Poetry Blog by Daniel Reuben King

To live naturally in this modern world one must adapt to the unnatural.

Sex refines criminals out of love.

To live entirely in the flesh and blood world is to spend coins of a limited stock upon images of death.

I see light only that comes from a silent and infinite lake of dark silence.

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The raindrops fall with apologetic politeness.

Why do labrynths feel like mazes? Why does happiness taste like amazement?

Why do sighs leak like veins of hot water?

Have you ever kissed your mother with sexual desire? Mirrors reflecting mirrors endless Nameless.

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To think twice is to know the echo of superfluousness.

To eat one's own child and not another's is to know the saiety of regret.* 

*For the Greek Goddess Limos 

I remember the day amidst the shadows of eternal night.*

*written by Limos 

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What secrets do the flowers contain? Is it the secret of happiness? Every girl has a flower between her legs.

There is an aliveness in silence that speaks to those who have the ears to hear.

Names acucumulate the burdens of history.

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As a sapling I was wounded now I'm a crooked tree bearing bitter fruit. I ferment my fruits and drink them as wine. Intoxicated with dark love.

I pursue the wind as life's servant. 

Cruelty shapes beauty to take the breath away. 

I regret knowledge but not learning. To know certain truths is to harbour a foetus of cancer. 

The voice of God should be ignored if you want to remain blissf...

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A short story told me by someone in heaven that loves me:

Once upon a time there were two men who couldn't decide which was the best. They both sequestered themselves away to create great works of art. After a while they both felt they had created a masterpiece. One man showed him his painting. The other played him his composition. They both loved each others work they realised true beauty co...

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Your hands are maps they show me where beauty lies.

From the deepest night to where? Who can relinquish there Shadows when the light becomes unbearable?

I touch you with my heart and yet yearn to feel you with my skin. If only time would end, my love knows no constraint.

Wanting and experience are two different things. Perhaps wanting is the path that leads us to desires fulfillm...

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The place where actions are born is where I want you to kiss me.

I write poetry in your wounded heart with the love of love. 

Abuse is an action but love knows no movement. 

This child cost forever and only love can redeem such debt. 

Every circle of the universe desires love no wound is too deep. 

In the cul-de-sacs of oblivion a light appears. 

Love is a place where circles are...

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Aspiration reaches for the highest star finding none it goes beyond.

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I feel a desire to derange my senses for a crucifixion to stretch myself across the endless threshold. An intimacy with infinity. I can't help wanting the things that I fear. 

Just to sit with you and look at the stars together. How simple how timeless. A moments love lasts beyond a moment. 

What has the moon learned from the sun? Lunacy. 

Does the sun ever meditate upon the source of its...

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The pain that complexity feels at offending simplicity. 

Dream of affectionate koi carp nuzzling my feet and poking their heads above the water. Memories of abuse feel heartbreaking. 

Memory of listening to mad Franky Fraser talk with  raptures of genuine joy about slashing a man's face up with a Stanley knife yet he seemed so simplistic and naive. I felt a pang of longing for the Báthorys a...

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A falling night is he that falls. 

He that drinks wine is intoxicated. He that drinks me is annihilated.

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When I listen to Beethoven's 7th symphony I imagine a roman emperor restlessly pacing the halls of the senate at night with the burdens of the state upon his mind. 

https://youtu.be/mgHxmAsINDk

I want to dance to music no other mortal can hear. The madness of Finnagans Wake filtered through synthesizers and impossible instruments. I want to be as dangerous as a multiplicity of scalpel cuts. ...

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This was copied and pasted from my friend's website the aphorisms are so brilliant that I wanted to share them here. 

http://www.fraglit.com/impassioned/quotations/aphorisms/porchia-fs.htm

Antonio Porchia

(1886–1968)

Antonio Porchia was born in Italy and lived in Argentina from 1911 until his death. All his writings (aphorisms) are contained in one book: Voices (the following quo...

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I put one step onto a stair and I felt I had stepped onto infinity. 

I saw a balloon pop and I thought that is my life. 

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I feel so mad with normality. I hurt like a shadow.

 I rage like an oceon that is paralysed. An agitated storm of shrieking unmovable stillness. 

I can't crack the eggs of words to spread the red ink of my secrets. 

I don't know what I want to express and it is not knowing that maybe is what I want to express. 

 I sink into depression like a tiger into quicksand. 

 I am the mussel t...

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I'm down to just one thing and that is honesty. 

I'm self strangling to relieve consciousness. Happy relief for a few shaking juddering moments.

What have I got but thoughts and flesh and an attempt to see beyond or outside them.

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When we put our vulnerability in the hands of another it is misunderstood and spoiled by that misunderstanding.

Words words words just soil filling a grave.

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My imaginary friends comfort my loneliness. To say they are imaginary isn't quite right but I have no labels that fit.

They sit with me and watch my dreams as I sleep. 

Nothing can truly satisfy my desires. So I try to rest in the place that they are born from. 

 I feel so weary with life. The possibility of being incarcerated or persecuted a constant shadow. If I gave up drugs and alcoho...

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All the animals I love and have forgotten have starved to death. I open the door to their room and it feels like punch of sadness in the gut.

When I slash myself to ribbons with a scalpel I don't take myself seriously. I'm just the punchline of a sick joke. 

The pitch dark of depression oozes from my pores. 

Kindness is priceless. 

Innocence a creation of the wicked...

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God has become statufied in his inhumanity. What's a boy to do when his lover has gone away. They throw bleeding poppies on my feet. The tribal infants of some backwards epoch worship me. I am so white and grey with deficiencies of romance. Time is meaningless in it's infinite extension to fading disappearance. 

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Where is poetry sleeping and how can I rouse her to come and frolic and play with me as children and lovers do.

Deletion eats and is always empty. And creation creates until something is made worthy to stand as long as mountains. 

Creation leaves it marks and some remain like stars and others pass like comets. But the sky is always greatful for her beautiful and glittering gown. 

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The philosophers will burn themselves into fresh air the perfume of truth. 

What is truth without a universe of tangible objects? 

Is the perceivable reality just an allusion to what is formless? A sign post to the beyond for those no longer satisfied with a physical life?

The unconscious and sex seem to be purely motivated by a fear of death. Without that fear how would people and sexual...

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This is the knife this is the flower this is my relief pass it on. 

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Who's killing who. Am I the slayer or the slain. 

Truth:

All that thinks is evil. 

Long live the preachers of the purely hyporcritical. 

Speak misdirection. 

Death pollutes everything. 

Fear exists at every level. 

I am God and I am terrified.

I fall in love to save my life. 

I arouse and molest to exist. 

I am the hunter and the prey. 

I owe forgetfulness a memory...

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Like love drunk upon the blood of a still beating heart, I come as one into the lions lair to eat the flesh of carnivores. 

Her voice is like a gift I wish would never die. I am born anew each time I hear her. 

In doubt I am doubted. In love I am far reaching beyond every star. In fire I burn all that burns. In death I am stillness awaiting the call of memories, a sleep that the living pass ...

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