheathed sword of dusk In this our atlas of woe. * Oh, how that future was stolen by those unspoilt Clammy hands. Far off loud & hungry born from Baby’s booming lands. They dammed the river Excelsior, They built on shifting sands. In multitudinous swarms like bees Using words like these: Of “defiance, justice, peace & change”; Their children they only did estrange. They gave peace a chance & profit in it, Overcame all selfish limits. I forever shall curse that womb That made our world a diseased tomb. Like swarms of bees afraid to sting, They pull the bells their overseers did ring. Impotent, old, passive & fat They horde the rich new honey stored vat. That sweetest milk of discord, they hold & covet the corked gourd, Old mighty social cataclysms, Became rapacious breeding mental prysms. For those born out of their freedom We hold only this dying kingdom. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 168 [topic] => 64 [informant] => incognito_bombastus [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ambiguous )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©
Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster
All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com
All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.
Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com