An Ibis' Inklings...

[Anibis]

Well, I'll put up some of my poems in this thread...
-Ibisis

[Anibis]

Apocalypse

And the trumpets blazed out the song of evaluation
Upon the hearts of the omnipotent children.
Time is up.
Shall we wallow in orgiastic indulgence?
As we speak, we are what we have become.
Are we to continue in this way,
Enchanted in the Lunacy of our vice?
Gratifications heal the heart 'tis true
But the gray faces of impure motives and fading life force give me cause to fear
That our endeavor will not stand the tests which it has invoked.
How will we negotiate our end?
May I suggest by a beginning?

[Kain]

Awesome poem Ibisis...and incidentally so very in tune with the very thing I have been thinking right now...

Kain

[Anibis]

Thanks. Here is one that has always been a favorite, it's a little violent, but this is where I was at.


The Prism

I poured it all, a river to none like it.
Upside of sorrow and despair.
A trusted liar who breaks my heart again in little ways from across a vast expanse.
In the blood that fell from the clear wound,
Fairies danced, it was water for them.
Flooding the plains, in springtime a surge.
But you have broken the trust, and the reservoir is dry.
Now it is all in motion.
Now it is all in motion.
Now it is all in motion.
And I can find my way inside of its capillaries,
By the light of scent, and detecting densities:
Contractions make moments, not otherwise.
Time is alive,
Alive with you and pain.
But I am overwhelmed and my eyes are wet because I am shaking.
Quake. Unstable, but like earth is stable.
Flushing away corruptions of the surface,
With great and graced violence.
Sacred catastrophe, bursting with sad exultation.
Catastrophe, taken though by each direction compounded into an explosive center,
It tears through,
Illusions are laid to waste;
Enlightened at the moment of total social collapse.
I pour out into the streets, I flow out of hemorrhaged veins into the spaces in between;
All your pathways and careful controls are crushed and overtaken.
Only chance for life is between the cracks.
Seed bearing faeries take the opportunity.
They've been waiting an age for the barrier to be breached.
The tower is struck and can no more be built by shaking, pallid hands.
Best to float on the wind like a drifting lonely everything.
Milkweed has wisdom your machines cannot guess.
In lieu of the contract,
A great bonfire.
All of our vain words combust like our isolated pride.
Upstart, downsided wretch!
Mine is the cacophony at the last breath of your filthy construction.
I kick it down when it at last fails to function.
I am brokenhearted.
Violence is spent.
Hold it up to the light. Watch it refract. The perfected prism livid,
Falls across the shade and remembers my name,
blazing on the stone: Fortunate.

[feranaja]

You write very powerfully Ibis. Sections of this one spoke directly to my heart. Thank you for sharing - and keep them coming.
fera

[Anibis]

Thanks Fera, I will.
-Ib-

[Anibis]

Sub-Audible-Transmission

Low level pulse.
Extended over time.
Strain of upkeep,
Becomes second nature.

Annexed to a moment, a person, a pattern in all this.
Just for orientation in a world of awful freedom.
No barriers or crutches suffice.
We flow by strength, our enemies are voracious.

Growing Growing, Lust and Love.
Requires a foundation.
Who will withstand the storm?
How will we last, pampered by heaven?

When we recall this time,
It will be the proof.
Of where we took our fancy,
Responding to the pulse.

-Anibis

[Anibis]

Afterbirth

Obstruction to insight,
Fashioned by fearless ghosts,
Back of your wallet,
And tucked into your pleasures.

Slightly shifting in the listless winds,
Which whistle through deserts, streets,
Light falls on a faded curtain, and a sepia shutter,
Pleased to make your acquaintance, because tomorrow is like this one.

Ice cream vans, in dwindling silvered dream-sequences;
Jumpy, skipping film footage.
Marred by hairlines, red searing creases,
A plaster mask, lifted from a moist, greased face.
Afterbirth.

[Anibis]

That Woman; She dances

Ice of Ire,
Let her decide;
As sharp as either,
This or that,
She tips, divides, weighs and is known.

I have called a judgement here, in the ocean's back.
The judgement calls back to me. A mirror spins.
Listening to watery senses.
Given breaks forth, and you and eye meet I to I.
Biting through, that fearsome sense,
Shocks tremble through the boiling clouds,
While swords of light pare off mutilated and infected organs.
Decisive splitting leaving no room for doubt.
We are speechless.

By only chance,
And repeated attunements.
A sense is developed, which cuts itself off from comfort,
To retain its perfect, unerring flight.
Into the eye of the storm.

On her toes her laughter dances naked over rolling questions;
Hills that mounting, open us up as flowers of flesh with feet of stone.

Stand here, stand here.
This humming, you can smell it, almost;
Your center adjusts delicately, back & forth;
There! A moment brief atop the wheel.
Slip, recover, return.

She cuts me every time I fall,
I love her, lie-less function whom I invoke,
To bridge the chasm
From sight to sound.
That thought that pivots,
On razor love.
On and in the hidden tunnel, I can sense the resounding core,
I know that each cut lightens my sense of balance
And that is the point.

To smell truth
Precisely
Because it is
Simply
Direct.

[Anibis]

Artful Glass

That one struck a gemstone's clover.
It sings me up here, you know.
First you instinctively see her face.
By the time you remember her.
It has become calm.
I am up on the rock face,
Overlooking the ocean.
I have perspective,
At this right away;
I have integrity,
Artful glass.
Hopes do make a feathered kite,
Which carries my memories.
I am conscious of this.
And you are remarkable.

[Anibis]

It Only Seems like a Long way

Echo of words and the moment begins.
Brought about by the sacred.
Instilled with venom.
Harpy's tooth.
I have seen the wild women who guard the well.
They murdered me in a frenzy;
Tore me sinew from bone, pulped my muscle tissue over their Christ.
Ate my beating heart while I danced.

I return again to the great gray mall; superstore of diluted fuck.
I cry. I am savage and perverse.
I murder and pillage.
I protest.
I weep.

There was a whore who touched my heart. I was woven into her carpet.
I was escorted through the door into a palace of trees.

Even now I can hear her in my chest. Spreading like a warmth of whisky, sunlight, love.
I am against the wall; the steel is at me:

"Ten…
Nine…
Eight… (somebody coughs)
Seven
Six… (a bird calls)
Five…
Four…
Three… (I draw in my breath)
Two…
One…"

Eternity.
Fireworks.
Execution.

[Anibis]

Enter

Only at this door.
Until I know your name is a breath.
Bring the lovers about, old man, old woman.
Now in the evening, a song for the vast.

Here we are. Do you know me? We met before.
I feel like a drink. I feel like a dance.
I have found myself at the riverbank, where blooming nature reclaims the desolate.

By now you should have guessed. I am singularly prepared and given.
There is no sense of stillness in the turmoil that is silent.

Only in this moment.
The sides of IT are known by naught.
Only now can know itself,
But from my limited perspective,
Love is folds and folds and folds….

[Anibis]

Epic

Part I

I understated the ontology of under milk
I establish you gone home for the winter.
I held myself forth, and showed courage.

Jostle me with whispered times from a past which I see clogged,
In part,
But other wise open,
A breath that is spreading and clearing space.
A transformation under patience,
And a tightness of local nodes.

This is focus,
That I bring myself to thrust through the veil and roll the sitting wait;
Heat of possibility sucks our present tense towards it.
This is no longer therapy, but magick;
I have my walking legs, and my budding wings;
I have a lightness that is growing with each blast of lust in love.
This is your medicine,
This is your herb,
This is your time.

Part II

Yes.
I can go a lot further, and faster than expected,
An opus, at a typer's pace,
Round and round the circle,
Each day humming,
Softly at first, and with a new voice,
Limbering to an extension,
In full.

This is the harmonic gospel
Choice made careful, and ambition made long.

This is the rhythm,
This is the song.

And yet it is only just awake,
And still it needs learn to sleep,
But pressure,
Pressure,
God is pressure:
I have undergone the weather
Still the shells abound, and crust about on the surface,
But the change is fundamental,
Internal
Essential,
And
Fully
Operational.

Diving gear on, I'm suiting up for the plunge;
I'm here now, before I'm gone.
I write this way,
As opposed to that way;
Since I have delighted
Yourself.

Part III

Eye ball on time
One trusted for horror is a dark freedom.
Word by walking in tongues along a vast ridge rising rock
A thousand-fold above,
Beneath for forever,
And I trace the edge like a light finger on a nipple,
Along ribs
Across skin
Weave like a river along the back of an outstretched leg,
And spiral into a pool
On the sole of your foot.

I
defy
you

to
look
up

Now.

And guess my name.

Part IV

In the morning, it is easier to relax.
The initial burst has unfolded like a rosy tracer,
In the sky,
Of fireworks.

A calm of containment;
Sinking back into the mattress
With less to trouble me,
For a time;
Until the walls become tight;
When the cells swell,
When the organism becomes taught;
Tension, release,
Wilhem Reich, made us into plasmae;
A fitting term for now.

Let yourself explode that way, and by all means,
Use it with finesse,
Bringing about an intelligible
Beauty.


Part V

Mad and boiling, like a pressure built up in my head;
Energy trying desperately to discharge itself;
I'm pacing back and forth,
Getting little done.
I'm anxious;
About love
About work,
About life.

Anxious and calm;
Jaded too;
Like the world has nothing of color to offer me;
Bah.

Oh,
I know it well,
It's periodic, and I have no reason to suppose it will ever be completely absent;
Best I can hope for is a tempered maturity;
Some point of catalyzation that will propel me into action;
Being a delightful dilletante
Has lost it's allure,
If it ever had any.
I choose to feel better;
I know choice. I know long running suicidal jumps.
I know success.
I know folly.

More is needed;
A complete pattern
Is lacking.

That is the next bit, then…

Part V

Overtone, overture;
A startled star, and an integration of integrity.
Yes, yes, yes;

Outputs in streams, and little parasites fall off;
Nutrition is not theirs;
Burst beyond the limit;
Burst beyond it;
And keep form, keep singing;
A star bright in the heavens;
An endurance which pays off,
And a circulation of organism,
Organism,
Organism.
Only lowly,
Lives,
Holy.
Holy,
Moly.

Opens as a gate,
To another field,
Pull together,
Draw together, live together,
Sing together;
Tireless,
Self supporting,
Startle me,
Lovely,
Lovely,
Lonely.

Yes, that's right.

Part VI

I use junk mail as toilet paper.
I am better off than I sometimes suppose;
My work is hard,
And across many fields;
But I will it together,
Together
Together;
A dance,
A song,
Something beautiful,
And It comes about in increments,
Like a snail's path.

The road is littered with snails here
In the spring and in the summer,
And great big banana slugs;
One would not expect to see an invertebrate so large,
In a place like Newfoundland.

This place weighs heavy on the heart;
It is true that Newfie hospitality is a legendary institution,
And sincere,
But less is said of Newfoundland's cruelty,
And it is cruel,
Like the weather, and like the rumor mills;
It weighs heavy on my heart,
And yet nothing has so feverishly engaged me as my work here;
A compelling world,
Small, feverish, frightening;
But that is where courage comes from.
Rock solid.

I am building puppets, here,
And bit by bit growing in confidence;
Birthing myself.
Loving afar;
And here I am,
Rock solid.

Part VII

I am what I do,
I am what I Will to become.
The struggle is in thinking,
And it is in feeling.

Part VIII

Ola
Om Ra
Al
Achad

Struggle
Struggle

O Jihad.

By whispers
In the faded
Cloth
By Master,
Mistress,
Floating moth

I choose
I choose
A choice has chozen

The water's solid;
It has frozen.

Part IX

Nine's divined
the end of time.
I write it down,
it feels just fine.

Ah hA

[MythMath]

Wonderful stuff...

Have you ever intentionally written 'lyrics'...?

Let's record a song using the interweb... :yes:

Got any lyrics with a 'lunar vibe' for a female singer...?

Perhaps we could incorporate violin/fiddle... ;)

[Anibis]

Two recent poems (second one's better IMO):

Popular Press


Clerk files the report on the burning hole in the road.
Diameter increasing to forty times it's original size.
Shearing at the edges, unraveling an acid scream.

legions legions legion...

Phalanx streams to mend the breach,
and falls into a holding pattern.

A yawning stone is borne into the world,
on a ship of leaves which drip with dew.
Jack's beanstalk passes sideways through us all
but we just see a circle.

In closing, I would like to ask the court to consider,
the expediency of the measure.
Taking heed to repair the intruding dillema,
as reported by eyewitness,
Said the popular press.


Terrible Lizard (or " ")



My madness is a stream of light.
It passed across the rock face,
and bent itself to the labors of time.

It is over tea that I knew this,
and by lamplight,
and with tools.

The ordinary beings left us a long time ago.
They went to the water to drink and to dance.

Every juxtaposition breaks itself against the waves.
Every sound is heard by every tree.

I will let you reflect this:

The ocean is hungry,
The past is alone.




-A-

[Anibis]

MM, these were (maybe) attempts to make song-able poems... what think you?
-A-

Terrrible Lizard could have lots of reverb and dinosaur noises; Coil-like ambience...

[MythMath]

Sure, why not...?

Have you heard the new Radiohead; highly recommended...