As I
As I battle out the austere torsions of the horizon
Plying to shove the gossamer sun to set
Into the insolent demise resting on his nest;
As I dispense the divergence of the liaison
Raveling a prostrate retroactive protraction
Musing on the gloaming before it dawns;
As I subtly winnow the skirts of this curtain
A prolix camouflage to interminable impasse
Shifting fractions and equations to resume this vying;
As I exonerate the black birds perched on the fringes
And obliterate the spiteful thaw of waxen houses
Tumbling a speck to the dead of the sapid vesper;
As the body touch the soul, like a hand in glove
Quelling the warmth and seething the frost
Bereaving the vehement possibility of consummation;
As I haggle in the narrow punctures of this gnarl
Breathing underwater for a halcyon squandering
Becoming the streaks of the abundant malingering;
As I muse upon a truant aubade of distant stars
Fluttering innocuously with the scythe's of time
Bickering the scorching venom of the virulent blood;
I am becoming the beckons of untracked oblivion
That your misty vision could not touch, not seize,
The very interpolating creaks of the voids and pits;
I am flinging everything all over in a lost warfare
For a manic, a marionette tangled on its own string
Attached to vulnerable pegs of gravitated swings.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
One Too Many Blinkers
Somnolence, brewed with apathy,
In its feral and purged form
Perched upon the svelte frame
That thrusts the low canopies
In an endeavor to stand loftier
And muse past the knotted haunts,
Struggling to steadfast the crosshair into
The piercing eye of the adversary
In a conscious slumber in
The verisimilitude of the mirror
Leaves flipped with the gloaming,
Disintegrating the marionette's face—
The façade that stood
Like sooty pillars catching shadows
Departing without a wave
And innocuously lingering
Like the forest's milieu—
An auspicious camouflage of colors
Burying one too many blinkers
Tired, desperate, and thirsty
From watching the season constantly
Shed its skin,
The sky lighting and quelling
Its colossal chandelier,
Faces juggling bows and hills
On their mendaciloquent lips,
Forgetting the memory kept
And vying to participate
Averting the clouts to precipitate
And rivet the frail frame into the ground
So committed that the mirror's sheen
Would shatter and consume
Its own aberrational delusions
And fore another blinker
Catch the dragonfly's erratic pace
Winnowing the ribbons of this tryst
And hold these people close
In a ring that binds
Infinity.
poem by Norman Santos
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To Live and Not To Breathe
Five arms snooping coyly
At the persiennes of the equipoise
Of the red dying night and vim of dawn
Rapping the emollient shuddering
So everything paces with synergy
And in these times I am most alive
Inside the cloys of avarice and pride
Growing more eyes and superfluous hands
And my tentacles would permit me
To wander far off, maybe too far
That I reach the enemy lines
Ticking the mines, fulminating the wiles
And the expulsion of solitude
Malingers with the billowing dusts
In the silence of the hiatus
I have been to different abodes
Of auspicious filth dangling the throat;
Families masticating endearment
And thawing faces of loathe,
Lovers quaffing the treacle poison
In the most perfidious shape of words,
Friends plucking out the petals
And shredding the virulent thorns
Of vying to fit in the swirls of the vertigo
Severing honesty from its feral veraciousness
Tangling webs into the shrilling fault of stars
The wanton susurrations inveigles
A carnal strip show in blood bath;
Everyone skewing in the rift
Of astray algebraic fractions
That defines the world's utopic vision
And the paroxysm of the paradox
Disposes oxymoronic metaphors
Of becoming most alive in a submission
I am most alive, musing upon the damp soil
Where the dead lingers casted in the tombs
Of lack of quintessence, the decadence
Is putrefying from inside their bones
Four legs crawled like a centipede
And the thighs wearily pummeled
The verve spiraling in the hex
Of the moon's ostentatious smiles
Beaming in all hidden places
As the odorless town shuffled
And unfettered howls staggered
From precipitating in the rubble
Of a marionette's muffled jeremiad
They resume their deep slumber
They are dead from the very core
And I am most alive, ensconced in solitude
In these times, where I skate my legs
Atrophied from the impassable conquest
Of finding the buried sand castles
In the pores of the dermal scales,
I find myself breathing in to rupture
The inert stance of the rib cage
Incarcerating the daunted veracity
Of a soul, a body, and the malady
Of the vessels abundance in poverty
Ignorance shall save me
As everyone pretends to be fated
And as everyone fated to pretend
Fitting in the heraldry of stars
Or the garden of plucked tulips
Speaking only of foreign tongues
The accordance of the guzzled fangs
Three eyes crossed the pathos,
Two stones hit the head
One dying breath
I woke soused in sweat
Bleeding mediocrity in red
The shallow breaths haunt in echoes
The entire endeavor to become human
Is an aubade without a paramour
A mechanical breathing without verve.
poem by Norman Santos
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Of Liberation
Holy these shackles of utopian citadel,
Profane this constant vying in veils,
Sine of great filters to parcel
The lifeless body from the ageless soul
We resume our astray meander
As seraphs round their patios above
And fiends lurk and beat around the bushes
Yonder this finite circumference
Calculating the starved preying,
Pouring more dreams in the cloying
We kneel before carnivals with sentiments
And flounder hazily with the cinders
Of charred scripts in escritoires
Come, breathe in the daunted air
To congeal a leonine heart
And stand in the piercing pinnacle
Of a robust warfare between
Existence, angels, demons and
The hedonistic souls capitulated
Inside the labyrinth of this poetry
Sway your macadamized legs
With the pendulums of serendipity
Only to beat its maladroit pace
And efface the wrought definition
Of brooding poverty and the pallid
Concoction of virulent errs and flaws
We are the rings that bind the ladders
And the slither of the escalating serpents
That the rolling dice pawned for the gambling
For the consummated liberation—
Not in the abeyance of breathing,
Or the instigation of the thawing
Into the road-killing interpolation
That slathers our heaving veins
Pulsating infidel songs and verses
Hold on in the gnarling prayer
And as we touch the tangerine gloaming
We'll morph into the crimson slicing
The demise of our days and nights
And we will become the syllabication
Of our infinite swansong soaring
With the utter of hallelujah!
poem by Norman Santos
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Under This Tacit Parasol, Your Soiree Perpetuates
A soiree in the woods perpetually beckons
with florid tinkerbells, soothing lulls,
and zephyr unspoken of the leaves -
like a gyratory chill of springtime
Inveigled, I bellowed and bristled, dyed
the colourless soil with my meandering
and there upon the serrated grass
I found a dry stick lying bemused
as futile as the sporadic tremors
of the clockwork hands of day
The night rustled in its bark -
threadbare from the weather's brawl
the moon beaming upon your shawl
with fluorescence that never lied
Yet, I didn't pick you up for your frailty
ruminates with a perilous enigma
under the dark cloaking parasols
of the eaves these trees provide
I can only lay with you, interpolating
with lifted whispers of autumn
and the forest's seizing involution
was a sapid delusion fecundated
by our taciturnly flagrant liaison
I defenestrated all abhorrence and fear
held against the black sheen of things
verging on a flawless splendor
that topples perfection, precision
And in this parcel of the earth
you were a king in a naked guise
and many a moniker but
a mongrel not, for you are
pure and stained like humanity
except you are subliminal than us
And with a bad case of forgetfulness
I tried to etch you deeply
in my own ornately engineered
vault of branching and rooted things
that even now that the perspiration
had dissipated with our communication,
the carousal sojourned unbreakably
to the station of veritable allusions;
I still remember you - as stark
as how you've deleted my memory
from your pockmarks as it
gleamed your true colour
when you jumped into the hearth
and incinerated to provide
a temporal warmth in the
ubiquity of vicissitude's morphing
Your talon-like nose breathing
under curses and words woven
like silk to the moon's fringes
and in this disembogued forest
I reckon you as you were
vying against the gait lashes
that will never be my own
like the reveries repressed
of a misbegotten photograph
Eternal childhood dry as a stick
coiled silently on the dirty ground
differing mathematical equations -
I am just like who you were
and in this forest's privacy
you are eternal, like who you were.
poem by Norman Santos
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Drunken Roads
Oh, sundered lampposts ignite
The oil black streets for a night
And in the phosphorescent facet
I shall amble in levity from musing a casket
Debonairly alluring in its jet black glaze
I'll let my tattered heels loose in the haze
Such a suede wintry patio to trample
A fervent flee to a famished black hole
And dispense the baneful protraction
Of a lifelong subsistence in fractions
Buoy me upon your macadamized skin
Oh, drunken roads, far from the chagrin
These undulating fluid pavements
Would stretch the vexing torments
Though I would rather linger a phantom
Salt and burned beneath a tombstone,
A banshee caterwauling for camaraderie
Among the drunken roads I opted be
And I shall drag my marbled toes
To find direst on your concrete prose
Will I become a squandered vagabond
And lose myself by the skewing seconds?
Or will I bequeath the hefty bounty
Of my vying in a Stygian country?
poem by Norman Santos
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Gouging the Sun's Vessels
Here we go again, after forty-seven sunsets
Counting the insurmountable steps
Ballasting in the wicks of fireballs emblazing
Subtly stirring the warm nostalgic lullaby
Soused in a maladroit tangerine fire
That parcels the dirty grass blades oozing
From the notches of the downtrodden path
Here, again we bask enthralled to the wafts
Of the gloaming's ubiquitous crowd
Here, we find the footsteps heaved
In the sands desperately fertilizing
In an echopraxic melancholia
Here, we linger with the truant and the charlatan
Five thousand footsteps slumbering in the bassinet
Of inebriated foreign tongues
Stomping upon the malingering apprehension
Mirth and gloom registered in the visage of our liaison
But the sun shall not halt for the summer eve sky
Or the toppling pillars of our frail constitutions
We shall not digress with the violent gush
Rather we let the body be laid to rise
As the sojourner of the sun's setting
Without groveling, permit it be
And watch the footsteps thaw
Into the harlequin sun's maw
We are the wafting and the wisp
Of every dusk's shrouded sleep
And in the oblivious latticing of rays
We shall wander aimlessly the afternoon asleep
poem by Norman Santos
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Unrivaled Transcience
Tell me about the power of Babylonian Gods
The symmetry and geometry of their scintillations
The silver blood dripping on their immortal wrists
Do we dream of the pain evoking the pleasure of life?
In this dog eat dog, the crunch is that: we are bones
Sworn to become dusts when we are outdated by
The easy shifting of the moon's wanton penumbra
But you will remember me, I will never die before eyes
A pantheon of virile and avid serpents uprooted
The ephemeral pegs of their virulent fangs
And the bleeding came like a guest of honor
We knew it would come, so we closed our eyes
Tell me about the lore of the tress, the lure of the sands
Croon the words in my impassable nights and never tire
Like an aubade, like a lullaby, reel me deluded into life
Make stay, or astray, in the fringes of your shadows
Tell me of the ineffable boiling of the sternum
As it plunges into the void and ethereal fathoms
And let me tell my vicarious deceleration of sense
And the decadence that perched on my firmament
I will not open my eyes, I will hold my adamant gates
And we will hide in the improbable notches of day
Rolling like hushed thunders, coming with flashes of light
And disappearing swiftly as our pawned breaths
Tell me and I will close my eyes, even if I go blind
Even if we would have to die for this lie, just tell me
And haplessly hammer it into my shattered soul
Until I believe that we can contend with incandescence.
poem by Norman Santos
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Underwater
You and I,
Are here, underwater
Seconds are so dear, underwater
Searching for a light, to draw me closer
I hold my breath in tight, bring me closer
I feel your touch, will you pull me up again?
It's not so bad down here, underwater
Once you get past the fear, underwater
Since you through the haze, it's like a memory
I've been down here for days, have you seen me?
I feel your touch, will you pull me up again?
It's all the same for me, underwater
There's nothing much to see, underwater
I cannot make a sound, but I can listen
I can't tell up from down, now I'm listenin'
I feel your touch, will you pull me up again?
You're just in sight, will you save my life again?
You and I are here, underwater
song performed by by Vertical Horizon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yalda
Wolves cried for the moon's return
Along with the aubade of the beaus
Beating themselves for their truant muse
But I am not amongst these paramours
And their torrent brawls with oppression
Because in this prolonged dark vesper
You will never be my shattered moon
For you are its very absence -
You are the darkness that enwalls me
And this tryst - a pilfered time
In consummate darkness where everything -
The somnolent sands of time,
The weeping banshee of the yesterday,
The weaving arachnid of the tomorrow,
The city's vindictive rules and calculations,
The prison of the soul, the rhythm of hearts;
Lost their keen eyes in senility
And in this parallel plane
That scarcely comes like the wind
I need not to touch you
For it is enough to know that you
Remained askance in our individual meanders
And that you remained a part of me
Hiding in my gigantic shadows -
An immense night unraveled
By the moon's peripatetic escapade
While these nights are blind we intertwine
In a sea of unreality and fantasy
You are my labyrinth of darkness
That I pleasure to get lost with
With empty hands and a slivered sky
The moon away and somewhere else
I rekindled with you, my darkness;
My nights of stolen moon; my yalda.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Jepoardy
My stride was taciturn
like the voice supressed
behind these clenched teeth
until I found your monument
gazing like an astute gargoyle
on a ponderous musing;
I washed my face with shame
and utter a cacophony
You stole my subterfuges
like how the night pilfers
the seething of my eenui;
I surrender everything
upon your austere relvance
most grandiloquently painted
on these perpetual gray mornings
But the road took slurs
and like a stammering promise
it was opressed by veracity;
the nefarious truth bludgeons us
to the end of our tethers
with its vise like vigor and filth
Now I wallow in this quagmire
trying to hide away from you,
trying to run away from me,
but I always trample to find you -
hands in akimbo, eyes down casted
upon my groveling pride and
my embarassed defenses
The taste of your soul is a poison -
a dungeon I carry amongst
the tangled convictions inside
this wearing skin and bones -
a babel of virulent destruction
that keeps me breathing and alive
in this sublime jeopardy
poem by Norman Santos
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Keep In Touch
(robert palmer)
We got to keep in touch
We fit just like a glove girl
Between the two of us
There always will be love there
I dont mind if I dont hear a word from you in years
If you blow my candle out I will fall to tears
Knowing your still lovin makes me want it to be real
Darlin youve just got to let me know the way you feel
We got to keep in touch
We fit just like a glove girl
Between the two of us
There always will be love there
I know when Im kissin you youre easin from behind
Too much solitude can make a body lose his mind
When I get that burnin need to share what we have found
I have faith that you will let me know youre still around
We got to keep in touch
We fit just like a glove girl
Between the two of us
There always will be love there
Keep in touch girl
Keep in touch girl
Keep in touch girl
Keep in touch girl
Keep in touch girl
Keep in touch girl
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Path Inbetween
if you choose never
to love me again,
then may God strike me dead now!
i dont know who i'm more angry with...
you, me, or God!
to give me back my voice
this late in the game...
and leave me with only the memory
of your touch, of your scent...
my body wants to kill my soul!
baby, i was living the blues
before you were born;
you were the paint on the stoop,
the last string broken on my guitar...
tears of blood cant touch this pain!
inside you, or lost forever?
there is no path inbetween!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Im A Marionette
youre so free, thats what everybodys telling me
Yet I feel Im like an outward-bound, pushed around, refugee
Somethings wrong, got a feeling that I dont belong
As if I had come from outer space, out of place, like king kong
Im a marionette, just a marionette, pull the string
Im a marionette, everybodys pet, just as long as I sing
Im a marionette, see my pirouette, round and round
Im a marionette, Im a marionette, just a silly old clown
Like a doll, like a puppet with no will at all
And somebody told me how to talk, how to walk, how to fall
Cant complain, Ive got no-one but myself to blame
Somethings happening I cant control, lost my hold, its insane!
Im a marionette, just a marionette, pull the string
Im a marionette, everybodys pet, just as long as I sing
Im a marionette, see my pirouette, round and round
Im a marionette, Im a marionette, just a silly old clown
look this way, just a little smile, is what they say
youll look better on the photograph if you laugh, thats okay
Im a marionette, just a marionette, pull the string
Im a marionette, everybodys pet, just as long as I sing
Im a marionette, see my pirouette, round and round
Im a marionette, Im a marionette, just a silly old clown
youre so free, thats what everybodys telling me
Yet I feel Im like an outward-bound, pushed around, refugee
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Touch Too Much
It was one of those nights
When you turned out the lights
And everything comes into view
She was taking her time
I was losing my mind
There was nothing that she wouldnt do
It wasnt the first
It wasnt the last
She knew we was making love
I was so satisfied
Deep down inside
Like a hand in a velvet glove
Chorus:
Seems like a touch, a touch too much
Seems like a touch, a touch too much
Too much for my body, too much for my brain
This kind of womans gonna drive me insane
Shes got a touch, a touch too much
She had the face of an angel
Smiling with sin
A body of venus with arms
Dealing with danger
Stroking my skin
Let the thunder and lightening start
It wasnt the first
It wasnt the last
It wasnt that she didnt care
She wanted it hard
And wanted it fast
She liked it done medium rare
Chorus
Seems like a touch, touch too much
You know its much too much, much too much
I really want to feel your touch too much
Girl you know youre getting me much too much
Seems like a touch
Just a dirty little touch
I really need your touch
Cause youre much too much too much
Chorus
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And Then You Remember
you're on top, you display something analytical, tails and heads in perfect harmony.
explanations, rationalizations, conclusions,
therefore,
i am.
then you are down. Colors come. Red, brown, yellow.
Metallic, rust. Shedding off. Tarnished silver.
Cracks. Lost diamonds. Melted gold.
ice turning to drips.
whirlpools. and rocking and pushing and shoving.
no why's please. You touch the lips. Sssh. No words.
No answers. No questions.
Just sitting down. Looking at a sunset. Orange turning to black.
Pure pitch black.
then the stars. Distant stars. You touch your hair.
Breathe the air. Suck them inside your lungs. Expand.
Close your eyes.
Now you are seeing all things in the dark so vividly.
Memories.Children running on the beach. Chasing. Hide and Seek.
On the table clothed with banana leaves, the food are laid.
Bare hands attack. And you gobble and haggle.
Meanwhile, the sea breeze arrive. The beach is empty.
The cradle swings and takes you to your youth.
Imagine what once was there. Just laughter.
You smile. Close your eyes. And then you remember.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Come Without Parachutes
Come to me without parachutes
Oh, temporal days!
And stuff my famished mouth
With the virulent petals
Of your constant withering
Come to me ceaselessly
Draw closer and sing to me
With the imperial drums rolling
We will make this grand
That the snowflakes cry in cant
I will come violently, come valiantly
We will crash through the ocean floor
Stir past the caroming people
With wobbly roots and low boughs
We can seize the undertow
Come, oh, so debonairly
Unfetter the parachutes
And let the body meet the soul
The caustic brunt will fulminate
But we'll come clean and consummate
Come to me without those parachutes
I tell you, the freefall will sedate you
And we'll collide with the frowning pits
The seraphs will muse in greed
Our plummeting and untangled hopes
Come, let's beat the angry street
I have been hanging here too long
Grinding the concrete floor
With all vehement ardor
I want to go, let us go down below
Come, my sedentary life,
Come to your funeral
Come darting like the sun
With a porcupine charm
Come without your parachutes.
poem by Norman Santos
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Shove
Woke up confused in a place I didnt know
And heard the hissing of an overused stem
The air around me is corrupt and on the take
Heard someone shout I think hes breathing again
It seems at first that no-one ever succeeds
You shove and shove until youre ready for more
And if the truth forgets to visit again
Dont take offense, hes never been here before
Shove! shove! shove! shove!
Shove in my head
Shove! shove! shove! shove!
Shoves you instead
Shove! shove! shove!
Puts you flat on your back
Shove! shove! shove!
Till the quiet attacks
Feels just like someone sank their teeth in my head
They tried to suck away my everlasting soul
I talked to God and all his literary friends
Said I was late so I just shoved it in again
Shove it again!
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Before Your Gates
The splendor of the slivered water
entices like a pleading aubade
lost in the myriad of faces
reflecting each other's banality
and enunciating the raw grandeur
the moon descried in your pits
and the treacle in my chasms
deluged like a torrent zephyr
with a halcyon volition to break
before your adamant gates
poem by Norman Santos
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A black phenomenal man
A Black phenomenal man
In the beginning God made him very special, then he blow into his body life and there he stood and, came forth. His heart beat was like the sounds of an Africa drum when played. He was made to be strong in mind, soul, and body. From birth he was gifted talents for all eyes and ears to bare witness that something great was made. He became the apple of Gods eye, God gave him dominion in his hand, That's Gods plan for him to carry out a promise that was planted before he step out his mothers womb a vision that will change the nations course of history. Phenomenal he is, black bold, and beautiful, on thee inside, intelligent, far beyond his time of his days as slave. Now that's why the slave master could not truly brake his spirt. Their may have been blood shed of words of heart that landed on the grounds to touch the graves of the formal slaves that paved the way, with An awaking of change is to take place. They tried to stop him by killing him, and trying to destroy the dream, the vision, the gift that was placed in him. He is a Black phenomenal Great man made to take over! to rule in places that great minds before him can't even imagine that day would ever come. Possible is now a possibility, Phenomenally, phenomenal, Black man Thats me. Sir Clarence of greater
poem by Clarence Williams
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Misty Water Woman
I was driving round, as the sun went down
When I came upon a lake, the sign said misty water
And standing there, with wet and tangled hair was a girl
She said her name was bo, she was a farmers daughter
I said get in, Ill take you home, you must be cold
Misty water woman
You never get to her
Misty water woman
You never get to touch her
And feel her near
It began to storm, and our talk grew warm
Till I stopped the car outside a cold and lonely place
I said were here
But she had disappeared
And on the seat was a pool of tears
And a handkerchief of lace
I did not see her leave
I was amazed
Misty water woman
You never get to her
Misty water woman
You never get to touch her
And feel her warm
I sped into the house,
It took her father and her mother to straighten me out
What was it all about
Please let me know
She looked sad, and he looked mad
And he said, yes youre right, once we had a daughter
Her name was bo, but that was long ago
Years have gone since she drowned at misty water
And the way he took it, took me by surprise
Misty water woman
You never get to her
Misty apparition
You never get to touch her
And feel her near
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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