AmidstA glass of barrack sat on the table before Harangozó Konrad. Beside it were his two previous glasses, emptied of their contents entirely. His table faced the window and the October rain slowly dripped down it without speed as to be satisfying. The bar he was in was not quiet but no conversation or drinks being poured penetrated his consciousness. To say he was hunched over his drink, nursing it, would be exactly correct.
The day had echoed with every other day he spent in Budapest. No matter how much the streets were wandered, they never grew more pleasant to him. He had been freed of the shackles of working by the murder of his mother, an executive in an industrial equipment firm, and the subsequent death of his father, who gave up on the struggle against disease and despair with the loss of his spouse. This freedom, however, did not afford him the benefits that many desired – it did not impress him that he could acquire any material good he wished, or spend the day however he
Symphony: 3rd - StunnedNymphly Syzygy</b>Symphony: 3rd - Stunned5 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
First Violins: (The love that dare not not speak its name).
Thunder and darkness,
As sudden as a moment’s comfort,
Have thy will, shy mutual flame,
I saw it.
Second Violins: Unasked, unasked,
The lines were made
‘Tween eye and eye,
I and thee,
Engross’d and lost in this nymphly syzygy.
Pianoforte, First Violins, Second Violins, Violas: (The love that dare not leave its name unspoken,
This love so precious, potentate in that I am thine).
The conjunction above the overcome moon,
Caelus, Saturnus, Tellus,
Trapped in godly syzygy
Fain whisper in mine ear this lyric:
She that thou dost
Meet in instants when all that is other
Is a world apart
And yet do not realise any further meaning
Flutes: For thou hast a private jest
See, this morrow, those days are yest,
Whereupon thou shalt, had thou not have guessed,
Take weeks to mull,
And only by intercession delivered
From resistance proffered
Against that which might only b
TMS-ChiaroscuroTMS-Chiaroscuro5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
On the threshold of day,
The delineating line between light and darkness,
Where twilight ripples across the stilled landscape
And an imperceptible chill rises up.
[The battlefield is expected to be more chaotic.]
With subtlety, the bleakest of every breed of despair
Lives alongside the potential for
The border crosses.
Dark emptiness reigns;
A sign on the arms-reach horizon:
The million bright ambassadors of morning;
The million bright ambassadors are dawning.
Lights sparkle at the joining of day and night,
Barrenness and wholeness,
[There is a reason
There is a purpose]
These beams which could not shine,
Save in chiaroscuro,
Where side by side the presence and the absence are.
The darkness brings weeping
Weeping scours the heart and face alike
That the light is made clear.
The maker of fate paints with chiaroscuro.
Symphony: 2nd - StasisOn Rue de Comte St Germain, we ran to MontrealSymphony: 2nd - Stasis5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Violas, Snare Drum, Flutes, Trumpets: We were trying to kill
An immortal man
To steal the secrets of the Comte.
For so long mystics, we had meditated
Upon elongating our humanity for so
That to shadow him from his visitation,
Then take up full pursuit,
Not sure whether we ran in the realm of man or the realm beyond,
We felt our victory approach.
Tubas, Timpani: The liars of the occult
Claimed to have met him,
Conveniently implying that he didn’t exist,
He greeted those who would guard him from us gladly:
We followed different secrets.
Vibraphone, Violas (pizzicato): Be fully aware,
That there are volumes filled with answers
Hidden in baked-clay, stone-bound repositories,
Forms, dynasties and incantations
The location of the Lake of Clear Water,
Or the mystery of man,
Even in these tomes, where we learnt
In partnership, all of our ways,
There were but hints of the Comte St Germain.
TMS-The Prophecy FulfilledTMS-The Prophecy Fulfilled5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Looking back across the years
Having nothing to hold in the present,
Draws one to look back in longing.
Perspective of the past shifts from what it ought to be
Instead of seeing legacy, one sees halcyon days
That are gone.
Looking back across the years
We've had joy, we've had tears.
I cant help but cry in this telephone conversation,
I cant help but anything, because Ive not the last jot of strength.
Tears stream and my voice cracks more
Than the weak signal of my fathers voice,
And he says
I want to run to you right now.
But he doesnt just give words of desperation,
He gives words of the Word.
And its in this moment that the prophecy is fulfilled.
Not a triumph of strength, not a powerful,
The armour is first and foremost to stand.
Before my eyes as my father tells of the Armour of God,
I see myself, clothed in golden armour,
Like the Helm of Hador,
Know that Ive not
Unreleased: QuarterstaffUnreleased: Quarterstaff6 years ago in Other More Like This
I watch them clash, serrated
They are serene in their speed,
Though if I could not see true nature
The blows of their quarterstaffs would be beyond my perception.
I once imagined them fighting,
Fighting for me,
And for my hand, though we might already be more than united
This time, the combatants are real.
'my way stands not in contradiction to yours
but in motivation.'
The counter meets it -
The bladed staves like lovers who never fail to kiss at the lips
'it is precisely a question of motivation.'
These warriors, to they I am incidental,
Speak no more of me and my deliberation,
Tell instead of this battle.
Their arms arche just to hold these weapons -
They are both burdens of sorrow and device,
But wielded with the true determination of men made by their armament.
The oaken staffs are too thick, too dense,
Fully articulated from the beginning,
To be cut by the shimmering razor edges
They knew all along that this was how it had to be
And that they will both die together
WMD-HaitiWMD-Haiti5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
On the shores of the destitute isle,
Gasping on salt-water
That sickens and thus refreshes,
Drast pants and slumps.
His stolen freighter has found no port,
It stirs, as beached as he is,
Clutching at purpose when the hell
Has broken forth.
Had taken hold of this land,
And new waves of bloodshed and poverty
Those deeds that he hated, hates,
Have surmounted the island of Hispaniola.
Even as broken as this,
Lurching and stumbling,
His voice is loud enough to call
To flee to his staked-claim-shore,
Clamber desperately and with great thanks upon the ship,
Whilst his fearsome visage,
Once called the Face of Fear,
Holds back the marauding troops.
A new feeling seizes him, standing there,
Exhausted and barely still believing in his cause:
In that heart turned aflame by hatred,
The seams undo and the compassion that by mastery too weak for conquest
Had sent that hatred to destroy worthy enemies,
Sloshes, ungainly in its newborn movement
MonochromatisedMonochromatised4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I had a film noir romance with the Sea
Because the sun was set
And the moon was down
So I saw her first
As she surged and roared [soared, imploded]
The true Sea is never blue; she's grey
All the old storm and sailor songs
Are not enough to woo her.
Further, around the corner, I
Saw the flames of streetlights
Caught on the trails of her seaspray hair.
I had a film noir romance with the Sea.
I cannot tame that hair
For the first time, have no desire of
And neither have prospect
Since whatever mandate I can wreak upon her waves
She is the Sea!
Does she not determine what shall strike me?
Write currents for my course?
It is her choice whether calm and straight, or wild, though never unkempt.
I'll catch up with whiskey songs
Of a flame-haired Celtic Maiden
The soundtrack does not provide for
I had a film noir romance with the Sea.
I had a clinch with the wind
The three elements of Water, Wind and Fire
[I have a new Brigid;
Some symbols last]
Their Celtic knot
TMS-WintersongTMS-Wintersong5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In the latency, in the nascent
I'll break down in the Wintersong.
Fog fills up the lungs with the taste
Of happiest sorrow;
Ive never felt peace that doesnt taste like this.
The air crispens as he passes
Because I shiver at the Presence and I tremble in the cold.
My archipelago of childhood memories
Is a submerged continent
The sea temperature tumbling,
Still the feeling of this frigid bliss crossing my lips
Has been there always,
Stern as winter,
Through the unfallen snow lie the footsteps of an
Unimaginable God and his fragile adoptive son.
Purist, NaturistPurist, Naturist5 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
When it comes down to it, it’s about relationships. The connections between people are more important than nations. Maybe that’s what I fought for, not so many years ago. But it wasn’t about soldiers in a guerrilla war, it was just me and him, the Naturist and the Purist. We are the war and we the catastrophe, and only one of us could win.
It wasn’t me. I would laugh if it wasn’t bitter on my lips, that defeated, at risk of whatever fate was offered to those who had lost, the rumoured hell, the anathema, that I was back in Paris. This time, it wasn’t Mahmud Demirel and Rafi Ali, two brothers together in a strange and hostile land, fleeing the same persecution. It was just me, Rafi, abandoned underground, trapped in the bowels of a city that had never loved me and was now essentially my tomb, though I might have many years to wait. I ought to be thankful for this refuge, but truthfully I’ve never considered myself blessed. That&
YetIfICanShedTearsForDetroitYet if I can shed tears for Detroit...YetIfICanShedTearsForDetroit3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Then maybe not all is lost, as I had thought. Bones less burnt.
Empty towers, empty shining towers, and my only reminder is on a rusty radio. Production line media.
Days get longer, days get more tiring. I go to the city limits then come back. Time, time lengthens.
Even Set Fire to Flames has too much joy to it to be my vinyl soundtrack. Paint peals a death-toll.
I have made a great deal of rust with these my industrial tears.
I have made thirteen angels out of autoparts, since they weren't being used for cars. They stand.
Can see Montreal from the top of these towers. They are taller now they're useless.
Sometimes we have to confess that there is nothing, nothing we can do.
There might be streets, there might be undergrounds. No-one, if they are here, meets my eyes.
The streets don't stop being wet after it rains, the drains don
Cover Version: I am AddictedI am addicted: chained and bound, breathing so hardCover Version: I am Addicted6 years ago in Other More Like This
as to count as a gag,
enslaved to an idol, a personification
of unrequited love, of everything that does not satisfy,
but still consumes, I am addicted.
I’ve collected footsteps before dawn: shadowing, a stalk,
a pace behind, seeking after the crimson pulchritude that
is the symbol of the eyes that break my heart,
that burn out my eyes more thoroughly than the sun,
your eyes, I am addicted.
Seen places I never knew existed:
run and run and run, ran to my sanctuary,
this peerless refuge, and found paths of outlead,
paths of hate beyond the valleys of broken love,
and then into feeling farther than words, I am addicted.
Run to the moon and back:
found the orbit of the earth that my running step had caressed, less
reached past stars, galaxies, supergroups, to You,
You who are more than the one I claimed to love,
it is not to her but to you, I am addicted.
Been a rabbit for the neighborhood dogs:
and a target for the stones,
WorcesterWorcester4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
It only works out on the third attempt
The first two thwarted
One by torrents
One by rejection now is not the time.
I've known you since I've learnt perception
Waiting by the unready vines
Yet to hang low with grapes
For the time to come
And also I have known you
Since the pale-eyed nymphs frolicked in your gardens
Though I knew you
I came with my own intents and ambition
Under the light of the crane
Today I come for you Worcester
Looking for you, seeing you at last
As you've always been
Only I have changed.
I know how precious your cottages are
How important they are to preserve
Your hair splays down over their walls
How luscious, how rich, how green, key and green
Your front quad is
Gazing straight at me
Maybe I see a significance in your deeds Worcester
That is not there
But I so want it to be
Creepers idly being twisted
But your mind not absent
This lakes looks good
For drifting away
I believe it did happen
Sometimes faith is enough for walking on the water
TMS-True Nature UnfoldsTMS-True Nature Unfolds5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The water doesnt run clear
There is no horizon
And I am weak.
That is the first that I discover
Entering, for the first time,
What of what came before?
As my soul is carved out by sorrow
Of the unfulfilment of petty needs
And all I chose to leave behind.
What of all I saw
All Ive done
All I was told?
[I was supposed to be the strong one ]
[I was supposed to be the one with gifts ]
As the bare branches are submerged
I am uncomfortably numb
No, not numb
I feel nothing because there is nothing to feel.
In the desert of the real
What happens to the truth?
True but distant
Neither false nor reachable?
Those times that went before
Are all that remains
In my hands I have nothing of my own.
With that key,
The mechanism opens
Those with eyes to see and ears to hear
Please act accordingly
True Nature Unfolds.
GazedGazed4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Through unparted solar curtains
From my hill, my domain
My unowned and short-lived empire
To Black Mountains,
Across the March
I might have
My heart beat in the right direction, my
Yearning gaze t'ward the right co-ordinates.
Cider apples and burning coke
On the border of the wild
The high wood, the forests, where man may take a square
But the trees shall watch it, implacable.
The skies, clouds, hills
The direction of this window beyond my desk
No letters across it. No correspondence. [I would
Wait with such haste and impatience, checking every postmark
For the place that promised your epistle] My books. These words,
Which are the memory I have.
Memory is always key to this. Forgetting is
Proof that my mind is awakened too much with thoughts
Of you, that it believes you unnecessary to remember, as your presence shall return so soon.
But it's never so soon. Time stretches like the straight line between us.
Cover Version: HeavenI've walked the dark path after my destinyCover Version: Heaven6 years ago in Other More Like This
Where innocence is robbed and the children scream
Where all I can do is lie and cry and defile
But the stones I've run on,
The rock I fell on,
It knows the real story,
The game of blood, the chess of eternity,
The Holy War
I've found the light leading me the narrow way
Where joy and peace and wonder are the imbuing force
Where angels stride with no need for disguise
And the solid rock knows the deepest song
About the king of blood who won that Holy War
So, Heaven, Heaven is my home
Heaven is my destiny
And so despite all the wrong that I've done
There'll be no shame to take
Yes Heaven, not Earth, is my home
Heaven where I fit in
And there will be no tears, no disease
And no one will be running from pain.
Symphony: 1st - StillbornThe pit closed, we rose up from the underground and at last could strike</i>Symphony: 1st - Stillborn5 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Bassoons, Clarinets, Oboes: It’s no longer time for silence,
To let the quiet of the grave wash over us,
French Horns, Trombones: We shall never give up on the lost!
Bassoons, Clarinets, Oboes, Flutes, First Violins, Violas: We can resist in tenderness,
We do not require the sound of war and violence,
To turn on you, to betray and break free.
First Violins, Violas: And shall it rise,
The magnificently sculpted cloud before the dawn,
The pinkéd skies
Roses petals and the rains coming down,
First Violins, Violas, Violoncellos, French Horns, Clarinets: Let water roll again upon this land,
We the trees are parched.
Timpani, Bass Drum, Tenor Drums: From the underground shall we come,
We were miners once,
Strikers and warriors,
Times thought changed shall be set back into the stone.
Timpani, Bass Drum, Tenor Drums, Trumpets, Trombones, Do
TMS-Make Me CleanTMS-Make Me Clean4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Ive looked into the eyes of a beautiful monster
And I cant get it out of my head.
A look that just keeps looking, staring
Etched on me
A stain that darkens my minds eye.
Im down on my knees: Make me clean.
Ive looked in the mirror
And found that its not lying
All the mistakes, all the blemishes
Are mine this night.
Im down on my knees
Recognising again, again
If its your will
Make me clean.
Ive looked for emotion in all the wrong places
And only found tears afterwards
Make me clean, make me clean, make me clean.
But someone told me
That when were at our least deserving, least lovable, least expecting
Thats when Grace, You, love,
And make me clean.
Un:Rock of Agony, Rock of AgesUn:Rock of Agony, Rock of Ages6 years ago in Other More Like This
And this is just the prelude?
Despair like death,
The darkness is entering,
Only as precursor.
Ive never seen you so frail.
Theres never been one so strong
To whom time is a gentle breeze
Who shrugs off empires like sawdust
The rock of ages,
Bowed in sorrow,
Over the rock of agony.
You know the road ahead;
From you the river shall flow.
This is the crux upon which
All ages hang in the balance
Dependent on the breaking
Of the rock.
EncampedEncamped4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There are some things that need no
Picking blackberries in the hedgerows
By the rabbits' groves,
The lines and lines of trees for the Yule.
Some things that get more dangerous
You can cut yourself
On the blades you've made, from the lines of silver
In the sky, tonight, the first real sunset
[During the prologue, the bright grey of the crowds,
Later lined with vermillion rather than true crimson]
Silver and black, the black so reflective
I see a thousand echoes of myself
In dark, fruitful, bloody obsidian.
We're here now, and we'll take what we can
As for romanticism,
Sometimes the best hope for romantics
Is to find some mellow,
To mellow their harsh, the keening cut of their love
And make simple words, not poetic words:
I have purple thumbs, and thorns in my fingers.
ChoreographedChoreographed4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I know the song
I just haven't danced to it yet.
All of its beauty
Harmonies of poetry
And just that green,
Of each element
To my ear:
My heart, though striving,
Does not pound the rhythm,
Hjartað hamast ekki.
And my feet, which have told the story of the steps oft
Don't know how to move
And thus do not.
O this poet's crisis!
If following the haunting call,
Then decrying the path
If having no voice to beckon
Then bemoaning the lack!
And dance is surely the right thought
Since when you choose to be seized by the dance
It may not at first take you:
The dance itself might not accept you as its partner,
But then it shall relent
And grasp your hand Awhirl! Away!
Onto the ballroom floor!
So you find yourself
Following the steps, untaught, unknown
The lead of your partner, which is the dance
And finally we are in embrace.
TowardsWe fall towards a black hole and we know that at this point nothing can save us. On the other side, we might find light. It is August 4th, 2017. Elizabeth Green will be sixteen in under two weeks. In three weeks time, she will kill her best friend.Towards5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
We sit in a garden under an ivy-drenched oak, and wonder if any other human will ever enter our secret garden. The door is both shut and hidden, and only one comes close. It is August 4th, 2017. Mina Stuart turns over the same thoughts she has for the last three years. In three weeks time, she will die.
Summer never came easily to Elizabeth Green. In summer the sun did not go down until far past the time that she ought to sleep, and yet while there was still light she could and would not turn from the thoughts of Mina. It was not the dark where she brooded; the heat did not keep her from rest − indeed, in the dark with an insubstantial breeze stirring the curtains and sweat slightly imbuing her nightwear, she found that she coul
NamedNamed3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A misnomer, a deceptive identity,
It will be dissociative identity disorder
(What are you called? What are you called?
May I never forget, or
Choose to forget!)
Who will speak of you,
Who give the news?
Where shall the rumouring update come from?
(You would think
That circumstances would change our ways
Yet, as yet, not so)
Open up to me
A universe beyond my control
Mysteries and mystique beyond desiring,
The secret foundation and
In you I find a reflector,
Time grants me mercy, and I possess
Only your legacy;
All you who have made me
Articulated my tongue
To speak this way, from vowel to vowel
To the buttresses of this mind's cathedral seat
Even to numbers, and yet
Where is your designation? Which your callsign?
(I can't pretend success
Of all wings reporting in).
Oh gold, oh golden demon,
Where have you taken her from me,
So concise of form,
The one who taught me second love,
Teach me silence, place a halter on my tongue,
Cover Version: Keep TalkingFor millions of years, mankind lived just like the animals. Then something happened which unleashed the power of our imagination. We learned to talk and we learned to listen. Speech has allowed the communication of ideas, enabling human beings to work together to build the impossible. Mankind's greatest achievements have come about by talking, and its greatest failures by not talking. It doesn't have to be like this. Our greatest hopes could become reality in the future. With the technology at our disposal, the possibilities are unbounded. All we need to do is make sure we keep talking.Cover Version: Keep Talking6 years ago in Other More Like This
Silence like dust is all over me,
And it is distorting my thoughts
I am alone
Cut off all contact.
In the vestiges of social, I stutter,
As if to speak
What did I do to stop you talking?
No words fill the gaps
I can't remember the last words you said
And they were the wrong words anyway
What's going on behind those red eyes?
I suffocate on the unsaid
Do you even feel?
I do feel, feel like my stre