I look at sight and see past illusions. I play the idiot by being idiotic. A thumb sucking foetal sleeper. A january storm on a summer's day. A profiteer of black poetry markets. Goya's drowning childhood dog. A lisper among stutterers. Stranger in a strange and familiar land. Balthus depicted my guitar lesson once. I am the image and the awareness. Poets I love and respect: @OliviaDresher @BiancoLuno


The mind loves what destroys it. The Queen is a snarling beast on a leash. Neurosis bleats and lions roar. I read the names of poets to the wind and space of night. Like saints I invoked the sacred artists and Poets of transgression and transcendence. Big words are often empty like a cathedral waiting for a congregation to impart meaning. There's no where I can be different from where I am now. Friends have their own time and I have mine. I spend too much of it alone. so my appetites for love are ravenous and no meal is enough. I guess I'm needy but calm too accepting. I'm so terribly lost in an emotional swamp. My head is just above the surface can you see the desperation and fear in my eyes? I have no freedom just the pursuit that forever eludes me. I am free to move in the prescribed patterns created by others more ignorant than myself. Love that swoons into the soft tiresome night of blanketing blackouts. I was very serene and peaceful as I wrote this but I was and still am deeply sad or perhaps softly depressed: A deep pitch black night of velvet horrors. Seduction that snaps the neck with a slow and tender lover's caress. I accept the beggars demands by cutting their hands off and handing them back to them. At a price I am attained by thiefs. At a cost I am injected into the veins of the desperate. Vampires latch onto my neck and my skin crawls with revulsion. Jesus Christ's flesh is wrapped up in cellophane and sold for astonishing profits. The paralysis of desire's indecision. I anguish over a possibly flawed attempt at happiness to the extent that I will never even begin to attempt it. I live in a glass walled menagerie with traumatised animals. Tigers and giraffes pace the cells of gucci storefront prisons in Dubai. Our conditioning is mechanical and broken. Cruelty is beautiful for those who are guilty of it. We become victims out of a complicit passion for pleasing our tormentors. Lust sings softly sarcastic lyrics of dissociation and shocked serenity. Mouthfuls of choking verbosity vomited out like a scorching God being poured from the sun. She mouths silent psalms from her favourite criminals gone beyond laws totality. She eats paradox and crawls without limbs. Her Bandages are dirty and flies lay their children upon the staining rot. Smut has a colour. It stains...and it stinks too. I am hypnotised by the hypnotised and led by the blind to the back of sundays church queue. Holy church lovers drunk on naivety molest grace with perverted fingers. 666 I severed the kindness of a cat by my unfeeling stony silence. A breeze block of emotional numbness. Regret is best served for a time that never waits. The menu says everything costs anorexia. Forgive me I have poisoned myself with thinking again. -- Just realised my peacock feathers are poisonous they spew from my mouth. Open lips red like an abottoir of violent poetry and sexual atrocity. Oh! I know not shame. I'm so old everything is classical! I laugh when others weep! I joke the loke Loki Is Here! I'm going to freeze. knowledge dust makes me sneeze! Aperol>mogwai>drunk on more than one substance. Growing younger and does not respond to Irish agent. dns error last night failed to upload dream. pervert the covert. over and in. like the knife you are. agents kill yourselves. weeping furniture. younger is wiser. look for clues in dreams you suck siphon off. I like all my abusers so much I couldn't betray their brutality]. You are all dead and yet your silence remains my silence too. we never die really. how can awareness disappear? even fast asleep awareness is awake. you are awake only your body is sleeping.Goodnight DeCaprio You won't catch me!

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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Stephen Atkinson

Thu 26th Nov 2020 06:45

Thanks for your comment on my short but sweet ( or maybe sour) To Bloom, glad you liked it

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A Christ

Tue 25th Aug 2020 18:31

My longer postings are often fragmentary sometimes that isn't true but mostly each line is independent from the other line. My last posting has double spacing to make that clear as I'm not sure people understand that when they read me.

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A Christ

Mon 24th Aug 2020 07:59

Thank you Paul! Here is something you may of not known:

Heart has a brain of its own

Recent findings: Dr. Armour, in 1991, discovered that the heart has its "little brain" or "intrinsic cardiac nervous system." This "heart brain" is composed of approximately 40,000 neurons that are alike neurons in the brain, meaning that the heart has its own nervous system. ... The heart is not just a pump.

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Paul Sayer

Sat 22nd Aug 2020 17:44

Blue of Noon

Your last sample made me swoon.

I am often reticent to read your longer posings I hold my breath for fear that you will use your razor-sharp mind to disembowel yourself or spill your inners over your cadaver.

I am ecstatic when I reach the last line and can breathe that breath of life again.

Your latest posting today Daniel was extraordinary.


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Brian Maryon

Fri 21st Aug 2020 14:39


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A Christ

Fri 21st Aug 2020 11:23

Where Ka Goes Ka must go alone...

My Ka goes where it trembles. Hell is not a punishment and it inflicts pain indiscriminately upon those who dwell there. They say there is no wisdom in hell that self repetition of the same mistaken desires for happiness sustain the abyss of suffering. To be abused or to abuse? that is the fearful question that the inhabitants of hell ask always striving for the latter, for a position of power. Insomnias pain has been my inheritance from my life before I was born spent as the 112th child of Gaia. I have felt a tiredness wash over me like my skin was being removed and all my nerves touched. An agony of fatigue. Out of the pit born beneath the sky and I die arriving back into the pit beneath the earth. I'll reign with Gaia my darling perverted daughter. Artist of sentient mediums. Butcher as a refined architect of living forms. Abominations she will joyfully show me, so proud of her work she beams bright with happiness. She says she is not wise but she is happy so I suspect she has some wisdom.

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Paul Sayer

Fri 28th Feb 2020 21:35

Beware of where your Ka goes'


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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Wed 26th Feb 2020 11:58

You are certainly diverse. And you rejoice in thinking. 'Poisoned' indeed; you amuse yourself!

I'll try to read more. You are very interesting. The pictures are striking.

You might enjoy this. At seventeen, my boyfriend and I were canoeing on a slim, low river, cheek to jowl with the overhanging banks and the sloping hillsides. The WORLD was wholly GREEN.
And I said facetiously, 'I'm so SICK of GREEN!'

Well, God got even. That night I dreamed of a world without 'green'! Woods, meadows, mountains, streets - all in pastels of yellows and pinks and blues and purples. Not a hint of green, anywhere! I woke up thoroughly chastened, not quite ready to laugh. Because I wasn't sure how my mind 'engineered' it.

Still not sure.

Sue Cuthbert

Fri 15th Mar 2019 15:43

I greatly admire Painting Grey, and your Painting Blue Sky is beautiful - it reminds me of chinoiserie, it is delicate, the colours are stunningly utilised, and the whole painting is so excellently balanced - beautiful!

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