contemporary poetry

The choice

Nihilism Poetry

I have chosen darkness
in it
poetry swells,
literature breeds
dark and oppressive
I breathe in an atmosphere of coal
black ash swarms in metaphors and
contradictions
beating heart that’s become
sullen with life
I choose obscurity
like the ambiguous rose
within an unmovable abyss
I choose the ungraspable void
where borders and objects
interfuse with phantasmagorical thoughts
leaving no content, awaiting an obscure name –
in this dark dream
the Mysterious
is like wine
flowing through the veins
of whatever I am.

nihilistic poetry

my philosophy

I am no longer immersed
somewhat buried or submerged
but closely tied or floating
with those immediate things we call by words
I am that I am
my most irrelevant philosophy
closest to the light bulb
the breath on my nostril
to the plan and the hope
I am abstractedly here
together with the contents of plain reality
since I have nothing to say
I stare directly at the center of objects
yes, they are there
and I haven’t yet said anything in particular,
however close I feel
to the intellectual assumption
we like to nickname
the world
my words seem abandoned
like the stone someone else
kicked aside
down the thorny bushes
of something else.

Nihilistic Poetry

the last drop

Remember

when we met

by that corner of a disguise

talking with the stillness

   that is common to oil

it was an early October blizzard

that trapped us before

we’ve identified our inertia

locked in that cold

with a bottle of vodka and

        letters from Rilke

we drank the last drop

     of our nihilism

ready to die there

    or live on perpetually

with no sense at all.

Nihilist Poet

between words and things

Am I the apparition

between this thought

and you, the thing-

in-itself coming through

the flooded veins of my perceiving

with this thing there

constituting my content

while I compose its name

we are united in the poetic theme

of the present moment –

and that thing

is no other than my fragmented self

losing the virginity of conception

the birth of the concept

allowing life, my life

merge with the myriad voices of yours

closely knitted with the linen of a dreamt world

as closely as two poets speak

from unreachable regions of being

hills of this journey

how to be human

when

becoming is still in our bloodstream.

 

Nihilistic Poetry

more ther e

What kind of mothers are

these mothers

dint on ferules falling spaces

tremble firmly against the black dot

agonize done

pay dearly for attention

dearly attention for paid mothers

pay attention dear mother

self-service yellow dreaming

towards the upmost gynecology

female daemon inside

torture as crouching logic

gone done gone

blindness in color red

muscles faking florescence

sit down and read

the last vocals of  your soul

the language, mother, the tongue

inherited sounding cataclysm

        these words… these words!

freedom when church and apologies

death become

tuning chaotic speech

more ther                                                    e

I’ll take a knife

you’ll bring the blender

let’s create – erase opaque reasons

grand origins of eruptions

pale, yesterday, paling yesterday

surrounded growth

no, no, no, no

who knows .

 Nihilistic Poetry

madness

 

 Madness is the
irrevocable

like the powerful sun

shining waste

over 40 blocks of metal
 
 
 

 

strings that form a braid

braids stitch  on us

thirsty loneliness

a mile machines

cannot reach

 

find me a gulp

of eternity, an inch

of Godhead

I’ll stop the soft drugs

coffee, sugar, TV

if you promise twenty

forty years ahead

I will encounter timelessness 

 

madness is the irrevocable

     a table

with all the books of genius

and a noose
 
 
 

 

to sleep!

where my wakeful hallucination

finds its soul mate: dreams

 

madness the

  irrevocable

two hours before two

      more hours

 

 I shit and eat
and fathom the origins
    of the universe
tears come because I am
    trapped between
centuries
       amongst idiots
 reaping nothingness
 

I cry because

madness consumed

all intelligence and determination –

the endless parade of perception

       of one day

exchanged for 24 hours

60 minutes

seconds of oblivion

 

and eternity

that never kills but

transforms

 

madness is the

   irrevocable

a hopeless trap

within the miracle

         of existence

 

Nihilistic Poetry

 

thus we die

Grow because

death is a plant

these errors are twigs

more regrets

furthering rooting

if it is too late

wreck beyond repair

souls, human or other

desire demise

no help

is available for them

for us?

we wait it out

thus we die in resignation

thus we die.

Nihilistic Poetry

My friend

it goes beyond saying

lonely friend

you and I are strangers

afraid of each other

we may frown

as if we were advancing

with some sort of serious purpose

we may drag along, with tattoos and beer

as if we were sure of our cause

I comb my hair to look decent to you

you smile when we say goodbye to be proper

still we move in circles… wide empty circles

the wine soothes

our sleep pardons

suddenly you awake from elliptical wanderings

you are at a park interrupting your routine

brutally condemning our ongoing lies

the denial of loneliness and panic

can we stand another day of hypocrisy?

No, no, let’s not make questions

there are no real reasons

a chaos we organize in years

an avalanche we interpret as experience

though words may be wide as universes

my lonely estranged friend

we are bereft of all true meaning.

Nihilistic Poetry

My mirror

What was it that you said?

  am I still not inaccessibly alone

imagining hordes of men and women

   conjuring movements of civilizations

as the smoky characters of a dream

     as the twisted story of a hallucination

is that your echo by the candlelight?
 

   how can a voice enter this airless chamber

in the skintight solitude of my nullity

corner

    my acute angle

 a point without length, without breadth, without breath

           breathe, did you say?

where comes that voice

     the invisible companion

             hidden behind layers of insensitivity

how can something delicate survive

       near my poisonous skin…
 

am I still not alone

    dreaming worlds and stars

are you there, 

     my mirror, my love?

Nihilistic Poetry

Wordless chaos


How is incoherence

        a name

for actual – wordlessness

segments

lack of coherence

there cannot be five consecutive sentences with meaning

deserted

memory and chaos

         together

the world

   is burning

language is boiling

 the air

in which we speak

      is tired

of another

        prediction.