Meta Penguin
12-31-2011, 09:38 PM
Instead of posting multiple threads of my horrendous poetry ('too dense imagery---eeek'), I will put all the trash here starting with this trash:
Foreign Christmas (?)
The crimson curtain conceals a cake,
to crown the crownless kings.
The cold night knits shadows on
the city’s lime lights
as snow floats from the sky,
canopying buildings
with thin dirt-laden sheets,
and the Day is a pine tree
in the eyes of the blind Sheep.
I glance through the city avenue
only to find smiles twisted
in red ribbons;
Their faces are dark and eyeless,
covered in veils
of tattered white silk.
A black button, on each eye socket,
They resemble carrot-nosed snowmen,
dead, fragile and cold.
Dust and Dirt dance in the
open square, singing with
fumes of frankincense,
scintillating like gold in the
sea of neon lights,
like the fluttering of a hummingbird
in a warm summer night.
I find humans funny.
They chant, trot, happily squeeze
like pigs in a crowded pig pen
in a weather unaccustomed.
Their necks and hands are covered
in scarves and gloves
to lure the fat man out
in a bright brown sledge
carrying man-made presents
in a swollen potato sack.
If you could just see the place,
if only you could.
Not only through postcards--
those painted portraits of pink flesh,
of walking food--
but through your own eyes
behind the disguise mask,
through the looking glass.
The abundance of oxygen. The newly
mature sun glowing. Everything.
After all, it's the Christmastime
of joys and giving
the frigid season
humans can freely look
at their reflection
in the surface of the
frozen lake.
--------------------------
I tried mixing Science Fiction with religious imagery.
Foreign Christmas (?)
The crimson curtain conceals a cake,
to crown the crownless kings.
The cold night knits shadows on
the city’s lime lights
as snow floats from the sky,
canopying buildings
with thin dirt-laden sheets,
and the Day is a pine tree
in the eyes of the blind Sheep.
I glance through the city avenue
only to find smiles twisted
in red ribbons;
Their faces are dark and eyeless,
covered in veils
of tattered white silk.
A black button, on each eye socket,
They resemble carrot-nosed snowmen,
dead, fragile and cold.
Dust and Dirt dance in the
open square, singing with
fumes of frankincense,
scintillating like gold in the
sea of neon lights,
like the fluttering of a hummingbird
in a warm summer night.
I find humans funny.
They chant, trot, happily squeeze
like pigs in a crowded pig pen
in a weather unaccustomed.
Their necks and hands are covered
in scarves and gloves
to lure the fat man out
in a bright brown sledge
carrying man-made presents
in a swollen potato sack.
If you could just see the place,
if only you could.
Not only through postcards--
those painted portraits of pink flesh,
of walking food--
but through your own eyes
behind the disguise mask,
through the looking glass.
The abundance of oxygen. The newly
mature sun glowing. Everything.
After all, it's the Christmastime
of joys and giving
the frigid season
humans can freely look
at their reflection
in the surface of the
frozen lake.
--------------------------
I tried mixing Science Fiction with religious imagery.