Wordle #76 “August 31, 2015″

Week 76

She embasans, cool water

Enveloping her cinereous curls.

The phlegm in her lungs

Rattles in its sombre cage.

There are few that recall her youth,

The candor of her once volitant eyes.

She is dull and sterile like a set of jarred teeth.

The sanatorium is her home

Her mother, her father, and everyone of her 7 sisters.

She rises from a claw-footed coffin

Rivulets rolling single file down

Her jaundiced cheeks. Inside her heart gurgles

Like barley soup left too long on the stove.





Writing Prompt #122 “Collage 5″

Collage 5

She shudders by me,

A web of sublime predation.

I add her to my list of grievances.

We’ll make fireworks of saltpeter

And hearts of raven feathers.

She in her constant state of delirium

And her cycles of woe and excitation.

She takes off in a hot air balloon

The smudge of her mascaraed eyes accusatory.

All my promises have been retaliatory

An excuse to get closer when

The means was beyond my reach.

The means has left me gaping, uneven as terror.

I watch her, an angel, sulking in the florid air.


She’ll come again and it too will be

The last time as all the times before.

She is enough to punish any man

And therein lies her magic.



Music Friday Prompt #6 “Stand Up” by Hindi Zahra and Wordle #123


You hollow my silences like a drum.

We were heading South long before

Our journey began. Filters clogged

All my ins are out, all my pieces

Strewn in the gusts of your ambivalence.

You have to choose me

Before the springs in my womb

Loose all their kinks

And I am too old and too bitter

To let you hear my fiercest cries.

If you want to keep

This train from spilling

Headlong into a ditch

You’ve got to conduct yourself right.

Before enough becomes

Too much to sustain

You have to say yes.

Simple and literal from me today, not my strong suit!



Tale Weaver 28: art & artist and Wordle #124


My well-oiled feathers weep

With sparks of treason

And doubts enough

To cripple the world.

My inky tongue shoots

A filigree of stars

Into scarlet mouth holes

And eyes so wide

They split the seams.


The trees sway,

Full moon coarse

As a whetstone.

A vulture stirs

Wet bones closed

Within a sacrilegious beak.

Crunch Crunch

All is lost.

Crunch Crunch

The unlivable death

Begins and ends

With a collusion of flesh

And pockets wrung

Of meager content.


I envisioned this more as being consumed by the painting. I went with a very surreal approach as some paintings have very bizarre and multi-layered metaphorical imagery. I approached this like a dream where everything seen is a manifestation of some aspect of your psyche.



Wordle #127


Spirits in miniature,

Peery-eyed and robust

These are the unknowns,

That which lives

But does not merit.

These are the gods of

Machination and manufacture,

Seamless specters

Cradling human flesh.

Sentience implies secrets.

We are haunted,

Apples in a quantum riot.

A fetid core harvested

By ingenuity,

A barely palatable whisper

Thrust into a flaccid rind.

The rule of threes

Governs our misfortunes.

Stories convene,

A rash of clues erupt

From the creases

Of an intrinsic exile.

We are golems

In a system

That recycles

And degrades us


A collective human musk

Claws its way to the surface,

Broken toys, skin-chasers.

The real revolutionaries

Bide in the fringe.

Our antagonism only

Minimizes our stature

Humanity is a condition of guilt,

A disavowal of instinct

We are enslaved to conjunctions,

To monosyllabic judgments

That mimic and gripe.


This is mostly nonsense I am well aware because I decided to write my thoughts when in a mental stupor. Anyhow I was thinking about bacteria and mushi (primitive ubiquitous creatures with supernatural powers that we can’t see). I was thinking what if humans are just tools? What if our thoughts are actually the cumulative thoughts of all those little nothings that exist inside of us? Without bacteria nothing would exist, so I thought what if they are gods, what if they are significant and we are by comparison a no-thing? No drugs were involved in the production of this poem lol I am exhausted and felt like going with the madness.

Photo Challenge #75 Trapped and Wordle #213


– vishstudio


A lucid wine saturates your lips,

A kiss that stains my hollows, luminous.

Is it captivity I crave or imprisonment?

A moment devoid of everything save

My own feckless, habitual ravings.

There are no winners here,

There is only commitment,

A crippled attempt at being human

(Though that implies so little these days).

I would rather be foreign,

A puzzle chiseled through bone and sinew.

My choices are my own,

They come of temptation

They come like honey through

My interchangeable veins.

However, superior the pursuit

There are always those

Who would designate less.

I cannot find a way of escaping the confines

Of my own dumb sentience, the singular gift

Transfusing and exasperating my sorrows.

A man is nothing if not a scavenger of egos.







I got Yves to go along with an experiment. The idea was to rewrite each other’s poems using our own language. Yves language quite elegant and extraordinary, on the ephemeral side of things. I tend to write in a more pedestrian and straight-forward manor. I did not know what to expect and all I can say that the experience was weird.

We wrote it as a response to the kenopsia prompt

Head over to mindlovemisery to see the other half of this experiment

Original Version (by me)

sonic reverberation shakes the stage

a chronic whirr all around

the ferric scent that lays on every detail

expensive apparatus that always jams

sending its flashing light and undulating tone

deliquesce in the absence of sales

whirr sound watery and far away

flashing lights mere shadow play by trees

the scent of dust fill eyes with tears

Sounds of a single man’s footsteps…

View original post 60 more words

Kenopsia and Experiments of the Hyper Surreal Variety


Baldybeard contacted me with an idea for an experiment. I would write a poem and then he would write the exact same poem (more or less) only he would write it using his own words and in his own style. Likewise I would rework one of his poems in my style. We decided to write to the Kenopsia Prompt so that we were using the same theme. This was tough I am not going to lie. Baldybeard and I have very different styles. His words are clear and concise. Whereas I tend toward rambling abstraction. In doing this I realized I use a lot pronouns. I also tend to focus on emotions and ambiance rather than concrete details. Baldybeard is good with concrete details and internal dialogue, his characters are realistic whereas I tend to exaggerate and romanticize. Anyhoo this was very surreal and a good learning experience. I actually thought of doing this at MLMM as a challenge but I had to try it first myself. Are you guys willing to swap poems with each other?

Here is the first half of the experiment for the 2nd half (where I rework his poem) visit Baldybeard’s Blog here

My Poem

There are some silences

Which hang like predatory silk,

Invisible without contact.

Whole conversations conducted

Smoothly, subliminally

Without the risk of contamination.


I swallow my breath,

Voice swelling, an avalanche of stars.

Once spent I’ll never retrieve this horror.

I stew in vacancy, in the creases

Of overlapping corridors.


I bask in the obsolete

In the postures of civility

Swept aside and reformed

In angles that defy necessity.


Shadows without companion

Defend controversial ruins,

Ruins that remind one

Of just how inhuman,

Humans can seem.

Baldybeard’s Version Same Poem  (he did an amazing job!!!)

a stillness
affixed like predatory silk
visible only to touch

conference in confidence
smooth without sound

I swallow my breath – suffocating – breath demands release
disseminated air grasped in vain
I seek solace in these empty halls

my fondness for the outmoded
civility transmuted according to fashion
forgotten and left to rot

Shadows of ghost
profess this place
ruins of dehumanization

Wordle #75

Week 75

Grains of rice gather above like toy clouds.

Bleary eyes collide, an inescapable distinction.

They draw each other’s names in the sand

Clipped between overlapping hearts.

Love is the soul of all consideration.

Orpheus follows his wife into the meantime

But he cannot bare her, the thought of her

Not there, in the dark, a mere simulacrum.

He draws on faculty but his lyre deafens.

A proximate memory, a curse, preserved

Behind peeled eyelids and charcoal grin.




Writing Prompt #121 “NoEnd House Part 4″


Idle spectrums swallow my breach.

(Never soften your edges at my behest)

Everything is as I remember

Only my memories have soured.

(I am alone, I am alone, I am alone)

Drunk on echoes, we are obsolete.

A fog of rage pierces my heart

And all the recipients therein.

(I found you under a ceiling of indigenous stars.)

An audience of chairs obstructs scoffing ghosts.

(Is death ever truly sense-less?)

Every prick, twitch and confabulation

Has been revisited but the course remains unknown.

(We are freestanding doors that open on the alternate.)

We are freestanding doors that close on the indefinite.