The Futurist Manifesto
No One Believes in Love
The concrete carcass glitters
brilliant under the lens;
heaving, we become an ocean
of faceless cigarette butts
and pennies on tails.
Dead lines drape the posts
where we crucified saviors
and communication.
All voices should be heard
above the clamor
of all these voices
that should be heard.
Olive branches clip our wings,
flee to mountaintops;
the air taken
exhaling drugs,
hope and cancer.
You paint me every shade of gray,
seal my eyes with your tongue,
pry open my lips,
a tell-tale heart
and a crowbar thumb;
You told me
the weight of the sky,
laden with thrones,
will always be too much
for our eyes to hold.
Catharsis as a cadence.
Laudanum for Sale
The concrete carcass shimmers
inviting under the lens;
drowning, we become static hum,
cities' last broadcast,
a deeper dream.
Ink hallucinations,
sunspots you could set your watch to;
progress postmortem,
momentum of the passionately passive;
Send me out onto the paths,
scatter thoughts unto the wind,
a moon setting over my shoulder
and feet pacing fig roads
where trees wilt in solemn worship.
They never told me
heaven was built by heathens;
the only way through
gates of righteousness and pearls:
kill the self. kill the self.
be reborn, kill yourself.
To desire fame is to prefer
dying scorned than forgotten.
"I've been dying all my life"
I speak, tonguing ashes around
a mouthful of desire,
"life is just an imitation of art -
I am the modern canvas.”
You paint me every shade of black,
stay my eyes with your tongue,
you seal them shut,
that I may take the time
to clearly see.
Antithesis as an art-form.
Sky Burial
The concrete carcass unravels
violent under the lens;
skies moving sideways,
wine anointing the brow of
the chosen, one
rotting apple;
a dropped needle,
the abandoned
monophony, phonographs
running in circles -
The sun dawns a shroud of mourning,
billboards alight, twisted metals dancing
interpretive fever dreams in drag.
You paint me every shade of fire,
stroke me across the skyline,
tie your lips in mine
double knot and pull me tight.
Look deep into my eyes,
you kill me thrice;
drag the knife across my skin,
set my soul alight.
Music as meditation.
I am Love
Indefinite space reaches out;
through your being,
space translates the world.
The rains carry you back to sea.
You told me
the weight of the sky,
laden with stars,
is never too much
for my eyes to hold.
Paint me every shade of white,
bread, salt and grease
seal our tongues.
Art is just an imitation of an imitation,
the soul mining the void.
reflect,
repose,
repeat.
1% of all TV and radio static
is relic sound from the Big Bang.
these piece exists in the form it wanted to be in thanks to the incredible feedback from @geekorner and @geke of the @isleofwrite.
@isleofwrite logo design by @PegasusPhysics
header photo base is public commons
This whole piece is a Zinger! ::bows deeply::
For me in my relationship with poetry, I prefer to talk of the way in which a piece becomes mine as the viewer and not of the writer and their relationship to the words:
"Art is just an imitation of an imitation,
the soul mining the void."
This string of words has hung round my neck and that is what great poetry does, its familiar, a taste you cannot quite describe, yet, there it is from another soul somewhere in the world. Somewhere the Altar of love, like so many has been quenched with the blood of lovers, dried over once in bloom flowers, hardened, and then drilled and strung into a strand to be worn, or worshiped, or reviled.
Dried blood is brown, not red.
Bravo!
Your formatting and words are absolutely incredible.
I love how the lines seem to make a waveform of sorts like the poem itself is the " cities' last broadcast", the chaotic noise of static reflecting the universal order—there's a discordious rhythm to it that is irresistible and hypnotizing—indeed, "Antithesis as an art-form." And then the poem ends in three lines single words, formatted the same, like the last death throws of art itself, dying into a flatline into infinity.
Really incredibly work @carmalain7, I'm absolutely staggered.
This was a work of a genius ;)
There is a sort of melody between each part, in which the progression is evident. The shades of colours, the similar themes and imagery used. It's one of those where I have no idea what to comment on, because, it's just outstanding all together.
Both that stanza and the similar stanza - were my favourites. It's written beautifully <3
A lot of great quotables here !
Will be reading your other works.
WOW!!! Bravo!!! on everything. Sorry, I don't have the words to describe how impressed I am!! <3
I remember work-shopping this many moons ago carmalain7. Glad to see it unleashed. The imagery is haunting and addresses that great unknown that is sown throughout this mortal coil we inhabit. I love this verse:
Thanks for sharing. The artistry of this poem is truly marvelous :-)
"Many moons ago"? Raj, he's only been on Discord for like 5 weeks :D
Ha ha. My concept of time is all askew though, misspent youth ;-)
Two taping cycles in a row where I've got a case between two warring girls with dead-beat baby-daddies. The girls fighting over the cheating dead-beat. Sad sad stuff.
No one believes in love indeed.
Quite deep and profound, you have a unique talent to paint a picture in words that is both admirable and astounding. "I've been dying all my life", reminds me of Iron Maiden - The Clairvoyant, we are all mortal after all. Great post, keep it up.
#thealliance
I feel your words and I love them
but I can only undersand few of them
I didn't know this is even possible until now 🙄
@carmalain7, you have dropped by my posts so often I wanted to repay by stopping by.
Your words are deep. You have a gift. I will stay with the simple and let you belt out the epic poems. Have a great Friday!