tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36449922011-07-31T00:39:53.262-07:00The Cynic's PoetryThe Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.comBlogger441100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-62614622276854290292009-06-20T01:06:00.002-07:002009-06-20T23:28:32.258-07:00Dreams like thisBlack sky on white fantasiesof a tranquil heavensAnd peace that reigns foreverIt is truth that speaksWith a voice that calmsThrough all the daylights and darkness to comeResounding in souls of submissionRolling like the waves of a seaThat carries out my heartIn deep reverberationthrough questions and all uncertaintyInto a cove deep with still watersAnd warmed from the bracing chillThere is The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-26643016689624282312009-05-30T21:41:00.002-07:002009-05-30T21:50:29.580-07:00touch with youI lost touch with you so many years behindFound I'd been wandering longthough I never had a place to beFound I been painting fantasiesThat were just fingerprintsSmeared on a canvasWith only colors of longingI had lost touch with youSo many years agoBut talked the while with the wind as if you were there beside meMy walk was haunted by that apparition I held ontoYour ghost was painted with the The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1162179773786097372006-10-29T20:10:00.000-07:002006-10-29T20:51:16.583-07:00Listen carefullyMorning's scent in the mists of the careless breeze is your laughter at the gleam of life's razor-edgeThe voice of the leaves a hundred feet overheadin the forest of ancient SagesIs your certain declaration that I can do anythingbecause you love meThe lesson of the dream remembered, like advice never fully faded, waiting and waiting..Is your embrace against the chill air, the warmth of your lips The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1113276124542178002005-04-11T20:15:00.000-07:002006-10-29T20:08:58.086-07:00where were youwhen the sun went down this eveninginto a great abyss that has no eyeswhere were youwhen tears went welling up around the worldlike the dew on a billion tender shootswhere were you when I wished for themGod's mercy and lightwhen my face was crushed to the groundwhen I ached for Justicewhere were you when I embraced you in my mindthat you and I at least were one tiny islandagainst anThe Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1112420195043554992005-04-01T22:07:00.000-07:002005-04-01T22:36:35.043-07:00Like blistering sunshineLike winter rain pelting my eyeswhen I have asked for springlike the hill I am forced to climblike the smile I must wear when I move about lifeAre memoriesbroken here or there like cobblestonesfilled with rainsstagnant little pools nowthat teem with bacteria-culturemy dreams upon reflectionhow such is losthow does anything diebut it takes a new visagelike the man I knew wearing this mask for a The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1111281075669422092005-03-19T18:03:00.000-07:002005-03-19T18:11:15.673-07:00I did good things todaytook out the trashmade the bed and matched up socksfrom the heap they were inall the while thoughts reboundedin the playroom that is my headI was dancing I was singingwith youlike we did once on a parking garagelighted by the stars and lamppostsobserving us from a distanceAnd then with no warning we were reading to each othersome obscure romanceyou leaning on my shoulder The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1110519591452397592005-03-10T22:28:00.000-07:002005-03-10T22:43:14.966-07:00I am thinking of youI am thinking of you when Sun just begins to imagine releasing shafts of life itself into our newly birthed fantasiesI am thinking of you as darkness descends slowlyover all our efforts and struggles and deliberationsinto dreams of a new worldand impossibilitiestaking a form they have never yet knownI am thinking of you when I consider what wakens the senses to longingfor the New Day we've been The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1087728033570643032004-06-20T03:40:00.000-07:002004-06-20T03:42:49.853-07:00colorful rhetoricWhat says the priest?
can you hold me close enough in your rhetoric's tentacles
that I won't see the despair that’s been tearing at my neck
Grasping at my throat
Can your cross protect me
Or is it a placebo
Can I protect myself down here?
Where nothing makes sense anymore
Except I knew you and you know me
Cause I keep on putting my heart on parade for you
While you stare back and see
My inner The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1087437952744042212004-06-16T18:43:00.000-07:002004-07-30T11:15:40.010-07:00attempt at audio poetryan ode before the hour tollsYou are a smile
when I ask for it
but bright doubting eyes
when I do not
You are a certain self-satisfaction
wrapped in manicured fingertips
that cling to places called belonging
to faces that you love to see regularly
with scents and sounds always new
and old again
every single time you brush past them with your heart and mind
and know them
as places The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1086422612773916832004-06-05T01:03:00.000-07:002004-06-05T01:03:32.773-07:00round and roundWaste me enough to make me not care what you do
to make yourself to feel like I please you
these nights are like falling in pools of drugs
enveloping me in listlessness and time undefined
where I can't get up there's no floor beneath me
my legs would flail at nothing if they could shift in the stasis
but you just keep looking over at me as if this is life
and it keeps going on as if life is The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1085109097713163682004-05-20T20:02:00.000-07:002004-05-20T20:11:37.713-07:00splashessimilar to splashed daquiri on my face
at a pool party
with you in the sun
and smiling giggles
is my joy at kissing you nightly
your mischievous visage
your playful embrace
often too late but for a sort of foreplay
at recreation
and knowing tomorrow we'll face together
the ordinary decisions
about dishes
and hairs on the bathroom walls
again
and smile waiting for the weekend with friends
and The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1084939427468860772004-05-18T21:03:00.000-07:002004-05-18T21:06:19.313-07:00fine ryeRichard bit into the sandwich with absolute satisfaction. The lettuce crunched fairly loudly between his teeth, each bite decreasing in volume, methodically releasing its nutrients into his body.
The sprouts were fresh and the tomatoes ripe. They formed a nice cushion for meats and cheeses that each had a layer of mustard or mayonnaise between them. But clasping the ensemble completely were two The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1084682658082886362004-05-15T20:03:00.000-07:002004-05-15T21:44:18.083-07:00the depths know me nowmy company is sought by this shade so completely
that I am at a loss for how to refuse it
why does she smile in just that way
to make me overlook the poison I ingest with her kisses
the taste of the death
of my sanity; my slippery aspirations
are on her tongue writhing
to find my throat
but they feel like personalities I want to be
with
in constant shores - waves lapping thickly on my thighsThe Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1070967983031299312003-12-09T04:06:00.000-07:002004-05-14T03:36:50.593-07:00breaking breadBrian takes a fortune cookie from the basket the pleasantly-smiling waiter is holding before the party. He cracks it into two pieces over his now disused plate, strewn first with the remains of flat noodles, pieces of shrimp, and random bits of spices, and then afterward with the tiniest remnants of bleached-cream colored cookie. His fingers gingerly take hold of the white strip of paper once he The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1064859551696137792003-09-29T11:19:00.000-07:002003-09-29T19:08:23.713-07:00My spirit wanes
as my transgressions march before me
in lock step
in lock step
in wait for my footsteps
in wait for my reply
They stand across the shadows
of tree-lined valleys
across many plains
covering the hills like grasses
If I turn they will step forward
a hundred leagues a pace
a hundred leagues a pace
and be upon me before I can shout for a hand to hold me
If I stare at them defiant
The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1061521239470845322003-08-21T20:00:00.000-07:002003-08-21T20:00:39.490-07:00I
haven't had
too many sour cream draughts today
something tells me
they'll come out of the spigot
like rain in a very blizzard way
and I'll be covered in the likeness of arctic sweets
but sour to the taste
when tongues touch my face
and make me say things like
"I didn't order that. I swear."The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1059504251521316162003-07-29T11:44:00.000-07:002003-07-29T11:44:11.490-07:00arrestedI have no dreams
  I have no delights inside me
I have no green elephants dancing
  no roses red to fancy
  no clouds of white to dream of sleeping on
I have no stars to behold
  no sky to suspend them on
  no happy cupid
     to send kisses 'cross peace of night
I have no wings to spread
  no shouts instilling chills
 &The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1059503860214834132003-07-29T11:37:00.000-07:002003-07-29T11:37:40.180-07:00..unfinished mumblings of my less than settled brain..     Your twiddling your chittering
Your chattering your dancing eyes
     your happiness devised
     a 'spirited' smile
     What flutters behind the lashes
        whispers within broad grins
        and sometime delighted applause
To touch your The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1059502589597105752003-07-29T11:16:00.000-07:002003-07-29T11:28:00.456-07:00Wednesday
     I tied my shoelaces
        from fibers of a rubber tree
        and found my feet oddly wanting for constraint
they strayed among the ankles of earthbound gods
     of green paper mache
        and blue like ice dropped into drinks
  &The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1059410739183913332003-07-28T09:45:00.000-07:002003-07-28T09:47:47.273-07:00Lifted
like by a hundred million tiny invisible fairies
pushing with all their winged might
'neath my waning form
my chest lifts like with breathing
but no life in breath
my eyes discern a hazy dimension
like an impressionist painting of emotions
no love is vivid
no passion is sharp
all are but pinpoints of a momentary glance
at what should be before me
or within me at least
is not
but for a The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1058981872573258312003-07-23T10:37:00.000-07:002003-07-23T13:00:18.266-07:00Can you blame me for the dance?
I was lingering there in darkness
when your red dress reflected beads of light
from jewels and satin sheen
into my eyes though I thought I had hidden them
in wistful repose
but your feet in black heels
and your calves in peeking white crinolines
looked like they wanted for dance
and so I gave the idea a passing glance
and met your eyes - the more disarming
The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1058822456280484382003-07-21T14:20:00.000-07:002003-07-22T21:13:14.113-07:00I'm guessing you haven't seen my blue eyes
and that mysteries haven't held you back from dreaming
but sometimes a hue, a shade, and the dimming light
make eyes that were once beautiful in mind
relax into disturbing points of potential black and red veins of discontent
I'm guessing you haven't seen my blue eyes
not really
full in the sun
bleached grey now
blighted white
dancing shadows are The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1058564957692453432003-07-18T14:49:00.000-07:002003-07-21T13:37:35.850-07:00I have continued to walk black pain on green night
breathing bitter gray
losing form from sight
while gargoyles haunt my mind
flapping headlong into stalagtites
that drip incessantly from thought into blight
I reach for a handrail to grasp
something pulls my fingers back
and smiles to spite the emptiness
I note towering structures collapsing 'round me
as I my mental conduits snap and grind toThe Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1058309840693956152003-07-15T15:57:00.000-07:002003-07-15T15:57:29.720-07:00wasted
you are my impulse
you are my momentary desire
my thrill
my craving
unspoken but coursing through
syllables
and broken glances
possibly never even
tasted
by your sensibilities
possibly not contrived
in the darkest moments
of racing running thought
through fog of discontent
to disasterous precipice
when heart prays for even the last escape
i can almost believe in pushing beyond
The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1058192990704617652003-07-14T07:29:00.000-07:002003-07-14T07:36:32.033-07:00up here on the 7th floor I sit
listening for your door
for the sound of heels on tile
the click of footfalls
as they leave softly waning sunlight
and make satisfied reply
now to distant calls of day
my eyes imagine sun beams
broken on iron rail
dancing through dustmoats shifting
off beaten welcome mats
and doors made into shadow-art-on-floors
and then The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1057682527090956882003-07-08T09:42:00.000-07:002003-07-08T11:27:32.730-07:00You haven't told me everything
so I sit in silence waiting for the rain to fall
where I can walk out among a million voices
telling me it's time to be free
telling me it's worth the pleasure
of seeing the raindrops fall
and feeling the cool release
of heavy sky
to hold on
through scorching day
you haven't told me everything
but I know
your world is being The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1057242241470368302003-07-03T07:24:00.000-07:002003-07-07T06:30:47.520-07:00gossamer in twilightI whispered to you
when the sunlight fell from my view
like in a supernova just for planet earth, I was bathed
for a little while
in the dying pool
of orange, and yellow hues
Like rainbow's end they had no face
but winked out in bold, broad strokes
ever fading into colors not so pure, nor true
until sunny visage closed its eyes
seeing not me fantasize
leaving darkness' milky eyes
to discern, The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1057066427385700962003-07-01T06:33:00.000-07:002003-07-04T11:43:23.206-07:00unfettered from gravityRecently
I was telling you
how if we ever are to find the word desire
and make it real
we might as well send ourselves postcards of happiness
reminding us where we were
before we let our little wanderlust
make us try to lose the land
Well I was wrong
and just to let you know I'll send you postcards of the open sea
that keeps reflecting me
before I take a headlong leap within
to feel its The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-1057024106898735802003-06-30T18:48:00.000-07:002003-06-30T18:48:26.886-07:00Where is your hand?
Where is your outstretched hand with justice sprinkled like water from your fingertips?
Where is your voice
your soothing voice to help me go on
without light
without rest
Where are your eyes
to look into when I feel ashamed for sleeping through the battle
for crying in the night
with no one to comfort
Where is your tender touch, my Lord
to make me feel contented with The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-958998372003-06-21T13:25:00.000-07:002003-06-23T11:41:39.000-07:00As I sat writing, periodically blending toxic street fumes with rich plumes of full-bodied cigar smoke exhaled, the voices and wandering bodies of intoxicated revelers let out from dance halls and bars into a brief throng.
As it dispersed, here and there were the mercifully quiet shuffling vagabonds, the lascivious monkeys whose arms found themselves a way to be everywhere, the half-naked The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-957947632003-06-18T09:01:00.000-07:002003-06-18T09:01:55.916-07:00I am hungry. I am starving. I am ravenous.
I want to be sated at this moment by something.
Where is sin in my life? Somewhere right around here.
I want to eat and be engorged.
I want to dive into depravity.
I want to dye my hair purple and black and make it look like it is screaming in agony just being on my head, cover myself in layers of black leather and walk the streets for hours The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-955495172003-06-11T07:24:00.000-07:002003-06-11T07:24:22.156-07:00Taken by no one
Easily down
Is this listless life
Is the business of life
Where darkness comes in
Slowly, somehow pretending at light
But has nothing to say when the land vanishes
from underfoot
And I find myself lost – only it was long after my feet trod virgin soil
- named 'path' in my head at the time, by voices I trusted but never knew
I was taken by fancies I never dreamed
that wereThe Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-918080482003-04-01T18:15:00.000-07:002003-04-01T18:53:44.000-07:00Everybody either has their day or month or week or year... or whatever.
September is that for me. If I see the last date on the calendar on that last day of the month, I tend to stare at it for a while. I'll look at the date - 30, 30, 30, 30, like some bell tolling for, I don't know, life, or maybe another month toward death, or just the number 30 dancing through my mind like dogs on parade or The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-913250562003-03-24T21:32:00.000-07:002003-03-24T21:32:55.780-07:00Once I had her head in view, I grinned like some wild cat, in spite of myself. Her dress was whipping back and forth in the wind, and the brown and yellow leaves were catching in her curly tresses as they danced up and down the currents of air.
The thing is, she looked like she was happy, and I knew she couldn't be.
When she stopped at the hot-dog stand she smiled. She just looked up at the The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-908876252003-03-17T17:31:00.000-07:002003-03-17T18:54:34.000-07:00Okay let's play the game
let's play the game
I don't know your name
I don't know your smiles inside
or your stolen-away pain
Still let's play the game
You haven't said your peace in life yet
And I've been holding changes
scattered about like petals in flames
We'll dance in the glistening flame
like children who don't understand the sun
is just burning burning away
and bask in its glow
likeThe Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-899911102003-03-02T01:29:00.000-07:002003-03-02T01:29:51.216-07:00Listen, little one
before the day has yet begun
The sun is waiting though you do not see
it holds its peace for me
I have designed its blazing array
I have marked its path for eons
Its path has been designed for you
What is near my heart but love?
Why the sun and moon and stars
except to wake your human heart
except to thrill your gentle soul
except to show you glories that words cannot The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-898632192003-02-27T15:20:00.000-07:002003-02-27T15:20:08.420-07:00When will you say to me
I have quarrel with you
I have no quills
We have all walked so far into the gulf of intimacy
of minds and happiness and sin
we won't talk about last night's pleasures that opened wide our eyes to pain
I don't see you anymore through this encroaching decay
but I feel certain we feel the same
It seems as if I could reach out and touch you and admit what we're really The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-885144362003-02-03T21:58:00.000-07:002003-02-03T21:58:13.496-07:00Left sometime
I hope its not too much this time
Like I have got to pray for
when I'm buckled under my bed and crying
Hope its not too much to say
I can't help it if you're dying
When tuesday comes I'll go and get the medicine
'till then I'm tired and I need to not be thinking
of all the times you hit and yelled and told me not to go
find someone who would listen when I sighed something The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-883369442003-01-31T11:03:00.000-07:002003-01-31T11:08:19.000-07:00little me; little me
told breathlessly
with hope and dream
little me resting looking at stars that glow above my head
little me running for comfort
but night is endless
night's comforts are dead
little me
I can't see you wherever you are or were
making promises I wanted to believe
you sold me the lot and the store is gone, now I've returned
I can't grasp these IOU's and pretty songs
they The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-880210562003-01-25T15:33:00.000-07:002003-01-31T08:02:10.000-07:00Blessing and delight
fill the recesses
of who I am
but they live underground
beneath the layers and layers
of sadness and turmoil
that have not been cleaned out
over the years
and in the momentary silences
of disappointment
now I am too tired
and blessing and delight remain hidden
because it would be necessary to know so well again
every self-doubt
every shame that has befallen me
to claw The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-801078072002-08-11T13:07:00.000-07:002003-01-10T08:23:08.000-07:00And I haven't seen you for quite some time
Soul
Wit
I've been dining with princes of pain while water washes down fractured windows that have invited in too much
frozen air
biting rain
to the dining hall
where I will sit again
until my stuffed corpse-shell stops trying to hold me in
and I burst forth in agonized rivulets of flesh and ecstasy
wasted and spent
waiting
waiting
to dine again
The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-799367112002-08-07T07:16:00.000-07:002002-08-07T07:16:37.333-07:00Written in silence
staid in complacency's tomb
the fig that withers before falling fruit
the stillborn child
all brilliance without light emitted
his eyes and sight
bent by melanin not quite precisely patterned
enough to be mirrored without regret
Can eyes be transformed
to fit the visions they have seen?
The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-795083172002-07-28T05:08:00.000-07:002003-07-03T07:24:27.336-07:00Just so you dont have to be critical for me - this is pretty poor:
Silence - and all about impending doom
I thirst for romance and am set upon by gargoyle gloom
Like some rock that juts from a landscape of sandy desolation with only pit-pats of rain
I am merely a fixture of chance strewn on oceans of meaningful motion when earth began
and those who pass by have no idea that my creases and The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3644992.post-793325112002-07-23T21:37:00.000-07:002002-07-23T21:37:50.863-07:00I only know being lost.
I don't know what to do. I don't know why to do what to do. I don't know when, or how.
When I look at the moment I am in I see an abyss of chaos. I see endless confusion of one force tearing into another and one loss and absence ripping from any presnce of good or joy.
I know desire I know pain I know regret I know fear I know loss I know depression I know despair.
The Cynichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11826156791728278556noreply@blogger.com0