Vision

With Rheumy eyes
Dyed black
With age'd masks
Worn till like grass
Skin grows over
Hiding seems in
Seamless guilt

Sadness ( solar wind)

A Stars last radiance
An outer shell bursting forth
with great commotion, reds, yellow
and blue sent forth
Riding effortlessly as tap dancers perform presciently
with grace of form and transience atop fractals
of force without a visual spectrum
Far outside a perimeter of course

light blinding as
gales of wandering atoms
are carried along for the ride
A typhoon fierce and unexpected
rough, hidden, sans compassion

A rapist in the void
to steal countless worlds
Virtue - penetrate atmospheres
Rip them to shreds around
pristine bodies then
leave the carcass to
Vagaries of a universe too
harsh and large as
Radiation seeps through every pore

Now the entire being is
left. Dirty in rags - unwanted
Trash in a solar neighborhood
now marked shanty.

August 10 2011
© Perigrine Scott

A Bowl of Popcorn

The kernels come in a brown bag, small in size but strong with butter smell. Places within a microwave that even had a moving plate within. The machinery was dark in appearance, black in fact, however this device it was clean! upon setting a button marked "popcorn" we stood and waited for those divine explosions of kernels bursting forth to new life as popcorn soft and sweet. opening the door with a push of our fingers. hatch popping forth and then bid hello our fabled prize- illuminated in the appliances, nay! rather imaginations bright golden light. steam rising from the gilded bags corners- an incense lingering telling of the charms within.

paring knife appeal

Paring Knife Appeal

timid size appearing

to give one greater chance

to conceal

curved so rolling wrist

cuts leave clean 2 inch

lines to split and

crack my skin in

reverence to emotion

reverence to emotion failed

and emotion hidden

and emotions festering

running red and green

an anti winter holiday

to be held in summers

heat wave and

emotional dearth

the wound like crevices

opened beneath subduction plates

the planets true center

less adulterated heat of

will bubbles forth red

froth to clean and

wash anew homes

forests lives and

emotion run raw

ragged from questions

asked and unasked

each as telling of my emotions death

as - a paring knife appeal

Misplaced Love

Misplaced Love

Tiny fists of rage Clenched
Youthful eyes Smoldering with hate
The Righteous fury of a straight back
and Squared shoulders
What Malevolence found in adolescent
Pursed lips

How it crumples like so many
Playing card houses to a slight breeze

Before the cold antipathy of
Fathers stinging slap.

Rancor fades and leaves
Wet streaks upon red imprints.

2011

© Nick Bacon

new character

I am currently writing a set of sonnets to portray a particular character. In figuring out that character I wrote the following.



Waking - long formed habits guide
hiding awareness
Closed fists of too rough hands,
scraping crust from eyes
Dark, bloodshot and red - small white scratches
now pink. left from callouses on hands
too old on a body so young

Shaking torn tangles behind
Straightening her back
rising to the impressive
four foot seven
tallest yet of her classmates.

currently deciding on a new title

attempts at portraying other mindsets in poetry.

Untitled

The heat from the Zippo feels good on his face.
Though warm already, it always felt nice.
Bursts of cold air strike his sweaty back,
While he holds up the Camel with his dry lips.
She stretches her arms while still on her back.
Her cheap cigarette burning in her mouth.
Runs fingers through her hair, straightening tangles.
She always hated her hair this messy.
The smoke burns his lungs as he takes another drag.
It’s not as bad as the claw marks on his back,
Or the red imprints of teeth littering his shoulders,
But the latter two he’s always enjoyed.
Her legs sore and tired, muscles burning,
Laid upon the bed, gaining their due rest.
Stretches again, producing a moan of contentment.
For the first time, this made her feel at ease.
Heart rate slowing, catching his breath,
He closes his eyes and rolls his neck.
Gets up to his feet, feeling sweat cooling on his skin.
Turning to the bed, gazes at what lies in the middle.
The sweat covering her figure glistens in moonlight.
Soft, silk sheets stick to her wet body,
Every inch of it exposed to the cold air.
She takes a deep breath, enjoying the attention.
His eyes move up and down, taking in the sight.
Smirk on his face and glint in his eye.
He grabs an ashtray and flicks his cigarette.
Taking in his prize, his conquest of the day.
She grins wide, and is amazed at this act.
She’s never been comfortable seen naked before,
With only her sheen to cover her body.
Her heart and her loins are aching for more.
He knows this is wrong, but doesn’t seem to care.
Lust, to him, has always come first.
More important than compassion, than trust, love.
He puts on his pants and gets ready to leave.
Confusion sets in as she watches him dress.
Springs up from the bed and rifles out questions,
Each responded to with one-word answers.
Pain increases with each passing syllable.
With his clothes now on he reaches for his keys.
Swatting away annoying questions like flies.
His prize is turning out to be more of a nuisance.
He walks out the door and slams it behind him.
Still sitting in her bed, she can feel the tears welling.
Once again, uncomfortable with her nudity.
Remembering now why she hates these situations,
She sinks back down, to the protection of her sheets.

2011

© Nick Bacon

Yesterday

This poem is yet very unpolished. So it goes.





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yesterday
When the glow of yesterday outshines tomorrow
what then, what next.
take the next step they say
hold on and wait for the suns glow to warm your skin once more
winter ends, winter ends.

cycles of down and up a teenage anthem
cycles of joy and sorrow a anthem to life.

as all things cycle then so too does ones overarching life
by blessed chance or curse my summer came early
winter holds sway now.
take the next step they say
hold on and wait for the suns glow to warm you skin once more
the day will break icy hearts will thaw

so wait i will- soft suicide reigns now.
youthful body enfeebled.
when the coasters first hill is greatest with loops and dark overhands and twisters- and the rest is a gradual slowing to gentle stop
why then stay on the cart for the rest? what joy found when adrenaline's highest rush has peaked

cycles of down and up a teenage anthem
cycles of joy and sorrow a anthem to life.

Each year has all emotion but decades too are a cycle.
my summer has reigned and now winter falls
till entropy stills questing mind.

Cynic truth - Truth Cynic - ( which title comes first?)

Just posted this little thing on a friends blog. Turns out I kind of like it. Sums up how I feel of late. Some (likely) failed(and subjective) view of truth and the sadness that follows it in our world - full of pain and hope shattered like so many childhood dreams.


your cynicism rings that - rare - hollow note of truth ill soft spoken of
and brings the quiet jaded reactions recoil to
my heart and mind.
a smile for honesty and a tear for truth.

May 12 2011
© Perigrine Scott

Balance

Balance 

 Scribbled words of passion 

Obscene phrases formed--not created, 

Perfect Diction of uncalculated emotion 

 

Scribed words in meter 

Phrases assembled on paper--each syllable chosen, Perfect Diction of deliberate thought 

 Cry O’ Muse! Shriek! 

Show thy equilibrium 

That I may lift the veil; Revel in clarity 

With my blast born words. 

 November 11 2010 ©Perigrine Scott

Ballad of a Guiltless Mind

Ballad of a Guiltless Mind

The sand of time slips through the cracks,
I sit in my chair, wasting away.
Staring out the window at a world passing by,
Leaves of change decaying on the ground.
My eyes scan the Mardi Gras streets, dry of tears.
Buskers executing their grief for donations
See the same lonely tears that stain my shirt.
See the stain on my chair, that same stain of my soul,

I can see Mephistopheles in my peripheral.
Can’t close my eyes, not for a quiet moment.
His demons surround me when all is black.
They rip, tearing. bludgeon, battering.
They laugh, shrieking in my only refuge
The sanctuary of my bed now quarantined,
No safe haven have I, but an occupied mind.
A place of temporal asylum in the streets below.

Music helps when my mind starts to wander.
Shields me from demons when nothing else can.
Noise pollution, it bothers the police
Not me, fuck ‘em. I got my
Peaceful reprieve, no demons in sight,
Until the song changes to something familiar.
Horrors hotly leap in again start with their torment,
I plunge my fist into the radio’s face.

These past regrets are not a lonely terror
Each tourist on the street below is hiding from history
Slowing, strolling to forget the shared spirit
My failures do not slow, they halt- each day
Illuminates the fallow fields of once polished potential
Now thorn filled, arid cacti and weed choked failure
STOP! Futile vicarious games- that field is not mine
My choices may seem foreign but they are mine.

Memories creep up like nightmares.
The regrets of others chew at my thoughts.
Faults forced upon me feed on my spirit
As I progressively flee to a lower existence.
These demons I run from, always
One step ahead in the path before me.
Dodging and dashing, losing my will,
But I can’t find the power to concede.

Unable to end my own suffering,
Too proud to take my own life,
I go to fill my glass with more Jack,
Fuck it, why bother- I drink from the bottle instead.
Getting up from my chair, away from my gun,
stepping out of the cage. I light up a Camel.
Staring at reality, pulling a long drag,
Taking in the smoke as it takes in my life.

November 24 2010

© Perigrine Scott

Starting anew

Time: February 22nd 1:15ish am 2011
Location:Basement
Music: Artist: The Weakerthans Song:Aside

Been a while. I began a deviant-art thing- realized I was using it for a live-journal/ blog like post my musings get positive ego feedback from others. So.... I just decided to start keeping this thing updated more. I have been writing a good deal of poetry lately and that's what I feel like posting the most of - and so it will be.

When I wrote this last night I was fixating on how I feel towards my ex be it glad for the shared good times or anger over the bullshit I put up with for far too long. the following is what came of such thoughts.

Parted lips (2)
parted lips
the small smile found upon
your mouth's small corners
expectant for a finishing
touch
soft upon
parted lips

Blankets covering
a head hidden fast
fingers clenched tightly resisting
removal of temporary comfort
in a head hidden fast
amongst
blankets covering.

fingers tighten
imitating drumbeats on your skin
back onto mine
each squeeze
repeated again
with childish glee our
fingers tighten.

Smeared make up
surrounding eyes marred
with many sad lines of
stress untold unspoken
radiant blue hidden
so pain is repaid with
smeared make up

Which Emotion!
which memory!
what will reign in the fast changing mind
which memory!
which emotion!

Pain with Anger unfurled
Wrongs we are not sorry for and
remain unforgiven by
each of us holding eyes
illuminating galaxies destroyed
sparkle turned to flame

Joy with Warmth released
Moments of shared release and
euphoria learned by
each of us holding eyes
illuminating galaxies alight
flame turned to sparkle
© Peregrine Scott 2/20/2011