A tribute to The Collective Underground
I want to write.
I want my writings to write me.
I want to loose control like the ocean
and crawl upon every shore
bringing forth treasures from my great abyss.
Let me be your Doris.
Let the words drip from my fingers
like maple syrup from a tree.
Running fast,
stumbling slightly to catch up
and with the distinct taste of sweet earth
rolled into every syllable.
May my words be powerful like Ivy's.
Like potent proprolis.
Like a hard kiss from an estranged lover.
Exciting, slightly familiar while still remaining foreign,
forbidden
and bringing too much attention
to that hollow spot in my chest
and the tightness that resides
in the pit of my stomach.
I want to write.
I want my writings to write me.
I want to loose control like the ocean
and crawl upon every shore
bringing forth treasures from my great abyss.
Let my pen know the lost worlds that Chelleigh delights in.
Those creepy caverns that quicken the crackle from my heart.
Let me understand the mysteries of the dragonfly.
Why can't my song be sung like Makamae's?
Those tectonic plate traveling trebles,
those core quivering quotes
all delivered with an upturned grin
and leaving me wanting more.
I want to write.
I want my writings to write me.
I want to loose control like the ocean
and crawl upon every shore
bringing forth treasures from my great abyss.
I want to write...
I want my writings to write me.
I want to loose control like the ocean
and crawl upon every shore
bringing forth treasures from my great abyss.
Let me be your Doris.
Let the words drip from my fingers
like maple syrup from a tree.
Running fast,
stumbling slightly to catch up
and with the distinct taste of sweet earth
rolled into every syllable.
May my words be powerful like Ivy's.
Like potent proprolis.
Like a hard kiss from an estranged lover.
Exciting, slightly familiar while still remaining foreign,
forbidden
and bringing too much attention
to that hollow spot in my chest
and the tightness that resides
in the pit of my stomach.
I want to write.
I want my writings to write me.
I want to loose control like the ocean
and crawl upon every shore
bringing forth treasures from my great abyss.
Let my pen know the lost worlds that Chelleigh delights in.
Those creepy caverns that quicken the crackle from my heart.
Let me understand the mysteries of the dragonfly.
Why can't my song be sung like Makamae's?
Those tectonic plate traveling trebles,
those core quivering quotes
all delivered with an upturned grin
and leaving me wanting more.
I want to write.
I want my writings to write me.
I want to loose control like the ocean
and crawl upon every shore
bringing forth treasures from my great abyss.
I want to write...
Two Eagles Soar
I gloss over the Truth
in a recognizable fashion
diverting your attention
with penetration eyes of compassion.
Are you telepathic and
Spiritually connected?
A prophet, a visionary,
a fatidic friend?
A Delphian Oracle transcending the sixth dimension?
Reaching out with starry eyes
for some palpable magick in a
clairvoyant witchlike companion?
Look no further you Runic Sorcerer.
Standing in your presence is a
terrifyingly casual High Priestess,
constantly gallivanting around in disguise.
Tremulous dictation conceals the
powerful strength hidden in the
rhythmic spells.
Pulling apart your reality.
Ripping and stretching the
sinew of your thoughts.
Forget trying to know the Truth.
It forever changes.
Flows like the mighty stream.
It pulverizes to smooth the grey rocks sometimes.
Tomorrow perhaps it will glide
delicately across the beaten pebbles and boulders,
caressing them gently
and cooing them into submission.
Patience darling.
The tides often change.
Delight in the scent of the
purple flowers dangling nearby
before they wither and tangle
into a decrepit mess.
Savor it now.
Tomorrow is too late.
in a recognizable fashion
diverting your attention
with penetration eyes of compassion.
Are you telepathic and
Spiritually connected?
A prophet, a visionary,
a fatidic friend?
A Delphian Oracle transcending the sixth dimension?
Reaching out with starry eyes
for some palpable magick in a
clairvoyant witchlike companion?
Look no further you Runic Sorcerer.
Standing in your presence is a
terrifyingly casual High Priestess,
constantly gallivanting around in disguise.
Tremulous dictation conceals the
powerful strength hidden in the
rhythmic spells.
Pulling apart your reality.
Ripping and stretching the
sinew of your thoughts.
Forget trying to know the Truth.
It forever changes.
Flows like the mighty stream.
It pulverizes to smooth the grey rocks sometimes.
Tomorrow perhaps it will glide
delicately across the beaten pebbles and boulders,
caressing them gently
and cooing them into submission.
Patience darling.
The tides often change.
Delight in the scent of the
purple flowers dangling nearby
before they wither and tangle
into a decrepit mess.
Savor it now.
Tomorrow is too late.
Make Atonements
Thirsty and tired I st st stumble
through the frigid waters.
Thunderous sounds crack overhead
pulling the sky into a contorted grimace,
a scowl of contempt,
a big fucking middle finger in your face.
Run!
Take cover!
Pray the celestial spirits
will spare your wretched soul.
Make atonements to
Kratos, Tartarus, Cerberus.
Satisfy the penalty incurred by your wicked ways.
Stop provoking the Deities!
You will exacerbate your torture!
Tonight they come.
Forever seeking the flesh of the ancient youth.
Be attentive to the sounds.
Hark the clanking of the steel quarterstaves.
Catch flight of the javelins skyward.
Trumpets pierce my eardrums.
Chaos ensues.
This is it.
War.
Steady yourself then charge.
Attack the intruders.
Be aggressive and stab,
claw and choke the antagonists.
Defend your territory.
Or try to be hippy dippy
and make peace with these sadists and die.
Bones split with a caltrop,
extremities dangling,
disjointed from their place of origin.
Your choice.
I will spring forth ferociously
with a torrent of steel blades
charging at the terrorist.
Contending and defending our continent.
Stand down you cockroach.
Abandon your post.
I claim this dynasty now.
Don't fuck with a witch!
through the frigid waters.
Thunderous sounds crack overhead
pulling the sky into a contorted grimace,
a scowl of contempt,
a big fucking middle finger in your face.
Run!
Take cover!
Pray the celestial spirits
will spare your wretched soul.
Make atonements to
Kratos, Tartarus, Cerberus.
Satisfy the penalty incurred by your wicked ways.
Stop provoking the Deities!
You will exacerbate your torture!
Tonight they come.
Forever seeking the flesh of the ancient youth.
Be attentive to the sounds.
Hark the clanking of the steel quarterstaves.
Catch flight of the javelins skyward.
Trumpets pierce my eardrums.
Chaos ensues.
This is it.
War.
Steady yourself then charge.
Attack the intruders.
Be aggressive and stab,
claw and choke the antagonists.
Defend your territory.
Or try to be hippy dippy
and make peace with these sadists and die.
Bones split with a caltrop,
extremities dangling,
disjointed from their place of origin.
Your choice.
I will spring forth ferociously
with a torrent of steel blades
charging at the terrorist.
Contending and defending our continent.
Stand down you cockroach.
Abandon your post.
I claim this dynasty now.
Don't fuck with a witch!
Tumbling Geometry
Tectonic plate traveling
dodecahedrons disguise their faces.
Pentagonal pyramids
twist and shout
in a fantastic light trip.
Can you catch the technicolor twinkle
in the celestial sphere,
the upper atmosphere,
the zypyr’s smirk?
The way it makes the branches twirk?
The precision of nutrients
and its contingency to germinate,
amalgamate and mingle.
To fuse and coalesce
and transmute all the stress.
Incorporate the cosmos
and make everything Blessed.
The labyrinth within
reveals that you’ve never sinned.
It’s all just a myth
that you’ve got to dismiss.
For you are Eternal,
Sacred and Divine.
Icosahedron sparkle
and dodecahedron shine.
Congruent architecture
casts an octagonal reflection
on the sharp angles of your heart.
Know that we’re never apart.
Fibonacci spirals into the center,
triangulating the pattern
of the phyllotaxis.
Artichokes,
pineapples,
ferns,
and pine cones.
We’re all a
family of positive integers
like binomial coefficients
tap dancing around
Pascal’s Triangle.
Balancing the tight rope
of algebraic combinatorics.
Stumbling before Barkhoff
as he slices me into degrees,
bisected semicircles and
triangles of isosceles.
Tessellations tumble from my
fingers and toes.
I’m reduced to a stochastic trapezoid
with no complementary angles,
left concaved and shattered.
Platonic solids crash through
my Mobius Strip.
Where’s the Golden
to your Mean?
dodecahedrons disguise their faces.
Pentagonal pyramids
twist and shout
in a fantastic light trip.
Can you catch the technicolor twinkle
in the celestial sphere,
the upper atmosphere,
the zypyr’s smirk?
The way it makes the branches twirk?
The precision of nutrients
and its contingency to germinate,
amalgamate and mingle.
To fuse and coalesce
and transmute all the stress.
Incorporate the cosmos
and make everything Blessed.
The labyrinth within
reveals that you’ve never sinned.
It’s all just a myth
that you’ve got to dismiss.
For you are Eternal,
Sacred and Divine.
Icosahedron sparkle
and dodecahedron shine.
Congruent architecture
casts an octagonal reflection
on the sharp angles of your heart.
Know that we’re never apart.
Fibonacci spirals into the center,
triangulating the pattern
of the phyllotaxis.
Artichokes,
pineapples,
ferns,
and pine cones.
We’re all a
family of positive integers
like binomial coefficients
tap dancing around
Pascal’s Triangle.
Balancing the tight rope
of algebraic combinatorics.
Stumbling before Barkhoff
as he slices me into degrees,
bisected semicircles and
triangles of isosceles.
Tessellations tumble from my
fingers and toes.
I’m reduced to a stochastic trapezoid
with no complementary angles,
left concaved and shattered.
Platonic solids crash through
my Mobius Strip.
Where’s the Golden
to your Mean?