Apathy in Your Fingernails
You may beguile the caravansary
With a stern yet imposed guise
Like a feral panther in repose
But you can never outrun
The ghosts that revolves
Around the teeming sun
That freezes her corona.
I had caught a foretaste of your eye,
It's impassiveness, on the mirror
That thaws and mars the listening
Into a muted gloomy song
Of nonchalance and ennui
In stark silence, it spoke too much,
Of your grandmother's wardrobe.
The wind propelled and throttled
And I perched by your shoulder
Wintrier than any fountain
And I saw you gag upon swallowing
The odium you had for the panorama
As you efface the amorous persona
And be one with your dilemmas
The bright sun could only remind me
Of your balmy scent that stifles
My tunnels and my chambers
For it reek to erect a gravestone
For a death you begrudgingly suffered
And how compulsory the satisfaction
Is there to achieve an ephemeral sedation
I am a witness of catastrophic nights
Where you tossed, turned, obliterated,
As you loathe the skin you wore
And the scars that ran frolicking along it
In the velvet of the night's cape
I find your phosphorescent excruciation
As you tried to scrape out the blasé
Apathy in your fingernails.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
I Will Sing With the Vultures
Perched upon the laggard headboard
Of the hostility in my brambly bed
With faint burns of my cigarettes
I had transformed into a vulturine—
Man in a bleak duty of scavenging
And this is not another incarnation
For my iron eyes divulged that
I had never been the meandering lion
And I do not only fritter to efface
These inveigling hatful of hope
But I had immolated my forlorn self
And give up my struggling to fit
In a caravansary of jocund fiesta-people
And regurgitate the impetus of solitude
Its ephemeral effect had its adverse
Consequence that is stronger
And that is that loneliness
Is but loneliness
And in this puzzle my sole compartment
Is a mausoleum upon my astray bed
Of pyre atop a mythical hill
Where no soul could hear me sing
An elegy with the vultures
And in cacophony I will
Achieve plenitude in veracity
As the brethren sings their anguish
I will bay in a rueful halloo
And wake the cowering frosted tombs
To scrutinize my discordance
From the orchestra
And, perhaps, in this resolve
I still hold firm in insentience
To my weak trampling constitutions
In an entire different veneer
Perhaps, another incarnation
And snivel only to be saved
From another caravansary of fools.
poem by Norman Santos
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Witness
I saw an ant devour sherman mountain.
Slip across the floor in the river of honey.
I saw the locust drinking from a fountain.
It smiled at me as I paid my money.
Chorus
Caus Im a witness, witness, see the writing on the wall.
Im a witness, witness, I say Ive seen it all.
Caus Im a witness, witness, Ive got all the proof.
Im a witness, witness, I swear to tell the truth.
I saw her buying in the face of fashion.
Wholl believe with her little white lies.
I saw her arrive on my bed of passion.
But I never saw a look of love in her eyes.
Chorus
Some days my eyes can see for miles and miles around.
Some nights my dreams just take me deep underground.
My minds a time machine, Im in the future and the past.
The past... scrape away...
(violin solo)
Chorus
Chorus
Witness, witness, witness
Witness, witness, witness
Witness, witness, witness
Witness, witness, witness
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Metaphor Of The Mirror And The Light
there is this face
in the mirror and it is talking to the body
to remind its skin
that it is real,
lights are turned off
and the face only hears a voice
from its mouth
it is assured still that it is a face
of someone it knew
so well
and will not deny it
the voice faded in darkness
and the face
hears nothing
and sees nothing about
its skin
and eyes
it is dark
and there is no voice anymore
except the
silence
and the loneliness that is about
to make a scream
to the mirror
that had long shut itself
because there is no light
the face demands a voice
the mirror begs for light
for the voice is a security
that life exists
and the light is the only
anchor of the mirror
when it becomes a boat
in the sea
of emptiness
but there is no light
and there is no voice
the mirror breaks the silence
the face becomes the wind
there is no boat
much less an anchor
there is only a word written
on paper
left on the floor
and it is spoken for no
one....
poem by Sebastian Soberania
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One Man Bandwagon of Harlequinade
I, inebriated by a saccharine mulling of the elapsed
Melee amidst the clock's sabers and now moored
By a pensive anchor that rattles with every mishaps
That whittles inside my ashen bones which chewed
Upon my scarce viscera; what disparity between poles
Could be more farcical than not one iota at all?
For in the surly leaf of the final page the verity basks
In a prissy repose apt for a surreptitious usurper
That I am, after all, a harlequin guzzled by a mask
Of a crystal ball, reflecting and deflecting, to pilfer
The unnamed mirth in every drooping environs
Siphoned by the reeling exigency of self deception
Ebullience is ephemeral only for the reason that
Death is a stealthy phantom, immortal in the ethereal
Grounds of a grotesque carnival ensconced in a hat
That I wore to subsist with the grotesque quintessential
Hamlet, teeming with a surfeit latticing fangs of beasts
And an infinitesimal number of vicarious pessimists
Truth is, I lose myself in this insuperable loquaciousness
As I grope for what I desire and how the death is casted
Forlorn as a reticent lion's ought to be, I do behest
And plea for a hand to rise in the sea of the oppressed
Maudlin that I am; I kneel every night to haggle for my craving
To be in the bassinet of lovely people, or to efface this aspiring
The thought of your pity smothers me and, in my gaunt nakedness,
I know well that I deserve it, earned it, for I am truly devoured,
Like a hapless gazelle gnashed by a tiger, by vicious loneliness
That I inexorably severed from these golden chains, a melancholic discord
I'm ailed and dead-beaten from riling, from cloying a maneuver
And in the muted times of its rapine, I, alone, mournfully flounder
I, alone, wallowed into the graves of my thousand deaths
In mausoleums stalled in the quagmire of my chambers
Igniting the wick in my bloodshot eyes and slathering tourniquets
To dab the wounds to rebuild the skyscrapers you love to slander
So that in this parceled desolation I can become a writer
And assert my existence in this laconically fiendish winter
I'll bleed again before the eulogy of this poem tingle the schmaltz air
And reiterate my cacophonous half-breathing quintessence:
I am bleakly alone and I cannot stand it, sometimes I do not care
But it's only a sedating stratagem; I want to be with acquaintances
Whom I've seen clearly and held in the stark pitch blackness
And who have perceived the one man bandwagon inside the forlornness.
poem by Norman Santos
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Ghosts Of Cape Horn
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Some who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
See them all in sad repair
Demons dance everywhere
Southern gales, tattered sails
And none to tell the tales
Come all of you rustic old sea dogs
Who follow the great southern cross
You were rounding the horn
In the eye of a storm
When ya lost er one day
And you read all yer letters
From oceans away
Then you took them to the bottom of the sea
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Those who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Come all you old sea dogs from devon
Southampton, penzance, and kinsale
You were caught by the chance
Of a sailors last dance
It was not meant to be
And ya read all yer letters
Cried anchor aweigh
Then ya took them to the bottom of the sea
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Those who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sala
A quaint sepia photograph reckons
Of my deceased old grandparents
In their cordial nuptial palpably soaked
And cloaked in God's veil and covenant
It perishes amongst the ghastly cobwebs
And the dusts in the wailing lifelessness
Of the immodest and muted living room
And in my somnolent and castrated vision
It had painted another mawkish picture,
A concrete memoire of the absence
Of love, of death, and of love in death
So I refocused on the sala instead
With the scraped pastel wallpapers
Toppling on the cold floor parquet
A catastrophic finagling that reveals
The abused skin of my genuine home:
The arms of acquiesced oblivion
Sprawling on the threadbare divan
And watching the midnight sitcoms
With my levity, and purging the ecstasy
Of my the escape in late night episodes;
Cradling my aversion and diversion
To dance with the perfidious moonlight;
Or read the hideous diffidence in my poetries
To the overwhelming nonchalance of the sparrows
Oblivion is here, in this juncture of the sala,
Furnished with such ludicrous fantasies
Almost accenting my brusque reality
That I sew upon my lifelong starvation
For love, for death, for love in death
For romance, for heaven, for that which will never
And the conservative chandelier was dimmed
From the stark brightness of the glacial fire
Burning in the patios of my forlorn mire
Fluttering with the barricading shades
Of these heavy carnation pink curtains
Like a colossal shadow in the dark
A surreptitious phantom lurking
And scheming on its feet, to devour
My harried refuge in this sala
Oblivion, it could be too arresting
That the lampshades thawed in fragments
Oblivion could be bountiful in fragments
But then again, it could probably be not,
Oblivion could be harsh; it could be very harsh,
When your oblivion is a puncturing memory
That only ensued in the insipidness of the sala
Not on its dark corner nor on its garish floor
Rather, in the sala where you are alone
But fixated with the company of a scent
Similar to the morning dews that never came.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Land God Forgot
The lonely sunsets flare forlorn
Down valleys dreadly desolate;
The lordly mountains soar in scorn
As still as death, as stern as fate.
The lonely sunsets flame and die;
The giant valleys gulp the night;
The monster mountains scrape the sky,
Where eager stars are diamond-bright.
So gaunt against the gibbous moon,
Piercing the silence velvet-piled,
A lone wolf howls his ancient rune --
The fell arch-spirit of the Wild.
O outcast land! O leper land!
Let the lone wolf-cry all express
The hate insensate of thy hand,
Thy heart's abysmal loneliness.
poem by Robert William Service
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Skin of Light
The skin of light enveloping this world lacks depth and I can actually see the black night of all these
similar bodies beneath the trembling veil and light of myself it is this night that even the mask of the
sun cannot hide from me I am the seer of night the auditor of silence for silence too is dressed in
sonorous skin and each sense has its own night even as I do I am my own night I am the conceiver
of non-being and of all its splendor I am the father of death she is its mother she whom I evoke
from the perfect mirror of night i am the great inside-out man my words are a tunnel punched
through silence I understand all disillusionment I destroy what I become I kill what I love.
poem by Rene Daumal
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Almost A Love Song (Casi Un Bolero)
The bells are ringing in my mind
Sadly they ring for me
Throughout this empty house
They remind me so much, so much of you
This horrible loneliness
Comes with me, and with me it goes
With your picture against my skin
A dream in my heart
It's almost a love song
And I wish you were with me right now and always
And I wish I could see you next to meagain and much more
This sadness I sing to you
Is blown away in the wind (I sing this sad song
that blows away in the wind?)
Now that I'm looking for you I regret
I don't know why I stopped walking with you
I never told you that I love you
You couldn't guess it
With your memory always
Like a phantom that doesn't go away
I press your picture against my skin
A dream in my heart
Almost a love song
And I wish you were with me right now and always
And I wish I could see you next to meagain and much more
This sadness I sing to you
Is blown away in the wind (I sing this sad song
that blows away in the wind?)
A dream in my heart
Almost a love song
They remind me so much of you
And I wish,And I wish,And I wish
You were with me right now Almost a love song
And I weish, and I wish
Almost a love song
And much more
This sadness I sing to you
Is blown away in the wind (I sing this sad song
that blows away in the wind?)
song performed by by Ricky Martin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Faith II
THROUGH the long night, the deathlong night,
Along the dark and haunted way,
I knew your hidden face was bright--
More bright than any day.
And when the faint, insistent moan
Rose from some weed-grown wayside grave,
I said, 'I do not walk alone;
'Tis easy to be brave.
I never turned to speak with you,
For all the way was dark and long,
But all the shadows' menace through
Your silence was my song.
I never sought to take your hand,
For all the way was long and rough;
I taught my soul to understand
That love was strength enough.
Then, suddenly, the ghosts drew near,
A ghastly, gliding, tomb-white band;
I called aloud for you to hear,
My hand besought your hand.
No voice, no touch--the thin ghosts glide
Where in my dream I dreamed you were--
Night, night, you are not by my side,
You never have been there!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Day and Night
To mourn the death of yesterday is vile,
To see the day turn into night may see
Why roses have their quality so free
Of nature’s weeping and very aisle.
The death of day comes foremost to beguile,
As to beguile means always the genie
Has come to offer you his brewery,
A mix of wishes to be that servile.
To be that quick, a wish is granted right,
The night has spoken right and now justice,
The need for nights is huge, enlightenment!
The day dissolves to leave the wishful night,
A beautiful delight, quite enormous,
Due justly to my wish so imminent.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Our Thatched House
Our thatched house perched where the sea meets,
Our love mends as the sea melts and scalds the heated skin.
Dew gathers clarity, then it thaws, like the sea of tranquillity,
Cliffs are our sanctuary, melting the rocks into the sea.
Waves wield as pines hurt, sea waves smother the rain,
Our thatched house is delighted in its Way,
The path of discovery and enlightenment,
Tossed boats work with anchors here, chained to the sea and land.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Voodooded Lips
VOODOODED LIPS
esspeecee …18.06.09.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll reflect you lips’ eloquence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll blush-in by your lips’ glittrence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll unfold your lips’ innocence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll savor to the lees your lips’ elegance.
In the mirror of silence
I get psychic catharsis
In our lip lock reminiscences.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll siphon in your lips’ effulgence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll grope your lips
In abyssal absence.
In the mirror of silence
My lips will coalesce
In your lips’ effervescence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll be vortexed by
Lips’ psychedelic resonance.
In the mirror of silence
We’ll passionately hug
With sensuous confluence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll smear lips by
Your lips’ fragrance.
In the mirror of silence
We’ll tie-up our lips
In Monalisian resemblance.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll fresco my lips
From your lips’ brilliance.
In the mirror of silence
My lips will stain
By your lips’ every essence.
I’m voodooded by:
In the mirror of silence,
Your lips’ excellence,
And deluxe luminance.
Copyright reserved by the Author
.
poem by Dr. Sakti P. Chakravorty
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Panorama
Im gonna get whats coming to me
No surprises, no impressions
Hey, whats a wrong with you tonight
Just sittin on your can can
Doin the panoram
With nothin to contemplate
With nothin to search for
With nothin to integrate
With nothin to do
cept think about you
With nothin to do
cept fall for blue
I just wanna be in your panorama
(panorama)
I just wanna be in your panorama
(panorama)
Im gonna to take whats comin to me
No entanglements, and no compromise
Hey get the picture, Im on my knees
Lookin at your hot shot
Turnin down your offer
Well Im rippin it up
Im lookin awa-ay
Im pullin my flag up
cause Im miles away
With nothin to do
cept think about you-ou yeah
I just wanna be in your panorama
(panorama)
Well, I just wanna be in your panorama
(panorama)
Im gonna to find my way out of here
No pushing the buttons, no deals with daddy-o
Im gonna to get myself in trouble
Gonna take my chances
If I break your bubble
Well Im rippin it up
Im lookin away
Im pullin my flag up
cause Im miles away
With nothin to do
cept, think about you
I just wanna be in your panorama
(panorama)
Said, I just wanna be in your panorama
(panorama)
Well I just wanna be in, I just wanna be in
(panorama)
I just wanna, I just wanna be in your panorama
(panorama)
[repeat]
song performed by by Cars
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Child Hiding In One Of The Nooks Of The Busy Kitchen
there there
there is that child that hides in one of the nooks of the kitchen
badly beaten
and crying in silence
for years he is hiding there
and everyone is disregarding him
justifying
he is one of those pasts
and pasts
shall be forgotten
there there
there is that child that keeps on crying silently
and endlessly for years
my attention is
always caught
saying
i am you and you are in me
do not pretend that the years have grown some callous skin in your hands
that you are hard
and impenetrable
i am your father my child
and you cannot just treat me like a shrug on a shoulder
like dandruff on your hair
like some
old uncut fingernails
think some more
for solutions
and if you find it
this trembling room shall stop trembling
your nightmares
finally gone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Crystal Castle
In a moribund day reigned by an empathetic sun
Serendipity lingered amongst ghosts withholding scant
Fluid hands pale as the toppling films of the sun's corona
Flimsy hands shackled in a culvert; a deceitful supernova
Fate sew its golden threads in an erratic lambaste fashion
Treason shrieks in an arachnid's ensnare, an alluring bastion
All the same, like double-edged sabers, a compromised sedation
A subtle rapine of the gray valley and the caterwauling connotations
Such peremptory heart evoking extinct and perfidious sensations
Gnawing on velvet bones, gnashing a forlorn redemption
Sheathed a myth riveted at the breast with stern fluency
An allegory scorching like a thick beard of scathing ivy
Reeking profoundly with virulent sedition
A soul's infinite death at the estoque of perdition
A barricade of refuge loomed corrupting the innocence
The myth forebode oblivion; vicissitude's riddance
Glacial crystals, emerging in gracious acquiescence
Pristine imposing castle, fragile majesty in luminescence
Diaphanous blood, a citadel fabricated to unveil
How much your eyes crumble with unspoken pains.
poem by Norman Santos
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Casanova
If I tell you
That I will take you to a castle
Buried in the sands,
Would you surmise
The esoteric grotesqueness
Of my chagrined empire
With walls of odes,
Firmament of naked
Despondence, incandescence,
The portcullis left ajar
For the meandering souls
Astray in the garish
Coruscations of the sun
And the feline yawning
Of the tinkering crystals
In every chandelier
Tells a tale
And caress a condole
More supple than the velvet
Curtains and carpets
The chiffonier that will carry you
In the caroming susurrations
Of the bland slurs
Of grandiosity
Will you slew in the rendour
Slopes of enigma?
Will you keep the portmanteaux
Bolted from the panorama
And swath the corona
Of the feral castigations
Of bigoted clovers
With four leaves
Establishing the thwarting
Of our weary eaves?
I shall wait
It shall stay
Till you trample in the pavements
Of unruffled cobbles
And quaff the gambles
In the goblet
Of perpetual fire.
poem by Norman Santos
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Saudade
After dark the forthrightly silence
enshrouds the soul's trepidation
and the sartorial revelry of your
undying memories collect themselves
like the moonshine on the phosphorescent shore
The saudade melancholy inveigles
moths into the feral dance of flames
and as the malignant light becomes
my asylum and pantheon, I stagger
for the sparrow chance of corrupting
the ebbing of the ocean's moiré
where the solitary light is doubled
in its deluded reflections
And in this vacant room, the moon
spills empty words and cacophonies
its gravid and ashen cheeks morphs
into an empty page where the words
dissipates into ephemeral liminalities
poem by Norman Santos
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The Degenerate Gallants
[HERNANI, Act I., March, 1830.]
What business brings you here, young cavaliers?
Men like the Cid, the knights of bygone years,
Rode out the battle of the weak to wage,
Protecting beauty and revering age.
Their armor sat on them, strong men as true,
Much lighter than your velvet rests on you.
Not in a lady's room by stealth they knelt;
In church, by day, they spoke the love they felt.
They kept their houses' honor bright from rust,
They told no secret, and betrayed no trust;
And if a wife they wanted, bold and gay,
With lance, or axe, or falchion, and by day,
Bravely they won and wore her. As for those
Who slip through streets when honest men repose,
With eyes turned to the ground, and in night's shade
The rights of trusting husbands to invade;
I say the Cid would force such knaves as these
To beg the city's pardon on their knees;
And with the flat of his all-conquering blade
Their rank usurped and 'scutcheon would degrade.
Thus would the men of former times, I say,
Treat the degenerate minions of to-day.
poem by Victor Hugo
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The Death of Silence
Let's celebrate the day
The death of silence
When even the soundless creature
Leave an echo
When the quiet evening sky
Speaks more volume
Let's celebrate the day
The death of silence
When the darkness of night
Is calmed by the song of stars
When this cruel and frightening world
Is cheered by the joy of life
Let's celebrate the day
The death of silence
When the trees swaying their branches
Whispering the news from afar
When the stone awaken to tell the story
And no more secret remains hidden
Let's celebrate the day
The death of silence
When the wind fills the void
And noises the ears
When the sunshine touches the skin
And screams in eyes
Let's celebrate the day
The death of silence
When you could taste the heart
Inside the food you eat
When you could understand
The meaning the breath that taken
Let's celebrate the day
The death of silence
When smile is enough
To erase the rotten doubt
When love is abundant
To wash the bitter pain
Let's celebrate the day
The death of silence
When the soul finds its freedom
And not chained in the grief of body
When the call is passing
Through the memory and time
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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