Obsidian Eagle's Blasphemous Bazaar - avant-garde poetics, indie publishing, nom-de-plume

Obsidian Eagle's

Blasphemous Bazaar


META-Poems For A New Millennium

<br>META-Poems For A New Millennium<br><br>

The Flagship of Anti-Poetry — est. 2010





Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts

Pandemic Dream Theater

Pandemic Dream Theater


The one where you're walking through the park with some random C-list celebrity that you normally don't even think about. Yet here they are, explaining life's great mysteries to you (more or less in your own words), while pushing around a cart full crap like a homeless person.

Or perhaps you find yourself in what appears to be North Korea, where jets drop deafening bombs on the mountainside, which shoot up tall geysers of dust that hang in the air for almost a minute. Then the Grand Matriarch arrives with her retinue of ladies and proceeds to publicly humiliate you in front of your friends and fellow tourists. You can't understand a word they're saying — but their meaning is made quite clear by the lash of bamboo against your bare back!

Elsewhere at another time, you're hanging a painting in an atelier when lo and behold, a pesky ex with whom you haven't had sex in many years walks in. They just stand there with a smug expression, which you do your best to ignore as you finish what you're doing. However, when they're about to leave, you can't help asking: 

"Excuse me, but have you gotten taller?"

"No, but I have gotten a lot richer!"

Your family (who've been sitting off to the side on some sofas the whole time) finds this very amusing and laughs loudly at your predicament. So you follow your old flame out the door and soon discover that they're in the middle of filming a movie somewhere nearby. You get offered a bit-part, which you accept. But since you outshine the other starlets in the studio — the director kicks you off set! Next thing you know, you're in an alleyway smoking joints with another out of work actor and reminiscing about your short-lived cinematic career.

Finally, there's that dream you dare not speak of for fear it may come true... A chartered bus comes to your neighborhood at the crack of dawn. Everyone's confused regarding what's going on, but both you and your neighbors are effectively herded onto the Greyhound by military men in black tactical attire.

A little later, you're all led single-file into what looks to be a factory facility. During the shuffle, you end up budding in front of your closest neighbor. Once inside, it soon becomes evident that this is no ordinary warehouse. You can hear the industrial whir of metal in the distance, although it's coupled with bloodcurdling death cries. These unnerving sounds only get louder while everybody winds down the corridors of a concrete labyrinth. Your palms begin to sweat and your heart pounds because sure enough, as you round the penultimate corner, blood splatters against the wall!

There's no escape; the guards make sure of it. The poor sucker in front of you tries to run but gets thrown into the abattoir against his will. The noise is sickening. Knowing that your fate is sealed, you turn to your neighbor with a shit-eating grin on your face and ask:

"So, do you want your spot back?"

You shrug off the guards and voluntarily step forward (legs trembling) into the buzzing blades — white light engulfs your senses 


* WIDE AWAKE *

Digital Shamanism

Digital Shamanism


Well if you must use the Facebook™
Make sure it aids in Recapitulation.
Nothing doing online
Among disillusioned Dreamers.
Where be the seasoned Warriors?
(They don't conform to techie patterns).
Out here all anyone ever hears
Is a whole lot of dissonant Tonalities;
Butthurt arguments born of hypersensitivity, overindulgence, &
Sentimentality.
So strap on your #VR Headset
Let's traverse this silicon tundra ...
Ignite some sage grass or incense.
Fling open the Windows® of perception!
Mortality is a predator watching — waiting
To pounce upon those who are at unawares :o


Image: Don Juan Matus & Carlos Castaneda

SeptimuS

SeptimuS


Seven for the Pleiades —

Sister stars of ancient lore.

Some think to call them home

(others think a little more).


Seven were the wonders

Of the world in ages past.

To day they've been updated,

But short term memories don't last.


Seven notes of melody

Comprise all tonic scales.

Infinite variations give us

Endless sonic tales.


Seven sins prove deadly

For those lacking self-control.

Get to know your triggers,

Or the outcome won't be droll.


Seven are the Chakras;

Vortices of vital breath.

Meditate on these and see

Horus vanquish Seth!


Seven senses function

If a dreamer is wide awake.

Sixth be the so-called psychic,

Seventh: uncoiled ethereal snake.


Seven seals will break

When Judgment Day arrives.

Then we'll know who excelled

Or erred by wasting precious lives ...

Enigmata Tomb Bomb

Enigmata Tomb Bomb


Sunk under so low

Bottoming out down below.

Redundant fecundity

Reaching up from profundity.


A lifetime of talent

Misspent on the worst world

Where free spirits can be sent.

But worry not!


If anyone is reading this

It means fate hasn't forgot.

Hence here's another ditty —

A diamond dug from nitty-gritty:


Sanctified Southern wind come nigh,

Quicken Northern landscape gone awry.

Difficult changes; trickier languages.

Doesn't dilute but enriches US.


Hate is composed of horrid habits;

Intermix like horny rabbits!

Hybrid our breed forever then.

Yet even that won't lessen


Animalistic animosity among men.

Try to preemptively learn this lesson . . .

Ire be its own greatest nemesis —

Abide by no anger toward any stranger.


Spiritual descendants outlive and ASCENDETH


D.O.A.

 "For personal reasons, the Anti-Poet is a sniper.  He fights for the same cause but with a totally different technique.  He doesn’t disclaim the poet-soldier, he works with him from a distance, although his method may seem ambiguous."


D.O.A.


When the penny finally drops
It'll be too late to offer props.

Anti-Poetry: a style Dead On Arrival
[ Though it went down undefeated
Since there was no worthy rival ].

If it only revolves around you
Then for us the cause ain't just.
And who might we be?
Turncoats everyone can trust!

Breaking spells cast by narcissists
Hardly scores but always assists
Brood of both literati and anarchists
A tad delirious from daylight's sun kiss
Never acknowledged, yet shall surely be missed

If this resembles its counterpart
You're seeing a reflection re-versed.
Notice the subtlety in such art;
Read-through script so unrehearsed.

Anti-Poets: stillborn, Missing In Action
[ No more questions 'til the end
Else these trochees may lose traction ].

While etching an epitaph on our headstone consider:
Would you rather combust from within, or simply wither?

Sometimess

Sometimess


No it's not a typo
Yes to that extra s!

Must now confess:

Sometimess, sob uncontrollably like an insolent infant.

" ", cheat at romance and gamble good opportunities away.

" ", fret in regret — forgetting getting older.

" ", feel vulnerable or weak; oppressed by what's professed in houses of public acknowledgement.

" ", resent the advent of cement, asphalt, and autos. Pedestrian playing fields aren't level.

" ", realize having had 'it' all along, then smack forehead!

" ", sing actions out loud as if every mundane move was a lyric.

" ", laugh to self about zany harebrained schemes just then conceived.

" ", nickname everyone in sight to the point of becoming obnoxious.  

" ", wish friends from over the years were a lot closer by during hardships.

" ", mind being reminded that this terrestrial husk must eventually be shed.

" ", look forward to crossing over after spending an entire lifetime in relegation.

" ", catch glimpses of that gracious blue yonder beyond any Terran wonder ...

Held as more than human —

Rare specimen (a Lumen).
Descendants' blood? Double Type O!

Aquiline Ascension

Aquiline Ascension


Up on its aerie at the top of the world
It perches, plucking mottled plumes.

Arthritic talons, crimped from overuse
Shall have to be painfully pulled out.

Then even that dull rostrum will lie busted
Smashed against a freshly reddened rock. 

Days will pass. Weeks, months (maybe years).
Wintry winds will buffet a barely living body.

But gradually, feathers, claws, and beak grow back;
Which is when Eon Eagle heads forth thus renewed.

Swooping so swiftly as to part oceanic waters
Before arching skyward, into the bluest expanse!

PleonasM

PleonasM


Long time no write
This site out of sight
The Nous grew silent
Which in retro sounds right?

The struggle continues
Nagual knows that it's REAL
But something ETHEREAL
Yet tangible waits on us to feel...

Beyond creative explosions
Destructive emotions
Treks through trials then commotions
Life meets death with {{convulsions}}

Still the fight is worthwhile &
Stakes are far too high to ignore.
Organic existence is just one aisle
That our Consciousness must explore.

Posterity will bear out this work's value;
Polished gems always outclass any hullabaloo.
Pretentious labels get attached to such a lofty purview cause
Perfection is offensive to mere mortals who envy you, cuz!

The Tempest Persists

Author's Note: This piece is a sequel to a poetic prequel titled The Whirlwind Cometh.


The Tempest Persists

It shows no signs of slowing down
This Mælstrom swallows leviathans whole
Everyone's days are affected somehow
It's futile to burrow underground like a mole!

Typhon blares his foghorn from on high
Corporeal creatures fear their eventual demise
Yet not taking any chances equals wasted lives
Get caught in the squall at least once before you die!

Tempus Fugit, we expire before knowing it
Blasts from the blizzard only rattle us a bit
Don't take shit lying low nor do idly sit
Life may be a struggle, but that's no excuse to quit!

Hover over heady heights of hurricane funnel
Rock the boat gripping left and right gunnel
Force your way toward rays beyond this tunnel
Come hither monsoongrow a river from this trickling runnel!

Coda:

Shipwrecked islander try
Not becoming lamentably blind
Pry third eye
Wide open to luster
Lying beneath shallow waves
How they tint our perception with such subtle shades...

Bask in sun until dry
Pineal cones and rods decalcified
Awry state rectified
Blow back against bluster
Showing resistance to being effaced
Heaven Ho; windstorm's course has been wholly retraced...

History Repeats

"That men do not learn very much from the lessons of history is the most important of all the lessons of history." 

~ Aldous Huxley

History Repeats

 
Alter your behavior
Else be bent through thought control
As you flirt with grim disaster
In their twisted game of minds

This whole world is mired in words
Too much faith is staked on lies
Come September and it'll be last year
History repeats itself History repeats!

The towers are coming down
During commercial-break distractions
Can anyone justify such actions?
Can we even make peace anymore?

Cause never ready for indignity
Our ignorance runs rampant
Buck naked in broad daylight
Deja-Vu served up with all the trimmings

An anchorman cracks under pressure
Exhausted by the laws
Of a mute and idle GOD
Martyrs broken by his truancy

So light your lantern in this darkness
Prepare a pyre for the funeral
May you be reborn
Bright as the skies' celestial eyes

Because History repeats itself

History repeats...

R.I.P.


R.I.P.


Passed on
From a plenitude of pain
Onto platitudes so plain

Everyone's a saint in their eulogy
But neither lament this frail corpse
Nor glorify it unduly

Give credit where it's due
Without speaking untrue
Words twist and memory misremembers

Moving on
Learn from our dear departed
Lessons that shouldn't be discarded:

Any fool can prattle like lowly chattel
Few are those who grab the bull by its horns
Most conform and go along with the common cattle

Don't ever settle
Or be that pot calling the kettle
Black as a widow who mourns

Carry on
If one's legacy benefits all
Another shall surely come to heed the call...

Immortals of The 27 Club (Mythic May Vol. 12)

"Though the favourites of the gods die young, they also live eternally in the company of gods." 

~ Friedrich Nietzsche




Immortals of The 27 Club


Hail Robert Johnson (1911 – 1938), who is rumored to have sold his soul to Satan at a crossroads for supernatural guitar skills. His influence on The Blues and Rock & Roll remains undeniable.

Pay heed to Brian Jones (1942 – 1969), founder of The Rolling Stones and a talented multi-instrumentalist. If it weren't for him, we might never have heard of Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.

Bow down to Jimi Hendrix (1942 – 1970), Voodo Child and left-handed guitar god. Pioneer of high-gain distortion, feedback and phaser effects. Perfector of the Wah-Wah pedal.

Hats off to Janis Joplin (1943 – 1970), Queen of Psychedelic Soul, whose explosive vocal chords blew everyone's mind at Woodstock and during Festival Express. Her voice reverberates in memory.

Genuflect before Jim Morrison (1943 – 1971), Dionysus incarnate, Lizard King, rock poet and sex icon. His heart fused with an American Indian chief's soul to make him the shaman of an era.

Hark Kurt Cobain (1967 – 1994), spokesman for Generation X, whose mad lyrical wisdom pierced the psyche of MTV audiences everywhere. Forever abide in highest Nirvana.

Give it up for Amy Winehouse (1983 – 2011), who wouldn't say yes to rehab. A magnificent musician and vocalist, well aware that you only live once, yet now she lives on in kindred company.

All tragic examples of what this world does to its best and brightest... Like brief Roman candles, lighting up encroaching night. May they shine eternally in our collective remembrance!

Image (from left to right): Janis Joplin, Brian Jones, Robert Johnson, Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Amy Winehouse.


Further Readings:


Mythic May 2012

Mythic May 2010

For Posterity . . .

For Posterity . . .


The greatest Poet of this century came & went
Yet no literary journal will ever catch that scent

Gloss can but poorly misrepresent
What only appears to be an accident

Whereas ideas form, actions cement
Impregnable logic without a dent

Therefore fine lady or dapper gent
Bolster the bent of thine own Intent

Real re-evolution shalt ye then foment
Leaving Earth's orbit — with no lament!

Ode To The Grey

Ode To The Grey


 
"Once more into the fray
Into the last good fight I'll ever know
Live and die on this day
Live and die on this day
"


~ from the film The Grey starring Liam Neeson; for more info visit: HERE



Canto I (Laments)

There was no answer in the sky
Although it lay open wide
Ages passed, millions died
No one knew precisely why
Mute meteor showers aside
No overt signs were ever espied
Humans from nature could not pry
Secrets that her cruelty hides
While obvious truths go on denied
Ponder this and then apply it


 Canto II (Amends)

We are no better than the wolves
Or mythic beasts with cloven hooves
Still any stain a stoic removes
Until by right — our wrong improves


Elegy A La Gonzo


 
In memory of Hunter S. Thompson (July 18, 1937 – February 20, 2005)



Elegy A La Gonzo


Why thinkest thou not of the sages?

For Hunter was that and much more
Consciously unleashing dramatic assaults on our psyches
An erratic investigator; a sagacious degenerate
Clearly discernible as a force of nature
When combined with his comrade in karma.

Surely you catch the reference?

The last working pair of prototypical troglodytes
Wrecking balls in full swing
Aimed squarely at the kisser of social conformity
And its banal expectations of all things obsolete
Knowing that which can't be lost even as the present fades.
Committed to the void, for eons unto madness —

Drift

           Through

                              The

                                        Deepest

                                                         Recess
                        
                                                                        Of

                                                                                The

                                                                                          Real !

Image courtesy of: A Wolf Illustrations

The Dead of Winter

"Behold, I tell you the sacred secret now: we shall not all sleep in death." from Philip K. Dick's A Scanner Darkly (Also 1st Corinthians 15:51).



The Dead of Winter

Welcome brothers, sisters, enter!
Behold the nightmare from now to hereafter
Our departed file down esplanades of spectral alabaster
Who among us can discern design amid such seeming disaster?

And yet all is not so cut and dry as that which meets the eye
No tears need one cry for close kin even when they die
Though life seems awry — it's not over when we lie

Light is rendered brighter still by a dark tomb
Summer gestates warmly within winter's womb

Glorious rebirth occurs rather soon, despite any naysayer's doom and gloom!

First Will And Testament

First Will And Testament


Worried about death coming after either one of us

Determined nevertheless not to make a fuss

That door's forever hinging upon our truss

Spirits calling out may be a plus

Life's mystery is too grand for some to suss

Repeal postmortem prayers but don't dare cuss

For ashes unto ages, from dawn to dusk

Eagle's flustered feathers have all four winds nonplussed

You're expecting answers to tricky questions just because _________ ?

Let's not miss out on real life; good golly gloomy Gus!

Image: Destiny of The Endless from Neil Gaiman's The Sandman series.

The Poet is DEAD — Long Live The POEM

The Poet is DEAD — Long Live The POEM


Author, Writer, Poet
Artifact of tomorrow's society
While alive may portray impropriety
Whereas profundity may only be gleaned by posterity

Bards embody ideals floating within realms unreal
But few people at present can clutch our New Deal
Through semantic space some grope and cop a feel
Thus between these lines one's Animus should show it

Yet whoso could discern such a message if inchoate?
Years often pass in decades before meaning is procured
Poetic offspring must proclaim immortal words are inured
Public illiteracy endured until readers' minds mayhap mature

Carom headlong past post-modern doldrums; beyond right or wrong
Carefree aplomb inhabits this song, which chorus hums alto strong
Vanity a ticking time bomb soon succumbs to the throng
Vanishing rhyme reappears via disappearing Poet

<b>⚕</b>

~≈≋≈~
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* Except on Wall of Worthies
whereon rights are retained by respective authors.