The sea is rough stirred with tea spoons
Dishes swim in kitchen made dreams,
Crossing the land hooked onto a washing line.
The landscape is dirty linen, clothes and sheets
Being washed, ironed and folded out again and again,
A little rain never hurt no-one.

Words are flames in a cooker
Spread out like a jigsaw table cloth,
Staring into tealeaves and seeds
Creased and scattered into the breeze.

My only friends
Kitchen appliances speak to me,
As I escape dodging around empty seats
Curled around the tip of a fork.

Dishes swim in kitchen made dreams
Crossing the land hooked onto a washing line,
Words are flames.
Kitchen applian

Degrees Warped By FragmentsDegrees Do Worse Warped By Fragments

I.
I sit among a contingent of fresh-faced athletes doing mostly
Nothing,

Reading a book on the crosses of cosmogony when I feel a hand
Tapping

On my shoulder. I turn around like a toddler's wind-up toy and
Find

No face to match the arm suspended in space by something unseen

II.
Faces of clocks abound on every wall I sit across from, next to or
Near;

It makes no sense to me. Half an hour will pass before I have slept
Enough

Hours, and yet exhaustion always accompanies me, even during the
Brief

Rush of excitement I feel when the clocks cease ticking.

III.
Library books are beginning to pil

napoleon at sevenan old guitarist sitting
on a watercolor hill,

plucking on six strings absent.
two halves of breasts running near

under van gogh's starry night,
under black-white guernica.

everything in all jigsaws,
everything in trepid cubes.

a girl before a mirror
with violin and guitar,

sitting with three musicians
and a woman with her book,

stippling all realities
of intangible maternity.

hours yielding from dalí's clock,
minutes sub-the alchemist

like rain, like raining, like rained—
portraits wilt with abstract smiles.

clear sfumato, oh still life,
napoleon at seven.

shooting star sonataI saw you staring out over the blue and bushy earth
under a lamp post burning dim and yellow when
i slid across the opal sky in june. i spun and zang like a rocket down
like a spark from dusty shadows on the moon.

Like a spark from dusty shadows on the moon i
darkened, twinkled, -saw the crushing weight below the clouds-
the tight box houses crunched tiny corridors and frowns.
so cold it must be there, blown about by wind by wind and drenched by rain and washed out by rain 'till nobody has color anymore.

And nobody has color anymore. like dried up
vines that wrap around a tree and
died
while killing.
--that is the most natural

senses time in breathing spaceA slow
nervous
connection

It's serious and I
have problems
not laughing

I've used the lazy feline
smile before
but

this is taking
longer than usual

My war ceases

I am
for a moment

nostalgic
of the numbness
feud

Carrying my new equipment
sensitively

to generate this particular effect

It's my way of extracting
good qualities from the room

Now
I'm eating

spiders

because here I'm not sure how

to be afraid
I seem stayed
by getting late

But

I still miss my own
and I can't wait for home

to make me remember

what power
really sounds like

Science ExperimentSecond chance,
Will be different.

This time,
It's my turn.

Analyzed,
Like an experiment.

Check vitals,
Write them down.

Determining,
morals and ethics.

A Road Travelled Only OnceOn sleepless nights
I feed my insomnia
with tales of my past.

I retell the stories
I've told many times before
and dwell in the glow
of my memories of glory.

Bitter moments
of hope, loss
and sheer stubborness
become flesh
once again.

Some call it
the foolishness
of the old and wrinkled,
such as myself,
but I can't seem to agree
- I was a fool but once.

That one time
is locked away,
caged deep beneath the bottom layers
of subconsciousness,
bound and shackled
to a fate of infinite oblivion.

ghost.i.
today
i cleaned out your house.
i vacuumed until the last bread crumbs had left the living room carpet.
i scrubbed every stain from the kitchen counter.

i swept away all the memories of you.

ii.
you snapped off branches from the family tree to light your own fireplace.

i hope you choked on the smoke.

iii.
your ---

if i had known you at all i would be able to describe your presence.
but i don't.

instead,
i am scared of a voice that is no longer here,
i am haunted by a name i can't remember,
and every time i think of you,
i remember there is a hole inside me, that you put there.

iv.
what am i to expect
when everything is

Sorrows End

Past sorrows cling to hearts
never allowing thoughts of hope
to reach the light of day
in unending dark we grope
as our vision turns to grey

I see not what lays before me
but that which lays behind
the hurt that stares forlornly
of which I can't be blind

wishes fade to shadows
hopes disappear
ceasing to row boat paddles
a life no longer held dear

my eyes no longer look forward
my mind has been trained back
watching for the inevitable sword
as it falls upon me - it's final hack.

Love's giftWe make the worst decisions
and learn to love this nakedness
For we won't be the ones
to live with the consequences
It's a gift we give to our children
to be handed down like your mother's silver

We shall take a bite
and they will feel the weight
For what we do is done in ignorance
but they will know better (now that it's too late)
and they will struggle with our mistakes
trying to turn back the clock

An impossibility to fix what we've broken
yet they try and fail, and try again
As if persistence could make up for years of neglect
years of abuse, years of dysfunctional thought
But oh, they will try..
..to live with our greate

TotalityIf you could only see

See what I see?

If you could see

through generations of time
see beyond this facade of mortality

would you see yourself

as you are or what you might be

Within each blade of grass

already a field

each seed already a tree

you

already the devine

prescriptionThe doctor was probably
wrong,
if I wait much longer
I will morph into a bird, and
flap away on long white coatsleeves.

love and hunger hold hands
not in the way
that you can deliver on a tray,
but on the mornings that
are cool and charged
who do you reach for?

Today, I breathed
and changed
out of my clothes, but
did not know you in those soldiers,
breathing too with
the mannequin expression
that held another kind of change

darling, I am not fit
to speak your name I am not
a patient patient
I already know that
even without metal when I look at you I see
reflections, amazing grace on both of
our faces
Neon cancers i

The Darkest PlaceI feel the water
Drip down my face
Creating distortions
And ripples in space
The water is heavy
When it falls I shake
Reality is fading
My survival at stake
The ground opens up
The water drags me down
No amount of nightmares
Can describe what I found
Millions of innocents
Dying every possible way
Burned and vivisected
None will se another day
Fathers raping daughters
Mothers killing sons
Siblings join in battle
Still they are not done
The screams of the dying
Are all that I can hear
And even they are evil
Filling me with fear
These people do not care
If the hurt or kill or maim
And I alone am ready
Our world will be

Under Painted SkiesUnder painted skies
I sigh,
My breath a puff of frost.
The unlit lamps
Adorn
The magnificent horizon.
Glassy water ripples,
Reflects.
The air is still and crisp.
Chimney trails drifting
Lazily,
The smokey smell
Reminding me of youth.

Passing my window;
Silhouettes.
Road twisting round the fields.
Slowly, shy stars appear,
Winking,
As if in greeting.
My simple thoughts
Moving
With the roads and music.
Under painted skies
I sigh
For the beauty
All around me.

2-11-06

Dead Man ScrawlingScrawling on a piece of paper
Writing just to feel
Pen to paper, wasting time
None of it is real

The people of my mind
Stories in my head
Memories long forgotten
Make things to fear instead

Of crumbling castles
Of dangerous dragons
Of fearful figments
Made by my imagination

Of horrible monsters
Of cannibals craving
Of hideous intentions
Monsters in the making

Perfecting the letters
Marks of pen beneath my hand
Watch me, with words
I'll mark you where you stand

Dead man bound by hideous creation
Fascination
I entrap thee, just like me
Forever theirs, forever mine

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the carnival of ash.

by ~Khrishna, Jul 22, 2006, 9:57:30 AM
Literature / Poetry / Experimental / Surrealism

If in time of flowers there should come a waltzing hour when
a watercolor caravan breaks through a grove of charcoal trees and from the boughs you see some tiny wizened fingers flash the secret skies a sign at morning,
then take care to bend the sunbeams, shush the bed springs, dust me from the dirty corner, sweep my bones, cajole my feet, for the king has called off melancholy.
It's a carnival of ash.

If in time of needles you are dancing with black beetles and you hear a velvet beating from the heart within the ground
get away from torpid thinking pay no mind to time or cost
move your mouth to sound the call
this is the carnival of ash.

Hear the wicked little nettles pine for places in processions. Here the mandarin orange doctors scrape lapels and scrub their noses. They sell potions disproportioned with a disease for every cure, and little more, their pockets lined with plastic, for that bit you buy but never see, so equable and agreeable they are. Here too musicians play at dice, with little meter and made up scores and fulsome ladies laced with lust will sing along
this is the carnival of ash.

Get your palm red, get your lips read, get your cookie cutter fortune so you know where love may lie.
Oh! the sky's a traitor, nights no dancer, light the fires, blaze the brier, drink up spurious desires,Quick! it's almost done.
it's time to pay.
Here comes the ticket cricket, crass and sober
he wont play around, he'll muss your hair.
"In god i trust. In god i trust. In god i trust" he'll say,
"all others must pay cash."
This is the carnival of ash.

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otiose pleonasm.[clearly]
and unpolished at that
but i will unapologize now
for any placating i may do later.

we do not defend.

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~Natasek Mar 21, 2009 Hobbyist Writer

Featured here:
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If you don't wish to be featured please let me know.
Thank you!

~cheekymonkeyali May 30, 2008

A tell tale heart perhaps, quoth the raven

Useful things are rarely of any real value

~cheekymonkeyali May 30, 2008

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door

If in time of needles you are dancing with black beetles and you hear a velvet beating from the heart within the ground

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more."

get away from torpid thinking pay no mind to time or cost
move your mouth to sound the call

Perhaps you subconsciously absorbed it from The Simpsons' Hallowe'en episode

~Khrishna May 30, 2008

not really it was more of a purple pedal swirl i wrote on a burnt milk binge.
thanks for reading it.

~subtlenuances Feb 16, 2007 Writer

"If in time of needles you are dancing with black beetles and you hear a velvet beating from the heart within the ground"

Fucking Stunning.

~Khrishna Feb 21, 2007

thanks.

~madeusmile Dec 31, 2006 Hobbyist General Artist

This is such an incredible piece of work! The vocabulary is penetrating, the verses are thoughtful but not in a planned, box-y sort of way. It reminds me of T.S. Eliot, actually, and quite frankly, I love it. Favorite!

~Khrishna Jan 2, 2007

it's just a ramble with a rhythme.
you know, something for the kids to dance to. hah
your comparisons are too kind. but thanks.

i appreciate the
encouragement.

~DrowningByWords Dec 30, 2006 Professional Writer

compelling, imagintive and endearing

your use of language is riveting
and your imagery is enchanting

~Khrishna Dec 31, 2006

you're too kind really. but thank you. :bows:

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