MoonA Poem by R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe) I have created three different poems all with different tunes to them. I thought about titling this the Moon's Triad, but I might be adding more. I think these three lead into each other well. Enjoy.
The Moon's Eye The eye of the moon gazes upon the bright twilight of nightshade Only in ashes may we find turmoil we haven’t buried The grey clouds swallowing the scarecrows in the smoky mist of the barren mountains Hacking at the deadwood Burning bridges between heaven and hell Taking root in the basement of cardboard box skyscrapers in a city grown tired Trickling down from the wickermen of wax figures waning under the moon There is a madness you could never know Facing the sun, the shadows turn their backs to the wind waking against the dream Sometimes the dream is just reality Now isn’t that sad? The ghostly ghetto of a wasps nest that houses catacombs of honeyed flesh Taking a bite out of the sunset Bless the black holes in my veins Pumping air through the nostrils plugged by fingers crossed Hoping and praying I’ll choke on my words And die a better death Get out of my bed of nails and have my breakfast with all you open coffins Never has one listened to my whining better than a beaten dog Pulled by his collar, walking with death Isn’t man one to say that death is an old friend? Do you see him often?
Walking with his sugarcane scythe Smoking gaudy marijuana simmering under the hot summer’s swig of steel Devilspawn’s anomalous carnivalesque sonata whistling through his teeth Speaking quadriplegic onomatopoeia Written on his pigskin cloak flickering rippling like a drop in the ocean Steering his cathedral to allegiances of ethereal delirium Driving men
mad, who have been hitchhiking immaterial To reach their final destination Gaslighting em’ up along the way like a Molotov Heartstrings plucked by his guitar a husk of hollow words Living in the present moment pushing past, the future’s execution The crucible of souls damned by the alloys of time’s malachite Left behind by the spitting alabaster stars that split the night sky like an atom Mementos of sentinels bearing the off-brand title waves in the wide eyes of a full moon’s pupil Facing the sun, a shadow casting mirror images taken by God in his forest of photographs
Moving pictures of frame perfect times gone by Low key to the puzzle born out of wedlock Behind the barrel of a gun spitting fireworks from the chambers of a broken heart Lay it all on the table, for the tables have turned like a record someone broke long ago It’s funny how you can turn a blind eye to our empty sockets plugged into each other’s harmony The lunar communion of off-tune nocturnes blossoming from the sarcophagus Sprouting from the lips of the esophagus, the butterflies in my stomach Flowers of fairytales that took root in my mouth are finally singing their own songs in my silence Choking on every word that lost its way You can eat your heart out and still not feel full Empty picture frames that borderline the writing on the walls we built around ourselves The foundation that houses whole stories no one will ever read Death is an old friend, there for me when no one else was But I don’t hang with him, I’m a loner I get a knot in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again You could offer your heart and wish for the moon to turn the tides of battle Going through a phase, I thought that a drop in an ocean could still cause a ripple The waves will follow each other The sun will bring the shadows to light, and the night will swallow whole cities
And the people will wander endlessly Until the city stretches its wings over the dawn like a diesel phoenix made of metal casings Shooting shells firing upon the sky And the blood moon will look upon it all Through the eye’s of a homicidal ivory kaleidoscope A red harvest of every second dripping through the tangled corpse of darkness To many candled have been blown out By shotguns leaving heavenly bodies still as water God is said to be our father Do you see him often? Renovating churches, mosques, synagogues for the sheep that prey Building the brickwork for a stairway to heaven
The path to nowhere stays open The people are dying to see him The empty, broken home we all were raised in Before we too, fell like feathers, or cherry blossoms, in the wind’s baby breath Adopted by the earth from our incorporeal orphanage Souls that lost their way home The conductor of the orchestra born a lunar lunatic Watching over the cloverfields after dark Letting the music play scattered offtune notes Amidst the Salem of graveyard’s silent alabastrine xylophones like children on a playground I’ve been playing alone ever since I lost my way The moon keeps its eye on me from a distance Like an older brother with raven hair darker than hellfire, more priceless than stygian onyx Waiting for me to fall again Hoping this time I won’t get back up And tumble back into waves I have yet to drown under Only in shallows Can the castles in the sands of time dream of the abyssal cistern The gallows of our chains the prisons of bonds I have made with death Under the watchful eyes of a psychotic moon That has seen how blinded we by the eclipse of spectre’s souls
Neither fire nor ice Neither snow nor ash Just scaling gales of halos in the pleading cathedrals Climbing each others bodies to reach a higher moon to consume Manifesto's of maelstroms roaming planewalker's of frozen catacombs And inferno's journeying through eternities purgatory Metamorphesized by the cold blue eyes of the moon And red cloak of rapture unravelling from the enshrouded sun High enough in the rafters to hang themselves on black paper Written with pinpricks of ellipsis shapeshifting crippled And each will beat each other into a grey pulp of worlds Where alabaster blackness, chiffon obsidian will be one silvery pilgrimage And death will hold dominion over the four-leaf clovers That grew from the bottom of the abyss, And branched into the amphitheatres of heaven's revelation And infinity will slumber and grow older than the sonder of monoliths, time itself And forest's will grow from Gods' open mouths Umbilical guillotines of dreamlands' dwell Seamstresses weaving rebels in the treble of both heaven and hell
Darkness (The Light of This World)
The scattered chasms of Nirvana's jasmine avatars dancing in Saturn's megalomaniac avalanche of belladonna Clockwork of mockingbirds perched on steampunk monks listen to the glisten in the distance Praying to Himalayan urbanization the exoskeleton of metal Valkyries covering the umbrage Biomechanical calamity spanning Avalon's canopy city’s of veridian The wings of scrapyard graffiti taped to the aether of gravedigger homo-sapiens Lifting oblivions’ of infinity, the photosynthesis given to Olympians Schism of the rhythm of obsidian deliverance Valhalla's alleyways paved by sable daisies swaying in the waves of faceless civilization The sun spun by thunderclaps Rapture's underworld tumbleweeds of clouds howling chords To the moon's restless exodus of neogenesis Renaissance to a monarch butterfly of iron skyscrapers afloat Taking apart the stars and building vermilion soliloquy’s revolt Of guillotine ventriloquists spreading Armageddon In meadowland's like heaven’s evangelion The string's of angel wings, the veil's of fairy-tales The
Salem of creation crashing cardiovascular acrobats Celestial vessels of velvet melancholy that dwell polyphonic Sing with their iridescent blessings Ascending hallucinogenic remedies of biochemical eulogies to the primordial aurora borealis Cascading raiment of deity's seance enshrouded by hallelujah oozing illumination Watching the world spin unravelling satellites of cataclysms dining on the Milky Way Intangible branches of the spiderweb vinyl Tangled to the music playing braided with reincarnation Like a drop of the moon hitting the lake in twilight's bloom That hollow dream of eye's buried watching fostering the blossoms I used to see the sun buried in the night, Like my window had been painted over black And I had stuck pinpricks into pieces of the painted black So that sainthood would not quite wither So that pieces of the sun would come through coldblooded as a silver heart And it came in still as if it were the spirit of a poltergeist I had become And I realized the moon was just a buried sun A window that had been painted over A life that never was what it could be And I was just the reflection of the light That, in turn, cast my own shadows Like a child I never wanted And then I realized it wasn’t so different from me as a young boy Looking in the sun and expecting not to go blind To see everything that blinded me As if I wasn’t born to be that way My eye open until it closes like an old wound Leaving a scar on my featureless face And the spotlight in nightshade goes out And my shadow is free And he leaves me in the dark, again With my nightingale raven brother As we watch the nothingness pass me by Alone Seeing it all pass me by A small body collapsed under everything that wasn’t The scattered chasms of Nirvana's jasmine avatars dancing on The sun spun by thunderclaps Like a drop of the moon hitting the lake in twilight's bloom Widowed to the baptismal limbo of riddles spindled to metaphysical hymnals Going mad, watching it all fester there in its bright sun, alive And I, so cold, so, so cold
Wolf’s Wildhunt Under Bloodmoon
Starstruck a chord I hang by loose ends that have escaped my grasping claws Restless notes speak volumes in barcode The old war wounds of a star-crossed moon Pockmarked by the artillery of guillotines Smarting arteries loquacious articulations Striking the chords of my heartstring’s instrumental Tuned by luminous muses amused with the fugitive in a cell Hanging by a double-helixes’ noose The phoenix obtuse fusing with the communion Time stalks its prey in the everglades of nightshade Greyed by the foul shadows’ an hourglass I walk past the corridor to rigour Mortis Born formless as the moon upon my palms In my sweat, leopards of the desolate terrain cry God’s name Alone in the crowd of deadmen born dead Dead in their new birth living their paradise Under the covers of the velvet Belladonna shivering in obsidian oblivion Cleaned by the serpentine daydreams of moonbeams dry as my tongue The empty rays of sunlight set ablaze the inferno’s of Dante’s eternal The rain batters me as a father Turned to weak to protect his family from the winds’ scalpel I guide the shadows’ chapel choir to another battlefield Raven’s saviours' sabre brazens gracious mayhem Spades of aegis, the blade’s of graveyard satyrs Listen to the rain fade like a fallen angel’s soul trickling down the drain Am I not the one that maims? You gave me not another name Towering Gatling cannons of cavernous mandibles Satanic sabotage of the God’s harbinger The fog’s offspring forged in the stomach of midnight smith will-o-wisps of the distant crucifixion Shed light bloodied armour, let the nude illusion of my scarred sculpture arch its back and howl The darkness’ architecture A mouth consumes the malleable manifestation of civilization And the stage which was set darker than the dawns' fingers Poking through the swirling spiral clouds Carries on without my act Or the cross upon my back Born from psalms of blood pacts Buried underneath the sabbath of Babylon’s mountain path Wrath between Elysium’s cracks Defeated dreamland’s anguish sanguine handicraft Tumbling in the wind is the humbleness of sin Wear its emblem on my skin Graffitied beating hearts of kin The blood no longer seeps Between the crevice’s of heaven creep deep beneath bare feet Unravelling ivory towers of malice Foul bittersweet words sour, and I swallow my own tongue Like the burden of the coming Sun Wiling moon commanding planetary youth I am the flower (born offtune) I have yet to bloom
To Valkyries' elsewhere in the translucent juniper's tomb Bioluminescent sepulchre of an incandescent womb
© 2020 R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Author's Note
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R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Burlington, Halton, CanadaAboutMost of my poems can be differing lengths depending on the time you want to spend reading them. You can avoid reading anything brackets, or read it all. If you want an in-between, you can read only th.. more..WritingRelated WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
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