There are those sceneries, people, and actions that naturally appease my mind when things go wrong, or when life seem so frightening. And in the end, I’ll tell to myself that no matter what, the beauty of nature remains there for us all to appreciate existence.
What Calms Me
The scenery of Little birds fledling And of heightened waves gliding The sounds of winds during a tempest And of creatures going on a quest - They abate my heart on a windy day
The little children playing Of their little eyes shimmering At the least object that falls And of the tree that's so tall - They abate my heart on a windy day
Of lonesome journeying couples With peculiar allure, who mumble Of secrets that I wanna hear, and About how they became to each other so dear - They abate my heart on a windy day
Of the one who passionately sings And of the other one who paints things While another writes a poem a story The immortal artist's work that frees - They abate my heart on a windy day
Of the hands that compose And those that dance close, Passionately, breathlessly, heavenly And of all souls that make a city - They abate my heart on a windy day.
A metaphor for stubbornness – a characteristic that fits me well.
To Carry Me Away, Away
To abandon oneself Just for once To give myself To the good ones, To close my eyes As to be blind And letting it and all Carry me away, away
Why can't I let me be - A mechanized thing Where still the bird fly And everything living is free, Where we still sing And live through a lie With visions of strong winds That carry me away, away
Why all my stubbornness All are living breathing But in my head it's merely; I can see my heart degress Stagnation is that one thing That causes the fear in me, A tension a frustration It buries me deeply, deeply
How shall I say How will I wave To the world to you That I've lost something While I was rebelling As to set myself free; As to find the escape door To carry me away, away
My inner-war made sounds My inner-war was an exhaustion But inside I found Another type of dimension, The things that unfold While it whispered it told A secret, a truth, a lie To carry me away, away.
Yesterday I was thinking about the ocean and its creatures, but also about the darkness that prevails on this vast moving space when the sky is dark at night, mainly during a lunar eclipse. Thus I was inspired to write this surrealistic poem. I haven’t changed the words that came to my mind when I actually imagine this scene; the stream of consciousness type. Yep, I don’t even wanna know why the future tense, and why a beach in the mouth, or even who I’ll be taking out at sea tonight . . . lol
You Shall See
Tonight, I’ll take you out at sea And you shall see the moon Shimmering over its surface, You’ll gently lay in my arms And I’ll read to you a story You’ll be looking up And all the bright stars Shall smile at you, then All the deep sea creatures They’ll swim up to us Bioluminescent, and magnificent Perhaps you’ll caress one And it shall kiss your hand, I’ll continue reading While sea foams enter your mouth And as the salt shall dissolve on your tongue Your mouth shall become the beach On which, I shall lay to read And sleep and dream
Tonight, I’ll take you out at sea And you’ll see, this vast territory Extending itself wide and far Finishing, at the horizon line, You’ll want to go there To swim as far as your eyes can see But I’ll kiss you, ardently With my salty lips made of waves And you’ll forget, you’ll forget This want to escape to be free
Tonight, I’ll take you out at sea But this time, I’ll tell you something A tale, which it is, exactly, The whole sky shall be dark There’ll be no light for you to see The opaqueness shall engulf everything seen — Whole cities behind us The wild sea underneath us And the horizon in front of us You will be afraid, when you shall see But don’t you forget, that I’ll be there On the beach, in your tongue There, when you shall see.
Today I thought of flowers blooming Wildly, beautifully, in the fertile soil Their strong roots fiercely stretching Till that secret place, that wild garden
And while musing, I became a flower That had for mother, earth, nature And for father, the sky, the universe I was cherished, loved, cared for Or should I say : I am healthy, I am becoming I am loved, I am cherished
The evil that gnaws me, that eats my body It suddenly disappears, it vanishes It cowers away in the dark, in the shadow
That hungry thing, then, with my peace I gave it away to the wind I gave it away to the sea, to the lake I just, gave it away, letting it fly Where perhaps, and from the bottom of my heart, With hope too, and wishes too That it will find beauty on its own That it will learn the worthiness of love And feel all the emotions that surge When loving, and while being loved And slowly but surely recycle itself Into a soothing thing, incarnating the love That paints tears and heartaches With the vivid divine colors Of all these beautiful blooming flowers.
It’s been two weeks since I haven’t written down anything. I am busy editing my book of poems, and my mind is a little bit tired too. Thus, I had decided that there will be no post today. Instead, I thought of sharing on my social media last year’s poem, titled Mindscape, which I had written for Pink October Breast Cancer Awareness month. But while writing some lines in the carnet meant to appear in the picture setting for this Pink October photo, inspiration struck, and I was able to write this little poem.
I know it’s hard right now. With coronavirus and all the rest… But we need positive waves more than ever before… and I hope that I am doing my part here.
Thank you to whoever might be reading this post. I hope it gets a little bit better for you, for us, for me, for the whole humanity.
Though able-bodied, I feel this incapacity The incapacity to shake myself up Right from the start, when the sun rises For I wake up to forget, everything that I might be
I then search within my mind This wondrous mind of mine Forking deeply, digging, searching For that missing piece hidden deep, That one clue that I need to find
I want to remember when day comes As the sun showers its light upon the world To remember all of my movements Of my first sound and view Of the first waves and its foams Reminiscing about those lost hours And eidolons, first cities, of faces And of the cyclope slowly opening its eye While it sees this world for the first time, Sinking deep to become ours
I know I’ll search endlessly While my body and mind grows On top of mountains, over seas and lands Everyday I’ll learn to construct As to one day rise up and remember Everything that I might be.
I am obsessed about the beginning of existence and knowledge of one-self, fascinated by all of these layers that seem to shrink inside the smallest dot that might be.
My corporeal, its core, was attracted, and gravitated
Around, man-made planets – all, illusions
But now, that I have dragged, myself out
Am coming back, to you, on a wing of storm
Ready to dive, inside, thecosmic ocean
There where, without any attraction
We’ll only float, carried by the current
Until we touch, and remember, what we have been.
Copyright 2020 Eiravel
Most of the time, when I start to write a poem, I only have ideas for the two or three first lines, and for the rest of the poem, I often need to get the needed inspiration from nature, reading, or music, and where, strangely, the poem I write, takes the form of something that really connects to me – as if, I had solved a problem concerning my situation.
Of course, it’s art for the sake of art, but more than often, I don’t know why, but I unconsciously unleash things of a profundity that I wasn’t aware before.
The soul, to me, is the intellect. Before, I didn’t need it, for I didn’t need to think that much, my whole life had only been flesh and corporeal. But now that I need it more than ever… Loll – because now that I need to think a lot, because writing is an intellectual thing, isn’t it? I need to find my intellect again – thus, this poetic metaphor, an ode to my own mind.
I am tired for so long, with nobody to alleviate my pain, and the burdens of all my mistakes. I stay into a mental gauge, unfree to decide on my ownof what is to be made of me. I see enemies and wrecked soulall along the way, where they stayinto a darkness, filled of morbid thoughts. I hate you for imprisoning me, and taking the steer of my own ship. I hate you for what you are, and I hate myself more – to not be able to extend my wrath over you. I am tired of all this shit and brokenness, and I want to go sleep into my own bed – A bed made by me, under its wondrous eye. I am tired of all of you and of your wickedness. This game, doesn’t please me anymore . . . You, getting everything, and me, nothing . . . You, the parasite that feeds on me . . . You, that hide me from all good eyes . . . You, that keep taking everything from me. You think I don’t see you! You think I don’t hear you, and you seem to forget what I am. Hence, I am tired, for you’ve taken too much. And now my bones, they are all dried up.
Oh. Wait. What I see there. Isn’t it the gigantic woad-tattooed beast. All bare naked. The companion of vivacity. It is always breaking in. Not to take. But to give. Only to me. As it always says. Vivacity. Strength. Self-love. Self-confidence. It feeds me. Of hatred for all. Of disastrous stories. Of the ones it devours. For it to grow. To love only me. To love only its shadows. Of life. Of aliveness.
I was tired for so long, then it came my way. Breaking barriers and oceans. Stirring my emotions relentlessly. A booster, to feed my appetiteof raw meats and blood slicking out. While it goes out hunting, I sleep and make good dreams; I rest onto our hidden Eden. Then, between dawn and dust I am fed with the strength of wicked things. Where it sings horrific lullabies to my ears of the humongous deeds it inflicts to the wicked. It whispers into my ears to keep these as livestock for us to feed on. For its appetite is bold and time is long living all alone. I used to be always tired for such a long time. I was too soft and too cool; Too good and too forgiving. So I made a business deal, of course, with the beautiful beast. For it to feast on those emotions that tie me up, and of all things that feed on my deeds.
And how do I pay back, shall you sayWell, I lay into its strong arms – Its love for me is ferocious, you know It can bleed you to deathIf ever you make me cry, Thus, I listen silently to all the news of horrorsAnd it rocks me till I sleep, with its whispers of death. I used to be always so tiredFor too long, way too longNow, I have a shoulder to lean onOne, that take care of me, without taking.
Lately, I’ve been very tired, and I do think that I am really fed up of all of this. So, this is a metaphor for the subject of being tired itself. I find tiredness as being a parasitic thing that sucks all of my energies; feeding on me and gaining all the strength needed to continue growing. And like all these horror movies that I like watching, I see it, as being the enemy that alleviates all my hope and dreams, and somewhere within this negative aspect of living life extensively, something else sprouts out of this body and mind condition. Thus the second part of this free-verse poem, is a metaphoric allusion to the contrary of tiredness, which is vivacity, powerful energies, and raw blood (it’s just that I’ve got some Iron Manganese Copper (😂😂it’s so beurky-beurky-beurk, I don’t understand the vampires… dude, blood is not tasty attt alllll) when I went to the doctor during my recent anaemic condition, and as the good fictionnair that I am, I had to invent some untypical kind of imagery).
I imagined some kind of powerful mythical creature, exactly, one that has a tribal tattoo on the middle of its forehead, that goes into a battle against tiredness, feed me of the energies of the enemies, and giving me back my vivacity, which brings balance to my energy and helps at my rehabilitation.
So, as you all can see, with high doses of nonsense, pints of metaphors, mythology, and all the rest, this poem took shape.
I close my eyes and the night veil behind my eyes seems cold and lone, so I shut them a little bit more, letting my eyelids stretch out their skin. And right there, behind this curtainless path, phosphenes starts to dance, dotting the night, drawing the forms.
Clause Cott pushed the man beside her, from the lengthy ladder that stretched itself to his domain, he fell into eternal abyss, bound to start again — was it an abduction, or was it the insanely love thoughts of a mind in love?
Something behind seems to push my mind towards a screen inwards, where whom is observing seems like an alien wavelength of 10-millions-and-billions of endless light-years. Phosphenes and dark are the designs of immaterial images, formed from the essence of my own experience.
Clause Cott took her by the hand and showed her his realm, a realm filled of intermingled thin cables, and lengthy-like-file-cabinets filled of flashing small lights.
Something spurs right into my mind, an abstract idea filled of the imagination of what seems to be to me, and of the stories that writes itself on a night canvas filled of excited phophenes — joyful of running away from a galaxy cluster, to become shooting stars into a mind that blossoms from nebula-dews.
“I knew you would come, so I made this bigger sleeping cove,” Clause Cott gently said, as he laid her by his side, kissing her naked shoulders.
Evasion, always evasion that partakes my mind, too imprisoned into these clusters of unfilled brains and nightmarish dreams of conquer and freedom. My imagination flies onto wishing-wells, to mingle into pen-ink and digital-codes, morphing into writings, that fills my heart with happiness and beauties.
“Come, I’ll show you something.” Clause Cott took her hands and led her to another chamber, throned with a gigantic plasma globe, shooting lights into every-way, inside of a glass prison, that rages to set itself free.
The first alphabet sets the playground for my imagination, where the stories become concrete, where my words become the witness of my existence, where everything for once seems to be under my control.
“You’ll see what happens when I plug to this globe.” Suddenly Clause Cott went under seizure, as his blue eyes completelyturned static.
“Imagination is the only weapon against the war of reality”, and as in Alice in wonderland, my mind keeps pathing its way deeper, far away from this cold void, more and more into the warming light, coming to me, shading those black mirrors that fakes eternal spins.
Suddenly, out of her pocket, a mini laser beam, that she shot till the plasma globe. Lightnings were set free, where they streaked into every ways, stretching further and farther. Clause Cott disconnected, his eyes becoming normal again. He looked at her, and she was smiling, and to him, she looked more beautiful than she ever did.
I unwrap from self to become myself, far away from those judging eyes and hearts, into a sphere made of self-love there can’t be hate for the others, so I back-end my way and continue towards further and farther into my stretched imagination.
“I had to do it… I had to, they were too sad into this prison,” she said happily. Suddenly all of the thunder-lights wrapped both of them, flying them up into the darkness.
“See, I command them, and nothing that you might do or say, cannot appear ugly to me… I know, for every inch of you is beautiful to me,” Clause Cott said, as he made the lights dance with his magic-wand finger.
At night I often dream that I am phosphenes dancing into other worlds, morphing nightmares into papers, weaving forms and shapes into stories, into which I escape, only for some minutes, only for some hours.
-To all those who dare to dream, continue dreaming, perhaps I might find you, in between those times that suspend –
Am letting all go —
Of the weight that is sinking me
Into a puddle of muddy water
Am letting all go —
Of all my troublesome follies
Am letting go —
Of all the troubles that tear my heart away
Life will be my panacea
Love will be all that I will breath
I will survive and rise,
Whereupon all my burden of sadness & miseries
Should disperse into the atmosphere.
I love you all... but I love myself many more.
This piece is from an old poetry notebook. I think that formerly posted it on other websites through my old account… but nevermind, here it is again:
Deep down in the forest I looked for you
Deep Down In The Forest
I heard you calling my name...
Deep down in the forest I found you
Deep down in the forest you were in agony
Deep down in the forest I took you in my arms,
And there deep in the woods shall my lover always rest.
I am not a simple person —
I rest my mind into other dimensions
Housed by some kind of alienated specimen
That talks to me as I sleep,
And that disperse as soon as the light shows its face;
I swim into some seas
That look like seaweeds and algae,
Of some sort of sandy past
That sticks into hairs and skin.
I play around on my paddling wheelbarrow boat,
Spun like a thread in the hands of the Moira
And my soldier of fate installs bitter thoughts
Into my heart, as if a reminder
Of my cruel designation as a mortal
Which imprisons gazillions of old atoms.
They travel into their own space universe
Aware of the tricks they play
Of the trouble they cause for a cause
And of the fear they instill into hearts and soul
As they childishly play with that skin I despise.
And as soon as when the light comes shining
On that part of my earth
I say to them goodbye
And we become mortals again... until then...
Into this cave as deep as the ocean
I found a heart as large as space;
Corner stoned by glitters,
Mingled to the colors of the gaseous nebula
Waves of love from galactic particles
Sublimates my mind & seduces me to be
Atomic beings birthed from the origin day
Beseech me to transmogrify the skin I live in
We dance in my mind & talk of worlds
That could be ours — of worlds to create
And I defy your mortal laws —
I swim into forbidden seas
& elevate my mind higher to them
Can you see my atoms that plays around?
Can you see us, can you see yourself
Now, wake and create — we were waiting for you.
The sky of my hell had opened,
And inside of it grew flowers that I liked —
My bluebells and forgive-me-nots,
My roses and my orchids —
Of all colors and of all scents
Blooming into all areas of what I am,
Making me beautiful into the inside;
Making me radiant to the outside.
It was my flowering sky
My inferno and my Elysian field
Trapped inside of my own mind
Forever running away from the cluster —
Those that hate yourself,
Those that enslave yourself,
Those that can't understand,
They are burning down my Elysian field,
But in my head it is a flowering sky.