Brashmania Creatina Polyvergo : Lozi's Poetry

Shards of a Dirty Heart

Diving into a pool of extra-thin blood
the streams of which divide death from life.
And in the sorrowful lake of empathy
a little hairless baby lies.
It's socketed eyeholes bear a shuddering shake
that you shiver off from nerves.
Its vain attempt of breath is but a cold inhalation,

whilst a fire rages
screams behind the pillars of yellow sulphur,
doomed cat calls, yelps of life snatched away.
Each licking flame
caressses
caressses
hissing with a vagrant stitch.
Sharp attacks and bubbling skin,
the baby lies in gloopy haemoglobin.
Gradual gradual
eating away at ....stuff
gentle destruction as pyro pries the family away..

I look on,
grinning in my twisted car,
smirking through my sordid brain.
No way will the monsters touch my heart again

-------------------------

aloof, along a dirttrack road
and memories of flickering lights pass my brain
and the cracking sky.
Rain tries to fall
in spatterings
smatterings.
Tarnishing the vision
I drive along
in my cold-hearted journey.
People stare
people stare
my car crumpled by a ditch
frozen with a grey cardy on.
Shivering by a munching hill,
with rabbits jumping.
How i wish to kill
their scrawny necks..
There a pastor sits
with a table of drooping flowers,
what a wuss!
He caught my eye and winced
how dare he
weirdo.
Some part of me wants to catch those petalled heads and crush...

Though strides later i'm scared to talk
some petrifying force holds me back,
yet again some frequent pulse is in my head
and heart perhaps.
Those flashes of carnage
childhood memories of suffocating
penitrating love
and then.
then i ran.
But they caught me,
I hid.
But they found me,
I killed.
But they haunt me.

"Dry your eyes child"
Softer than the expected glare
No pastor do I see but a withered man in purple new rocks.
A corny smile and raven hair half parted apart..
and a crusty voice with warmth.
His smile chills me.
Too close too close,
his words are innocence indeed-
"would you buy a flower madam?"

Do i dare risk it?
IT's not just a flower anymore,
but acceptance.

I ran away from beauty,
I with my crumpled looks,
disfigured like some whoreish goblin.
Bitter as a sick sick heart attack
that spat me, like blood, out.
People are allergic to me,
they have to be.

But he, that guy in purple shoes...
he was the first person to call me madam,
and look me in the eyes.

Verging on the surreal
i took the flower and held its wilting form
to my face,
airing in its scent of lovely heaven,
the pastor smiled and
was no longer there.
I'm left on a street that's turning green...

Click click, the sound of trolleys and medecine
dark and shut my eyes at first,
opened to the mental hospital
in disguise.
and a flower in my hand.

 

I'm back mwahaha. Let me feed you with my words...

Fortune

Twining, twisting chesnut gaze
a hazy, sea stare and Kate Winslet grin,
The ever paloured skin defined
by sweet sweet symphonies
as Fortune shines.

 

Princess Kindness

Princess Kindness takes her time
in the fairytale world, as clocks turn back.
Vindiction tries to settle in the lazy eye
and both cherubs cry softly, unknowing.

Gather round, young pixies
tune your ears to every sound.
No wind picks up the noises but
the leaves rustle busily,
trying to sigh.

Oh how restless angels
printing love notes in the rain,
the pages smudged with worldly tears
against a tissue backdrop.

Strong bird, sit still and heed the call
of winter when it settles
do you you too?
Don't stop the fight for life but pray for a berry or two
to help the nest-strength,
perhaps.

Princess Kindness shoots away
(just for today i think)
but soon she'll return
with laden baskets in hold,
full of Simplicity.

 

Anne Summer


Love is nothing til you've found it,
this great wide expanse.
It simply doesn't exist before you reach it,
and life is so much simpler.

Grade A's and chesnut games,
conker wars and autumn leaves,
the autumn takes your breath away
in your childhood memories-
the day is yet young.
Boys have 'cooties',
smell of feet and spilt pee.
The pegs with the gym kits hanging,
mmm like they're hiding some secret-
though it's likely to be month old tuna sarnies.

Time flies quickly and slowly,
speeding and slowing,
homework and hobbies
holidays and hurt knees,
ever changing seasons
and that is all.
Til fall falls.
Autumns dew picks confusion to your air.

A debonair sunset creeps as you turn to greet
the old male friend who used to be shorter than you

Now, a smellier yet teen with fresh grease to his stride,
and awkward gangly legs that perch on the wall.
He's still someone else
and you start to think a different tune.

The melodies of thought play through your mind,
with each secret,
each torment and victory.
Every overexaggerated word plays into your brain.
And so the personality is created.

Blank gaps of repressed days,
fazed jubilation and embarrasing moments
like the time you thought he liked you
but was only messing around.
There's all those things
where you think you're at the pinnacle of love.
Using the word,
bandying it around like a stolen bag.

Hm, such love oh woe betide you.
Every stage of existence defies the definition.
You learn,
you find the expansive change
and lust becomes a spasmous period
or a lifestyle.
In my case, a spasm.
And i'm left with lonely.
For lust can be dealt with,
but you can't buy lonliness medication in Anne Summers.

 

Inevitable Webcam Journeys

Young Figaro with your roman hair,
typecast into shadows
and some emulation of desire in your eyes.
Webcam is so useful,
we've been like this for years now.
Once forum buddies and now the occasional romantic striptease..

It's terribly nice of you,
with those 44 years between your ears-
casting mellow words to spring from your mouth.
Northern accents aren't so fishy,
and you're not as young as you look.
But hey, safe dreamer, with those sorrowed expressions,
times come to soon to be sad.
The merry times are still to come.

With our waists aligned and souls intwined,
Every guilty second passes.
"she should know" you think,
i hear your thoughts as megaphoned looks-
and you carefully ponder in a Romeo pose.

The train journeys seem like years and the weekends overseas..
they play strange games with my brain,
oh weary man of mine.
You mar the night with your pen of strain,
as the final break takes place.
You're still my angel,
maturing fast but willowed wisdom
takes its toll in time.
And the inevitable comes to pass
as your carefree smiles sooth the empty hours.

 

Oh Sweet Nature

Every distance, moments that elode,
that precious second spent alone
with you.
Oh God,
you pick my mind and thoughts
in gentle words
unless the merry alcohol destroys
you still unnerve each cell
and guilt i feel.
What stranger am i to you,
you who knows me better than myself?
Too many lonely nights
(and days)
i'm dazed without your words.

Every raindrop, trickling down
past and through my tears
is your caress.
Your soggy hug as my bare feet touch moss.
Soft as pillows to my skin,
the only expression of my love.
When i forget or doubt your existence,
i,
with my bleakest face
am empty.
Not a silent hug
nor friendly kiss
can reap the pain from this curdled body.

You're everything,
and with you
nature sings your praise.
It's the little things.
The simple things.

 

Thus I Shall Experience

Thou art art,
a mellow willow tree at work,
and signs of brindy wheezes.

Gellow flirty, arthritic to the bone,
in which a sad melody contudes the silent.
Fragrant,
everlasting light.

"To be, or not be alone,
that was the question"
he asked with a flummoxed grin.
"Do i tuck my shirt in,
or does it not really matter?"

While i have experienced time
in all it's fantasies.
A dark waterhorse in the night,
soaking up the lily leaves,
leaving the weed to settle from the storm.

A riverside welcome from the biddies,
they,
bishie women in the inn,
they're dead chuffed at the appearance.
Though it's not too late for a second opinion.

And to recompense,
i chose Brains.

 

Real Dreams of Heaven

I see, I see beneath me a scene of hostility, abrupt and grey,
That yellow smoggy haze of Olde Dayse, with it's vincent glare.
Which is the way through to the state of aplomb? Today,
i might ponder through the magic trapdoor, in Bethany's house,
where it's sometimes a shallow hole, and other times a dreamy portal-
to a nether region, kingdom of mystery and many trees.

I am in a forest of garlanded life, with buttercup, bluebells and grass,
I never give over and drink in a clover, its bittersweet nectar of brass.
Before i did know it, the boy came beside me, he whispered.
Whispered.
Took my hand and then stood on a cliff, filled with forested nonsense and
peacefully, he gazed below at the valley of beauty.
It's vague sensual nature became my soul
the happiness was freedom
the freedom was happiness
it was no dream, but i awoke through the portal and came out of the trapdoor.
They didn't believe me
THe trapdoor was interchangable,
like some narnian fantasy,
but it was real
Because in my nose was the odourous memory of bluebells
in my dented fingers were granules of fresh earth-good enough to eat.
I'd been to heaven and back, but they wouldn't listen.

Such beauty and love, without reason or sadness,
no fear, but excitement-i felt so alive.
The house-move came and went and i forgot the trapdoor,
but when I, in my solitude, did visit again-the memories returned
and underneath some dusty carpet
the trapdoor was there.
I opened it



and spun

into further Afields.
I wish i could tell you more good friends,
but i'm too busy living the dream.

 

Groggy Frog

Games with heavy chew toys seeking evanescent lightbulbs,
steady virgin froggies eating pregnant aphids grog.
bit of fluorescent nostalgia wrapped secretly in a porcelin bow,
with a transfixed smile, upon the leader Frog.

His fragile mind devoured, getting strong getting stronger,
and those who watched him saw the eyes of Sin creep up on him.
His grave features twisting in the pond,
surrounded by lilies of angelic fever.
And there the willow tree shrank beside the viral waters,
damaged by the poison set within.

There's a froggy sitting in the bog, the frog's so groggy
and he sits inside the shallow grave of froggy love-
a silent lie that decieves the froggys noggin,
in a sigh the froggy sitting in the bog, the frog's so groggy.

God, the frog's not ready for a dog-ged plan,
i'm sorry, but the life will have to wait.
Creep up all you like the time is set,
it's not too late,
the frog is stillborn in a moment, but alive ( just breathing )

He glances at all the other frogs-
and in one rainbow stare,
jumps.

There's a froggy sitting in the bog, the frog's so groggy
and he sits inside the shallow grave of froggy love-
a silent lie that decieves the froggys noggin,
in a sigh the froggy sitting in the bog, the frog's so groggy.

 

Fleeting Beats(i)



Fleeting beats whirl
around the voicial haze
why crazy man, you seem to lie
like an awkward charleston
on salsa,
but either taste good.
Hm, go away..
Sleep on it, the thought i mean,
you know it cries itself to sleep sometimes
when i speak the words of revelation-
occasion of apocalyptic sorrow,
not panic,
but shame-
How dare i divinate my soul to such endeavours,
though they blow over,
this track will be sad.
In a minor key.

 

Slow Cherokee


She was a slow cherokee
on a salvic gland machine.
Taking her to a mexican world
of insomniac attention.
Each parcel of patterned floor
carved an excellent definition
and the parsely sounds depended by the sink.
Defending a toy is NEVER easy,
especcially when inhaling Morcambe and Wise at the same time.
Humanoid reefer,
in time with the papaer.
And so let it be,
though a lonely creator,
she shall be a smile and a kiss away.

 

Too Craniums

Forcing solitude into the mind-
sticks/tricks of my very soul-
it hurts the third
oh yes,
that cool cravat your father once wore.
Too big to fit a kid
too small to be an ant-
the hat upon each
pubescent
cranium, tore apart,
creeping down the stairwell,
well infinitely daring.
hardly caring as i stared at
grey cells softened smirks.
Too scared to trill,
too brave to try.

 

Thornton SDi

I gasp
ahh
i gasp, for the day..
that day,
that moment of complex perplexity.
Which sits in a yonder glass
past the missed train of Deaths defiant glare.
I miss the fayre of fair beauty that,
which i find within a spur.
Consecration in a jar of travel
which leans upon the Shelf of adventure.
It's untrue,
the time of loving
that pretends to hide inside a friendly smile.
With your pretty sitar and wistful gin.

I'm in something beautiful
something beautiful.
So, pretty wonderer-pick me,
but keep caution-
lest my thorns of pure alert kick in.

 

Dreaded Enrapture

Dreadlock nymph,
with a locket of hair,
within a locket in her pocket on a string...
Headlock,
oh i'm in the arms of some exotic martial arts op'retta
think i'd better sing about the days
when rain was wetter and you lost your wedding ring.

Susie, Susie, April, May-
each name defies all gravity I don't want to lose the dreaded girl,
the rich depravity hey my heart hurls rose fumes.

Ah,
and i.
I within the moon
Soon i'd like to write your love
upon a page of cellophane.
Knotted hair,
and pieces of a dance you used to do...

Dreaded nymph,
with a locket of her hair,
within a locket in her pocket on a string...
Headlock,
Oh i'm in the arms of some exotic martial arts op'retta
looking like a king of fools

 

The Minotaur

The Minotaur was a terrible beast with greasy breath and abominable hair,
his encrusted hooves spread vicious delight over his GORY face, while noxious Greek men with pointy chins looked on in horror, daylight fading, fading fast with growing dread.
the minotaur's not yet been fed..
but he was misunderstood, poor fellow in his cave, chilling. Mellow, high on skunk skin. Well the days were slow, the nights were long and munchies not in reach, so when he felt like eating, he (in casual wear) just popped down to the crowded beach FULL to brim of plumptious wenches.
To have an icecream.

 

Nowhere I'd rather Be

Captivating sensation,
within each purple sunrise,
begins to set a piece of me
into a statue-vain and rigid,
tall.
so tall...

Grinning, rather horrid.
sad and ugly,
winning/
losing/
crying,
sorrow, endless doubt.
it's oh so lonely.
oh so lonely...

craving
craving
calling out your name,
where oh where
can i find ...you..

beckon me, towards your pearly gates,
so i,
can see...
you..
Darn me into your weaves of destiny,
sew my life into a wretched book.
Carve my name into your nailbound wrist-
so i may sing again...

Before the end,
i choose to love you,
whilst i breathe
i virtually forget.

Something silent, brings me closer,
though i'm empty,
i'm still whole.
Some soul angel, loving beauty
means more to me than any other thing.
Bring me me,
so i can see.
Love me do,
while i have you,
Hold me oh redeeming love-
sweet intoxication,
slow enibriation,
deserted by the closest friends i knew.
I'm melting in your sunshine
though i have nothing left now,
there's nowhere i'd rather be,
than with you.

 

Black Plague: The Most Recent

As i speak a craving,
(2 cravings) sodium starts to natter at my teeth/
crunching binge-food lusting for a second
it's all just time until the loneliness settles
for only a moment,
just a moment.

Crusted stealth and messy rooms
piling high upon pedestals of tissues
my diet/
not relevant
but bad.

Somehow since you left
(i left)
things are different.
We passed through the phases
//stages//
on a thespian journey of hurting hearts.
Driftwood, both we cry
so sex takes over, not the act but the longing.

That's how it is

And something faded
broken driftwood made me float away from you
rustling leaves are funny now,
so is white cidar vinegar
lord of the rings means more
Everyplace you've been
Everything you've done
Everyone you know-
all they do is remind me.

memories, they cluster
flustering away at the drop of a hat.
I like to make excuses
but really it was all my fault/
and now

now i suppose i'm reaping the consequences/
with my lifedrenched heart/
i'm still clutching at the pieces,
hoping beyond all hopes that it will get better,
without you.

 

The Sky

Wilting, ah some sunrise
Red and Happy,
oh so sleepy/
Gone to a place of neversleep where you can't reach.
Three petals for lips
softer at the genuine sooth/it trembles
Voice stark and crystalized in amber
so similar/the similes are weak.
There will be no Caution here
while you weep in emotive glory.
I'm still Red and Happy
oh so sleepy

Gawn and gaudy
covered in another quilt
so you wilt
we both
as roses, clicheed but who's to care?
And there you squint again winking at my back.
Twinkle-eyed between the noir
so you last.
and i sleep.
Burning as the Sun
and you as the Stars

 

Thrice The Hour

Greeting you, Ticket Master and thrice the hour
choo choo
everlasting gobstob,erm another started journey.
Gasping in delight,
the van!
The band!
the sound!
Music strikes through the air, acorse
the croydon street.
My feet fly,
and here i am, breathless
clasping each member to my breast
(but not in a sexual way)

Sparse minutes
I came by myself and sat and stood
with the hairy fellow webby//
he's so good you know?//
Revelling in social hippies
men with hair and others bald
but motsly dreaded fellows
older than me but only slightyly and then they play.
(after the first band)

Skacore most not at all, the prog of altered
states which glare the lary souls
Who wrote the notes?
Who spoke the words? They that score, wait-it was me.
Salutations and much earpain, but good pain.
Pain is knowledge, beauty and wisdom when it comes to music/yeah

Sweet, nonchalant venue on a whimsy street,
taking care to slope a few times
whilst trams clatter past
barely rising above the bands atrosical music.

So, hear we are. Trudging along streets
with blistered feet
and back again.
I missed the train//the bus too
Asleep for thrice the hour
choo choo

No rest for the adventurers.
Sit still, your padded feet soaked in serine,
come come whittle me a vineyard
and accidental travels seem to follow me
(as i wish)
and as i need.
Thrice i think i want more,
more inspiration/
more music/
more love/
more Tankus.






(secret end:you know i know more than this is real, but as i keep the shoes, my roots go missing/suddenly i'm aflame with joy and the wild seeps threw. I'm alive, but sometimes smothered. When i die/i'm mostly alone. These are the tales of the lonesome traveller. She who dug up her roots to seek the lost)

 

Media​

Maudlin-pierced, i'm seeping hot with sordid anger,
cast like molten lava//slightly smoking.

Gravel in my mouth, but metaphoric as i stare between the eyes of Media-She in tormentious despair picks up the stitches.
Barely there yet total control.
How dare she.

Set in sets of scenic thespian force while only i am speaking
you are deaf to everything.
So what if the ground is sinking?//
you are not able to swim-alone.

Breaching slowly ridiculous so ridiculous
spoilt for words as i stare into the eyes of Media,
twisting gently mismoulding your minds,
i cry and don't know why that is.
I suppose it's frustration, as i cannot hold a tear forever-
catching the sorrow in my lined palm that weakens with Time.
My defence is mere illusion yet my shield is mighty.

Can't you disagree?
Zombielike in your mellow state//
atrocitated-indignantly blind.
Always sure that the meaning is Media,
she holds the key...

But have you not met,
discoursed her wavered attempts at insoluble apathy?
Gone.Indignantly angry.

Concluding to a 'T',she is the music maker, she is the dreamer of dreams'
The manufactured fracture displeases the soul
solely searching for something solid, to ease the feeling
that feeling of foolish embarrasment/
as you are stripped bare....and Media turns on you.​