Fade To Black

Fade To Black

A Poem by R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)
"

One of my favourite recent works. I have been tough on myself. I, myself, refused to see the beauty in things. Even if I wrote them, or experienced them. Myself was a subject I didn't want to hear.

"




 





Existence

 

 

Mellow mandala of amaryllis, sprawling columns halogen

Interstellar evangelicals etching dyslexic requiem

Travelling the unravelling Valhalla’s dowry

Of zigzagging attics splattered maddening labyrinths

A canvas of balaclavas stratospheres of Lazarus

In the manufactured pastures of Rorschach daffodils

Mountain’s haze of everglade

Corn mazes of Himalayans’ ravens

Spray painted hazel with Azazel’s azaleas

Flowery ballad of owl’s talon Valkyries

Prairies alstroemerias grow marigold

In a wasteland’s avalanche

Sutra’s slue of perfume June

Seducing the loose-lipped fruit of altocumulus

The wheel of fate looping spindling

Through the mucus of a cloud

Oozing through the grooves of altocumulus worn by the morning

The helix phoenixes swirling in pearly purgatory

The whirlpool of a dirt world’s orbit

The womb of a cratered moon

The swell of evangelical melodies like tawdry lobotomies

Earth’s face an oasis of skyscrapers anchored in sanctuary

Cordial rosaries embroidery coiling tomorrow’s Ouroboros

Mortar of porridge torrent of corridors

Folding accordion-like

Warbling waterborne corneas

Swimming enkindling obsidian

Incendiary rivers schism equilibrium

Imprisoning rhythms of visionaries

Scimitars of arteries in the cartilage

Of tonic monarchs’ harmonies monasteries of Tartarus

Talons of adamantine auburn origami astronomers

Rearranging the stage lit constellations

Origami astronomers in the Autumn bottomless

Crossing the border of the page

A boardwalk over the sands of time

A desert crow of resonance

Frivolous windmill capillaries basilicas of amaryllis wilderness

The squirm of a hurricane, and ferns of turbulence

Cocoons sutra looming in roomy fuchsia altocumulus pugilists

Champagne camouflage of chameleon cathedral’s

That speleothem through the embers of florescent memories

Blasphemous capsized Gaia of Rorschach astronauts

Shrapnel baptism in plastic ecclesiastical straitjackets

And robes of comatose lotus leaf

The phantasmagorical oracles of chromosomes

Rodeo zodiac black aspers

Ransacking pastures of masquerades

Fading in the glade a bath of afterimages cascade

Through chaos flailed cadence of the flavours of oasis

Singing the linden strings of amygdala

Polishing the bombshells of andromedas

Ukuleles of opal brushstrokes stoking smoky osmosis

Handcrafted daffodil tapestries, pastures

Boulevards of onomatopoeia, constellations

Omnipotence rippling ricochets grey in the cranium

Mandalas umbrella balaclavas labyrinths

Bedazzled lavender unravelling stalagmites

Morsels of Orpheus storm clouds that ballad

Porcelain orifices orchestrate orchards

Of incorporeal Gregorian metamorphosis

Orchids of endorphins phantasmagoria

Staccato candelabra of auburn mahogany

Dishevelled belladonna reverends

Pedallers of seventh heaven’s Armageddon

Weaving waves of leather everglades

Obelisks of bottomless (holocaust) andromeda

Frolicking in the palm of God’s hand

Unhinged like a doorframe

The butt of a cigarette

(An empty glasshouse that fears no stones)

 

 

Coughing Kisses

 

 

Smoke and mirrors

Breathing in

Kissed until breathless

Drowning on a life’s sentence

Tethered, blindfolded, following the word of God

A flower’s noose of slender stems like spindly arms

Blooming from the end of a ballpoint pen

Murmuring bourbons from sealed envelopes

The lisp of love letters

The sound of the palatably sweet smouldering origami of lemon suns

Rising from the bed of grass

The blanket of stars, the covers of black ink

Dreams of stained glass

Touching every crevice and crack

In the scaffolding of tapestries

Echoing hallow, swallowing candelabra

One in the chamber of a skyscraper

 

 

The Cutting Room Floor

 

 

Sideways eyes gaze

And I am an island; among many craggy shafts, lands, and water

Spires of xylophone skyscrapers

Acres of makeshift driftwood daybreaks snake

Across the deep horizon

Blistered willow whispers christening lithium eclipse

Falling across each other inwards

Skimming rhythm rivers in the wind like linen

A sky of dominos as the rough-edged heavens

Brush together push and sever

Stumble down the steps of a flower petal

Jagged edged rose stuck between my teeth

My mouth a garden of dead songs

Like a dragon born from frayed pages’ beige mosaic

Lacquered pyramids pushing up from the burial ground of forgotten words

Greased in the blood of poems, high-rise of vinyl wyverns

They call me a lyre,

They play at my heartstrings, strumming underworlds

Until I give them what melody they see fit to use

Or sentences, metaphors or metamorphosis, poems

Euphoria born of a primordial tongue

Sliding across the sharp of a knife salivating over

A slice of life mute to the static

A channel of ink across the stream of silver screens

Hoping I make the cut for a board of directors

Not one who hasn’t shown his face in years

 

 

Brother (Pastor)

 

 

The whistling obituaries of moons

Glistens on the small of my back

Imprints of hieroglyphics whimpering symphonies

Ventriloquism missionaries of lithium polycrystalline pistons

Sophisticated infinities of idiosyncrasies’ incubus

Porcelain accordion ghosts of osmosis

Corpse scarecrows of marrow a shallow pasture’s hourglass

Basins of nature’s faceless polymerization

Grandfather clockwork nocturne sonata of opera

Blossoming rakshasa of the coffer’s Apocrypha

Lost in the static lathering amethyst of cataclysms

The pale cradle of angels sprouting velvet elegies

The valleyed bowels of gallows Valhalla

Marrow of halos hangnail coattails tumbleweed of fields

Fiends wearing blazers of azaleas flail in the wailing wind

Jailed thin, derailing the lackadaisical

Pastors of masquerades, basilicas pavilion

In the umbilical silicon

The vermillion scintillation of human will

Beginning the ending at the bend of a pendulum

Lost to the gospels of apostles

Dishevelled kettle of sprouting cerebellums

Alphabetical hemorrhages of a newlywed Armageddon

The annual manuals granite of malleable light

Fight in the depths of resurrection

The breath of pestilence, evanescence in every spectacle

Vestiges of a blessing’s afterimage flimsy in the schism of rain

The rhythm of the brain

A prison and a chain

The cryptic puzzle a muzzle

A fluttering motherless butterfly smothered alive

Over the mouth of God

A bonfire of dreams bleeding like a second sun

My younger brother

Looking up to God like a pastor

Following unworldly law without a master

As if our garble could mimic the word of God

The dice is cast

We’re all b******s

Born capsized from the snatch of rapture’s chapel

Collapsing under the weight of the heaven on our backs

Sprouting from the mouth of God

Without another’s name to mention

Crescendos peddling ghettos of cerebellum revelation

Creation’s good-natured abomination

A shadow of the past

A cat crawling on (the chicken scratch of) my back

Who’s bones still rattle against the blackboard of my skull

Juvenal and ludicrous, a pugilist of the nude altocumulus

(The stretch of coalescence)

Like a Rorschach’s pastor

An inkblot, I still body paint myself upon the page

In God’s image

But I am no reflection

No moon

The abyss hides behind my smile

I have swallowed it

Brother, you are mistaken

The word of God is nothing

Next to silence

But emptiness?

(Ringing into this black box of white noise)

The space crammed between our hearts?

These vinyl libraries that haven’t tasted life’s tongue

Licking wounds dry of salt, and chalk, and cream

That is eternal

A pageless book

(We of life cannot read)

(Lost between the lines)

(Of telephone poles)

 

 

Movements of Memory

 

 

Steampunk tundra of thunderclouds

Rumbles strung strumming the long songs of summits

On the small of my back

Coagulating magenta

Wings of crippled airplanes binging on oblivion

Molotov andromeda cauterize sunrise

Magenta nebulas tendrils lost in the wine

Branches of hippocampus amplifiers of kaleidoscopes

Streetlight scythes of diced snake eyes

Waltzing incomprehensible

You can only reverberate for so long

Against these walls

Decay, stray, (ricochet) from the (crocheted suede of the) page

Movements luminous of pencils decompartmentalize the pretzeled utensils

Instrumentals renaissance the cauterized horizon

Movement sleuthing fluidic dictionaries polycrystalline fairies

All-consuming tsunami bombarding armaments of cartilage

Cursive murmuring hurricanes’ translucent fluid, entangled lucid

Repetitions, crypts rupturing the eardrums of time

Suffocating succulent succumbing unwind

To the drumming of succubae

Writhing kaleidoscopes of opal phantasmagorical oracles born

To lord over the sheep without a shepherd

Tethered

To the madness without a method

Weathered

Drenched in our own Armageddon

Sweating setting suns

Spun around the circumference of umbrae

Skin of leather rungs

Plucking feathers from angel wings

 

 

Essence

 

 

Essence, prairie, meadow, suede, sway, shapeshifting

My face an endlessly shifting maze

Of broken limestone, tomes of eucalyptus

Trapping sweat between

Skin stretched walls creviced with renaissance

A shifting clockwork labyrinth

A phosphorus metropolis

Of facial features, expressions, wear

Towers of Babel climbing over each other

Reaching for the Sun

To hold tenderly as a bluebird in the palms of their hands

Perched on the tendrils of ukuleles

The ribs of a guitar

Spiralling string of cat guts

Mellow meadows angelical cerebellums

Swelling melancholy umbrellas

Of quelling enveloping melodies

Telekinetic swivelling billowing amaryllis

Still image visage of pillows willow wisp

Visionary marionettes gasping for breath

Grasping at death

Rasping caskets of shadows running along the wall, footsteps

Like paint peeling into speleothems

Deeper than the bottom of the page

Shadows travelling mountains of Excalibur

Deathless maleficent Persephone

Her vassals ecclesiastical to the blasphemous Asphodel

Rapturous Ragnarök docking by the river

Beckoning spectres of requiem

Through the chalice ballet of ectoplasmic balaclavas

Of clamorous labyrinths

Of Lazarus plateauing monochrome oceans supernova

Lanterns phantasm unravelling circumnavigating the fabric of planets

The anvils of Babylon

Wrapping rhapsodies of apathy capsized

In our thick lungs

Imprisoning a candle’s prisms

And spitting idiosyncrasies

(The crowning of trees)

(Starving for reincarnation)

(Skin graffitied in tattoos)

(Of crisscrossed swastikas)

(Blossoms ink in the blackest tapestries)

(Laughing daffodils of Priscilla’s ventriloquist) 

 

 

Dream

 

 

Offspring of crisscross nocturne

Flock to the gospel of phosphorus metropolis, gelatinous mockingbirds

Offshore porridge mortar of the forge’s fingers incendiary

A gorge of exploratory corneas

Born of floral ornery accordion phantasmagoria

Pastels of elegies mandala eldritch bliss

Chrysalis polycrystalline of apostolic eclipse

Apostles the blossom lost again

Dancing hands cramming shadowlands of chrysanthemum

Lavender and dandelions in the night fire

Grovelling mitochondrial andromeda

Polyphonic onyx sonatas iguanas

Anaconda their way around the Nile

Lilac spires of high-rises diving iris of barbed wire

Bottomless Autumn’s vase of menageries

Andromeda cauterizing violet cottontail haloed maelstroms

Trailing mosaics in the gale rusted rose of railroads

The thorns still sharp as the nails

That scraped them a halo in this garden

Where fruit doesn’t grow on trees

A river sleeping in peace like a reaper

Creeping through the secret of equilibrium

Cracked sidewalk and broken wings

Masks lilac and monochrome bling

Mementos of heavenly prairie concertos

The consensus to senseless dimensions of Mediterranean azaleas

Volatile choirs, briars of nihilism

Rising with the setting sun

Screaming silence from our lungs

 

 

Penny

 

 

Onyx comets tomahawk from the blossoming faucet of nocturne

The bronze constellations of masonry a frayed ageless mosaic

Cremated of lackadaisical hatred

Remedies of blemished crevices

Cemeteries of memories in the blessing of evanescence

Dynasties of winding cypress trees

The unravelling scalpel of an avalanche

Balcony of pelicans Valkyries

Stygian wings of infinity obsidian blizzards

Mental fences that barricade suede thoughts

Of the mind stuck between serpentine snaking oasis

Ribboning oblivious photosynthesis

Open mouths dry as sandpaper

That cannot scream obscenities

Like ferns brittle in the breeze

Once kissing the sober drunk

Now peeling paint

Wallflowers of sagging flesh

Lullabies of silence (resurrect perfection)

Where once noise itself crowded into one room gathering

Cramming its roots into hollow spaces

Overflowing pavilions, overfilling glasses

The butterfly with a pin through it stuck on my wall

Teaches me how to fly

With a hole in my heart/chest

The wind whistling through me

Grasping for something

Anything that fills the gap

In my humanity

Covering up the scars that smile

With their red teeth

With all my endless madness

Led astray

By those who claim to have found themselves, or God

Salt in the wound purifies, yes

But then again,

Dirt grows flowers

And rainwater drenches my skin

And crawls off my back

Sliding off those who stand tall

In gross numbers

Baptized cities shining with angel tears

As another penny rolls down into the gutter

In the bowels of cities

Looking (for/to touch) the bottom unanchored

To go further than too far

Down the trail of a sentence

Crows sitting in the lap of a city street

Adrift the river Lethe, Vishnu’s mistral, (pistol Icarus)

In this forest of silence

I can hear the world speak

I can hear the silent speak

I can hear myself speak, murmur(ing) poems

Hear me, strangely, (murmuring poems)

(Rhymes unwinding silence’s spiralling kaleidoscope)

(Vibrating fibers, vocal chords, choirs of denied dialects)

It truly is a revelation

The one who understands everything

Can never be truly understood

Maybe wisdom is not meant to be heard

Tuned ears like instruments, listen (to the conductor)

Dea(f/th) to the silence

 

 

Human

 

 

Tumbling into nothing

Ricocheting off the walls of a concrete heart

Down into the decrepit depths below

Where did the love go?

Perhaps it buried itself in a cracked mirror

Or a cup of cold coffee

Watching the madness

That is us all

Lackadaisical, terpsichorean

In the rut of our lives

I am sprouting from the soil

A flowering memory

There is no garden

Only this fresh grave,

Waiting for me

And all my friends are smiling

Somewhere below the heavens

I see through the cracks

Sometimes

The outside world is banging on the door to my room

The other side

It isn’t that far away

The blacklight reflecting

On the face of a moon, or clock

As the hands continue to turn

Spindling the sentences into nothing

Until the silence

Finally overwhelms

The sound of this world

Ticking, crawling

In the malleable closeted vase of my clay shadow

God makes light of me

But I am blind

To his sound

And cannot taste

His touch

Anymore than he can feel

Temporary, or even

Human

Or anything

At all

For

We are born/bent out of

Shape

Inside out






© 2021 R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)


Author's Note

R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)
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.

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Reviews

Your writing is dense. But in a good way. It takes me sometimes days to finish a single poem.

That's not a bad thing. It easily could be but you pull it off quite well I think.

Posted 1 Month Ago


R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

1 Month Ago

Thanks Dave, I appreciate it. I'm happy to hear it's working.
This is wonderful work you should be proud of. Writing is constantly evolving and a mind always in flux. We often return to past work seeking to always revise or change because we strive for the elusive idea of perfection. Sometimes we fail to see the sublime that we have created, because of faults we focused too harshly upon. There are no harsher criticisms then our own. Keep on writing and sharing your art. Your words will find a home in your readers. That's a promise.

Posted 2 Months Ago


R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

1 Month Ago

Thank you. It means the world to me that you feel this is good. I often am too hard on myself. I'll .. read more

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Added on June 2, 2021
Last Updated on June 28, 2021
Tags: fade, to, black

Author

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

Burlington, Halton, Canada



About
Born in 1997, I enjoy writing poetry and short stories. I often hike, bike, play tennis in the summer. In the winter, I snowboard. Spoken word poet, several time finalist for local poetry slams, an.. more..

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