Ashlar

Sitting on a bench, among these modern grids,

It feels as if love and nature are caryatids.

The passing crowd lost in their apps,

My mind congregates within its own apse.

Withdrawn, trapped in an oubliette,

A heart imprisoned by lonely regret.

Eyes notice rays reflecting on lintel, truss, and vault;

And the time in reflection seems  to slow to a halt.

The light cast upon each modern frieze

Causes all sorrow, and remiss, to freeze.

Existence - the contraposition is so odd;

Odd how life, and death, fill each facade.

The architecture of the city is a sacred library, 

And each structure is a book.

The bricks and their course - the vocabulary;

To understand one need only read and look.

Artists, authors, and architects gone and unknown;

But their lives - alive on canvas, page and stone.

Each projecting ideas from their own dais;

Each various choice and each artistic bias.

No longer alone, my senses and thoughts peregrinate;

But on one conception I continue to ruminate:

Although we may no longer have the creator's rivers and streams,

We are surrounded by contemporary creators visions and dreams.

Composed by: A.D.

A Stalk Of Fennel

Strength and violence,

Their words deride;

But this vicious expense

My heart must abide.

Drive the wedge into this breast!

For love of mankind

God placed in a bind,

With scourge and isolation blest.

Adamant binds hands and legs,

Bonds were forged by Vulcan's fire.

In the cask of hope naught but dregs;

Outcast, downcast, an inverse spire.

Adrift, aloof, in this barren sea.

Alone - no love, no sympathy.

Only debris, each new degree

Of acceptance. Hope is empty.

The ocean's and river's daughters,

Serenade me while in these quarters.

In this torrid tempest, this undertow,

Sorrowful waves never cede, only grow.

This lonesome spell continues to swell,

A sea of solace betwixt paradise and hell.

I'm able to see, due to my gift of sight,

That: just like the artisan of the stolen light

This deep love of love, within this mold,

Will leave more than the mark of a cuckold;

Unseen scars of pain, though anticipated,

Hardly bearable when generated.

Fuck it! I took the spark knowing full well,

What awaited... This torment, this cell.

For had I not know my brother's case,

To bear the foundations of our mother and space?

Though now the wounds are borne 

With a heavy heart,

And at present the weight of the scorn 

Constricts joy's art;

In the future the Thunder's storms will clear,

So here I languish till that day draws near;

Bearing the incessant stress on the mind and the spine,

Till it's replaced by ambrosia and blood of the vine.

Composed By: A.D.

Por Que

The choices in diction

The voices - restriction

Each decision a battle

To clarify or to baffle

And what's the motivation

Point of poetic equivocation 

When creating a verbal enigma

Gives birth to a social stigma 

Accessibility - dammed by intellectual

Abstruse leaves the mass obtuse 

Love - then purported homosexual 

Hate profuse - exposed to equal abuse

In a play without any audience 

The acting makes little difference 

Symbols left in the dark, are hard to find;

And even with a spark, are missed by the blind.

Composed by: A.D.

Discriminative Lines

I hate you because you're black, and you because you're white; 

Skin as white as snow, and skin as dark as night.

I hate cliché, fuck using any sort of label,

I hate those who are disabled and those who are able.

I hate those lazy useless poor,

But the entitled rich I also abhor.

I hate the old and despise the young;

One past their prime, one full of come.

I hate the savage Americans, on my Native ground, just to be clear;

I hate you for being born far away, and you for being born near.

I hate the Asian, the Hispanic, and the Jew;

I hate all you motherfuckers, I hate you it's true.

I hate you because of your religion, your culture, and your race; 

And YOU... Well I just hate you because of your face.

I hate metaphor... What the fuck is it for?

I hate poetry and verse even more.

I hate searching for meaning, reading between the variety of various lines;

Finding some continuity, and overall relation among the different rhymes.

Only one thing, one people appeal to me

Those who belong to the label: "humanity".

Composed by: A.D.

Sceptre of Iris

Something for the multitude who may never achieve

All the goals and dreams, their hearts might conceive;

All that really matters is: that you continue to believe.

Plant your seeds in earth and beware;

As seasons pass fertile fields may grow bare.

Storms may form, envelop, and impair.

In isolation, the typhoons we learn to bear.

Recognition is the freezing winter air;

A moment it encompasses, it`s everywhere,

Next – the gusts are no longer there.

Temporary is definite, and perennial – rare.

Joy easily transmutes into despair.

Clear skies, suddenly rainstorms ensnare;

Fortune, society, and life is unfair.

Find the simple between the serpentine pair.

Few will acknowledge, less – care,

Whether: you blaze towards the sky and glare…

Or spiral in descent, a dying flare.

As long as you push forward and continue to believe,

Little accomplishments you`ll find your will, will conceive;

And fuck those who don`t acknowledge what you achieve.

Composed By: A.D.

(Iris as in Greek Myth, not Isis... albeit, she (Isis) is awesome as well. Hope you enjoy).

S.O.S.

There is no art in these verse I present;

Just loneliness, bitterness, and malcontent.

A heavy toll, a languishing lonely soul;

With no end, nor finish, or final goal…

…But how dare this mere mortal complain

Each breath knows naught of true pain.

Of the isolation, the endless emptiness, and desperation

Of a being we call the abomination of desolation.

The beauty, and the beast, under a morning star;

Who knows what the depths of eternal anguish truly are.  

For as often as I feel this blink is unfair,

Riddled by the nonsense my small mind calls care

I`m left to wonder if: unjust is the sentence for my crime

How much more so is the sentence of Its` than mine?

If it is sacrilegious, all these things I ponder

Then why would One allow this mind to wonder?

Why allow a child to boldly assume,

If such assumptions are to be his doom?

A contradiction, a heart both arrogant and contrite.

How ironic, in the end (at the end) is not fire also light?

And tell me now love, what is the cost

If in life, already, all hope for love is lost?

When will both sexes finally achieve equality?

When will race be realized as merely humanity?

When will we no longer kill for peace-preaching prophets?

When will death and devastation no longer equal profits?

When will the crucifix be remembered as a torture device of antiquity,

Not as the message of one who preached love and neighborly affinity?

Supposing that mankind was created in your divine architects` imagery,

Then when you hate, harm, or kill another don`t you do so to the divinity?

To the martyr will endless violence, end the violence you do?

To those left behind does your faith bring the lost back to you?

Told these fantasies are delusion fascinations and will never be;

And if so, the rapid realization is that: mankind was never free.

What life is left, I`ll suffer, hoping to see the day:

When day is simply day, and night simply night,

When WRONG simply WRONG, right simply right,

When black and white is finally separate from grey.

Composed By: A.D.

SOS= Same Old Shit

A Rorschach of The Collective

The tension is building – Prospero,

But feelings are restrained – Fortunato.

Behind the masonry of these mortals walls

A tempest of emotions rises and soon falls.

Oh the agony! Oh the alchemy!

Chemistry of apathy and poetry;

Equal mixture of pristine mystery,

And measures of perplexing clarity.

Honest fabrications of fictitious history.

The One is the backside of the tarot

Only symmetrical glyphs does it show;

But with a flip, a perspective inverted,

And the nonsensical seen is converted.

When nothing more is concealed,

When the illusion is finally revealed...

The same rhythmic formation of the lexicon,

The same arrangement in the poetic echelon.

...Not as what is seen in each sole occurrence,

But as each own interpretation and souls’ inference.

All art, attractive artifice and elegant duplicity,

No individual perspective, just a collective – we.

Each a pigment in the pixel of humanity,

A mere point in the vast image of eternity.

Composed By: A.D.

(The third stanza (or technically fourth, if we count the single verse) is as intended (that is, it was meant to be grammatically incorrect "nonsensical"). Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy)!

Emerald Phoenix

Guided into the unknown by the Muses and the Source

The art proceeds, without any direction or evident course.

The opposite tones are placed diligently, in perfect matrimony;

Contrasting sounds create a sense of symmetry and harmony.

To comprehend the body must be separated,

Sectioned like the sacrament.

The paper is the flesh, and the ink the blood;

Meaning (Ka) the spirit, words (Ba) the mud.

The mind is the implement

Through which each revival is created. 

Every deity is chained and confined,

An ember (mortality) the spark that sets the gods free.

In death, life is attained and sublimed;

Remember the philosophy: “Do this in remembrance of me”.

Like a bull was sacrificed and its body consecrated,

Or the lion slain (concealed as a lamb);

The immortal-mortal Son of God is recreated,

The Nephilim, a man and also "I Am".

Ancient rites intertwined and disguised;

New ages, the same sacrifices supplied.

Will Ahura Mazda set the captives free;

Or is reality: in veracity, a lock without a key?

Living audience keeps circling, the deceased notes continue in a hoop;

Segments of mystic music, keep the pallbearers in an endless loop.

Melodic verses created the memory, and vipers intertwined impregnate the rhyme.

Symbolic melody, poisoned and obscured by grains of dust, in the winds of time.

Thirteenth hour of the pyramid, the axis is hidden beneath the sand.

(Crucify to resurrect,

Dissect to connect)

Divinity is found in the ashes; or perhaps Perimetr; a poetic Dead Hand.

Composed By: A.D.

This one might be a bit confusing, but I hope you like it. If you have any questions (or constructive criticism) please comment/ask; and I`ll do my best to clear things up (Although I`m not online as much as I used to be). 

Phantasy of E.

For: Emma Watson

A confession during this celebratory holiday season:
There have been many joyful causes,
But joy, for this heart stems from only one reason...
..My Goddess seen in snapshot pauses.

Every womanly feature flashes;
Blinking shutters, my heart and each eye shudders.
Methodical thoughts from poetic cache
At your image, alone, are jumbled; my ink stutttersss.

There is something inside which I cannot explain;
A feeling which courses, I cannot contain.
Electrified just seeing you, my emotions explode.
So far a uni-direction connection, you the cathode, I the diode.

There is no one who can compare with such a glamorous sight;
Every inch of you is flawless, radiating with a celestial light.
You are an angel, beyond impeccable, confined in human form.
In the cold and dark, your image keeps the heart bright and warm.

The stars littering the universe are dull when I compare:
The strings in string theory, to one strand of your shining hair.
Your face is gorgeous, each freckle is enchanting.
My eyes trace the frame, your countenance is entrancing.    

Both of your hazel eyes are guides to my soul
When I`m fractured and lost in an Inferno.
Plus each irresistible lip, the sum of the whole,
Your smile is Beatrice - my Paradiso.
The arch of each eyebrow, from base to keystone,
Outline the gates which lead to heavens throne.

I search for words which could possible describe...
These thoughts of you intoxicate, such grace to imbibe.
I try to describe the ambrosia I`ve never been tasted...
On your looks and voice, nature saw that nothing was wasted.

No measure, to all I would sacrifice to know "you";
Not only the exterior, but the interior aspects too.
The fortunes of Atlantis, buried in the briny deep -
Rubbish compared to treasure held in your hearts keep.

Not just the accessories, the accouterments, but also the seams;
Each stitch, doubt, and fear - material of your fantasies and dreams.
Suspended in imagination... the combination of delicate legs, arms,
And personality... Running towards your spell, reaching for your charms.

The absolute perfection of your womanly geometry
Fills each neural fiber with the utmost ecstasy.
Every Point, Line, Segment, and symmetric contour;
And it`s Plane to my heart every Angle I adore.

To Morpheus I pray: take all I am, but take not her smile away.
You are my Elysium; in fields of dreams, with you, I lay.
To you Emma, one more thing I would say:
I wish you the best and Merry Christmas on this day.

Composed By: A.D.

A Deified Image

The winds exhale, and blow,

On a flame; causing a momentary flicker,

But the fire continues to grow.

Breath within a casing made of wicker,

Congregation awaits the show.

Silently the effigy is set ablaze.

An aura, a circle is now clear,

Surrounded by degrees of rays.

Each new cycle, each sphere,

Represents a new level or phase.

Unseen is seen,

Despite smoke and shades of gray.

Invictus Selene,

Rearranging the moon and Sun day -

Clay is a dream.

Above, the moon and stars burn without tire;

Below, cyclic hands revolve.

Terrestrial consumed in flames, celestial rises higher.  

Watching the images dissolve;

Only one sacrifice can bring you what you truly desire.

Composed By: A.D.

The Apple (II)

Winter impending, surrounds the empty branches.

The mind leaves, thoughts like leaves in gusting breath.

Emotion is exposed, as each structure advances;

Barren trunk, as a solitary petal tumbles toward death.

The only firm ground found, for relief,

Is: the failing foundation – of belief.

With fading sight, the jet overtakes all;

Dreaming, for her light – the eyes blindly call.

In that impenetrable darkness, I am taken by the hand,

And am effortlessly led by each loving command.

Her shine is resplendent, an ever-illuminating guide;

On the temporary, temporal, journey through the divide.

Next to her, I am left to wonder if: I am still alive?

When back in the wood where we first met, we arrive.

Under Oak and Mistletoe, near the sparkling stream, we recline;

Poetic infertility and poesy`s poisons are cured in her shrine.

On my chest, she is secure in my bold grasp;

Our hands interlocked, our fingers – the clasp.

The last time we were together, rash youth filled our faces;

The past however, for now, maturity and wisdom replaces.

Watching the moon slowly rise, all is suspended and taciturn.

I observe how she has changed. The physical differences I attempt to define;

As we lay captivated by each other, locked in our embrace and affection.

Her hair and eyes are, now, many hues of brunette and auburn.

“But, to describe such beauty is beyond my ability…” my thoughts opine;

“…What time believes it changes, has only added to her flawless perfection”.

She places her hand upon my cheek,

Softly caresses, and begins to speak:

“Time – it is the brook, in the background.

Listen to the earthen bed below, as it tickles

The stream; and the joyful water, as it trickles.

Focus on the music, the liquid bubbling, the instruments and laughter.

Ever-flowing joyous tones – hear? They`re here! Ever-going – gone soon after.

Only in memories, do the melodies have sound”.

“Well then, I want you to know, I lov…” I attempt to confess;

She stops me short, with lips of unimaginable sweetness.

I stare at her ensnared, utterly, and hopelessly lost in the radiance of her glow.

Realizing, it is true that: the depths of her mind and soul, I may never know;

But for now, no more is needed than growth, love, nature, and time`s fatal flow.

Deeper I`ll dive, delve further into her sea, wishing and hoping she`ll reward me

With the incalculable treasure, the love of her heart – this gift, represents eternity

(Besides, I would rather suffocate with her, than live without her personality).

Sitting there, our contemplations are pleasant, our countenances are silent.

Each second our intense ardor grows; investments are doubled by words not spent.

This connection is amplified like the waves from an echoing lyre;

The bond elevates beyond space and time, towards eternity and higher.

The fancy and folly, for which these mortal desires used to have such longing

Are all futile; here with her all hopes and dreams have a sense of belonging.  

I know, I know, I am no more than a star in the universe`s infinite skies –

Gravitating and revolving around her – my soul is consumed by her eyes.

Her gentle glance is the only time which I ever be in (or see) paradise;

A look from her celestial vision, and how can earth ever again suffice?

With no more than her kiss, my every need she will have nourished.

Our lips meet, existence ceases, then they part; and life is replenished.

Eternal love to and from my Goddess, she is my Moirai.

My muse beyond comparison and comprehension; her love it fills my veins.

My eyes open. Briefly, the vision is the color of Phi;

And I notice Sothis sits, her loving flames brightening the once-dim frames.

Composed By: A.D.

Oh, and for those who check out the blog from other countries: Spasiba, Valare upakaaram, Merci beaucoup (I took the top three countries, so if I missed you language I am sorry). I have been studying/working on writing in French, Russian, and Latin. I don`t expect to be able to speak the languages (but hope to try anyway), but hopefully I will be able to produce some poetry in those languages shortly. I`d rather not rush it though, and ensure that I am not being disrespectful by axe-ing someone`s native tongue (there are times when I can barely speak/write in my own though, so don`t judge me too harshly).

I`d just like to say thank you to whoever gave me the +1 on Google! You are awesome and I am glad that you like some of the pieces :). To everyone else thank you for visiting and checking out the blog. I hope everyone has a great day.

Illimitable Spiral

This life - rotates in constantly circular motions, my friend;

Concessions, metronomes continue to vend.

Like the symbols in the strokes of this inky current;

The various invariables, the fundamentals  

Often contradict – divergent, yet are concurrent.

An endless sphere of increases – each is incremental.

Similar emotions, different amounts.

Clocks: the finite tallies – and the infinite counts.

Track along the circle – this spiraling trend…

This course is parallel and inverted,

This course is one that will blend;

This course is never diverted,

The answer must arrive at the end.

Wheels in the mind is spinning - rolling with doubt;

Methodical, cyclic, in a bout about…

…About what exactly? Can anyone tell:

The vices of heaven, the virtues of hell?

Perhaps the two of them – are inverted,

Perhaps the two somehow blend,

Perhaps the two are never diverted,      

Perhaps there`s an answer in the end?  

…Pursue the circle, pursue the spiraling trend.

Neurological – the estimates and counts;

Veridicality arrives in minute amounts.

Each increase in the understanding is Incremental.

Knowledge and ignorance are curiously concurrent.  

While the aspect of life – which is most fundamental,

Is the seconds and hours passing – in the current.

This life - rotates in constantly circular motions, my friend;

Concessions, metronomes continue to vend.

Composed By: A.D.

The Apple

The Apple 

The imagination searched for inspiration, 

Through old leaves without cessation;

When the ears fancied they heard a song 

From a plover (the chirping of my lover),

On a distant birch calling my spirit to her perch.

So, without fear the essence followed along.

The full moon above was cairngorm, 

As I searched for her melodious form.

Led past ash and alder, from my vast stone city. 

Flying counsel multiplies, the journeying  heart complies;

Heeding her advice, which was given once, twice, thrice.

I arrived at a cache, a dale with a pool so pretty.

There, by the motionless stream,

(Clothed in Eden) was a bathing dream.

I grew faint from her perfect feminine allure.

Her silken hair billows, like the branches of willows;

Flowers of whitethorn, her moonlit skin; hair like fresh corn.

Held in restraint, my soul enthralled, body in adoring barm. 

I stood rooted, like an oak, her humming lips were the color of holly.

Then, her eyes shed my thickets cloak; and I swooned, like an archers volley.

When I came to, I was supine; her azure oceans were locked on my hazel brines.

O, to taste her ocular wine - the four intertwined- two pairs of optical vines.

Reality was inverted, her smile like ivy, I completely infected;

And yet, curiously, each moment I felt the grin curatively effected. 

Confusion. No sense of past or present tense.

Illusion? The mind dense, feelings - intense.

Stasis and suspense.

I must know if she is merely a reverie!

Do the eyes truly see - perceive that she is a descendant of Calliope?

Could it possibly be - in chrysolite  grove, a modern Aphrodite?

Still she, with her stare, suspends all foolish enquiry .

Caressingly she feeds me, her labium delicacy;

Moist ambrosia, pomegranate captivating efficacy.

What is time, to our passionate osculation? 

Our intimate copulation defies all calculation.

Her hips like the full moon - rises then dips;

My lips are the horizon and await the celestial trips.

Hands like the branches interlocked and sultry as they sway;

The sound of rustling, and amorous glances, as the leaves play.

Poetic lust and sincere love in juxtaposition,

Fusion occurs, as a dyad morphs into a single position.

Her desire is unyielding, and her body is limber;

I in ardor, am obsequious, but my flesh is timber.

She is the bark which conceals the lumber.

The body and social punctilios - do not encumber.

Hidden within her integument, no longer empty;

Despite quivers and shivers, her legs don't flee.

Pleasure arrives in endless waves - undulating motion;

Simultaneously it came, both our culminations.

She drenches with inspiration, I with supplications;

In one final orgastic crest, we become a tranquil ocean.

We lay without shame, tame, guiltless on the sylvan shore.

Flames still dress each frame, despite bodies covered in the downpour.

Finally the most gently kiss,

I unexpectedly awake from the trance.

But I can still feel the bliss

Of my absolutely angelic nymph, and fee her loving glance. 

Composed by: A.D.