Paradoxes, Poetry and Pandemonium.

[sneb]

Following be the minutes of the madness:​

Paradoxes​

What my wanton mind wanks off to, delighted by self-referencing ideas, contradictions, and ironies, self-falsifying constructs, and notions that destroy themselves. They would be a reflection of my mind into an overdrive or just braking every thought and then. A paradoxical perversion can also be laid out, depending on the bend, angle and the line of the river, where it tides into the bank. No money for guessing, that it is a thought trail, and nothing more, no gems to be dug up.
​

Poetry​

Surely not a connoisseur, nor the light bearer of the delightful crowd of noteworthy poets in here, but just an outbreak of my thundering gray matter, which needs to be put down, and which place better than this one? Alongwith my paradoxical perversions, I would pull out my random poetry and jam it up like no 'morrow.​

Pandemonium​

I am a child of chaos, and my mind cuddles up with the disorderly every now and then, and curls up like a ball, that ricochets off my brain in such ways, feebly known and yet ignored. What goes in here would be articles of note, essays, pondering but with a flavor of erotica or a hint of maturity, a touch of life or just a bowl of madness.

I sure have now no idea what is this thread for. Except that, if it lives on, I will drop whatever drips off my mind, in all of my states, in here.


PS: - The most important business of the hour is to mention that in the end it is just a soup-plate for me put my bread crumbs by the side and drink a potion and puke it out. On how much I get my bum up to type all of what dawns on me, this would progress or just whittle off.

Joke: But feel free to run over my darling thread with your visiting responses, queries and like the freaky FAQ, if you will, to destroy this thread. So that I can create another one again. Oh how I already hate this thread.

​

 

[sneb]

A paradoxical eyeing

Eye be a charming organ, but more than that,
The eye be a mystery if eye may say.
Eye wanted to see,
How it works, to be seeing all the time,
And still it goes on darting right and eyerie left.

​

 

[sneb]

The nightly owl

The nightly owl screams into the silent distance, my outdoors squeak in horror and the walls cry with pain.
An unnerving mix of happenings, I look up at the sky to make sense, the cries continue and the horror stay.
It was indeed the start of a horror movie but I was not watching it.
Only the owl hooted but the pain was imagined, and so was the happenings.
I wake up to find myself awake, or just dead.

​

 

[sneb]

Poetry : Cities in pain

Beyond this colourful skyline beneath the dancing lights
There are cities in pain, the borders of our consciences broken-
Holes holding up our darken wishes, the fat whims out of the sights,
Beyond these noises of houses, vainly in pleasures
There are cities under the wounded bliss, broken hearts blessing.
There are men felt for their happy scars before the walls of truth
Maybe the chapped lips that hugged your dancers in the night
They screamed against the bleeding skies,
Wrapped in our illusions, beneath the neon clouds,
There are cities in pain today,
I can feel their breakage after a long time again.​

​

https://images.pexels.com/photos/96951/pexels-photo-96951.jpeg?auto=compress&cs=tinysrgb&h=650&w=940
​

 

[sneb]

Poem : Drama of love, darling!

The drama of love, Darling,
We with our dressed up Agora,
Walk with no shame at last-
To where they stand in unclothed display.
We love one for our deepest darkness,
And hang the other for our guilt.
The rest, we look at and leave standing,
For what is worth they are as much human.
This is the age old irony.​

 

[sneb]

Pandemonium : Broken mortals

Oh you cry, little man,
you simper from shadows,
your broken houses coy in the light of low,
you think you built this all,
I mock at your little dreams,
so small they seem from far up here;

Oh you run and hide, little man,
light up the boulevard with your lust-
and then hide between the grass blades,
man, that is not your cloth, just some grass that grew-
in hope to ease your hunger, but that is not be undone.

You are a broken toy from ages ago,
I play with your dreams to win my wars-
the wars I have begun in your name,
mortality is for your usage, not for my play,
I made you and I shall break you,
from my loft I witness your pains and pleasures,
the momentary sighs reverberating in hollow nightly still,
I have such witnessed your eager manoeuvre
around those burning pile of grass-blades, dried out
from the sun brought by your desires.

You are a creator's dream, maybe a childish one,
a chapter in his whims.

​

 

[sneb]

Poem : My obsession

She flirts with obsessions as if-
the pebbles roll between my thighs and her skin;
As if the flickering twilight between them lips,
she minds her passions washing over me.

She treads walls over my burning loins in haphazard manner,
one that reminds of wars waged beyond in twilight and
one that went on in the moonless night,
she consumes my convulsions with every act between us.
​

 

[sneb]

Poetic pandemonium : As drunk as the moon

I had a thought, and a desire. The rush for perfection is belittling and is diabolical in this crazed out stretched out world. In my mind, imperfection is poetry and a little flaw is yearn-worthy. But these are just words and within the realm of language, everybody can be such flawless.
In reality? Maybe not as much. This is for a friend I know, maybe, who is as flawed as the moon. The wanton darkened botches and the desire to sink every two weeks. This goes out to that friend of mine.

He is as drunk as the big moon,
fat and far from flawless;
There are impatient characters of small tales
whispering wisdom in my ears
but they will wait until I have uttered your name
in broad nightlight, and the wine takes over.
​

 

[BlackCaramelCreme]

This is a nice thread....waiting to see what else you'll put down....

 

[sneb]

This is a nice thread....waiting to see what else you'll put down....

Hey, welcome and thanks for stopping my humble-scribble-doodle-corner.

Of course there is a lot of blabber to be put in here. And I have a backlog of years of musings, that I need to sift through and frame 'em here.
But will selectively put the better ones for the Lit-mmunity.

 

[sneb]

Poem : Prostitute's hear

Her heart is among men's hearts,
Found.
Times, when a heart for heart was spent.
I did. She did. They sat by the sill for the end.
​

 

[BlackCaramelCreme]

Hey, welcome and thanks for stopping my humble-scribble-doodle-corner.

Of course there is a lot of blabber to be put in here. And I have a backlog of years of musings, that I need to sift through and frame 'em here.
But will selectively put the better ones for the Lit-mmunity.

Thank you....is that you in your avatar?

 

[sneb]

Pandemonium : Of sanity

Sanity is just a pointless facade
Sometimes I can not help but laugh
At your attempts to eke out meaning-
When there is none.
Under that thin layer of plaids of color and smell
There is a depth of emptiness,
One that we wake up to, everyday.
The sober face is a testimony of your chaos,
Sure once in a while, a monster rises off the same well.

​

 

[sneb]

Paradox : Victim of imagination

We are victims of our imaginations,
And the shadows of our reflections.
We are the men in the mirrors,
And the ghosts of our children.

​

 

[sneb]

Poem : Whispers

The fair-maiden whispered in his ears,
"Your pleasures are so minuscule,
in my world we scoff at their needless existence. "
​

 

[sneb]

Pandemonium : broken sanctuary

A sanctuary of a thousand broken men and women,
I see their shadows complete what they fail,
love and lust storied in their wishes
like an orchestra I hear their choirs louder
clearer and finer by the day.

I inhabit a broken land and imperfect souls
their wishes and whims come out truer though
needless I say I be one of them and to bid my time
in their torn selves I see my reflection,
nobody is more different more individual than everybody,
I wish to play my true part before the orchestra touches the climax,
right at the peak, where everything fades into miniscule-
is where humanity would begin.

We are in a broken sanctuary.
​

 

[sneb]

Poem : You

Inch by kiss, kiss by inch,
you grow-
like a dream 'round my thighs.

I shiver,
you flit-
inbetween my restrain and desire.

You come to be
verse by verse, voice by whisper,
my heart shadows my trembling fingers.

Touch upon your touch
I listen-
to my sounds echo,
inbetween my stoppage and shivering.

​

 

[sneb]

Thank you....is that you in your avatar?

Can't believe, in my morning rush, I forgot to reply. Was swamped at work.
And yes, that is me, was a sudden click, by a mate of mine.


S.

 

[sneb]

Again Poem : She be a myth

She touched
and I exploded.
A myth thus
has birth today.​

 

[sneb]

Pandemonium : Trampled Rose

I am what you made me,
a trampled rose
and in all things, how-
my beauty rages on.​

 

[sneb]

Pandemonium : I shall return in such times

In those days of silence and withdrawal,
the gore of the hand of time-
that beset your simple households,
the winds of misfortune, the waters of drivel wash up to your wooden cracks,
in those days when the nights turn long and the days shorten;
in those moments of your hearts in caught-up shivers,
when the dreams stink of deceit and the nightmares wrap up the weeks,
when months go drab and the mud winds up your pious sides.

When the blissful gardens wither into bright red and yellow rust,
as the distances burn in horror, and the stars fall like moths,
the wonders that captivate our hearts, when they rip our souls apart,
in those days of tumultuous dark and unending pain-
I shall be born again, a son to the broken winter and a child of sorrow.
I shall come with my winds and my dreams and woo the death beyond its clasp.

I shall return and free your kind from all pain and misery.
I am time and when you seek to me, look north and into the distance,
the last light of the winter,
shall my calling be, I shall return with gentle warmth and bright flowers,
and such bliss and joy, look to me, and wait for when it shall be spring again.

It shall be a time for us.​

 

[sneb]

Poem : shadows beneath your eyes

I like the shadows, they live such simply beneath your eyes,
the aggressive life, the nonchalant brightness;
I like the dripping love, the masquerading delights,
I like the words forming upon your lips.
they speak to me in volumes, far beyond any life, ever had.
​

 

[sneb]

Pandemonium : a meteoric affection and a story

I am the meteor and you are the after-taste.
I in my sustaining, shower you with my dust.
I come from heaven and you rise from the earth.
I am all, the bedtime stories bring, you are what it takes.
I am the story, you are the child, the soul of mankind.​

 

[sneb]

Pandemonium : bleeding canvas

The sadness in words is not the sound they wear,
but the taste on parched lips they leave.
I am not a musician about to let harmony pervade,
I am a homeless painter
with an angry brush,
about to make the canvas bleed.​

 

[Jada59]

Very nice!