Aesthetica Poetica ~ Violet Moon Poetry

Saturday, 19 October 2019

Rhetoric Recipe

A pinch of Peter Piper's pick of audacious abject alliteration

A level ladle of legends told from Arthur's knights of dedication

A drop of discordance from the claw of a dacnomaniacal dragon

A mug of metaphoric insight from gad Gypsy's ball within her wagon

A thimble of tincture from the Aurora Borealis' beauteous berceuse

An inch of inspiration from Zeus's Mnemosyne; mother to all muse

A soupçon of sorcery from Shakespeare's Prospero's books of secret 'art'

A pipet of passion from a bead of blood from the fervent Phoenix's heart

A rap of rhetorical rhyme from the largiloquent lurid leprechaun's curses

A tad of tone from a unicorn's Ubi Sunt tears of lamenting lackaday verses

A dash of dactyl taken from the magnificent metric foot of a majestic millipede

A smidgen of song filled with sibilant salutations so the Bard's spirit may take heed

Find Me

Please

Find me

In dreams, where

We can walk on stars

Safe, enveloped by night’s vastness

Upon ebony waves of liquid Obsidian,

Lit by sequinned galaxies; shimmering from afar

Melding darkling... we’ll become one

Molten in moonlight

Reflected

By the

Sun

(Both Poem and Art)

#Fibonacci Poem

Raw

Stale sweat

And cigarettes

What has she become?

Gaunt face

Mind a maze

Spinning... barrel gun

Sex wet...

Sore subject

A burned-out once sun

She needs

To feel their heed

Wants... to be undone

Release

From diseased

Putrid... shapeless form

Good girl

Street-walk twirl

Between... she is torn

Deep down

Her heart frowns

Cannot be... alone

Daylight

Out of sight...

In darkness atones

Drug fuelled

Fuckery

From which she descends

Heartbreak

Pity... state

Is this how she ends?

Time bends

Addict friends

What’s... her worth to them?

This night

Death-wish plight

Her final... Amen

Devils

Devils dont come from hell beneath us

They crawl from rooms within our mind

Barred doors would be superfluous

Shapeshifting thoughts... an epic bind

We’re our own fiendish... nemesis

Devils don’t come from hell beneath us

Lurk... in sanity’s crevices

Cannibalistic... self-distrust

Paranoia’s voice, quell we must!

Anxiety’s chokehold release....

Devils don’t come from hell beneath us

Given power they’ll never cease

So with self belief I’ll vanquish

My demons, in myself I’ll trust

All my doubt and fear relinquished

Devils don’t come from hell.... beneath us!

Crave

In the pale wash of lonely

Your stark branch against my sky

I hear you calling

I hear you cry

In the blue moan of Mondays

Your dreams penetrate my mind

I feel you waking

I feel you rise

In lamp-lit miles between us

Your crystal words invade my heart

I see you smiling

I see you laugh

In embers warmed with yearning

You’re wood-tinder to my flame

I sense your longing

I sense your pain

In pitch of bitter darkness

Your aurora fills my dark

I crave your lovemaking

I crave only... your heart

@ Debbie Razey 2019 - Violet Moon Poetry

(Both Poem and Art)

Tuesday, 15 October 2019

Impaled

‘neath lupine moon in deep of pale

I hear flailing souls writhe and wail

miasmic iced-chill

down my spine doth spill

nightmare shrill ~ fear impales

Stained Glass

Your asylum chains can’t hold me now, for I have long since passed

Criteria to be sectioned; more fragmented than stained glass

Pirouetting, chanting in the moonlight; naked... unabashed

Pushing trollies of fine treasure, things I’ve rescued from the trash

You see I’ve become a shadow, a mere ghost haunting these streets

Fragile, skin of crate-paper... I’m not surprised they don’t see me

When I sit in damp, foul doorways... they hurriedly walk right past

Don’t hear me say “got any change please?” look through me like I’m glass

No one comes to check on me, you see; they do not know I’m there

I can see it in people’s eyes... they look through me when they stare

As I obviously don’t exist... must have no need to eat

Or to wash or to stay warm or to put shoes upon my feet

So I’ll continue to wander... knowing they won’t come for me

After all, can’t chain spirits; if I’m not... soon be dead and free

Your asylum chains won’t hold me now, you waited far too long

I’ve dissipated into the ether... what did I do wrong?

When did the world stop caring whether the homeless live or die?

Aren’t we all God’s children, even the damaged, within his eyes?

I was mentally ill, you see, did not choose to be homeless

I once had a job and home like you, I was once nicely dressed

Asylum chains did not hold me; neither should they... times have changed

But did I deserve to die cold and hungry... delusional and deranged?

(Both Poetry and Art)