BurningA Poem by R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe) I've added 5 parts, and still don't know if the work is finished or not, however, I do know it is polished and ready to read. The second part "Drive" is a pseudo part, your choice to include or not.
Deaf To Life
The kaleidoscope of an opal utopia From the rusting brushstrokes of a red-throat Crocheted crazed in May’s greys masquerading oasis Crocheted mosaics of blasphemous pastures evaporating (asters like) lapis tapestries Wrapping (chapters) of Cleopatras collapsing In alabaster rafters chapels of overlapping apathy Capsized in her eyes’ horizon Crocheted everglades of lackadaisical maelstroms In the faceless opaquely lacy forsaken creationists’ oasis Maelstroms of fabled angels With crocheted halos of lackadaisical azaleas Rainbows of untameable flamethrower corroded ozone osmosis Coursing through the voiceless rejoicing incorporeal metamorphosis Tomes born in the void of primordials The well-oiled mortal coil phantasmagorical Omnipotent gypsies hieroglyphics on a sycamore’s stiff back Between the cracks of a sidewalk Andromedas domino chronological as scattered patterns ravage a tattered avalanche The burden of a metallurgical hurricane of chains Refurbishing the serpentine currents of blurred eternities Burning together in lead smeared Armageddon In the leather feathers of weathered poinsettia like heavenly blemishes of tethered remembrance Sometimes it is better to burn Scimitars of bending arms Us crooked inukshuks of pebbles toppling into rivers Smoothed out by pain Made yarn of suffering Hanging our entrails like a wreath to dead Gods That couldn’t bear to listen to poems And the crows flock among the sheep And the high crowd around the deep And dead will never get to weep A candle’s chrysanthemum chandelier strangled bangles in the entangled avalanche The waxing and waning beacon of a fully lit moon (Face leaking through the tendrils, the fingers of clouds) (Lucid with jubilance miscommunicating) (Hands hiding mouths from view) Burning out, French kissing Leaving smoke in the lungs of heaven I wish I could Snuffed embers flickering Fallen stars Ashen with the sweat of eons Legions of Eden A dry stick in a basket I no longer run The tears have dried My tongue has licked the stars clean of sympathy There is only this lit match Only the shadow of a man From the men of shadows There is no light of day And the dark night only invites esteemed guests Nobody knows me The men of yesterday In the lacquered wake of aether Homosapien The lavender catacombs of inhabited heavens with no agenda endless Rusting under waves of capsized clouds creased by cloverleaf ovaries Ships swallowed on the milky way crashing with astronauts I reach out to them Those who have pushed me aside An empty book, blank pages A human heart flowering on the shelves of cobwebbed leatherbacks Lost in the garden of Eden Cost is the bargain to freedom They were too many But I need no legion Only the comfort of solitude Warming my shivering peeling paint hands Over the flame of an intrepid sun No longer soft as the underbelly of a bluebird Plucking feathers from between my wings Caged between the ribs of this earth The forge of corridors pouring through this blue sky Anadromous andromeda of fauna barnyards of harmonic polymerization (Homage to the bottomless sovereignties of auburn candelabras like comets mandala) Limbs of trees arched (like a cat), bending over backwards Twisted at different angles together Hands praying to the twilight Burning alive in the cold bombardment of rain A fence chrysanthemum of amaranthine branches Around the circumference of heaven That I still trespass in hopes of finding God Hiding in his abandoned house Among the mannequins of humanity Every now, and then Before I climb back down Into my everyday life A child Lost along the way, trailing into nothingness Ricocheting off empty, (full of it) Pretending to be an angel (Picturesque Icarus) Leaving behind (the bread crumbs of) my world One day They will find the broken pieces of a cracked mirror Or the scribbling of words on the back of a page tumbling in the wind And I will have existed Be it on the page Or written on my skin Flames that have long since become ashes And I will not care For if I am a lit match (today) Eventually, I must burn out I am not afraid of (a life in the) darkness Only what hides in the shadows, unilluminated As the clocks tick rhythmic symphonies Across the boardwalk of apocalypse The white and the black checkered Ruffled brushstrokes of gusto lustrous fluctuations complacently awakening aetheric Basilicas broken down into angel pyres Breathe in the liquor and nicotine A menageries’ mirage of bottomless choreography Hernias burning squirming like a serpentine tourniquet’s current of blurry hurricanes Wildfires under eyelids that kaleidoscope Overripe smiles intertwine formaldehyde in the miles of a beguiling riptide scythe Slithering obsidian rivers glimmer mimicking Spindling schism of rhythm to the ribbons of umbilical imitation and scintillation Into another empty morning Greeting death after making love to life
Drive
Bustling brothels of toppled sarcophagi Sonatas operas of fossil’s esophagus And rondos of gelatinous acropolis follow (Anaconda of) mitochondrial mausoleums like audible colosseums dreaming terpsichorean Wrinkled with mimicry’s illiterate blizzard of idiosyncrasies’ symphony Propellors of velvet amaryllis Unresting nestling Nephilim Kissed with the bliss of synchronicity The needle and thread of scarecrows born from heavenly/celestial bodies Rising and falling upon each other like waves Mountains crumble tumbling in the surfy murk Crisscrossing nocturne the blossoming colossus Starcrossed phosphorous of city block clockwork Desiccated vessels of speckled retinas’ imperfections and perpetual pestilence Desolation smouldering creation Burning through burgundy eternity Hurricanes of graveyards carved from the trunk of steampunk trees Ripe with disease and sea breeze Autumn discombobulated in the colours of a wondrous promised land Shielding the heavens from their blind eyes Grasping empty air in their closed palms Homunculus rummaging through thunderous underworlds Swirling early in the mourning of devoured moons Looming altocumulus of distant crippled Icarus, Rigid within a prison of photosynthesis Infinite rhythms and rays like razorblades Cut the bed of clouds into sheets of paper Leather covers of smothered dreams Bleeding the seeds of regal Elysium Like acrylic citadels of biblical immaterial veneers of spherical murals Scrawled on the knowledgeless concrete walls I mould together with (clay and) my bare hands Keeping the thoughts within the pen and fence Dissipating into acres of aether oasis Pouring with stories of oracles phantasmagorical Oarsmen taking lost poets down the river to the afterword Written with the stitches of rivers The moon’s pull an undertow unfurling churning whirlwinds Interconnected stretching Bethlehems Out of secondhand madness Lost in the apostles of songless heaven Screaming silence in the unravelling chords of void humanoid On the flip of a coin rippling omnipotent noise Vocal orchestras incorporeal searching the Milky Way For a silver swivelling guillotine of lilies and willow wisps And cerulean skylines divided by sirens like a drive-by The words must stand on their own And fall like dominoes Caught between the plains of pages a hurricane’s angels Gone stale in the flailing of railing halos Before drowning in the amalgamation of creation’s mouth
Scratched Blackboard
Looking through the reef of graffitied trees The acrylic buildings of amaryllis stillness among pillaged villages of lilies As if shielding my eyes from the watchful sun Chiselled hills of Yggdrasil billowing silicon vermillion trilling willow trees The mesh of effervescent vessels incandescent mess Impressionists of deathless mechanisms Forests of Ouroboros corridors born of phantasmagoria Porcelain chords of menorah flourishing currents hurricane Turbines rewind like neon signs from God Intertwining vinyl ivory Binding spiralling bibles of silver-lining kaleidoscopes Spires of quiet choirs riot among diamonds The wind roars like a lion Funnelling puzzling watercolour puddles Of lilac horizon among wide-eyed skyscraper wyverns Like violet hyacinth Scrying the angler Bangles of sign language mangled dandelions Like hangnail angels cradling babies of mayhem a ukulele made of azaleas Flailing in the pale halo of wind And do not feel the shuddering moon beneath their blackboard skin Scratching record needles against bones Finding their out of tune strings Strumming thunderclouds into the mouths of hallelujah Stuck between the teeth of a paintbrush Under the mattress/tongues of riverbeds Inside the lungs of endless dead Scratching words onto the herculean surface of the lake Meticulous Icarus wickerman crippled by the rippling sun Graffiti meteors onto andromeda the kilometres of mandalas Unravelling pianos staccato of static labyrinths (Zigzag) In the shallows of babbling gallows howling hallelujahs Dripping with the sweat of exodus Crepuscular nectar the epithet of Nephilim’s wreckage of wretched Bethlehem A drop of blood muddling the sunset burgundy On my back, the burden of eternity’s metallurgy Twisting into sisterhood polycrystalline Bodies hanging from the broken neck of a guitar The distorted morsels of porcelain orchestras Spinning linden trees incendiary with the strept breath of marionettes Ethereal murals (of steel) speleothem Sleeping terpsichorean lethal rejects of Elysium Spilling trilling vermillion guillotines without the lyrics Some say none will stop (the clock to) hear it
Paint (Perhaps)
Perhaps my friends have forgotten me (I keep telling myself) (“I’m sorry, so sorry”, ) (But also, so tired and strafed) (That) I can no longer see their blank slate faces Featureless smiling On my third-degree burn skin And still I do not care For they Can no longer judge me As much as I can Judge God, or heaven For them The nameless dead Will no longer find their reflection In my stained-glass eyes Those windows Have long since been boarded up And still I do not care You cannot shatter bricks Or stone I am not so terribly lonely (Between the walls of this shell) That I would pull my heart (inside) out from below the wreckage Heaven and God And offer it (To you) To these vultures That Like me Do not Care (Sorry for themselves) And for those who think otherwise Know, no You are mistaken And We are not (too) different As all of us Must meet death On our own battlefields And become tomorrows’ roses and thorns Painted into (blood portraits of) prairies, meadows, clearings, (pastures, fields,) and forests Crumbling into ashes, scattered gravel trailing on the breeze Alone And that perhaps Is the only gift these deaths can give The final sentence Before silence Perhaps This blood should be kept on the inside Before I become another mural
Surrender
I ate my own words and found I was full of myself Stanzas of jasmine Lazarus catacomb colloquialism In the apotheosis of cashmere stratospheres as torrents flourish Ouroboros And the heavens bend their backs over to Poltergeist maestros ripe with ichor intertwining vines of bloodlines As we pull the strings and dangle Syphon lightning’s disciples writhing with isotopes Skylines of violet shining maniacal and psychotropic metropolis Gothic gospels of lost kaleidoscopic apostles Lycanthropes psyche’s kaleidoscope song from throat Stencilled mementos on boulevards of marble and jargoned gardens partisan Aether crocheted gazing mimicking mosaics of clay tapestries Masquerading Himalayans splayed by yesterday’s maze The swaying pages of everglades and ravens Like white kite scythes daylight grazing naked on graphite hermaphrodites Grasping gasping rapturous Cleopatras from between their shapeless forms reborn Cardiovascular passageways pastures and grasslands captivate the castaways Flowing rowboats supernova four-leaf clovers floating utopian Sunken ships, bunkers of homunculus Puncturing the sunburned underworlds Of thunder furled twirling boroughs of sterling silver Steampunk beacons with the wingspans of older men’s hands Unravelling planets, winding the spirals of Gaia’s kaleidoscopes Kissing lips sewn together by alphabetical letters In the deafening radio static of silence The heart goes on beating onomatopoeia Until the ceiling speleothems in surrenders’ hemorrhage Feathers of leatherback Rorschach in weather-beaten Armageddon’s flora Writing the bones into the flesh And the words into sentence And the Gods into man Grasping empty in our hands, feeling it between our fingers Fulfilling wishes on fallen stars that lack the strength to stand These tumbleweeds stumbling in the sands of time Rumbling winding smiling vinyl Throughout the cloudy sound garden in the talons of these lands Through the loose shackles of atmospheres Dreary with lyrical delirium As they spread their light across the road like blood on the pavement Engraved in the soft cement Lovelessly torn down the middle At war with peace Surrendering happiness Giving their lives away on crowded street corners Vultures watching the falling leaves swivel in the wind Left to fend for themselves Clogging gutters with their second-hand poems And half-smoked cigarettes Flowers in a basket Among backstreets of whips and thorns Bloody and blooming Wilting hands of the clock Raised like a (white) flag fluttering in the wind Lost in the firing squad of stray seconds I could hear them Shouting whispers to themselves in the thin alleyways “In the end I was a wounded dog Why wouldn’t they kick me?” I say to myself “At least they never had to live life collared on a leash” Free, like Somersaulting hummingbirds That mumble strumming smothered love affairs in the coiling foliage phantasmagoria Insects in the grand scheme of things Blotting out the sun with their outstretched tree limb arms Free from their roots (in the concrete)
© 2021 R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Author's Note
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R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Burlington, Halton, CanadaAboutMost of my poems can be differing lengths depending on the time you want to spend reading them. You can avoid reading anything brackets, or read it all. If you want an in-between, you can read only th.. more..WritingRelated WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
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