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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Quantumdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Azuire
    Elite Ratio:    5.67 - 627/463/196
    Words: 958
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 1254
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 7007



    Description:
       Bit off, but there it is...


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsQuantumdots
    -------------------------------------------


    I. a dream within a dream

    If they were, they existed in name, those beyond stars
    That rained dust faster than comets,
    As if they chose to exalt the sublime
    Instead of course in our veins like pulsing fluids

    If they fell, they fell like falling doors,
    Aneurysms in the mirrors of broken window panes
    Pale reflections of ink in the minds of puppets
    Hung like forgotten toys, worse for wear
    With their painted skin and, egocentric pull-strings,
    Crawling away into the depths of the Salvation Army centre.

    If they were matched, it would be by zinc crystals
    Dead whirlpools of cold lines, mistaken
    For a fear so deep it is no longer remembered
    And yet repeated in every sunset, a dying wail
    Of a wandering circuit box.

    If they were real, those tormented charcoal forms,
    The skies would pour them out like locusts,
    With the remains of coughed-up clouds,
    To be gazed upon by Man [the stuff of this horizon]

    Unremembered.

    II. dirae

    a serpent who could not be charmed made its nest in the roots of the tree,
    The Anzu bird set his young in the branches of the tree,
    And the dark maid Lilith built her home in the trunk.


    Sanguine, those,
    dripping jaws and slaving claws
    gristly wings
    gone with the twilight breeze

    the frivolous insolences
    of mortals swiftly
    sliced
    like haze upon jealous Parnassus,
    watch as they
    vanish
    in adamantine bridles
    with the blazing jets of black waters flowing still…
    enduring the test of Fate.

    Sanguine, these
    slobbering jaws and unleashed claws,
    fibrous membranes
    piercing a silent air

    the trivial beings of man
    replenished
    like hope upon the shoulders of Typhon,
    withdrawn,
    by his aura, the monster lives,
    in hate and fire,
    perhaps the lightning will never come.

    Sanguine, these
    hungry jaws and ripping claws
    leathery wings
    disappearing into gloom.

    the petty squabbles of clay figures
    fade to dust,

    the sun rolls on in his empty quest,
    and the snow falls.

    III. woe to the sonnet

    Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
    Its temperate sun and lack of frost
    With winds so gentle lava outflows them
    But summer itself is too long
    And near to fading an unmentionable course
    In visions of Heaven, summer is
    The darling of the earth, sometimes it just
    Makes you sick to your stomach.

    Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
    When birds breathe easily and the light
    Can see its immovable lamppost shadow
    Unyielding upon sidewalks not coated with rain.
    Yet her visage has too golden an eye,
    Her lines too slanted a complexion
    By chance or hookety crook
    Also seems to have too hot a disposition
    To give life.

    Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
    Maybe later.

    IV. the sound of silence

    at clouded core of shadows close
    whence winds doth screech so shrill
    lie quiet hungry hidden ghosts.

    spectres green in death, morose
    around falling windmill
    at clouded core of shadows close

    are there such ungainly hosts
    in whose hearts and minds, for ill
    lie quiet hungry hidden ghosts?

    and our poor thoughts engross
    reside in those wasted hills
    at clouded core of shadows close

    the whispered deeds of well meant most
    beneath ironclad chill
    lie quiet hungry hidden ghosts

    there’s darkness here, in hefty dose
    where winds do screech for thrill
    at clouded core of shadows close

    lie quiet hungry hidden ghosts.

    V. vox populi

    Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici.

    VI. chorus

    There is more to words than what can be said.
    There is more to action than what can be done.
    There is more to people than what can be computed.
    There is more to the world than what can be Earth.

    VII. march of the firefly

    dawn,
    but an inkling,
    yellow streaks light the city
    dewdrops lift from their sea of emerald
    bastions of stone yield their snow-laden parapets.
    dawn,
    as ages rest on streets forever.

    eternity is but thunder,
    entombed in the smell of rain,
    crisscrossed by the odd hurricane,
    lost in the avenues of infinity,
    dispersed in the mazy world
    of concrete and stone,
    eternity,
    as moss breaks grey with green.

    false foils
    of colds and metred fares,
    careless whispers live in
    engraved myths.
    dreaming away their long-lost glory,
    with a sunless gaze.
    dream as it may,
    life in its thriving grasp,
    the iron winds have erased its
    arbitrary legends.
    forgotten graves, illuminated,
    in the dread chasms of the psyche
    the makeshift name of “city”
    pours its heart into the cracked drains,
    pungent with failing cold,
    hollow tubes
    tipped in wistful foil
    rusting in the algid rain.

    dawn,
    to ruins of broken monuments,
    and plaques conquered by vines,
    blurred instances of footprints,
    havens of clear blue, overcast by the nimbus.
    fallen steel in blissful solitude,
    fragments of a dearth of concrete.
    dawn,
    in the call of the mind.

    VIII. reprise

    Look at the world with beautiful eyes, my dear
    Her black winters and polluted depths
    Her grieving techmen and uncanny valleys
    Her pathos of sorrow, its chasms of hate
    Her vengeful children frozen in sepia photographs
    With frozen smiles.


    There is more to words than what can be said.
    There is more to action than what can be done.
    There is more to people than what can be computed.
    There is more to the world than what can be Earth.

    Look at it with beautiful eyes my dear,

    It is yours.




    Submitted on 2008-07-02 08:38:10     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

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    ||| Comments |||
      If they fell, they fell like falling doors,
    Aneurysms in the mirrors of broken window panes


    Just these two line alone could say everything you are saying in this poem. Godamn you go into such beautiful [censored] DETAIL in this.I say, this is outstanding. I see you have a very great concept of the reality you live in. Better than that, more superior, you are above the reality you live in. I take this piece like a hungry child for life. It is sheerly brilliant and I've only gotten as far as these lines.

    Part II was great. I especially liked the demanding tone that was kept from stanza to stanza, I wanted the deep dark voice of a king to say that to me...this is all so beautiful. When I read this I can see how the universe tries to speak to me, and only can I understand what it says when I read this. I can look on the past couple of weeks and literally find very precise words and parallels in your piece to speak very clearly to me. As I go on I get the feeling stronger and stronger. I wonder if you knew you would have this effect when this was created, I wonder if you know what this says to me. I wonder if I would know the same had I wrote it and the nature of the relationship you have with the divinity in yourself and your environment. And this second piece to me is all about desire. Man to woman. How natural it is and how distracting. How savage and wonderful and human. And how if I am to be human I must protect my character and how I must learn, all desires aside, what that character is. But this I think just speaks about how stong a force that monster is. And the moster has family, jealousy, envy, all the allusions to the garden of eden you have created with the beginning of this part.



    "Pale reflections of ink in the minds of puppets
    Hung like forgotten toys, worse for wear
    With their painted skin and, egocentric pull-strings,
    Crawling away into the depths of the Salvation Army centre."

    I work in a charity thrift store, so this part just spoke to me. I think you have touched in a very very unique way on something that we all feel way inside in our bone marrow. You touch my compassion in these lines, and I'm reminded of the Beatles, ah look at all the lonely people.
    This is truly great and I swear if this has the oppurtunity like I am confident it will demand, our children will be studying each line to better appreciate its perfection.

    This piece has purpose, I haven't finished it yet but I can tell by part I that when I do finish it I will have a divine sense of revelation. You are a vessel, and I'm certain you know. I only hope this kind of brilliance will use me like it has you. I hope I can be so brave as you have undoubtedly been to have found this piece inside yourself. I know what this kind of brilliance takes and I just want to search this piece to pick up the clues to my own path. The reflections and themirrors you speak of, this piece isn't just great art, isn't just brilliant, it is prophesy, it is a direct communication with the most powerful source, our source as human beings, this piece came from the thusting, throbbing, mass of all the brilliant particles of matter, all the equations that fit the formula of life, all the strings and circles and mechanisms, they are at work here, they breathe through you and they speak to me. This piece gives me confidence and faith in the intelligence of this place. Tonight I will reach an understanding, tonight I will be able to look inside myself and find the tool that I can use, the tool that this life can use, to live through me.


    I detect a resentment (maybe just good observation) for the female aspect, okay, by nature woman are just, impossible. At least all the good ones. I guess that depends on what you want and what you respect and which is more important. But I am an artist, at least a lover of art and humanity and the nature of all relationships and communications of the truth of life, and I think you probably are too, and though you might not compare that aspect to a summers day, you still might be irresistable to the call of all that a woman is, after all, nothing compliments a man like a woman. It's a fight of equality and it takes both a strong woman and a strong man to find their equal in life, to perfect the balance.

    You look to history to find truth, the human mind, physics, relationships, geography, you look to nature, and you have found in this piece that big picture that so many and so few have found. This reconfirms to me of it's existence, the complexities of all that is. The genuis in the grand grand design.


    I see a good lesson in this piece and I just hope it lives on like the legends and myths you speak of to show the face of this life.
    | Posted on 2008-09-28 00:00:00 | by lori_tab | [ Reply to This ]
      Shit. And I don't know if the word is going to get censored, haha. But [censored]. Honestly, this is one of the greatest things...period. Honestly, I could feel the effort that you put into this, and it felt like you didn't intend to stop until all of your thoughts about your life and all life up to this point was conveyed. The ending of the poem especially is the heart of the matter, and honestly what I've been talking to with a bunch of people th exact same thing, where even though we have all these means of showing, and communicating, and feeling, there are things you sense that you just honestly can't convey in any means to anyone else. It's like I said to Alia, it's beyond the beyond, and underneath the underneath. I think the topic is coming up to frequently for me to ignore me, which is why I'm reading now. You just hit on so many things, and it seemed like you sort of brushed away the part about human beings being the main character of the world, and decided to speak about many other things. I really enjoyed this a lot, and I think it's important that many people see this. Maybe what I said wasn't what you were trying to do, but this is what I got out of it. You made us primitive, and stupid, and arrogant, and then you brushed us aside to talk about the smaller and grander things within us and beyond anything we can feel, touch or explain. It's smaller and bigger than us. It's God or whatever you choose to call the higher power you believe in, if you believe in one. This is going to my favorites, and this is just grand. While I agree with you about there being things that words just can't convvey, I think you underestimate it just a little. This is beautiful.
    Be well,
    ~Azura*
    | Posted on 2008-07-02 00:00:00 | by EmpathicAya | [ Reply to This ]


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