Tortuous Clockwork – 02/06/2021

Image by Prettysleepy from Pixabay

Nightfall bells

in silken sinuous trail

coil ’round the zephyr,

which by queer,

fragmental scream

roams as nothing

in ardent thought to be.

The chiming whispers

seething from the subtlety

announce the arrival

of clanging chains most antique.

And in this garden

of black metallic bliss,

denied their existence is.

In this garden

of black metallic will,

wild wicked

does the gaping jaw

commences the rite of blighting

with memories of instinctive dances

by poison fire and blue lotus medicine.

Eyes of the Black Sun – 02/04/2021

In the heart of darkness,

death blows me a kiss;

her shadow lips

leave molten clay on my being,

and the arms of autumn

at perennial work rejuvenate me

in the womb of Abyss.

In the heart of darkness,

death blows me a kiss;

from her citadel she sings

she sings the reverse canticle unseen,

and I run to salute her

with devotion bittersweet.

In the heart of darkness,

the sanguine breaths into lucidity;

its palpitations paint the end of all aeons,

their nescience and assiduity.

The torpid cave in

under the crushing might

of primeval pelagic fist,

and I watch undaunted

the satire stomp in fury

as it frolics with ardent lunacy

to the calling of non-being.

Suolavaltakunta

Image by 2234701 from Pixabay

Yö tanssii päiväsurmaajana

hulluudesta kunniaan ja loistoon;

sen huulilta maistuu merenneidon katkeruudelta,

ja niistä syntyy uusia myrkkyjä.

Suolapyhäköissä kuiskutellaan

syvyyksien terävää kieltä;

tulipunaisena ja tulikyntenä

herää se lupaava kiihko,

joka heikkoja appaa

ja kuolemattomien verellä maalaa

rivistöön olemisen.

Encanto Agridulce

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay 

Los párpados embriagados

de elixir noctívago y sueño territorial

entretienen el vals del agridulce violonchelo

en el funeral de la noche que profesa

sus últimos momentos en susurros viperinos,

desvelando así con certeza los enigmas

que el corazón no confiesa con sobriedad.

Y en el terso mirar

de las sombras en el umbral,

místicas siluetas prometen regresar

y bailar y cantar celebrando la derrota

del orbe áureo celestial

en su carruaje mutable de amanecer

y luz de diurno manantial.

En el tierno parpadear,

el respiro se hace tenue en romance liminal.

Las mágicas siluetas prometen regresar,

y en su partida los labios musitan,

“Abrazadme una vez más”.

El Amante Idílico

Image by Simon Giesl from Pixabay

Me dedico a tu mirar,

corazón salvaje – bardo de canto brutal

sobre el vaivén de las tinieblas

azoradas por tu pasión sanguinaria.

Me dedico a tu mirar,

corazón antiguo – seductor de las estrellas

en el rito de las estelas de almizcle dulce

y hoguera primordial.

Tu voz se hace entrever sin palabras

sobre mi piel desatada en el grito del placer eterno,

y cada noche adulo tu esencia bélica

en el romance fiero de la bestia

que en sí encuentra propio anhelo.

Arrullos de la Noche Pensativa

Del regazo encumbrecido

por las llamas del desafío

brotan rostros de fantasmas:

adumbraciones de la frente cándida

y la promesa larvada de un trino transcendental,

evocativas de la pasión inaugural

de un trayecto elemental

que anhelan la libertad de trenzar

pulsaciones de sangre vívida y éctasis lunar.

Labios de seda componen poemas

sobre las olas turbulentas de la oscuridad,

y el amante teje entre suspiros las esferas de su realidad.

To Quell Bananas in Cuckoo-Store

~ No picture! Nothing would ever represent it. ~

Methought to amuse the unthinkable,

to run after the trace of All that is and naught

just to race like a wild horse in circles of tail-tale,

and become bemused - more still desertly mad

in the uneasiness of human mind frenzied!

For realities merge, crash, and detach 'fore our eyes -

ever real, but always mythical.

A twin of water weeps as it rejoices 

at the majesty of the phenomenon.

Deep within, all the fleshly suited renters

thirst for the goblet which will never quench

the full abstract desire.

We of the Weeping Bloodlet

Divided we stand in the sight of a frozen sun, salivating for the wine that would assuage our inner draught only to beset ourselves with the oozing bile of desert forests and pregnant voidness.

You are not empty who feels neither world nor fellow creature sentient, who neither sees the road nor heeds primal urge line-up. You are not undone who by strain and drunk melancholy spouses your pain into caves of clanship blindness.

Do not think, but feel again the wordless voice drowned in waves of taught heartache. You are a treasury of inconmensurable power waiting to be fertilised by rightful seed and rain-falling.

If you are unsatisfied, and thereby crawling through the sewers of hopelessness, I dare say you need just wait for the burning stellar blaze which with sweetness buzzes in every cell. On that day, my dear bud, you will have come closer to yourself than all those years of nescient judgement under unawareness and preconceived notions of life and the self.

And in parting words I say, “Value yourself!”; for there is no other like you, and it would be a shame to see you fade away locked up in the mutable illusions we have come to accept.

May you find a reason to smile this new year.

Sincerely,

Alyona

The Pale Lover

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

Winter is here. Saturn strokes his beard, and the sages retreat into their caves to ponder upon the mysteries of death. The crows outside enliven the deafening silence, yet fall quiet with the same swiftness they took to their cawing.

In the cold breast of the sickle bearer, the dim grey world evokes an eldritch romance which human words stumble and fail to tongue. But buried in promising old tomes, I find the next stage for my atrocious play – a beauty which forlorn, a wisdom which is dreaded.

Quintaesencia

Flores de corazón saturnino, mustio azulino

brotaron a la orilla de la tierra subliminal infrasombría.

En la pálida penumbra el amor lloró,

sus lágrimas hurtadas de los arroyos y suelos baldíos reprimidos.

¡Pero qué conducta tan fascinante la del fantasma afligido!

Su estela fue pronunciación de muerte sublime y tósigo desmedido

mientras que el alma herida ardía – cínica –

en el océano ventajoso aunque olvidado

de los confines de lo atávico inalcanzable.

“¡Levantad el velo, ser de lo más profundo,

noble masoquista de los tiempos más allá del tiempo!

Moráis como algo-nada más allá

del puente matriz y seno que infundió vida

a las ilusiones de la vida –

Vuestro umbral protegido por el caballero impío

quien no engendra más de ardua labor y fatiga

en las fauces de la luz diurna.

¡Arrastrad lo que fue frente a mí!

Este corazón no me pertenece a mí,

más sangro, más me arrastro sobre el vidrio de la verdad

solo para confesar –

Miradme con la memoria de los ojos

perceptivos y conscientes,

de vuestro esfuerzo y dolor en reminiscencia.

Abrazadme antes de que los arquitectos de la amargura

me expelen por la osadía de mi estancia y permanencia.”

Legacy of the Grotesque

The wind-beaten lake was beset by offshore storms of confounded and weeping veils. In the midst of the tempest, awareness rose enraged to calm the waters, and the mirror-like lake became a reflection of an alternate state. All knights gathered under one plate, one flag, one creed to sustain: one-pointed laser stare beyond the conceivable extent; thus, the voice was the wordless wordly observant who severed the umbilical cord of the pre-conceptual which sat in the cave of his own reflection to execute the ways of consolidation.

Lulling Tickles in Liminality

Image by DarkmoonArt_de from Pixabay

As Darkness sways her regal skirt

to the dead’s drumming heartbeats,

I sit still entranced in silence until Being is

and all surroundings disappear.

Sea foam bubbles and kisses itself away in my ears –

the last remnants of the multitude storm

have no sway over the rock of protean lore.

The weathervane slightly oscillates

by the systole and diastole of breath,

reconciling lover and beloved

with the primal scent of lively opiates

in sightless search. 

And to commensurate the sweetness

of honeydew, roses, and rosemary blends,

all dreams entorched wed the shadows

in the tireless dance of visceral cantus

and hedgehog air.