How strange to recognize within the prison wrapped In flesh the key that is the fruit of love; alone I find myself lamenting constantly this form, This Protean existence powered into change By whirlwinds of mirages raging through my mind; A sickness, an eternal unawareness of A part of my own being. So I know that I Do not know, cannot know about this body mine. The liability of my perception is A curious thing, I and others in this house Of glass: dysmorphia; in friends appearing as The madness, to beholders though as life in death. I very often wonder what aversion those Ascetics felt within their skin, aversion for Their own skin, life, the denigration they endure To fall just short of their ideal. The bitter fruit: Assumption that a closer perfect form exists But not assumption of it. Never. Likelier As well to languish in the gulf between the dream And harshest existential recognition of Reality, distorted and deranged by the Proximity to that desire. The ones who lived Impossibly, did they receive their vision in The madness of their need for that perfection? Did They find escape from their contempt for life that's less Than it in fantasy or flawed existence? Did They live? And did they find the seedling of that dream That's buried in our waking world; could they have found The key of love that flesh and mind prostrate themselves Before? And living in its love dissolve the deep Impossibility of reconciling those Two worlds: the one of ever wretched almost; and The other: wholeness, a gestalt acceptance that Its worth is not defined by sum, and as such loved. Some surely did; if they could do it, then could I?
Author: Nick
A truth in every moment leaves its burning trace
A truth in every moment leaves its burning trace
As my desire for you; now Time I must accept
Is true. I feel it in the agony that steps
Abreast with loneliness at every single pace.
My hands need yours to fill their palms, my fingers need
Their counterparts to intertwine; I need my legs
Around your waist; I need your lips when silence begs
For anything to fill the space that silence breeds.
You soon forgot the quicksand of my alcohol
Addiction, how you used to stand by me my friend,
Despite the pain you still allowed me to depend
On you, and with your care you raised me from my fall.
When I was starving you encouraged me to eat
And nourished me on death's door; your enduring love
Was there each day we shared a breath of praise above
Our suffering, for once enjoying just to be.
Your love of me discounts your grace, for now that we've
Reversed our roles, you can't remember how you saved
My life. You're scared, because obsessions make you rave
You shy away from me; I live for your reprieve.
Undoing can't be done, you cannot unbecome
The man I love, so never think you don't deserve
The love I long to give one dear to me; reserve
No doubt that all your struggles will be overcome.
Again we'll find our peace together, we can lay
Across each other's lap in turns and listen to
Industrial and walk along an avenue
And read bit on quiet days; I’ll pause and say:
So tell me all about that one, please let me hear...
And for a second we can live within the arts,
so soon the conversation fructifies our hearts,
Becomes the culminating triumph over fear.
Leng T’checking Account
These microtransactions right now Are quite like that torture renowned– By a thousand cuts: death. So too wallets lose depth; I'd call it leng t'checking account.
In the primal soul of man
In the primal soul of man,
How can words surpass the burden,
Needing first deciphering
Before a touch? Reason–both a key
And a wall. And what inherent
Deception of context semantics
Requires to descend to the deepest
Ineffable soul so seldom reached.
Words can't dance with hammers from
The obscurest psychic crevice
Cracking boundaries known least
Of spirit's space. Hear the subtlety
Music bests our subtle language
With. Senses exalting within the
Ancestral remembrance of something
Transcendently uncommoditized.
We imagined instruments
Made by human hands, but truly
They emerge from dimly known
Dimensions: forms, holy conduits,
Governed only by acoustic
Arrays in a wave of creation,
Inventions discovered to grant us
A path to that holy realm at will.
Now we have created more.
More than instruments and more than
Tools. We've built machines, a new
Immersion site where we may submerge
And revere reverberations;
The state of the art these mechanics
Engenders revealing much more of
The musical universe that is.
Newer skins to wear for new
Ultrahuman beatings on the
Drums; new whines inside a throat
That will remain griefless all the time;
This uncovered music's breadth and
True ocean–the river we crossed of
Entirely ethereal things and
We found ourselves human more for it.
What a brilliant confluence
Swallows me! Fantastic music
Singing everywhere, aloud
New instruments fuse with nature, sound
Never extant here in space, but
Beneath the eternal amazement
Beatitude listens and opens
The door to the tabernacle's gift.
Instruments fantastic, from
Their imaginary pistons
Perfectly exacting slams
To samples, wind, echoes looping and
Drowning me in artifice to
The point that all sound is composed now
United: the howls of the beasts to
The crackling ice, us, it's all a song.
Light Pollution
Ancestors, both distant and not even, If you heard how night's eliminated Host has disappeared, could you conceive of The celestial phalanx decimated? The ineffable experience and Vista: human being under cosmos– Then to know that only ignorance and Blindness are your children's heirlooms, almost; Never knew those stars, could you envision: They will not grow up beneath the same sky, And they won't look up to those same heavens. Night now hovers dim like midnight cat's-eyes Up beyond our urban night-light's glowing. You were children awed by constellations, How would your eyes then reflect the lowly Capsule made of lamps which has replaced them? All you barely ancient navigators, Your ubiquitous map that was clear is Now so faded; augurs, fortune-sayers, All the wisdom sought in yesteryears has Vanished and were you to throw those yarrow Stalks, when they would come to rest unanswered You would find in all your mystic sorrow Earth transformed, irrevocably transferred. Oh van Gogh! The world adores your vivid Night the most–for those whom it's been given It's the final human one permitted.
How late have I been waking lately; there
How late have I been waking lately; there Is that resplendent sunlight gone; so soon It's spent before long, leaving me the Moon To sing oblations with in shaking air. Awaiting something? Taking heart from where? The bending hours of lunar song attuned To tender fears of something wrong that's hewn In slates of time's delineating shares. With idleness beside assurances Deciding where I work's irrelevant, Despairing then to care for anything, Abiding all these tried endurances Belied with shared ennui so evident That erring in comparing must I sing.
That Tuesday evening there came
That Tuesday evening there came Down heavy ebon feathered Death. So heavy; dreamlike, unreal; We here ridiculously. Life In silence; what do we do? Held orphan-eyed outside of time. Where are we now? It's unknown, All terra incognita where We feel alone and unsure. What language breaks the barrier? Death strikes us dumb, isn't known More now, is no more understood. What words, directions or cries Make any difference, any sense Here on the shoreline of grief? You light-polluted cataracts Long dead as well up above, Sparse cosmic veil, what say you then? All words becoming confused, All distance menacingly stretched, Souls isolated in sand, Cells consummated into glass. No flesh can speak in the tongue Which renders right mortality. “Thank you for being a friend;” Thank you for having been a friend. “You must take care of yourself;” Take care yourself without me here. What fear interprets a word, How frantically the mind goes deaf! Swan singing under the fog? Lost soul already calling out, Voice reaching back from beyond Gray promontory of despair? I feared I'd lose you as well; Ears deaf with tears, insensible. So very distant I shake, So impotently wrung by dread Here far away like Isolde, Trapped, fearing for my lover's life, Who wanders lonely in what Feels like a banishment right now.
Can’t I reach and touch you
Can't I reach and touch you, Break the grasp of paralysis, If I cry out could every jagged word cut into fate? Why must caution stay me, Force our sighs to reverberate And chill the emptiness inside this dungeon that we share? God I long to find you Standing clear of the crowds and poised As lonely as the silent morning at the terminal. Everyone is waiting. How we long for the world to thaw, But those too eager show their neck for reaping Winter's swing. So for Spring so distant, For the lovers, and you and me, Oh, none of us can share a touch, as such I only sing; Sing for now however, Though the meetings ahead we crave, These words are for today and you whom I can't touch just yet. When the day comes music Playing sweetly in meetings held In crystal stasis effervesces, flowing free at last. Silence now is louder, That is why I compose for this, These times detained alone together: this to bridge the gap. Let my poem touch you, Take these words for the company I can't yet give you, take them as a surety of our bond. Keep them for the quiet Night, and listen when you desire To hear that music of tomorrow; know I'm waiting there. Waiting there but waiting Just the same in our lonely now– You house me in your heart, and I rejoice from far away. Please, for the caresses I would give, for the kisses you Deserve, a touch that oughtn't be delayed, let this suffice.
A day fleeting and pirouetting
A day fleeting and pirouetting, Torrent of moments cascading in light, A flood played in with childlike vetting Which is to say unappraised til the night. Yet life savored without reserving Terror for hours we relinquish with ease Was gold streaming, too much deserving Hands that could only travail as they please. So soon seasons are reified and Slumber in eddies of restless repose, Then time rushes and crashes high on Rocks of diversion beyond youth's control. The New Moon in the black sky rises, Cloudy the twilight opaque is aroused, And time's current is catalyzed, is Rendered so vicious in midnight's dark shroud. The font flows in the hazy cover, Often unseen and elusive in sound, When young leisure like leaving lovers Swaps all the pastimes to idleness found. The young Moon with its novice lantern Casting its waxing and slanting caress Upon night like a journeyman who, Working new wonders, is ever impressed. The new night is now lit up slightly, Partially visible now in the stream Which too gambols, pretending spritely, Calming its tempo like moments in dreams. It shows some of its pace so freely, Stretching its waves like the hum of a drone When, what changes? The pace discreetly Morphs through a tidal mechanic unknown. The night passes in strange distortions, Warps in a swirling temporal delay; Its flow quickens then lacks all motion, Even seems still as it speeds to the day. The deep hours in their coalescing Over the cup of perception beguiles The sense subtle. The waves progressing Faster and slower than sense reconciles. As day surely ascends upon the Misty horizon though only half-seen, So too after enduring longer Reaches of time than its wingspan would seem. A sense stumbling through every midnight Into the sunlight's eternalized now For one moment: the fleeting insight Teaching how fickle a sense we're endowed. I lie watching the coming, going Moments parading deceived by the show To think, time must be slowing, showing Now in my aging the way that it flows. It's not so. And the time is ever Subject to passion and boredom and need In my eyes; so despite endeavors, Moments will never relent to one speed. In truth never its pace adjusting, Constant above less the turmoil inside; My want (always a wanting something) Turning attention to patience defied. A clear moment inert and empty Offers a chance to observe and be felt, The tide's changes from flowing gently: Faster or slower are symptoms of self. The time slipping between my fingers, Powerless days that will always feel lost To blank history's dustbin linger Ever repeating themselves as the cost. I am young, well, comparatively, Dreaming my daydreams as yet to appear, And time's distance unravels from me, Stretching the seconds from that time to here. Those days waiting in unfulfillment, Patient but restless, unable to hold The now blending together till then Pouring beyond me in murmurs untold. Unreal present of concrete moments, How can you fasten my heart far away? I live errantly, so expectant, Waiting, unable to live in today. And so, drifting while sadly singing, Must I accept for companion the moon And no other among the flinging Foam and the waves while I drift off to Soon.
One drop of water
One drop of water To sate a perennial thirst. The trickle with violent burst: first, Last; lasts no longer. Spent quickly, driven, Received, as it were, a lone thought But never so emptied: no draught Dries what is given. This droplet's ringing Aloud on the lonely sandbar, The splash on my forehead sends far Notes sweetly singing: Front, back, replaying Across the interior soul, Invoking the melody whole; Please, craft its staying. Please do remind me Of cups that have yet to be filled; Behold there that final drop spilled Itself will find me. Show me its roundness Reflecting inside its globe all The beauty of living, writ small, Which flows around us. How everything in A tiny wet sphere revolves, then Re-evolves! Its dance dissolves in New tones it brings in. Hues stretch as you do, And were you to pop, those sights split, Appear in your troupe as light flits, Song changed anew too. Teach me to mutate, To harness an angle without, To sing for the song and not doubt Whence comes the music. Teach me to fracture, Apart and in pieces, whole still, A different portrayal, song will Be manufactured. Then you be swallowed And then I'll perceive my thirst, worse Than ever before, with love nursed Once more and hallowed. You drop, become me, Like you am I drunk by Earth's view. I'm finding myself in need too: Songs must come from me. Cry water, water! Encircling around, but don't think Or else you'll forget to drink; sing: Songs; music: foster.
A place for my poems 