Night and Day, Thirsty and Sated

I wrote the first part at midnight, the second, over the span of the coming weeks. It took a while, but then the next two parts came. I hope you will enjoy reading these four pieces. I worked hard.

I Sit In My Room At Midnight

 

I sit in my room at midnight

Inspiration a blossom withering

The sickly sweetheart

That beats my cauliflower eardrums

Ticking like a clock or a time-bomb

My eyes darting salmon in a river of mud

Trying to breathe in the dust

The hands of the clock

Cuff me to my bed

And have their way with my sanity

They touch my wounds

And I do nothing but bleed nothingness

There is nothing left to vomit up more

To be such an empty shell

To be so full of myself

As even I know

That every word drowns

Without a mouth to leap from

And the riverbed and the pillow clouds

Sleep with one eye open

Behind the silence of a closed door

Even a stairway to heaven can be unhinged

From the picture frame

That proudly sits alone among the wallflowers

That painted themselves water-colourblind-men

And midnight is still

Somewhere over the edge of the moon

And my diamond in the rough

Buries the walls, the bed, the voice

And I reach deep between

The crevices of my earthly body

And pull my inside out heart

Into a beautiful rose

The vines of my veins creeping

Over my parents’ house like a chandelier

Withering in the harsh sun of maple trees

Are slowly becoming still

And I zip up my insides like a bodybag

And the outside is death’s embrace

But there is nothing left to hold onto

And the hinges of every door

In my hallway shriek

With the ringing of silence

And I open my mind to madness

Without reason wholeheartedly

And become another

Locked door in the hallway

 

I Wake To The Unborn Morning

 

Lilac Rorschach’s form the metamorphosis

Of ectoplasmic miasma

Of sabbatical avarice rattling blasphemous

Valkyries riding stallions

The cavalry of Aurora borealis

Waging wails of halo railways

Fabled braille rainbows

Of claymore archangels

The hurricanes’ eye

Of kaleidoscope, the clouds

Like overlapping tongues

In the throat of the sky

A light rain of bloodstains

The paper of aether

Like a shed tear becoming a butterfly

And leaving behind its husk

Tenebrous nebula of

Auburn constellations

Of the candelabra hallelujah

I’ve a treasure buried in my chest

Fairy marionettes playing

In the sable of graveyards

Hanging by grapevine divines

Ballpoint-blank pages forming into bullets

That bounce off my armored heart

Like words off an empty choir or chair

Outside dreaming

The umbilical wilderness

Is singing amygdala

Shimmering oblivious

To its spectral nectarines

Swaying as the Himalayans

Echoed in sepulchre

September’s clementine’s

Ripe eyes like kaleidoscope’s of a hurricane

Voluptuous tumbling summer tundra

Homunculi with their self-centred penumbra

Growing from the remains of god’s name

Opening up the sky’s covers

I pour myself out of eternal rest

A ricocheting world into a stained-glass

Half full of cathedrals and eulogies

The other half lifelines

That unfulfilled people

Hang themselves from

Like a wet rag that

Swallowed an ocean of tears and blood

Dry parchment that didn’t have

An inkwell tongue to scream with

Tumbleweed moon chasing the spotlight sun

Like cat and dog in an empty house

Thirsty

I'm sorry

For subjecting you to the isolation

I have felt for years

I suppose when the apple fell from the tree

It grew attached to the silence

Of the forest called home

And so I stay

Silent

For you

But mainly for my own benefit

In the rot of isolation

That made the rich soil

So thirsty

Sated (Black Angel)

Pitter pattering Rorschach’s of Saturn’s light,

Like the scattered collateral satellites

Chopping sarcophagus

Like a helicopters’ offspring

Phosphorescent evanescence

In every semblance

Sentimental sentinels presented

Resonating sentences

Maniacal in every cypher’s cycle

Reviving kaleidoscopes

Of writhing spiralling disciples

In dialect’s cytogenetic

Etiquette of kinetic entropy

Centipedes of primeval cathedrals

Of serpentine Elysium phoenix

Of ethereal chameleons

Contorted phantasmagorical

Branches of Nirvanas’ chasms

The Amazons Valhalla’s Babylon

All longing for an acrylic avalanche

Of shattered umbilical madness

Light and its many colours

Stain the glass mirror of the afterlife

Shackles of a masquerade

Canvases basking in the ashtrays of chaos

Like a tenebrous molotov of ivory violins

Chimeras of lilac fireworks

Over the ludicrous moons’ of Jupiter’s boon

Shadows of alabaster translucent hallucinogenic

Jupiter’s Lucifer music of euphemism

Kaleidoscopic nocturne constellations

Wrapped in the fabric of history

A locked door in the hallway of life, and death

Born from a bed of rusty nails

And chainlink fingers

Like the branches of an oak tree

Holding up the sky and its fruit of stars

Opal poltergeists kaleidoscope sunrise

Noose of a crucifix translucent

Hallucinations of luminous aether

Spanning the acres of forsaken oasis

Crepuscular crescent

Of evanescence’s incandescent bloom

Mushroom moons protruding wombs

Illuminating the noose of Jupiter’s crucifix

Wearing the ring of oblivion

Through the ears of the unheard words

And eyes of unseen dreams

Congregating ultraviolet geysers

Baptizing kaleidoscopes

Rewinding the spiralling sundials of islands

Off the Niles wyvern of the isolated silence

Inviting the scythe-man of scarecrow pharaohs

To a game in the blaze of another cold world

The incorporeal orphanage

Of phantasmagorical orchestras

Playing the soothsayer of doomsday

To the oracles of metamorphosis

Singing rhythm of infinity’s chasms

Wrapping their walls around

The coffin of my throat

Where my voice

Climbed over the mountain of my tongue

And shouted echoes of the past

In the crypt, until they too

Climb the cracks of

This broken chessboard

And piece together the little

Shattered moon of my heart

Biblical silhouettes

Apostles of nocturnes blossoming from the faucet

Of apocalypse the esophagus

Of every Mosque or crypt

Of ancient spit anchored to

The cold harbour of this world

Like poltergeist Christ the scythe

Of the lifeless sky echoing celestial spectres by

Primordial chords strum my guitar heart

And its metal strings all arteries and veins

Picturesque blessings of ectoplasmic Avalon

All-consuming altocumulus

Relinquishing obsidian Icarus

Blacking out the sky with his astral sunrise

Asters of the alabaster masquerade

Manifesting pestilential halos

Of a maelstrom’s angel

Manifesting iridescent

Tempestuous crescent moons

Of amethyst calamity dangling

Star-spangled mannequins

Illuminating ruminations rejuvenating fluid lividity

Lucid dreams lucidity viridian the pacific epitome

Touching the strands of Atlantic infinity

Swimming in oblivions'

Cinnamon schisms rhythmic visionaries

Carrion for the heroine

Of marionettes made man

Who walk as dolls in the house of Gods

Chrysanthemum bangles of

Amaranthine lycanthropy

This mangled canopy canvas

Of languages’ labyrinthine

Dismantled piece of psychosomatic stratospheres

Carving wanderlust in the

Sabbath of an avatar’s smile

Like the guts of a willow wisp’s guillotine

Of silver wilderness gilded with

The flora of vorpal cornucopia

Open gates masquerading hurricanes

In broad daylight’s bite

The kiss of midnights’ life

White bleached, yellowed bone

In a cardiovascular sky

Beating the flesh like a drum

Of wind and lightning

And frail tornadoes

Aimlessly scattered on the flesh

Untouched, unnoticed, speaking to you

In a language lost by man

Some time before we called ourselves Sane

Before the words spoke to us like a firefly

To the forest of houses and long grassy fields

Of orange and purple sunlight

Lit by the lips of clouds swallowing the sun in Ragnarok

And spitting it back out

Into a beautiful morning dawning among the stars

I’ve never seen a firefly before

I am simply a renegade Fenrir

That became a lone wolf

Cast out by my own shadow of the moon

But I’ve heard the scrawled pages

They wrote tumbling in the shallow wind

Fluttering past my nose

These butterflies of the deep end of the pool

Undying and undivided

And I can never dive into the depths

Of that rabbit hole

As I would surely drown

Into the churning waves

Of another world’s heaven

And come up for air finding myself again, lost

Wandering the mountains

That have climbed over the stars and I

High above the downpour

Of the downtowns roar

And my tattered clothes would let me soar

In my baggy sweatpants and windbreaker

And twist and turn like a stairway

A flight of steps up into the attic of my house

Where the floorboards

That hold up the roof

Hang like a crow

From the telephone lines of the page

I live within this book that I have become

The rumpled spine

Still holding up my sagging head

The words still dripping with

The venomous inkblot of my pupils

As even poison can be ones’ cure

And the pus in the wound has made my heart clean

A harmony of a cleansing coalescence within

This never-ending pendulum of Armageddon

This unmapped sacrifice

A cardiovascular tapestry

Polycrystalline photosynthesis

Whispering in my ear,

The tongue of brittle leaves

And unsung words

Polytheistic as a heartbeats'

Bohemian clairvoyant Morningstar

Tethered unsettlingly to Perpetuality

An inkblot sun on a watercolour page

The ludicrous cistern

Metallurgy of this omnipotent abyss

Ailing maelstroms clandestine iridescence

Rasping jagged afterimages

In cardiovascular radio static

Another false god trying to make a prophet

From the lovecraftian rhapsody

Of blasphemous daffodils basking alabaster

Assembled from heaven's ventricles

In decrepit resurrection

Nightingale maelstroms of halos varicose marigolds

Like tranquil umbilical chords primordial accordions

Of the vorpal phantasmagorical clearing

Within the forest of my open wound heart

Every pinprick star going black

 

Blackbird

Reckoning to the depths of deafening depression

Where the voice of God cannot be heard

I am the songbird

I whisper sweet nothings to those who find nothing in themselves in the nothingness

I am the blackbird singing in the dead of night

I take these wings and learn to fly

These broken things within my mind

These broken things that learn to sing

To the silence of an echo of silence

Ringing in the ears

Of silence

Like a world that forgot the sound of silence

And hears every whisper

To the grave

I don't cry tears of morning dew

Like a willow tree hanging its head

Over the edifice of skyscrapers twisted into open mouths

Midnight's throat calls to me

The world remembers the sound

And I am heard, again

Nightfalls on deaf ears

And I am a symphony of murmuring hurricanes

And the babbling orchestra of fallen leaves

Swirling and churning and molding into

Whatever keeps you up at night

And the bed of morning is an empty grave

Because you cannot kill my dead words

You cannot break my broken dreams

You cannot wake from my nightmare

I will envelope you

I will tuck you in

To a soft

Bed of roses

Under a maple tree bleeding morning dew

And you will sleep soundly

To know the sound of silence screaming in your ears

In your heart

And I will nestle with inside your ribcage

Eggshells and all

 

Author's Note

I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

It's hard to review your long multi-poem postings becuz I can't remember everything I want to say about it, as I'm reading along, but I don't want to stop reading & jot things down becuz your writing requires concentration while reading. First let me say these are your best artwork selections -- love them! Next I'll say the first poem here really does remind me of how I feel when I waken in the middle of the night & I've always wished I could capture that fluid goosey way the mind rambles over things, so much more detail than I can capture, but you come the closest of capturing that random disjointed way of observing life & feelings in the middle of the night. Second poem also really feels like the coming of dawn, washing away the tortured ideas that only thrive in the darkness -- plus this one has some awesome rhyming-word-sound-combo's like "candelabra hallelujah" & "fairy marionettes". Next poem, this line is so meaningful to me: "I'm sorry for subjecting you to the isolation I have felt for years" -- sometimes I feel so weird & distorted in the way I think & feel (so unlike "regular" people) I think it's best if I don't inflict my way of thinking & feeling onto others & I regret it when I do let something of this weirdness out into the light where others can respond to it in their typically unfathomable ways (like they really don't fathom me at all). All in all, there are a ton of phrases & word craftings here that make me want to expound on various aspects of being a haunted soul (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[wordman]

wow my friend this is full of action,a sleepless night of dreams and metaphoric people tugging at your soul

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I had a lot of fun writing this one particularly. Happy you enjoyed the read!

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Then again, I always enjoy the writing. Either way, happy to share. :)