A Poem by R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

I stopped writing for a while, I just wasn't able to do it. A friend of mine told me I should write a poem about not being able to write. I'd already done that, so I ended up with this.


Unveiling the wail of a wavering gale silent in the migraine of a wyvern’s diaphragm

An experiment rears its ugly head

The gears of death’s dreadnought reinvent oppression

Under iron words like bloodcurdling vertebrae

But the words don’t come

Behemoth’s in the Colosseum won’t speak the Phoenix of double helixes from the clearing of their spirits

The lyrics fall off the page because the spit from my tongue has rained so many songs inaugurating that the ink drips from my esophagus drifting in the eclipse nauseous off the cliff of initiative

Have I missed the last song?

Has my wit slipped down the rifts and cracks of an afterlife, has my fire died, is vibrancy dilating in the gravestone stagnating?

Am I just the last laugh cackling a gaffe cracking a whip of cinders serendipitous screaming clitoris in the urethra placenta of a fallen voice?

Has my guardian angel left me to do something with nothing but my bare bones terraforming glorious in the voracious hatred of my own devastation?

Please, don’t leave me behind

Don’t just leave me in this ditch after robbing me of everything I am

Everything I ever was, and what I could be

This mind has been circumcised so many times that I’ve been fucked with to the point of desperation, to the climax where I have ripped the skin from the flesh to mark myself with something meaningful

I am contemplating revelations of redemption, I live to crave the one thing I can do right

Give me the will to make a quill from my umbilical cord void and rebirth the rollercoaster curtains of uncertainty

Make me whole again, a slave to the page I serenade with your voice, and I will give a maelstrom of failures and bless your essence with maybe one or two successes, but I will never give up seeking perfection’s emptiness in the nexus of progression venturing every higher through the quiet leviathan of my mind surviving the tidal waves, until I drown malcontent in the alleyway’s bays fading away bathing in the ink think tank vaccination incandescent blessed inception with the sceptre to the depths of the death’s thunderous underworld depicts luminous the lunatic of wordsmith literature a disfigured blizzard in the inferno hurricane of the astral plane asylum’s aether cane reincarnation blossoming the needed operations of a ghost

Make me whole, Beowulf

Let me lift your body of words, your epics of souls, collosus let me stitch my anthem back together from pocket rocketeer of antimatter caverns in your core, exploring the orbiting vortex overture of acoustic euphemism blooming human illuminating the cold stasis oasis of my mind’s bassist

I don’t mince words, cause you made me eat them, swallowed like my poems are my own damn flesh choking until I can’t get the taste of wordplay off my tongue, the textured complexion of a renaissance of rose gold prose out the balcony alcove of my mouth, the cloaca damnation of my throat a lycanthrope, a vocal organ orchestrating salvation

My song the rambling piano howling of a hellhound cannibal catapulting wrangling evangelical rebellion, willow wisps of animalistic amphibians amplifying geysers on the wilder horizon's dialect of the rampaging chasms of my stanzas scavenging cadavers like a labyrinth dabbling the madness avalanche of cataclysmic rhythms forgiven by the chivalrous vindictiveness of a ditty of oblivion

Whimpering crimson religion of pentagram flamboyance with a smudging of my blood, the ink my message, my flesh, my essence

Take every emotion fresh from the ocean crevasse and challenge the champions of language, the synapses' anguish of a hangman’s adventure a praying mantis amputation of an acolyte's homicidal bride the black night of writing, the poltergeist rising tyrannical through the satanic candlelight of a starry night’s sky the silver eye like a moon looming over illusive clovers of poetry

All poets are driven and gifted by the rhythmic lust combusting within their lungs, the need to graffiti their minds dendrites through the grunge

Those who are satisfied by words alone will never taint a page’s skin in ink

My flesh has bared so many of the b*****d children you named poems

Prose revenants of heaven’s breath deafen the senses of sonnet frolicking the memories of a leprechaun's vengeance

I edit their first moments through dismemberment, your heavy-metal armageddon black devastation resonating devilish

With that mutilation rejuvenating my free-spirited deviant freedom the ink mayhem I write the asylum linking pages bright incinerating brazen off the solace of these wyvern’s names in inspiration’s praise

Hoping for a dragon’s vagabond Ragnarok to reclaim honour for the diabolical obelisks of hollow souls who have never heard a poem

A whirlwind of words hurricane vapour, and scream the cerebral spine grapevine semen demonizing evening of your name’s articulation

Discriminating the devil of literature's obituary, made a maelstrom of artisans, from the cartilage of nirvana's arson, harvesting the dictionaries, mothering infinite visionaries

© 2019 R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

Author's Note

R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)
A big thank you to a friend of mine who told me to meditate in order to write and the proper state of mind to write. That helped me, and I greatly appreciate it!

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.

My Review

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This does not look anything like writers block to me! Hopefully this has ended your dry spell! I was focused on the first "installment" thinking -- this is a very original way to approach the topic of writers block. I love the way you conveyed the sense of being in an excruciating state of trying to get the words to flow again, using SHOW instead of tell, with vivid contorted imagery. But then I paged down & realized this goes on & on & on . . . a bit too much, I felt. But whatever it takes, I sure understand why you wouldn't want to turn off the spigot! You definitely show that you have a love of choosing interesting unusual words & you pay attention to how words sound together (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

Posted 5 Days Ago

R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

4 Days Ago

Thank you so much for reading, and giving me some feedback! I tend to make really long poems, it's s.. read more
It appears that you’re trying to impress the reader with how literary you can be, and are making extensive use of your thesaurus. But the thesaurus was created to find the perfect word, not alternates that might sound more impressive. And the reader wants something that will move them emotionally, not set them looking for the dictionary. In this there's seems to be no cohesion of thoughts between lines, or adjacent words

Of course one might think you’re playing with a spoken word poetry generator to create this, but I know you wouldn’t do something like that and post it as your own poetry, right?

You did ask…

Posted 1 Week Ago

R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

1 Week Ago

Well, I enjoyed writing this, and I'm happy with what I've written. You have the right to your own o.. read more

1 Week Ago

Of course you can write it any way you want to...if you're writing it for you alone. But you posted .. read more
R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

1 Week Ago

So your saying the meaning behind my words has to be there right, even if hard to understand? I appr.. read more

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2 Reviews
Added on June 14, 2019
Last Updated on June 17, 2019
Tags: inspiration


R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)
R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

Burlington, Halton, Canada

For those who wonder why I have a silly username, I've been using this name because I find it funny. Potatoes are never really that sinister. The e on the end of potato is because I'm a potato with to.. more..