Of Reckoning
A somnolent velvet mustered and galloped
With the maladroit circling of the parliament
Of vultures and crows over slumbering carrion—
Meat suits disembogued of the singeing blood
And I am one among the riveted motions
Shearing the skies with profane pulsations
Lingering in the temples of the unholiest gods
Here, I am a colorless myriad of liaisons:
A sedentary life, a breathless death,
Lurking back into the svelte gutters
Of irrevocable stains of melancholia.
The redolence creaking with the floorboards
That used to be scraping warmth and life
Beneath the pheromones and morning breaths,
The humdrum noise in the alleys of turbulence
With people for walls, and hearts for rings
That binds ladders for all the falling,
The last tick of the crooning clockwork
Careening for gilded memories and staring
At his last wave for regrets and chances
Of a thousand more defeat; a thousand more
Photographs of the drizzles in your pane.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Shadow Dance
The shadows danced with the hazy smoke
Draped in the malodorous tobacco scent
Rippling the pallid beckon of the summer noon
The shadows danced and lightly rouse
Insurmountable motions of the colossus sea
And lingered with the auspicious truancy
The shadows danced with the svelte strokes
In the maladroit light-flushed and fueled-gush
Whining seep of a violent breath of life
The shadows danced with phantom swords
Scintillating sparks to flicker within the darkness
Slumbering in the corners of somnolent eyes
The shadows danced in the reveling noise
Where the sun never quells the thirsty rose
And never pours for the barren host
The shadows danced and tilted inertia
To greedily gather the myriad of porcelain jars
Brimming with dusts and scripts and stars
The shadows danced and I was enthused
To sway the steely legs gnarled in the silence
Of calculating the shadows rhythmic palpitations
poem by Norman Santos
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Melancholia
In the afternoon, baby in my room
When the lights are dim way beyond the hill
In the afternoon, baby in my room
When Im really down get me off the ground
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
In the morning time when I go outside
In the morning time its like that all the while
In the afternoon when Im in my room
Every single day, it wont go away
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
And its in my heart, when were apart
And it stops and starts, and its in my heart
Every single day its always in my way
When Im making hay, all Ive got to say
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
Well its in my blood and its in my veins
Here it comes again, when Im in the rain
In the wind and rain, well the sun dont shine
Well its always mine, all of the time
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
And its in my life and its all the time
It doesnt go away when the church bells chime
In the evening time when I drink my wine
In the evening time when its on my mind
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
Its only melancholia
Oh melancholia, oh melancholia, oh melancholia, oh melancholia
Melancholia, melancholia
They call it, call it melancholia, call it melancholia, call it melancholia, call it melancholia
Call it melancholia, melancholia, melancholia, melancholia
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lucky
Thunder cracks, the sky is crying
On her back shes pushing trying
He holds her hand and kneels beside her bed
Break the silence baby screaming
In slow motion she aint dreaming she closed her eyes looked
Up to God and says
Should I cry a little more
Should I try a little more
Id pay the cost and laugh it off
Id do it all a thousand times again
No Regrets
Livings hard and dyings easy
My mistakes they wont defeat me
I like to burn the candle at both ends
Ive broke some hearts been broken hearted
Ive run away from fires Ive started
I didnt break but tried my best to bend
Should I cry a little more
Should I try a little more
Id pay the cost and laugh it off
Id do it all a thousand times again
No Regrets
No regrets-for things Ive done
No regrets-for wars Ive won
No regrets-for fires Ive started
No regrets-for faith departed
Should I cry a little more
Should I die a little more
Should I lie a little more
Should I get high a little more
Should I cry a little more
Should I try a little more
Id pay the cost and laugh it off
Id do it all a thousand times again
No Regrets
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clockwork Creep
Im a clockwork creep
And I cant get to sleep
They wind me up and let me go
And I cant unwind
Going out of my mind
My time is coming soon you know
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Im a jumbo jet
With a brand new set
Of passengers and bags and crew
Ill spread my wings -
Do a thousand things
To prove how good I am to you
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Meanwhile in the cargo of escargot
The temperature is rising
Advertising that our time is running
Down, down, down, down, down
Oh with just one minute to live
Oh, no youll never get me up in one of these again
'cos what goes up must come
Down, down, down, down, down
Down, down, down, down, down
Oh, the gravity of the situation
Its only my willpower
That keeps this thing in operation
But were gonna crash thats for certain
The pilot is too busy flirtin
And he aint aware
That theres a bomb down there
And if he dont do something its curtains
Now just hold on,
Said the little bomb,
If you were just to hold my hands
Then time would stop
The plot would flop
And jumbo would be safe to land
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
My landings are the envy
Of sabena and pan am
From chattanooga to japan
I taxi through the airways -
What a swell little plane
What a fine little plane
What a great little plane
I am
Hang on one sec
Im a clockwork wreck
And though my fuse is burning slow
Must keep my date to detonate
Goodbye, ta ta, and cheerio
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a.........
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Regrets
BOUNCE B-side
Thunder cracks, the sky is crying
On her back she's pushing, trying
He holds her hand and kneels beside her bed
Break the silence, baby's screaming
In slow motion she ain't dreaming
She closed her eyes, looked up to God and says
Should I cry a little more?
Should I try a little more?
I pay the cost and laugh it off
And do it all a thousand times again
No regrets
Living's hard and dying's easy
My mistakes, they won't defeat me
I like to burn a candle at both ends
I broke some hearts, been broken hearted
Run away from fires I've started
I didn't break but tried my best to bend
Should I cry a little more?
Should I try a little more?
I pay the cost and laugh it off
And do it all a thousand times again
No regrets for things I've done
No regrets for wars I've won
No regrets for fires I've started
No regrets for faith departed
Hey, Hey
Thunder cracks, the sky is crying
On her back she's pushing, trying
Holds her hand and kneels beside her
Only faith left there to guide her
Should I cry a little more?
Should I try a little more?
Should I lie a little more?
Or get high a little more?
I pay the cost and laugh it off
And do it all a thousand times
Should I ...
Should I ...
Should I ...
No regrets
No regrets
No regrets
No regrets
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Counting Crows
Five jet black birds hover
In an ominous flight above head
Whilst I stood amidst the sea of luster
This gilded outgrowth of summer possessed
They spun obliviously, maladroitly,
Entangling and severing lies
And when the sun hides
In the foliage of white pages
Brewing a concoction of lightning,
Thunder, rain, and mistral wind,
The crows would perch in a leafless tree
Forking its branches into the sky
Asking for alms, shearing the charms
Of false hoping and the crows
Beckon the sedentary peril
Lurking like panthers behind the curtain
Of inevitable and malignant fate
Watching and calculating
In ravine and vulpine askance
And every gloaming one crow would fly
To anywhere but in the sea of rye
Hastily in fastidious motions
Its wings would flap and glide
Leaving the horizon,
Leaving an anxious anticipation,
One after another, they flew
Pilfering the lustrous tawny view
And as the number dawns to extinction
I stood still, holding my breath
Up into the small of my neck
Swallowing the clock
As I count crows,
Malinger days,
Sojourn deaths;
A close good bye.
poem by Norman Santos
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Temples Of Carrion
Where PAZUZU yells with pain
Where carrion awaits!!!
Where death's reborn
Are temples of carrion!
It's time of the other time
It's time to remember
It's time for sacrifice!!!
Come sumerian magic
Come from chaos
When nature break the silence!!!
Rise the walls of temples
By KINGU by ABSU!!!
Ancient's temples
Chambers of shells!
Where the smell of filth and carcass
Are the smell of HUMWAWA
-abomination's lords!!!
Where the evil words are strong
And the act are filthy
You'll be inside the dark shine world
In the temples of carrion!
Where PAZUZU yells with pain
Where carrion awaits!!!
Where death's reborn
Are temples of carrion!
When the mother TIAMAT will be
Restless and rejoicing
It's time for sacrifice!!!
Come sumerian magic
Come from chaos
Come the dark shine world
In the temples of carrion
song performed by by Undercroft
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nikkita: Last Of The Thousand Novembers
I mosey
Around the livid halls
Of a thousand Novembers.
But Nikkita,
Let me tell you something.
This is the last of it.
I am bereft of life,
But in this
Plush death,
I have never been so alive
In the burning
Hours
Of a thousand Novembers.
A thousand Novembers
That gave a thousand more
Deaths.
The wind rushes
In a dash of daggers
As you make love
To the rancid tigers.
This is what you are.
A farce.
A trickster in the form
Of a tulip with thorns.
A ballerina who dances
And tiptoes through fire.
You are the
Burning ember outside
The window that wails
With the night’s tail.
So here,
With all the love
I had
That was never enough,
With all the
Prattle that I have heard
Your whereabouts,
Your new liaisons,
I don’t care.
Let time tell you
Of your own travails.
Let the motions of the clocks
Grant you your
Drudgery.
You are betrothed to
The night’s cantankerous
Soiree of tigers.
You are the tiger’s muse.
But not so much
A tiger’s prowess.
And so to a thousand Novembers,
My death
Wants verve.
And so to the
Tiger who took you,
And you let him take you
To his lair
Of rancorous disdain,
Putrid affection,
Petrified howls,
And sullied fangs,
Slowly puncture
Through her skin,
Mad tiger.
You are as mad
As her crazed tempest.
And to Nikkita,
You are the last
Of a thousand
Novembers,
And mine too,
In a thousand Novembers,
I am your last.
I am the last.
poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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Wind Chimes
`
small sounds
twinkle in the ear
soft velvet touch
invisible fingers quietly
mingle on a weathered cheek
with sullen humid arvo sweat
bleating echoes in the wind
dessicated foliage rustle
as creaking floorboards
whisper willowed memories -
childhood's laughter rings
clarion of tomorrow fades
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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Grand-Father's Clock
My grand-father's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny weight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire --
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place -- not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night --
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight --
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Revolving Doors
There was not a single stain in the horizon
When the svelte shadow of the dusk climbed,
Bulged, wrinkled and fulminated in a cloud
Shedding the unwanted downpour and
Feigning an ostensible slumber
And in this sedated quiescence, eyes opened
Eyes opened - to the cry of a thirsty child,
To the drifting lucid voices wafting with bodies,
To the chasing taillights and streetlamps,
To the maladroitly dangling pendulums,
To the unanchored claws of crows and doves,
To the final page written with ink blots;
Eyes opened to the myriad reasons
Why doors opened and closed -
For the undoing and departing
For consigning and contriving
To the earthly gods and beacons
That girdled us with hopeful unrealities
Eyes opened to accommodate the coming
Batted an eyelash to find them departing,
Curled softly then bloomed like a moonflower
Riveted in the unclosed door with chaste hopes
Eyes opened to these trivial veracities:
In these calloused world where the hinges
Are the only ones that stays in its place
We will meet again, caught in revolving doors
And eyes will open to second chances
And close to sleep with disappointments and regrets.
poem by Norman Santos
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As the Crows Gathered
As the Crows Gathered
By: Adam M. Snow
Surrounded by bodies of murder
the flocking and squawk arose.
Score of many rows on girder
feast of death drew the crows.
One to carry souls of many;
one onto life beyond life.
Yet was not the foe-of any-
to leave this world of strife.
The crows they flock,
they flock, they squawk;
flapping their wings tremendously.
They caw, they pecked,
they grew many in score
groups gathered more and more.
Blackened the sky with their endless flutter;
'But what of this? ' I utter.
'My days are long now being nighted.
The crows around have united.'
Feathers falling, covering the ground with black;
everywhere I look, it covers every crack.
The thought of death surrounds us all
before the crows, life will fall.
The ominous bank of crows like a cloud,
covers the world like an endless shroud.
Leaving I, overwhelm with fear
it is death lurking near.
The crows they gathered all in vast;
all is dark than a shadow cast.
They prey the lost and many more,
time has come for death to bore.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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The Making of a Prince IV: Eternal Wars for Sovereignty
A pen—a claymore, a crown; power
A paper—a vast land unconquered; possession
Tear drops and blood trickles down
In a troubled gypsy, pristine in beam and frown;
In a white lily, queen of her regalities;
An esoteric mesh—keys and codes,
Algorithms and genetics ensconced
In the marrows of a little prince's becoming
Burning a thousand year, browning a thousand leaf,
In the escritoire - the sanguinary palms of scars
And there I was, cringing without recoil,
A tatterdemalion defeat
A breathing carrion
Slumbering like a mirror
Concealing light.
But there's the damsel,
The king, and the star,
They vied for me
As how I shall for them
And now they have whittled
A prince from a lifeless stone
Shoved apathy away,
Lulled the demons to sleep,
And gorged destitution to death,
I shall depart and san
This part of the story
Where I shall wan away
From their reach
And shall they recognize
And leave no chance
To stagger and miss.
poem by Norman Santos
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Beneath Still Waters
Beneath Still Waters
By: Adam M. Snow
Beneath still waters lie lost memories,
Of sullied dreams cast into seas.
Yet mine lost in a thousand days,
By my foreknown separate ways,
And only by the blood moon,
Will it shine ever so soon.
But mine, shattered by my past,
As my essence surpassed,
Tormented by my woes,
Like the crows upon my flesh.
Tender life of putrid mesh,
Cast down upon my burden.
But lest I suffer more,
For mercy is what I plead for.
To atone for what my sins may cost,
But I reluctant for myself now lost.
Willingly I encumber my future wonder,
Regrets now my only feeling,
I fallen, now kneeling.
Melancholy was my one desire,
Now I cast aside the pit of fire.
Awaken now my wayward dream,
And myself, I now redeem.
On this night of vespertine,
My untimely death was intervene.
Laying here in peaceful slumber,
No more worries should I encumber.
Weeping may endure the night,
My soul, my life becomes the light,
Open now my vastness heart,
Cometh tomorrow a brand new start.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Night Of A Thousand Hours, No.1, Part 2
a thousand drunks
puking beside the tree
in front of my house
men dressed in tuxedos or thousand dollar suits
women in a designer's exclusive gowns
stumbling & laughing loudly
leaving the posh Halifax exclusive club next door -
a thousand taxis blowing their horns
impatiently waiting for a thousand partiers
desperate to go down-town for another drink
to pick up some guy or girl
to have a story to share with friends the next day-
a thousand television announcers
bellowing out the news of the day
of a thousand brutal murders
of thousands killed in a war somewhere
of thousands starving to death
with film footage in living color & stereo sound
on a thousand television sets
filling a thousand apartments & houses
with a strange blue glow-
a thousand giant leopard slugs
sliming their way along sidewalks
gathering together at night
conspiring in secret meetings
performing strange relegious ceremonies-
a thousand buzzing bees
each trapped inside a glass jar
a thousand small brown bats
flying around the street lights
in a feeding frenzy-
a thousand telephones
all ringing at once
but there's no one home
just a thousand disembodied voices
on a thousand answering machines -
a thousand faces staring at me
through my windows
a thousand faces reflected
in a thousand mirrors
a thousand images
flood into my eyes
a thousand memories
fill my burning over-stuffed brain -
a thousand neurons
firing as I fall on the floor
into a blissful coma
as a thousand suns
explode over the horizon
ending this thousand hour night -
poem by Gordon Coombes
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One
One thousand voices
But not one heard
One thousand thoughts
But not one word
One thousand troubles
But no one will know it
Unless I decide to
Finally show it
One thousand cuts
Run down my arm
A tribute to my
Life of self-harm
One thousand scars
That will not heal
One thousand people
Who will not feel
One thousand but no more
I finally decide
There will be one less person
And one more suicide
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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From The Distance (Of Life and Death)
The ghastly mantling fog
That had spun out my eyes
Adamantine and brazenly cold
Is your very breath slicing
A wanton shrill in the supple skin
Like how those words flung
Into the impassable distance
Toppling the dearth expanse
Of time strutting down her golden stair
Those words are the spine
Of the hundred tacitly inscribed
Poetries in blood and smothered breaths
Along with the thousand winding days
Plummeting into the abysmal trench
In constant winnows of your redolent
Balmy zithers of the morning sun
As I speak of these words, I entangle
Myself in the wisps of your tresses
And gape in the crevasses
Of your hostile sweetness
From the distance eloquently stretched
In life and death in ethereal phases;
In the verdure of treacherous subtleties,
In absence and in the deficient existence,
You bore me life from subsisting
The gorging plenitude of puissant deaths
I swallowed you and your piercing shafts
Had scraped my insides and you have
Melted into my very blood, life and death;
You were my life and death
The gods had left me to bled
For your wanderlusting immolation
So you went far-off, father than
The subways of oblivion
Down into the pits of lies
And you have reaped your wings
Whet your prongs and sealed
The gridlock enthralls beneath
The earth that cradles your remnants
I will crush my ears to the mud
For the petrichor slathers
The entity of your particulars,
To seize your lies and inject
A deluge of life and death
Constantly, in dithers
Longer than your memories
And preempted blarneys
Blind as the serrated stars
I shall efface your calls
To cross the line and free fall
Again into your eternal ditch
And keep myself between
The inertia of life and death
Regardless, you were
The two opposing columns
No longer
poem by Norman Santos
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The Superfluity of Her Petals
In the dark of the pitch black velvet
Of the town's fluttering skies, she;
A rose, with quaint petals of solitary
Cries and somber interpolations
Scars the escritoire that could never
Bleed for her marred verve and demise
Saliently in silence she stirred the ripples
Of quietude and eviscerated the scorches
Perched upon her poreless skin
In the heraldry of emollient light orbs
Dangling in asunder lampposts parceling
The slumbering hostile doors and windows
Creating latticing shadows to eagerly dispose
The svelte prism of pristine strangeness
Austerely ensconced in this odorless town
Where motes plummet down eagerly
Whetting the lackluster sheen of her
Mystical redolence of truancy
Like an arachnid she spun her home,
Her grave, her trap, inside her bones
Like an arachnid she swings rooftops
With a silver thread in the semblance
Of a lynch and of an eloquent lace
To bind the mistral spell in the haze;
Her laces creates a psychedelic marquetry
That only few people can grasp and see
Those who danced with the shadows,
Those who pounced with the fall,
Those who quaffed the tea and spew
The pseudo-saccharine innuendo,
Those who plucked the thorns
Crawling the ladders of your hue,
Are here with me for you.
poem by Norman Santos
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Easter Parable
[The 'Easter Weak End' metaphor, as explained by Richard
Jarboe Inspired me to write these few lines]
I have died a thousand deaths
And come back alive
A thousand times too
But, I never equated the betrayal
Leading to death and life again
To the Easter parable, till today
You opened a window and showed me
The warmth that remains
And revives me again
Each time to love and life
Is by the purging of self
Through the pyre of pain!
poem by Angelina Pandian
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Photographs & Memories
Photographs and memories
Christmas cards you sent to me
All that I have are these
To remember you
Memories that come at night
Take me to another time
Back to a happier day
When I called you mine
But we sure had a good time
When we started way back when
Morning walks and bedroom talks
Oh how I loved you then
Summer skies and lullabies
Nights we couldnt say good-bye
And of all of the things that we knew
Not a dream survived
Photographs and memories
All the love you gave to me
Somehow it just cant be true
Thats all Ive left of you
But we sure had a good time
When we started way back when
Morning walks and bedroom talks
Oh how I loved you then
song performed by by Jim Croce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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