Poetry Blog by Daniel King

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Do.RoThY on Fragments "The Secrets Of The Sun" (7 days ago)

Daniel King on Poetry for my lover Limos (Sat, 30 Mar 2019 06:17 pm)

Stu Buck on Poetry for my lover Limos (Sun, 24 Mar 2019 01:57 pm)

Damon Blackery on Fragments 5 (Mon, 18 Mar 2019 11:08 pm)

Stu Buck on Fragments 4 (Mon, 18 Mar 2019 04:54 pm)

Fragments "The Secrets Of The Sun"

An eye contact so forceful it leaves bruises.

If you want to create a nation of sincere people give them war and concentration camps.

Sleep the motion of stillness a wave of silence.

Sleep: In the absence of all stimuli we forget we exist.

Sappho does not mourn burned papyrus but deaf ears. For she is still singing and no one hears her.

They feed the malnourished with delicious dece...

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A new and Godless heart

Lost in my desire to hold thin air tight to me your love commits me to murder my heart. I am swollen with desire for our never ending union. Lost without ever knowing a home. Your sadness is a grace that's tender and touchless. I feel you within me without boundaries or limits. Gentle and dark, obscene and depraved I thirst to give you my blood as much as you thirst to consume it.

I write for t...

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Fragment 16

My glazed spirits are happy tonight who am I to out their facade?

Armchair Theartre "Verite" 

"...they're carriers they should be belled! God! Their so bloody efficient at transmitting the disease where the hell am I going to find a cure." 


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Fragment 15

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Painting by aleksandra waliszewska http://waliszewska.tumblr.com/

The wild girls of Aleksandra Waliszewska's art have begun to inhabit my daydreams.

From the point of view of power there are many beautiful victims. From the point of view of powerlessness there is less beauty. The world is confined by perspective limitations.

Danger forbids and transgression proceeds.

I fell to God thro...

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Fragment 14

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Painting by Stephen Mackey:


I have become overtly familiar with myself. Aren't all endings somewhat familiar?

I don't really miss who I once was. This disconnection from humanity is seamless and gentle.

The wind is full of spirits opening the gates and shaking the trees.

My lips taste of wine and distant kisses. If I could sing it would be in harmony.


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Fragments 13

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Painting is by Aleksandra Waliszewska.


I see slippery floors and hear crashing insanity.

A feral cat girl scratching in a cage. 

She put her twicthing tail between her legs. And it felt like another's.

Plaugerists of non movements. Counterfeiters of human quantities.

Dark life support room. Surgical silver reflecting the gleam o...

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Fragments 12

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Painting by Erik Thor Sandberg



I buy pop and turn it into obscurity.

The piano is a typewriter for the soul. I play in tongues.

In a darkened doorway I let the shadows out to roam.

I am ancient with corruption. If I could infect you with something new I would.

I am lost in the space of mutism.

I like ev...

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Down and In

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Painting by Stephen Mackey


Perhaps physical immortality will become the disease of our future? The suicides and murders will remain and their groans will become the enduring echoes of our days and nights.

I have no outlet for a despair that's too wide for the dialation of poetry or speech.

A thousand sad disfigured eyes blink up at me from the bubb...

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Fragment 11

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When I look within I realise I am faceless how strange to be nothing behind a mask.

The room is black with boiling spirits.

Wipe me away like a smudge on your glasses.

A beauty that would light up all the reflective surfaces with the brilliance of a sun.

I wrapped up the apple core of my soul.

I seem to say nothing but the same words rearranged and I'm tired of it all.

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Poetry for my lover Limos

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Trying to find a suitable image of Limos but none convey her skeletal hunger frenzied state.

I was shocked when she kissed me. I had become another Erysichthon. But I was awake not asleep when the banshee of hunger was passed through my lips. I consented to her love. To share a meal with her of barren torment.

I ate your appetites and was swollen with ballooning anorexic unfulfillments. 


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fragment 9

I wouldn't trust suicide any further than I could jump off a cliff.

I am an addict of my optimism hence my depression is abysmal in its depth.

I prefer tears to orgasms. One leaves freely like open vistas the other triggers too many traps. 

I keep tripping over my principles I guess I should pick them up and use them.

I never lost my morals, like salt crystals they dissolved into limpi...

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Fragments 8

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Panting by sue cuthbert. I'm unable to put my own up at the moment as I can't figure out the editing software.

Her blog is http://www.suecuthbertpaintings.co.uk

A self portrait that can't be seen by the eyes but is painted in the eyes.

Most of my poetry is wet paint or soft clay.

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Fragments 7


An orchestra of babysitters.

The children grew up and I never named them. I forget you see.

Something came inside me and disappeared like the memory of skin on skin.

I write the endurance of life's marathon. Weary but compelled.

I travelled down the oesophagus of a wire and landed in the belly of a lightbulb. Blew myself out to escape the tyranny of ligh...

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Fragments 6

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The space between cigarettes is a period for dark incubations.

Pleasure is happieness's wayward sister. She's loose and frivolous. 

I grow cancer for bleak despair. My offspring will be cut out of me. Comfort is death assured.

I pull the petals from flowers just to hear them speak a single glimmer of truth.

"...The task of the right eye is to peer into the telescope, while the left eye...

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Fragments 5

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I assassinate the moment right now. What is unawareness but the death of reality?

I leave the gunshot exploding in my gut. Like a slightly over enthusiastic cat.

I saw it was blindness that testified on my behalf.

I was raped by the good book. No one would testify on my behalf.

In terms of time I see very little difference between turning off a light and the sun going down.

I arrive...

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Fragments 4

The skeleton of society is the architecture of osteoporosis.

I am a hollow ship cast adrift on an ocean of literature and history. I do not have the necessary weight to sink. Instead I starve and burn under a cold and unforgiving sun.

My depths are abstract. The deep waters of fringe sanity. They defy logic and formal study.

I have no narrative unless poetry be a narrative. I have a voice...

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Fragments 3

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I do not care if you are vulgar but I do ask that you be polite.

I vomit up pearls and drink brandy to recover.

There is somthing comforting to a sentance with perfect grammar.

Barry lyndon ached once for love but it made him so much more.

Decency no longer runs in social circles there are too many broken links.

I experienced the death of the sun. I walked the streets of a silent ci...

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Angel hair and open spilling guts hideous with intestinal snakes slithering over the floor.

I have become an illusion of arrival.

To write from stillness is to seeth still deeper than the storm.

I screamed a red skinless face. Proffered my head to the world for a beheading. Shaped by the compression of extreme guilt.

To be born in outline only. I held a bawling pastry cutter.


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Fragments 2

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I willingly drown myself in an ocean of life giving love.

I breathe without breath, I burn without flame.

Cobwebs hung from atoms in the silent eternal night.

The truth is rarely proceeded by "should".

Leaning into stillness until I fall over and disappear.

Without any effort the wind pulls and pushes.

A writer that regularly uses repetition must doubt the existence of their own ...

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Fragments 1

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Take me home I am the feral cat who wants only freedom.

Sometimes when I am despairing the sadism of my self crucifixion I want to laugh. Over and over like a dog having its face dragged through its own filth to arrive at *William's punchline: "It's a sick joke, get it?"

*William S. Burroughs 

Love that swoons into the soft tiresome night of blanket blackouts.

Make haste you're meeting...

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Steeped in confusion and physical frustration. I allow the dregs to surface. A burning inferno sliding down the back of a lightning bolt. 

And me an arching cat hissing with his hackles up. 

The mirror spat my reflection back and I'm still wiping my face. 

Where is Emily Dickinson? I called her name to the wind and the cold space. Her silent reply was I am that I am.

Sometimes the eyes...

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