Jus Poetica: James, Baldwin;

• Artist: meep12345
• Description: Okay, the full title is: Jus Poetica: James, Baldwin; I love ya!
  
  However, Gaia's title bar doesn't allow titles that long (I can only imagine the kind of ire this would incur. I mean, consider how a poet like T.S. Eliot would have felt if someone told him his titles were too long? Yeah, like that is going to turn out well... Do I smell exploding cigars? Anyone?).
• Date: 05/19/2009
• Tags: poetica james baldwin love zizek

Jus Poetica: James, Baldwin; I love ya!

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It stands to Reckoning the role of disrupted chairs that every moment in life to which we absently stare,
A putrid display of lofty vanity as the world encloses upon the right and fair,
Thy darkly sunset,
even-wise and autumn woe’d,
as on the winds we here,
the dead,
groan.

O' chimney sweeps of the soul,
hurry off and learn to swim!
Tis' the reservoir is draining as the floor collapses on internal thinking!
Count your days,
ye chicklings of a mortal god,
the fangs of life shalt drag you to Nod!

The souls are singing themselves to Hell,
The table is black and very unreal,
Illusion is Heaven and the table is clear,
The facts of matter show no table to tell,
'Step Aside' the singers wailed.

The Blue Girl with sun-dead hair,
skin roasted and eyes blackened,
sits before the off-coloured Argyle Man,
unkept hair with spectacles to boot,
in chairs so different as legs and loops,
as 10,
12,
maybe ten,
or twelve,
chance it be tens of twelve or the twelfth of ten,
stare on with their voices speaking and their bodies changing,
random and black,
a forced lack of ship sails and carpet scales,
the classroom's trashcan the horizon as we failed.

Ockham-shaven the first of Arcana Major,
who's empty head and perfect smile stare back from the grand mirror,
the surface of simplicity hides,
but a glassy essence,
the dark depth,
cold and wide,
lurks below,
unseen and untold,
for that is complexity's stronghold.

To the arms the not-male philosophers go,
striped versus brown,
the idea of god stands to challenge the god-mystery that refutes,
tired and worn,
their unused pens are the harshest scorn,
their paper,
the stripes of sweat,
the browns of age,
their dead and it is us who fade.

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Comments

[Aluraen Rose]

simply beautiful <3 id love to read anything and everything you write, the way you put your grammer to use is absolutly breathtaking... I'm a fan now <3 - i myself have a poem put up, it's called "flowers & morbidity", the tag is "flowers", stop by and read it, i would apprecate it if you shared a litte of your input on it with me.