The Fear of Uncertainty

You played a god and made a twin
But failed to bolt the screws,
Alas the rogue you spawned to win
Blew clear your path to lose.
You fought in vain to keep it tamed
As your neurotic means,
But it took charge and you became
The boy made of machine.

You groomed yourself like Heracles
And struck the despots down,
Before the sword of Damocles
Was thrust into your crown.
You braved to set the skies alight
With eyes so true and keen,
But fell upon the shroud of night
A boy who'd turned machine.

You'd sunk beneath a noxious sea
And felt your life possessed,
But thrived in hope of breaking free
In swathes of stout unrest.
You'd let your supple parts corrode,
The darkness bend you mean,
Vowing control would be your mode
When you became machine.

You tore apart the astral veil
In frenzy of its lore,
Then gorged the sky until it ailed
And you could stand no more.
You pitched yourself at Heaven's womb
Exposed to the unseen -
The cryptic wilds that would consume
A boy posing machine.

You broke among the social stage
As it occurred to you
That humankind cannot be gauged
Like one and one make two.
You never saw an honest flaw
About your self-routines,
Until at last your romance bore
That men are not machines.

Hello,

This piece is very good. I do like the rhyme; it's not something I'm able to accomplish very often, so I really do enjoy it when I see the rhythm elsewhere. I also very much admire the originality here. I have read so many poems over the years I've been a member here, but have yet to read work quite like yours.

I think I'd like to see you tackle a mundane topic, just to see what you would say. Curiosity, I suppose.

If you're interested in a challenge, do let me know.

Anni

Fucking brilliant.

Very wise words, Mark, very wise.

Post more.

!m

Thank-you both for reading and leaving comments.

Annimi, I am interested in a challenge. Please feel free to lay down terms.

Cloister

Beneath towers
I sat between bays,
Rapt by chivalry,
Penitent by sin.

Cascading sun broke through clouds
Flooding tombs in shadow -
An effigy of light
Filling Roman windows,
Spilling through fingers.

Monastic winds
Bade me heed time’s heart,
Those who had imprinted theirs upon it –
Artisans and absolutions,
Rocks into sea.

St. Anselm was jubilant,
His summer sermon ambient,
I felt partially irrelevant,
A catholic revenant,
But had decided to espouse tradition
This day.

I drank the summer choir,
Its every golden filament threading me,
Weaving regret
Through desire,
Renewing passion.

Then I saw her
Convening on the grass,
Dispensing sandwiches and smiles,
Accentuated in colours,
Radiantly refined.

I watched her beneath the sun,
Beneath those very temples of time
Perpetuating my existence
With the blood in her cheeks.

In that moment
I lived luxuriantly
Knowing only her love.

In that moment
I was absolved of the agendas of the abyss,
The absolutions of the abyss.

Then suddenly,
The vibrancy
The piquancy,
Every shimmering thing peeled away,
Ebbed into a monochrome ghost.

Statues became dust,
Words became whispers,
She became wind,
A silver portrait of shadows and sky.

Still,
My heart was full,
I was a conquistador,
A crusader arriving home,
Provident,
Triumphant,
I could now leave,
I could live,
I would love.

But then
Once more it came,
Striking through the cracked sky,

Swiftly, spanning outward,
Enveloping everything in light,
Setting pigeons from coffers
As laughing stridently rose,
Swatting me back,

Before,
Calm.

I gazed towards the sun,
The tower flags rippled against sky,
My realisation came quickly –

The summer would not end here.

Another lovely and eloquent addition to your ever expanding collection.

The challenge?

I once wrote a romantic piece in iambic pentameter about a dead pig. You could probably find it back there in my thread.

I challenge you to write romantically about...

A phone jack. I love rhyme, so if you can accomplish that, bonus points to you. But it can't be comedy. It has to come off as being genuinely introspective and physically descriptive of the object.

Wow.. I definitely haven't been reading enough of your work. Something I find interesting about when people use greek gods or mythological references.. It always reminds me that wisdom from ancient times can still hold value in the modern world. That no matter how many advancements we make, we are still human in so many timeless ways.

In that, its good to see another "old soul" in these parts. ;)

It's like...colourful spider webs - I can feel them trembling. Red, blue, pink, yellow, green. The first one made them thrum and the second one made them grow.

Good god Mark.
The visuals from the last one were astounding.

Good stuff sir.

Acknowledged. I have started thinking about several forms and effects, unorthodox and otherwise. Though it may not be in quick succession of this post, I shall deliver something in due time.

Thank-you for your continued support Anni.



Yes that's right, their fantastical and surreal qualities often provide pertinent allegories of our own anthropological tribulations. As such, it is unsurprising that writers and artists continue to dip into the mythology well in order to efficiently articulate their points.

Good to hear from you again Bane.



Colours are important. Thank-you for your iridescent comment.



Matt, always a pleasure.

Peacock Soldiers

Bashful yet bold, in glimpses you see us,
Peacock soldiers coruscating laughs,
Traversing the drab, that we may be strange,
Though truth can't tell we don't come in legions.

We infiltrate your cities like lax spies,
Acquiring your wares with conceited eyes,
Smirking of the day you'll plainly requite
In our marquees of fantasy wonder.

We paint the world a transient colour
With easels so tall our hearts touch the sky,
Enshrining us royal in billowed splendour
So wheels can turn and our heads can stay full.

I look forward to reading more of your work.

"A silver portrait of shadows and sky"

An enchanting thought...

Peacock Soldiers did it again sir.

"Artists of the world unite and take over artists of the world Hand it over hand it over."



Always a pleasure to read your work sir.

i particularly liked these two lines of your last poem. very lovely and interesting imagery.

Thanks dudes.

Atheist

Stormed the box of memories,
Purged through the night,
Sat watching dying.

Words, colours, places and people
Smiled in windows of light,
Nothing exceeded me.

Lost the clock ticking in my head,
Let go of everything,
I am going to win.

Percuil River

Upon the shore they cried,
The night grew sad and shrill,
They could not make the tide.

One by one they had tried
To bay the deathly ill
That on the shore they cried.

Ne’er had the water lied,
It had reared them yet still
They could not make the tide.

The skies had been their guide,
Yet of some higher skill
Upon the shore they cried.

Each writhing side to side
Rued an end where of will
They could not make the tide.

The stars had open wide,
Torn by the river’s spill,
Upon the shore they cried,
They could not make the tide.

I really like the last two.

Athiest reminds me of the process some people have to go through just to sleep at night. Sort of releasing yourself and overcoming new thoughts from the day, or old ones that surfaced.

Percuil river took a minute to register..but after looking up the term percuil river, it made more sense.

Overall, good work.

I really enjoyed Percuil River... Shadowsbane s right, it wouldnt have understod it's true meaning unless I had looked the river up, but still would have made a wonderful poem. You don't need to understand the origin of a poem for it to have meaning, it can be interpereted in mant ways.

Keep writing

Thanks for reading.

Amazing and awesome, you are very talented. I look forward to reading more. I know I say that to a lot of poets but it's always true. I love reading the works of anyone who writes.

Thanks for the words HearseFeak.

I've just realised that nearly every poem in this thread has something to do with the sky...

Well that's not about to change with this next poem...

Mark Watch the Stars

Beyond divined relics
Plasma reams
Punctuate,
Conjugate
Hopes and dreams,
Giving me focus,
Desire and drive,
Refreshing character
For that which I strive,
Like hyperdiamond mirrors
Cleansing the soul,
Renewing,
Imbuing
When life takes its toll,
Imparting wisdom
Like prophet sky,
Grandfather murals
Of the mystic July,
Each one a cell,
The ancient unseen,
Millions of pixels
On a digital screen,
Not only reflecting
My heart and mind,
But initiating portals
Through space and time,
Spectral echoes,
Thoughts unconsummated,
Infinite legions of qualia
Rushing past the trees,
Now realised.