staticpoetry - Tumblr blog

[staticpoetry]

THE LOST FORGOTTEN CITY

In a land far far away 

There exist a colossal standing ancient monument

Stiff 

like a gold engorged obelisk 

known simply as the Great Wall

The heart of  “THE LOST FORGOTTEN CITY”

invoking a benign colour of right to invisible borders

Whose name remain hidden and silent

Whose eternal mighty people 

has vanished without a name or a tale

Not even a song to document their exploits or claims

It is although the place is under an enchanted spell

spread so thick and rich

you can cut the bad-luck saturating the air

and eat it with a spoon

But I have walked along it’s wide gaping streets

Touching the foreboding walls that stands erect like a cist

of the mighty citadel held in a morbid spell

reeking with the stench of a mysterious malodour smell

 I felt the lingering pain

that stains the very air with a maddening mist

Causing your flesh to rip itself from your bones

and your sanity to flee with insane fear 

while dripping from the cracks in your mind

Galloping scared in burning fright 

with grasping flames

to no special place for all time

Heard the voiceless screams 

in this artisan chiseled work of art

crafted in the persona of a graveyard 

of an invisible mighty people with no offsprings of 

who are resting cold and cease to dream

Felt the pulse of the beating heart of a lost host

as I listen to the perfectly carved stones reciting ancient runes

Mumbling mad imprisoned stories

condemn to be the most secured secrets

that slaps you in the face to stay awake

I have beholden

the zenith of there existence

The pinnacle of there opulence

there magnificence so golden

though they no longer exist

The Forgotten City…

Brought to an end

despite there awesome accomplishments

and now lay twice dead

The forgotten dead.

Leegal Poet

Wayne Ferron:All rights reserved  @ copyright 

Book: Beast Machine 

https://books.apple.com/ca/book/beast-machine/id1554646915

www.staticpoetry.com

www.legalpoets.com

There's no apt response

To the critic's comment,

That hits the roots of passion

And tries to dissolve it into ashes

That cannot find a fertile soil,

Hardly any peaceful way to cope

When the fire chars emotions

And leaves a ground

Where nothing appears inhabited,

No way to become so small and dissipate

The furious waves of resentment

Although engulf yet leave you choking,

On everything that has been

Said about yourself.

[staticpoetry]

[staticpoetry]

I Could Be No Other

I am alone in a sea of people.

A “lone wolf”

traveling on a solitary road,

trying to avail myself of the things of the flesh.

 Materialism only serves to enslave it’s owners,

forcing it’s steward to forget the real important things. 

I stand before you,

yet you refuse to see me. 

I speak,

but only the silent wind is listening. 

We have been friends for so long, but I am still invisible. 

I open a small window to my soul, 

but you walk around it. 

I peel off my protective skin revealing myself

naked as the crying wind,

but you fail to understand me.

 I give you a taste of my secret thoughts, 

but you do not hear me. 

You recall my life in every detail, 

yet you fail to grasp my essence.

You know of me,

but you do not know me. 

I share myself,

but you refuse my gifts. 

Ourselves,

are waiting for the opportunity to share. 

Following in our shadows,

down the twisting road of life’s journey. 

We cannot outrun it,

it will always overtake us at every chance. 

Our fate is assured;

the dichotomous duality

between our real,

and imaginary self is inevitable. 

The paradoxical life

we call living,

is necessary to guarantee our humanity. 

Wrapping ourselves with beautiful borrowed flesh, 

the gorgeous dark skin hiding our souls

is purely incidental. 

Would the contents of a package diminish, 

if the wrapper was different? 

Can a container,

 overtake the importance of its contents? 

The artificial construction we live in,

forced upon ourselves

by self imposed constraints.

Binds us to the confines of a personal reality. 

A pre manufactured mold 

denying our full potential at vitality. 

The essence of life is in ones perception, 

for perception is transformed into reality. 

Do we all see the same Sun? 

But one must believe!

We need biblical faith!

God spoke,

and her words became flesh. 

The beautiful containers 

which one endeavour to build, 

is just a pretty dress;

to wrap far more important 

parts of one’s self. 

The flesh which imprison our spark,

the beautiful dark skin 

wrapping our essence, 

is purely incidental.

 We are,

who we are,

and could be no other. 

The me,

from the real self.

Always presence itself.

No matter what wrapper

the precious package comes in. 

One cannot deny one’s self,

for the reflection of our being 

in the mirror of life 

stare us down like an omnipresent overlord. 

Leegal Poet 

Wayne Ferron:All  rights reserved @ copyright

Book: Beast Machine 

https://books.apple.com/ca/book/beast-machine/id1554646915

Take yourself outside

Just to nurture the bond with yourself

That you've forgotten about,

Open your eyes

Only to the blue skies

That swim like snowflakes

On water sometimes,

Dream about drowning

Sinking into a freedom

That doesn't make you cling

To all that seems so certain around,

There's a gallery of wonders awaiting

Feel it within you,

The world can wait sometimes.

[staticpoetry]

[staticpoetry]

HUSBAND TO WIFE

A love letter to my dearest Wife

in the virgin spirit of fond memories.

.

Good morning my love,

good morning my dearest love.

Failing to connect to your brilliance,

and swimming in your oceans

of magnificence;

has made me realize

how fragile

the realism of time.

I do love you my wife.

.

There are things

lingering in my mind,

fumbling around

in warm silent places of my heart.

Things unsaid,

things undone;

now seek to find a home

and sit on the throne of their origin.

I do love you my wife.

.

To speak on there own

of blissful possibilities,

and euphoric sensibilities.

Merry making in the golden meadows

of both our hearts

refusing to be apart.

Conquering triumphantly

after roaming through the

chaos of time.

For I do love you my wife.

.

For we wallowed

in the heavenly abyss,

and experienced impossible things;

carings in unselfish “sharings"

that will be forever missed.

.

Played in secret places

of loving sincerities

experiencing life on their own.

Cause we never rejected,

but embrace each other’s mutual feelings

in claiming them as our own.

To live as husband and wife

in delicious joyful happiness

without malice or an artificial price.

I do love you my wife.

.

So take my hand

to walk on happier sands.

Take my hand

to frolic in greener pastures.

Take my smiling affections

,

and live in my welcoming heart.

Take me to never

never-land

as we plan

in holy matrimony

of wife and husband to be.

.

So take my hand now,

while the sun rises

to the coming of dawn.

For there is no valid claim

of never being loved,

and no man ever loving you

my wife.

No claim…

Legal Poet

Wayne Ferron : Al rights reserved @ copyright

BOOK: ISIS AND OSIRIS POETICA

https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=1548055682

I leave myself in those goodbyes

That are not meant to

Recede so easily from the mind,

Leaving a big part inside

Weathered like a coat

That once gave warmth all night,

Abandoning myself in those places

Where nostalgia aggravates

The consciousness within,

Vibrance becomes faded

Like a spare yellow bulb

Trying to light the lugubrious din,

I glide into an unfathomable road

Where distance besieges my load,

Try to find something known

Which I can forever own.

[staticpoetry]

🩸WHERE  MERMAIDS DWELL🩸

.

You can dive into an ocean

and yet not die

Even though sharks

sea snakes

and stingrays patrol 

the place where mermaids dwell 

in ever tightening security

.

Dive deep into wet forbidding emptiness

of nothingness

as the water squeeze your insides

to burst your lungs after the plunge

and smother your speech

in ignorance of your plea

.

Muffle your spoken words

and suck you down

deeper

and deeper

into the calling darkness

of a lovers abyss

with strange entangling

words of hope

or is it the bondage of rope

.

Clinging silken twine

tying up your mind

in seductive vines

with sticky sweet droplets 

of erotic ecstasy

sliding down tying 

threads of destiny

.

Until the alien vibrating tunes

emanating from the blackness

bring you to ruin

In a paradise

where mermaid dwell

In the hallows of a deep cavern

cracked from seismic vibrations

of unsettled trembling grounds 

hiding beyond darkness

As the beating light 

of the angular fish 

guides you to your feast 

of a thousand delights

.

Now filled with intoxicating wine

rumbling

tremors

pulsating

as the earthquake screams 

in delights and misery

.

As you arrive 

in a heavenly realm

where mermaids dwell

suckling on there milk and honey

cuddling in the calls sirens spells

imprisoned by sweet tightening lace

in songs of a thousand pleasures 

crafted for a king of a million kingdoms

.

Far far beyond the open door

you entered without discretion

with a friendly invite at first instance

.

You have arrived 

to your home

Arrived…

.

Leegal Poet

Wayne Ferron : All rights reserved @ copyright

Book: Beast Machine 

https://books.apple.com/ca/book/beast-machine/id1554646915

www.staticpoetry.com

You can perch on cactus

And still not cry

Even though the pain

Seems to shred you inside,

You can live in the ruins

Of relations that died

Yet a new day you can acknowledge

With a little hi,

You can move with the leash

Of longing on your throat

Yet find a way

To haul yourself

Away from it somehow,

How is it so easy

For you to dismiss

That you're nothing,

When you are indeed

So much.

[staticpoetry]

[staticpoetry]

🩸THE BOOK OF FLOWERS🩸

.

…then I say

Oh dear I say

Dearest

meet at the park tonight

Under the full moon light

Wearing only a veil 

of silken darkness

as a thousand fireflies

sing there songs of love

in an opera 

of mesmerizing blinking lights

.

A top the hill side

where daffodils roam like buffalos

in fields of emerald green

flowing like a gentle stream

Where the nightingale sings

its ballads at dawn 

.

Near the garden 

of sweet smiling rose bushes

bathing in pheromones of happiness

There we will stay 

wrapped in the blanket of stars

together

forever

Today, 

at this very hour

like we did yesterday

and will surely do tomorrow

.

To talk of things 

that makes no sense 

to anyone else

Whispering nothingness 

in titillating ramblings

As the warm midnight breeze

wrap us two in it’s glory 

to behold the most ancient love story

.

The Sun and the Moon 

forever in love

in a desperate chase of

eternal courtship 

with permanent engagement

But always apart 

except on the rare eclipse

when they catch there tantalizing prize

and fall into the lovers abyss

.

Embracing celestial bodies

in there pure cosmic nakedness

in a moment of erotic ecstasy 

to taste the wine and honey 

of a never ending love story

.

Plunging the world into darkness

as they consume blissful happiness

of deep passion 

with no regard of stewardship  

in a fleeting companionship

Amore

Amore

.

As us two

alone on the hillside…

Watch the moon going down 

alone 

alone

to sleep cold in the daytime

And the sun waking up 

in the morning

as it rise

It rise

.

To water the garden 

with lonesome tears

sprinkling showers 

of feeling sunbeams

in the the welcoming yard 

just by my side

.

The rose pedals open to 

receive there gift of life

at the price 

of a shining broken heart 

crying golden rays atop the sky

.

See you tomorrow

at this very hour

like we met yesterday

today

and will the next coming days

.

At the same place

In the same position

on our journey

At the same moment in time

To write a few more line

on pink rose petals

in the book of flowers 

of our own growing story

composed upon the hillside

Leegal Poet

Wayne Ferron : All rights reserved @ copyright

Book: Beast Machine 

https://books.apple.com/ca/book/beast-machine/id1554646915

www.staticpoetry.com

There's an adventure that awaits

Far beyond the daily mundane,

Free of ifs and buts

That doesn't needs anyone's aid,

Light and free it spreads far and wide

Beyond the skies that seem

Always filled with strife,

Rolling like the waves

That feel so satisfying

Your one step closer to it

Everytime you decide to

Let go of all that holds you

In the boundaries of everyday grind.

[staticpoetry]

🩸WHERE NOTHING DWELLs🩸

.

I am nothing

I live in null space

I reside in a vacuum

and dwell in a realm of nonexistence.

I am the unchallenged King of the void

the resounding God of all the said kingdoms

.

Yet in my own empire,

everyone thinks I am nothing

Nothing

Nothing

Nothing

.

Oh 

I forgot to mention

an undying truth without refute

of awesome reputation in all nations

I am famous

So fucking famous

.

Flowing from every wet puckered lips

before and after a warm magnetic kiss

In every sensual drip of honey

from the tips of every tongue

lost in seductive pleasures

of blissful happiness  

and other things so disgusting

I dare not talk about

.

Oh

Ow…ah…ah

the painful pleasure of a loving fire

burning so painfully good

in the deep depts of my desires

.

In the spoken words of 

Kings

Queens

Lovers,

and some others…

.

They say I am less than something

yet nothing speaks

.

They say I am dead

yet nothing is alive and viral

.

They say I reside nowhere

yet I am everywhere

No one extended to me 

understanding curtsy

by asking me what I believe 

with a little mercy

.

They say I am foreboding darkness

Forbidden…forbidden…forbidden

But the darkness dreams

of undimming lights 

and things unseen 

living everlasting life in the heavens

.

Notwithstanding

the deceptions in our space

and misinformation of my case

There are two facts that no-one can deny

Nothing knows us all

and the vacuum is alive

thriving

procreating

and pregnant with changing life

for all times

.

Nothing is the calm 

that keeps you warm

To envelop you 

and take hold in its many manifolds.

.

So

nothing

and where nothing dwells

must be real

Therefore 

it must be something

.

Wayne Ferron : All rights reserved @ copyright

Book: Beast Machine 

https://books.apple.com/ca/book/beast-machine/id1554646915

www.staticpoetry.com

I'm waiting for that calm

That will envelope me

As the day loses its charm,

When nothing will remain

To accomplish or track

And nothing will hold my mind

In a specific place for long,

I could drift from thought to thought

Like a bird hops from tree to tree,

I would splash amid waves

Of emotions that the day would leave

Rowing on contemplations

That need nothing more than me,

Access all that in me

That I couldn't

Before evening sets in peace,

I would inhale the changing scent

Of my body,

Finding what have I become

As each day passes

So easily.

[staticpoetry]

🩸You Are Not Alone!🩸

You Are Not Alone!

.

My dearest friend,

please except my healing words;

I bless you with a poetic pill

to help you on your troubled journey.

You are not alone 

on your personal path.

You are not alone

in your quest.

I too,

as there are many who do,

travel a similar journey.

Share with a fellow poet who knows.

Rest your tired brow 

on the shoulders of a rhythmic friend. 

My poetic  sister 

of kindred spirit

to the end.

The deep seated pains

that twist you,

bends you;

crumple you up in passionate sorrows

squeezing the flowing tear drops 

for better tomorrows.

That runs like acid

to shape and polish for better brighter thing

we could not begin to comprehend,

will come to live in.

Life is 

much more than a physical adventure 

that starts and then ends.

It’s  spiritual enlightenment 

towards evolutionary metamorphosis; 

that chisel off the unnecessary pieces of our lives

we see falling by the wayside.

Cry if we must,

weep, and morn our ascension

into new brighter days.

For today must go 

and tomorrow will come

with the probability of more better days.

For it is a necessary, 

and sufficient condition 

to burn into existence 

the beauty in all of us.

So we my soar as golden eagles

to the pinnacle 

of our perfection

in divine awesomeness.

Embracing the painful change

in the forging of something 

truly magnificent, 

in the furnace of a better you.

For there be diamonds 

just around the troubled corners,

along the roadside

of our life’s journey; 

the ying-yang duality

of twisting delights and tragedies.

There is gold 

in the most unusual places 

even though we may have to wallow 

in the most disgusting places.

Inevitably,

the Grim Reaper comes

to collect it’s timely loan;

the end comes with certainty,

and the void nullifies all things.

But it is the journey 

that defines

who we truly are,

and the enduring legacy

we leave behind

as an obelisk of our ever lasting life

with the passing of a gentle breeze

in due season.

Leegal Poet

Wayne Ferron.All rights reserved @  copyright

Book: Beast Machine 

https://books.apple.com/ca/book/beast-machine/id1554646915

I prescribe poetical antibiotics in the pill of healing words for my special special friend.

[staticpoetry]

SPOKEN WORDS

Speak to me

the spoken words

of timeless scenes

and field of dreams

residing in your being

.

Speak to me

of things unsaid

of things undone

rolling around inside your head

.

Speak to me

of things unsold

but must take hold

peeled from your very soul

.

For we deep dive

against best advice

into each other’s mind

Wielding unsheathe swords

of emphatic rhymes

infused with spiritual chimes

.

To embrace with grace

and hopefully

hopefully

make a better place

For the very thing that makes us whole

is impossible to be behold

in standard articulation

.

Quickly

Look

Look

Over there

Over there

somewhere

lay our destiny of understanding

.

To act chosen parts in a play 

without delay in providence

For we neither write

nor pen

but perform a ballet

upon the centre stage

.

Dancing each and every metaphor

in rhythmic

twirls

twist

and turns

Each moment flows

like running endorphins

As the passion speaks to the music

of jumping opera of beating hearts

with choreographing on poetic vines

ensnaring with sticky lines

.

For poetry

isnot writ

but a ballet

performed by romantics

possessed with a personification

of impossible emotions 

made flesh

.

Leegal Poet

Wayne Ferron : All rights reserved @ copyright

Book: Beast Machine 

https://books.apple.com/ca/book/beast-machine/id1554646915

www.staticpoetry.com

You are infinite

Like the boundless, ever expanding skies

A mine of qualities

In you beautifully reside.

Your horizons keep growing

With every day that ignites,

There's nothing that doesn't

Synchronises with your abilities

You can always find something bright.

You're a song that remains timeless

Through the centuries

With a charm that influences

Every generation in sight,

There's no need for you to demarcate

Some parts as worthy

And others as unworthy of

Your love and delight.

[staticpoetry]

❣️We are all actors upon a world 🌎 stage.❣️

[staticpoetry]

🩸THE HEAVENS BURN🩸

🩸THE HEAVENS BURN🩸

.

Last night I dreamt

the sky was on fire

Dripping blood

from the bloody heavens

.

Drip Drip

Drip Drip

.

Last night I dreamt

the sky was on fire

Lit up bright 

with madden lights

Crazy falling stars

dancing with burning clouds

shitting red hot brimstones

.

Drip Drip

Drip Drip

.

Last night I dreamt

the sky was on fire

Glowing volcanos

erupting in the heavens

pissing molten lava

like hail stones

.

Drip Drip

Drip Drip

.

Last night I dreamt

the sky was on fire

With flashing lightening

as back lighting

and rolling thunder

playing tunes of doom

off in the foreboding distance

The night 

was so thick with black

you could scoop it with a spoon

.

But the firmaments is glowing

crimson red 

of neon flashing lights.

So with bent knees

 I howl a prayer

“dear God

stop the sky from falling”

.

It’s just raining 

and raining

Bleeding molten iron

Falling droplets 

of steaming metal 

from the heavens

Burning rain

just falling on my brain.

.

Drip Drip…Drip Drip

Drip Drip…Drip Drip

.

So

the heavens burn

The heavens burn

Oh God

so it burns

.

Leegal Poet

.

Wayne Ferron : All rights reserved @ copyright

Book: Beast Machine 

https://books.apple.com/ca/book/beast-machine/id1554646915

[staticpoetry]

❣️So beautiful, yet a reminder that we live on a fragile eggshell. ❣️🙏

[staticpoetry]

STATICPOETRY

I am the shining Sun

I rise in the morning

and go to sleep in the evening

I am static

STATICPOETRY

Locked down in a ghost town

with no place to roam

Buried alive in catacombs

where no one else can be found

Living alone

in a place called home

Existing like dead drones

in sterilized social honeycombs

Pretending to be alive

but really the dead living

But I am not alone

Not alone

in the darkest of nights

Not alone in the coldest frights

for you heard my silent cries

For the Sun crawls

in the morn

To triumph at first light

just over the horizon

To explode 

into magnificent victory

of orgasmic coloured delights

And so we shall rise

and rise we must

There be your window

in your shuttered house

you spoke about

and a closed classroom

in your deepest doubts

Dancing golden rays of hope

tapping wooing tunes 

upon the caressing wind

in courtship to you

The  fresh breeze beckons you

The light is calling to you

Watch it through open mirrors

as it rise

It rise

and so shall you

Leegal Poet

Wayne Ferron : All rights reserved @ copyright

Book: Beast Machine 

https://books.apple.com/ca/book/beast-machine/id1554646915

www.staticpoetry.com

I am the shuttered house

Empty theatre, and locked up classroom,

That haven't recieved a breath

Of freshness since

Twelve months.

I am a statistic

A fully sanitised body,

That has everything intact

Except her sanity.

[staticpoetry]

🩸I Could Be No Other🩸

I Could Be No Other

I am alone in a sea of people.

A “lone wolf”

traveling on a solitary road,

trying to avail myself of the things of the flesh.

 Materialism only serves to enslave it’s owners,

forcing it’s steward to forget the real important things. 

I stand before you,

yet you refuse to see me. 

I speak,

but only the silent wind is listening. 

We have been friends for so long, but I am still invisible. 

I open a small window to my soul, 

but you walk around it. 

I peel off my protective skin revealing myself

naked as the crying wind,

but you fail to understand me.

 I give you a taste of my secret thoughts, 

but you do not hear me. 

You recall my life in every detail, 

yet you fail to grasp my essence.

You know of me,

but you do not know me. 

I share myself,

but you refuse my gifts. 

Ourselves,

are waiting for the opportunity to share. 

Following in our shadows,

down the twisting road of life’s journey. 

We cannot outrun it,

it will always overtake us at every chance. 

Our fate is assured;

the dichotomous duality

between our real,

and imaginary self is inevitable. 

The paradoxical life

we call living,

is necessary to guarantee our humanity. 

Wrapping ourselves with beautiful borrowed flesh, 

the gorgeous dark skin hiding our souls

is purely incidental. 

Would the contents of a package diminish, 

if the wrapper was different? 

Can a container,

 overtake the importance of its contents? 

The artificial construction we live in,

forced upon ourselves

by self imposed constraints.

Binds us to the confines of a personal reality. 

A pre manufactured mold 

denying our full potential at vitality. 

The essence of life is in ones perception, 

for perception is transformed into reality. 

Do we all see the same Sun? 

But one must believe!

We need biblical faith!

God spoke,

and her words became flesh. 

The beautiful containers 

which one endeavour to build, 

is just a pretty dress;

to wrap far more important 

parts of one’s self. 

The flesh which imprison our spark,

the beautiful dark skin 

wrapping our essence, 

is purely incidental.

 We are,

who we are,

and could be no other. 

The me,

from the real self.

Always presence itself.

No matter what wrapper

the precious package comes in. 

One cannot deny one’s self,

for the reflection of our being 

in the mirror of life 

stare us down like an omnipresent overlord. 

Leegal Poet 

BOOK: “Puppy Love by The Stream” by Leegal Poet

https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/book-title/id1449416154?mt=11

[staticpoetry]

This is me my fellow Poets, and romantics,

this is me. The bleeding poemer 🩸