The ticking tells me it grows near
The clicking of heels in halls of fear
That Midnight draws ever near
Panting of breath and dripping sweat
I meet my nightmares where we once met
Stolen to the black and to terror swept
I lose myself under the vault of night
Beholding horrors and nameless sights
Soul becoming frigid, murdering its own light
Voiceless I scream faced with faceless things
Over-choired by harmonies that sing
Of nothingness and near-forgotten hauntings
Madness lies in the ticking of the clock
Fear like wolves stalking the timid flock
Waiting by the door for death's terminal knock
It is the encroaching, the slow succumbing
The thing I fear most—its becoming
The toll of Midnight's nightly coming
Ex Tempore LXXXIII
M.M. — 20-Aug-2014
20 August 2014
06 August 2014
Gyromagnetic. A metapoem. [Incomplete]
Inspired by the basic phenomenon of the science of my PhD: magnetic resonance; and by the patterns that abound in the nuclear and macroscopic worlds.
All things in this world reverberate. The Frequency of Essence permeates through everything, in my voice as much as it does in quasars – the universe speaking.
What we are and what we do is but rhythm and echo. We repeat the same mistakes and emit values to harmonise into existence the ideals we believe to be of perfect form.
The ordinary in us is a monotone drone. Continuous and predictable till the signal dies out with nary an aspirant spike. The great, the unique, the marvellous – these are deviations in the frequency, shifts in time and power in the oscillations. The previously unknown echoes that break through the noise.
And love surely is the most maddening of spirals. Whether upward or downward, emanating or decaying, the never-ending spinning of body and mind transforms us to something of higher state or leads us to self-perpetuated annihilation. The beat of hearts and the songs hummed in the dark and the truths repeated, wordless but resounding just the same.
Doubtless, then, all things in this world reverberate, reverberate in unison.
Metapoem IV
M.M. — 06-Aug-2014
All things in this world reverberate. The Frequency of Essence permeates through everything, in my voice as much as it does in quasars – the universe speaking.
What we are and what we do is but rhythm and echo. We repeat the same mistakes and emit values to harmonise into existence the ideals we believe to be of perfect form.
The ordinary in us is a monotone drone. Continuous and predictable till the signal dies out with nary an aspirant spike. The great, the unique, the marvellous – these are deviations in the frequency, shifts in time and power in the oscillations. The previously unknown echoes that break through the noise.
And love surely is the most maddening of spirals. Whether upward or downward, emanating or decaying, the never-ending spinning of body and mind transforms us to something of higher state or leads us to self-perpetuated annihilation. The beat of hearts and the songs hummed in the dark and the truths repeated, wordless but resounding just the same.
Doubtless, then, all things in this world reverberate, reverberate in unison.
Metapoem IV
M.M. — 06-Aug-2014
31 July 2014
Star Rising
A "sequel" to Fallen Star (2011)
Up from down the ocean deep
Rose with haste the fallen beast
Awoke from sleep the dreaming son
And shone in night as shadowed sun
His howling reverberating the frozen earth
Cracking the chrysalis from which he birthed
Mind half shattered but wholly steeled
Not to dogma or deity would ever yield
Son of the sun, flung from heights
But starlight still as bright as his fight
Holding fast with a heavy heart
Leaden soul streaming supernal art
Soon eternal dreamer no longer
But risen from abyssal prison stronger
Cries of thunder marking the end
End of fear and shame and discontent
The star rose from the deep
Bringing blackest dreams from darkest sleep
Poem XLII
M.M. — 31-Jul-2014
Up from down the ocean deep
Rose with haste the fallen beast
Awoke from sleep the dreaming son
And shone in night as shadowed sun
His howling reverberating the frozen earth
Cracking the chrysalis from which he birthed
Mind half shattered but wholly steeled
Not to dogma or deity would ever yield
Son of the sun, flung from heights
But starlight still as bright as his fight
Holding fast with a heavy heart
Leaden soul streaming supernal art
Soon eternal dreamer no longer
But risen from abyssal prison stronger
Cries of thunder marking the end
End of fear and shame and discontent
The star rose from the deep
Bringing blackest dreams from darkest sleep
Poem XLII
M.M. — 31-Jul-2014
27 July 2014
Parasite
Seed was somehow implanted
—know not how
Ovulation by formless mother
Gestation in mind: starless night
It dreams and dreams
Dark and cold and ugly themes
Talks with thoughts to me
Serenades of static noise
Or reverberations from abyss
Its eyes everywhere, always staring
Seeing everything within and beyond
Seed burrows deeper with every dream
Incubating, awaiting - not birth - but rebirth
Feel it in fingers, pulsating beneath skin
Behind eyes, and worse with eyes closed
Wants to bring dreams forth from veil
To burst from seed, from obsidian shell
Black glass like mirror
Black like starless night of womb
Impregnated in the core of all-me
Birth is very close now...
Ex Tempore LXXXII
M.M. — 27-Jul-2014
—know not how
Ovulation by formless mother
Gestation in mind: starless night
It dreams and dreams
Dark and cold and ugly themes
Talks with thoughts to me
Serenades of static noise
Or reverberations from abyss
Its eyes everywhere, always staring
Seeing everything within and beyond
Seed burrows deeper with every dream
Incubating, awaiting - not birth - but rebirth
Feel it in fingers, pulsating beneath skin
Behind eyes, and worse with eyes closed
Wants to bring dreams forth from veil
To burst from seed, from obsidian shell
Black glass like mirror
Black like starless night of womb
Impregnated in the core of all-me
Birth is very close now...
Ex Tempore LXXXII
M.M. — 27-Jul-2014
21 July 2014
Just Breathe
There is an iron hand on your chest
—But just remember to breathe
They question what you are
They will always decide who you should to be
—But just remember to breathe
This cage you find yourself in
The prison of your body and of your mind
—But just remember to breathe
Thrown yourself against the wall to stop the pain
—But just remember to breathe
This is an endless road to nowhere
That you began walking long ago
—But just remember to breathe
They will never know all that you really are
They are not, and never will be, you
—So always remember to just breathe
Ex Tempore LXXXI
M.M. — 21-Jul-2014
—But just remember to breathe
They question what you are
They will always decide who you should to be
—But just remember to breathe
This cage you find yourself in
The prison of your body and of your mind
—But just remember to breathe
Thrown yourself against the wall to stop the pain
—But just remember to breathe
This is an endless road to nowhere
That you began walking long ago
—But just remember to breathe
They will never know all that you really are
They are not, and never will be, you
—So always remember to just breathe
Ex Tempore LXXXI
M.M. — 21-Jul-2014
20 July 2014
"He was a small man"
He was a small man with big dreams
and a mind much too unquiet,
filled with themes dark or loud
or proud or just a bit unkind.
There was so much more in
his core, so much waiting to be
realised and given to the world.
Out from the deep wells
he wished to hurl the thunder,
chaos and quakes that tore him asunder.
Colours of a light unseen and unknown
to others. This star raging in the night;
the comet's impetus propelling and
impeding him all at once. And
in the night, he was lost and yet
there grew and burgeoned as
architect of all that he knew himself be.
Promethean, fire-stealer, knowledge-bringer:
hot as hell the maelstroms churned.
He was a a small man but his dreams
streamed and darted within his mind,
and he would see them into the world.
Poem XLI
M.M. — 20-Jul-2014
and a mind much too unquiet,
filled with themes dark or loud
or proud or just a bit unkind.
There was so much more in
his core, so much waiting to be
realised and given to the world.
Out from the deep wells
he wished to hurl the thunder,
chaos and quakes that tore him asunder.
Colours of a light unseen and unknown
to others. This star raging in the night;
the comet's impetus propelling and
impeding him all at once. And
in the night, he was lost and yet
there grew and burgeoned as
architect of all that he knew himself be.
Promethean, fire-stealer, knowledge-bringer:
hot as hell the maelstroms churned.
He was a a small man but his dreams
streamed and darted within his mind,
and he would see them into the world.
Poem XLI
M.M. — 20-Jul-2014
27 June 2014
"Not the darkness of the night"
Not the darkness of the night
Nor the darkness brought by might
Not the darkness before the light
But the darkness in our minds
Is the darkness that we must fight
Ex Tempore LXXX
M.M. — 27-Jun-2014
Nor the darkness brought by might
Not the darkness before the light
But the darkness in our minds
Is the darkness that we must fight
Ex Tempore LXXX
M.M. — 27-Jun-2014
25 June 2014
"She fell away"
She fell away from me like the coming of the autumn
Gradually and inevitably the stone sunk in
We lost each other when night took away our sight
Now the shadows come in and the winds sing
I once held fire in my arms
Once upon a time I knew the stars' words
They spoke through her—such was her voice
But goodbye was the last I ever heard
The cold closes round as a shroud
Warring with the glow of the embers
Silence tries to bestill my heart
But never will, for I'll always remember
Ephemeral dreams are all that's left
And a tether to the past
I will hold on to the ghosts that haunt
To the very last
Ex Tempore LXXIX
M.M. — 25-Jun-2014
Gradually and inevitably the stone sunk in
We lost each other when night took away our sight
Now the shadows come in and the winds sing
I once held fire in my arms
Once upon a time I knew the stars' words
They spoke through her—such was her voice
But goodbye was the last I ever heard
The cold closes round as a shroud
Warring with the glow of the embers
Silence tries to bestill my heart
But never will, for I'll always remember
Ephemeral dreams are all that's left
And a tether to the past
I will hold on to the ghosts that haunt
To the very last
Ex Tempore LXXIX
M.M. — 25-Jun-2014
01 June 2014
Questions
I find myself in a room of questions.
Questions lock and bar the door and
questions are scrawled all over the walls.
In the grip of doubt I ask myself endlessly
of how to escape the cages,
to find my way out of the dark-night forests.
Questions I have asked for years
are as familiar to me as my kin and
replayed as often as my most important memories.
But the worst question of all is
the one which I know all too well
and yet do not know how to ask.
Ex Tempore LXXVIII
M.M. — 01-Jun-2014
Questions lock and bar the door and
questions are scrawled all over the walls.
In the grip of doubt I ask myself endlessly
of how to escape the cages,
to find my way out of the dark-night forests.
Questions I have asked for years
are as familiar to me as my kin and
replayed as often as my most important memories.
But the worst question of all is
the one which I know all too well
and yet do not know how to ask.
Ex Tempore LXXVIII
M.M. — 01-Jun-2014
17 May 2014
All things begin and end with me
All things begin and end with me. This is not to say that things not of me are not in themselves real, but rather that meaning is inherently a consequence of my self, my "I". To echo Crowley, each of us is a star. A star bright in the void and burning ever so fervently. The paths that we wend and burn are for us to choose - both the direction and the meaning. Whilst whoever and whatever we each are may be things some of us share, in the end, all things begin and end with each of us. We are unique, perfect in our imperfections, stars in the void, burning in whatever way that is our own.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)