Today's theme: Dreams.
Check out my post about truth and reality, here:
http://prism-of-spirals.blogspot.com/2008/10/blog-post.html
(See my related picture, "The Reality Of Dreams", there.)
Pictures: First picture: "Pinnacle Of Dreams". (I might have posted this picture already a while ago.) Second picture: "Subterranean Dream". Third picture: "Transfixed Dreams". And the last picture: "Blunt Dream".
(I wrote this first poem today.)
My Misshapenness Carelessly Overcome
--------------------------------------
These dreams betray me. I am defeated by
The sleep; for, I am meaningless in my superstition.
Oh, my thoughts are absurd, yes.
They are ridiculous and threatening, surely.
But they are voiceless, and so they are denied.
Yet the circumstances of my truthfulness
Falter and imply my abstraction. For, I
Am spinning, am rotated inside my own mind.
I am but the scribbles I have drawn. And
Then my vagueness is rectified; and then my
Strangeness is my salve. Then these dreams
Of coarse perception again are my betrayal,
Are again confused by desperate indecisiveness,
Are never pondered (as is reality). Because
The conjectures of my scrawl are indeed inexact.
They are my misshapenness carelessly overcome.
==========
(This one is only somewhat about dreams. It, however, was inspired by a dream of mine.)
Incorrectly The Spiral
-------------------------
Twice, the vertices are arranged horizontally;
Left and right, they are the spheres without radii.
And from both droplets, the angles radiate outwardly,
Becoming their intersection devoid of cosmic imagination. Twice, directed forth, each line crosses at this
One point, forming such descriptions of definitions
From emergence, from expression. And I wondered
Regarding the loci made of rotation and
Rotation somewhat faster. But I was mistaken
In this question, was curious in this answer. Oh,
I vaguely drew the semicircle, and it was
Incorrectly the spiral. I drew curvature
Without a compass, drew zeniths now obscured,
And therefore indecipherable. Yes, I cast the dream
Into its forgotten iridescence. But I will again
Compute the spiral unintended. I will again
Accomplish the implications of theorems, of
Bending coils stupefyingly hyperbolic.
+++++++++++
Dream Of Agnostic Reality
---------------------------
Strangely, the dream of agnostic reality
Appeared to contort into scrawl, appeared
To meander beneath my forgotten pain.
Oh, deeper than the circles once rectangular,
There we ran and danced and hid. There
We broke the darkness with conjectures.
But we soon slept in that moisture. We
Soon defused such a contraption, yes. And
Then this ascension was re-obtained; For, we
Once could not levitate, but again we shall.
Again we die and drown in these clouds.
Again we discard the annuli, because they
Are wondrous. But I am absurd. Oh,
This dream forsakes its weirdness. But I
Stutter and halt my whispers. But I
Lose the days to the night, to this,
My inward mind, to this, my encapsulation.
.......................
Imagined And Diagonal
-----------------------------
I forgot to draw diagonal lines,
And intended not to color such
Image nor poetry with screams;
With screams, are these, yet I severe them
Entirely and always and as purely as apathy.
As apathy, I have been surrounded by only
My perfect insignificance;
I have been only alone, been solely
... Absent
From even any of my own self-observing,
From even my resurrection
(An ellipse made from time
...And ambivalence).
...For these dreams
.....Imagined and diagonal
......And never drawn,
........Absent were we,
..........Were we each
............Inside them, neither
.....Enclosing, neither transparent,
.......Nor recalled nor anything but opaque,
.........And therefore understood
......To be deserving of being resented.
ooooooooooooooo
Randomness Of The Glass
------------------------------
The randomness of the glass, it endures its liquid
So as to become both truth and lies, unseen, invisible.
Shattered is that droplet into consciousness, into
Conjecture and riddles, into paradox and imagination.
The randomness of this lens, it refracts thought, it
Transforms each dream into that which is amorphous,
Which is blind purity, transparently invoking an aesthetic
Machine. Stare within the diffusion, within this
Essence of circles, within the color of resonance,
Of the dizziness we excrete. Such is sweet.
The randomness of that pristine geometry -- I see inside
Its emotion; I see its mathematics. I hear, hear
The cacophony of misplaced cognition, of revelation
Soothed and yet flat, yet hallucinated and unexplained.
***************
Distant From These Dreams
----------------------------------
Distant from these dreams, I venture into
The remaining dimness, if just momentarily.
For here the night is barely recalled;
Here the day is slightly impending.
For here the dawn succumbs
To its own succumbing, yes.
For within the dreams only partially shed
I know night will again return
Sooner than this,
This most oblivious of daylight.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Specious Is This Brain
------------------------
Specious is this brain, my mind, within itself.
For it oozes and becomes granulated again. It
Equals the synapses, the neurons of thoughtlessness.
And it excites its own electricity, only to soothe
The viciousness inherent in its plaid dreams.
I place these atoms of imagination upon the circle,
Then tremble -- for such a dichotomy is cylindrical.
I place the clockwise flesh upon its epitome
Of instinct and hallucination. And I denied it.
For it is all my purpose and soul. It is
The entirety I find revolting. And thus I am
Septic, am grotesque, if only throughout my
Perilous blood. And I redeem those reciprocals
Painted and vaguely deep. Because specious is
My brain, is its wonder selfishly waning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sleep And Its Dimensions
--------------------------
Strange concealment is woken and made
By sadness' photons and anger's truth. For,
The dream was never depicted in any of
Our parables. Yet it glowed and hung forth
From its laughter, from its stabbing allure.
Oh, in this fluid I too contained
My own levity now shapeless. I tasted
This broth, tasted this perception; and I
Swallowed the septic elixir, swallowed
My sleep and its dimensions. So, I woke
To evoke the spirals of midnight. Yes,
I gasped at such thoughts, and endured
Those vain resolutions. Then I returned
To daylight's moist wonder. For, I am
My breath. I am but a moist and dreadful
Insomniac.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Imperceptible Dreams
-------------------------
Imperceptible dreams retain their purpose,
Retain their abstraction and convergence.
This is why these pleasures seduce, is why
The tinge of humorous amusement still
Concerns the spirit within our agitation.
This is why the dilapidated imbalance
Reeks of itself and of our incurable growth.
And fostered too is this enigmatic scream
Of a multitude of prisms, of the
Milieu made from such scribbled crumbs, from
Our crudeness entwined with imagination, entwined
With subtle blasphemies incredulously divine.
///////////////////
Underneath The Depths Of My Dreams
-------------------------------------
Thoughts denounced themselves; for each was
Placed inside the sorrowful cocoon, inside the surface
Of concentric scents and tainted truth. I meander
Underneath the depths of my dreams. And I shun
The forgotten expletives, the obscured superlatives.
When I wake I wonder regarding my trajectory.
And still, as ambiguity encases itself, the curiosity
Never is expelled, until I sleep again. Then
I recall my strangeness. And I raise this
Tangled silk to my own levitation. As I stare
Into the transparent void, I find my elixir.
Yes, all questions are answered, if not truthfully.
But yet I long for such amnesia. For it is
My totality, is my realm depicted quite peculiarly,
Is my maniacal whisper depicted as a prayer
Of an atheist, as an obscenity surely mumbled.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
Of Cursive Dreams
-------------------
There was the dream. It had been a wheel unturning,
Had been a circle implied by its triangular essence.
There was the peculiarity of our spells, was
The mind and its shapelessness, was the glow
Of the numerous excretions of beauty. Ah, there is
The vision hewn from reality's forgetfulness.
There is the schism of evaporation and paste, is
The complex transcendence we have created.
There will be what was, what is -- this maze.
For there had been the confluence of rectified distance,
Had been the hollow mathematics once again sustained,
Had been the similarity of amplitudes and magnitudes each Within us, had still to be the trajectory of assumptions,
Of cursive dreams incalculably meaningless and grim.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Invisible Dreams
------------------------
Invisible dreams utter such strangeness.
They peer into themselves so as to endure
These mouths counting the cogs in the string.
And each hour becomes the spasm, becomes
The inspiring mud we also lick. Each minute
Becomes the puzzlement found to be that
Vibration within the shapeless skin, becomes
The subdivided vision we once devoured.
And invisible are these vast atoms of
Precognition. Invisible are the molecules
Which spill into our prognosticated spirits.
Unseen is the hunger, is the salt, is
The tantrum's hypnotic misery. And
Waking unto this enlightenment, I then
Blur the spectacle of any annihilation;
I blur the dream that is gasping for spit.
############
The Dream Both Real And Finite
-------------------------------------
Despite the palindrome, the dreams still end,
Yet they have prolonged their beginning,
Yet they wait until after such macroscopic minutia
Has been forgotten, has been vanquished from
Our aptitude. Delicate is this night,
Is the woken dryness resolved into
Crude and inanimate hallucinations.
Devoured are the orthogonal circles,
Is the monstrous empathy aghast,
Are the miscellaneous imaginings of asymmetry,
Is the dream both real and finite,
Both equal to zero and yet endured.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Insomnia Leaves
----------------------
Insomnia leaves this night askew, leaves
Daylight to the implosion of our dreams,
To the succubi only seen among
And upon this fragmented carousel, upon
Treasonous radii ascending to flatness.
Ascending, this is an arpeggio inside
An arpeggio itself the essence of essences.
And I concern my sleep with vacuum,
With void and its aspirations to be
An even number still hollow, still
Awake above mistaken beds, above
Vertical circles each impressed
By the very desire to seek its density.
????????????????????
Dreams Of Woken Gazes
------------------------------
Purple I saw in her eyes and hair
And in dreams I had of her previous
To immediately recent dawn.
And then I screamed at her.
She laughed at me.
I screamed at her.
And finally, oh, the quiet din slept.
I arranged anagrams themselves
Into games devoid
Of any other permutation,
Into any tableau of these
Which are dreams,
Which are dreams of woken gazes
Into guilty allure, into
Beauty undeserved and still
Unmoving but transparent.
For, certainly, that which is invisible,
Which is much too abstract
To contemplate,
Is that which is the most beautiful
Of any purple or shape
Sculpted from expectation
(And from sight of her and her longing),
From the self-awareness which remains
As this,
This forgotten consciousness.
{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}
Dimly-Lit Nightmare
-------------------------
So, as I only dreamt of being loved,
Dreamt of waking as I again screamed - -
All this entirety was frightened, was just
A dimly-lit nightmare, a prison
Hidden within an invisible and
Unimaginable ugliness ... already (always)
What has been a sky
Of chaos and disorder rhyming
Recursively in its self-awareness of its,
Of each reality’s, most inarticulate
Definitions.
So, as I only dreamt
Of solace and symmetry,
I could wonder, could have wondered,
If what I forgot that I had forgotten
Was but a nightmare intensely and
Colorfully glowing, but uncertainly
(But inaccurately) just its simplicity, simply
My disturbed existence surreal ...
And descending.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Dreams Of Shadows Smudged
------------------------------------
I wish to keep this fantasy hidden
From all those who dream, but obvious
To all those who sleep.
This shadow is
Absorbed beyond itself, is afloat
Under its rotting ground,
Below its emptiness epitomized.
And I stood upon stale worlds;
I grasped at stagnant space-time
And its inevitability. I slew
The invisible illusions as before,
As I had done also in darker nights,
Waking to write such images into
The pages torn and flat, into
The dreams of shadows smudged yet tempting.
-------
There are many more, but I will have to abstain from posting them.
Thanks,
Leroy Quet
