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constantine
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« on: April 12, 2007, 01:10:44 PM » |
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on your own
without purpose or identity
tiny hands clutch at the bars
as the dark time approaches
shapeless and nameless
no mommy things
creep and lurch
reaching for you, and
the cold moist tears of wordless despair
only our dreams remember
what we're desperate to forget
a night deposit for the memory bank
hot potato red faced memorabilia
made to order for dream noir,
allow me to introduce the house ensemble:
vampire mom smiles lovingly
then attacks like a harpy from hell,
zombie dad could stop her, but he's taking
the remote out for a sleepwalk,
savage siblings flash their pointy teeth
as they drag you into plush carpets of quicksand,
and of course, the return of Big Brother
with his rendition of the transformation scene
from "I Was a Teenage Werewolf"
that's entertainment!
add to this a recurring cast
of closet dwelling deviants:
chinny chin bo-bo, his limbs
like steel saran wrap, under the bed
waiting for my eyes to...
he's on me like a straitjacket
laugh shriek chilling chin digging
into the vertebrae that only
your back scratcher knows for sure,
the scene changes - to the basement
listen... weird dark music from
the stygian depths of eldritch horror
drifts vaporously from the slowly
opening closet door beneath the cellar stairs
you can almost begin to....
Wah-wah sirens!
Strobo flash!!
The Lizard Man - turtle beak and
red vicious fear eating eyes, reptilian
scaly rasping metallic hisses
arms undulating, boneless fleshy graspers
octopi fingers writhe, a knotted twitchy mass
tense, suddenly alert
unravelling as if by command
they begin to sway
cobra hypnotic, freezing my will
their talon claw tips open like piano lids,
gasping, terrified, I watch as
wormy little snakeys emerge
jerking spasmodically, evil mouths
piping shrill whistle panic in my mind
heads bobbing back and forth,
in and out of their
throbbing scaly finger sheaths...
Jesus Christ!
abominable damnations from a tar pit dementia
symbols of the sequestered shut-ins
from the shadow caves of
Gumdrop Mountain...
for god sakes man
can someone give me a cigarette?
tell me,
is there no place like home?
the bathroom transgressions
the door knock panic
inexplicable rubber goods
beneath the sink,
in the dark closet recesses,
candid camera keyhole vistas
mommie's breast - the nipple's
red unblinking stare,
dad's penis
freakishly dwarfing your own
go ahead, run for it
we hide but we never escape
the moist, sticky tongue of the lizard
as identity swirls into neurosis
like rocky fudge...
tell me,
would you (how could you?)
love me, if you knew
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« Last Edit: October 02, 2012, 12:03:16 AM by constantine »
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BardmasterUB05
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« Reply #1 on: April 12, 2007, 01:28:43 PM » |
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The energy is astounding in the piece, CP, and it's funny! I nearly spilled my coffee reading this gem. I have to leave for work, so I'll take a closer look tonight. Good work... !
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constantine
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« Reply #2 on: April 12, 2007, 01:40:19 PM » |
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Thanks Bard. It wasn't funny when it was happening, but I have to shake my head now when looking back at childhood. Some of the nightmares were outrageous - too many double feature horror movies at the Grand on Conkling Street. I heard it's a library now.
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azure
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« Reply #3 on: April 12, 2007, 01:59:15 PM » |
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Wah, this is is so good! And I'm writing this while the old black and white Werewolf movie is still on!
weird dark music from
the Stygian depths of eldritch horror
drifts vaporously from the slowly
opening closet door beneath the cellar stairs
you can almost begin to....
A very unique review of childhood, but sometimes the dreams always leave their remnants-but you expressed them well throughout your excellent poem.
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constantine
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« Reply #4 on: April 12, 2007, 10:55:53 PM » |
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This is a part of a larger work that is still in progress - I have to revise but hope to post it in its entirety shortly.
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theirishsea
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« Reply #5 on: April 13, 2007, 01:23:33 PM » |
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I like the whole thing but the opening is my favorite:
Only our dreams remember
what we're desperate to forget; a night deposit for the memory bank
of hot potato red faced memoribilia
made to order for dream noir.
Allow me to introduce the house ensemble:
Vampire Mom smiles lovingly
then attacks like a harpy from hell.
Zombie Dad could stop her, but he's taking
the remote out for a sleepwalk.
Savage siblings flash their pointy teeth
as they drag you into plush carpets of quicksand,
and of course, the return of Big Brother
with his rendition of the transformation scene
from "I Was a Teenage Werewolf"
(That's entertainment!)
It is like a sitcom family gone bad. I think that parenthetical "That's Entertainment" gives what went before perspective---the narrator looking back---a part of, but now apart from the scene. I think that point of view makes the poem effective, gives all the details their bite.
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constantine
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« Reply #6 on: April 14, 2007, 05:20:27 PM » |
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I believe there is a commonality to familial child hood experience that shows not only in our dreams, but also in our adult behavior. A symbolic matrix there underlies and undercuts our actions that is so total that it is undetectable on a moment to moment basis, but is there nonetheless. Candyland, when it is complete, will try to portray this. The poem "crib" is another fragment of Candyland.
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saw
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« Reply #7 on: April 15, 2007, 12:20:43 AM » |
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Candyland was definitely the hot game for 6-8 year olds. Thanks for reminding me of Gumdrop Mountain, i've totally locked in on the image.
Beyond that, One might call you a terrorist for the way you can spread it. I was convinced one night at about 8 years old their was an alien at the foot of my bed. I laid awake in terror, perfectly still until the sun came up.
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moe, larry, cheese....no, Limburger !
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constantine
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« Reply #8 on: December 16, 2008, 01:23:54 AM » |
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i kind of liked this one. excuse me for kicking it back up.
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CoolJude
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« Reply #9 on: December 16, 2008, 01:34:57 AM » |
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Wow, this is great because it smacks of absolute truth. Candyland during the day and demons from the closet at night. This may be the coolest poem yet.
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"This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased."
Charles Dickens
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constantine
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« Reply #10 on: December 16, 2008, 01:44:08 AM » |
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thank you, jude. we sometimes forget how strange and painful childhood could be.
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Drew
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« Reply #11 on: December 16, 2008, 01:52:34 AM » |
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Watch this movie: Paprika. Japanese anime about the awesome power of dreams. Loved this.
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Whether we are often as not, as we are as is, we are often, are we not?
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emel
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« Reply #12 on: December 16, 2008, 02:29:16 AM » |
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wow, this is remarkable Dino, can't wait to read it again and again. all I ever saw was Dali's tiger, guess I shoulda done more then climb trees and jerk off.
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war is not the answer - Marvin Gaye
but it's not the question either - ML
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constantine
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« Reply #13 on: December 16, 2008, 02:46:18 AM » |
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thanks scott. i've a couple of poems that were culled from this poem entitled tell me and crib. i'll post them in this thread.
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doreen peri
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« Reply #14 on: December 16, 2008, 03:40:28 AM » |
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rich and special
goes deep and touches heart to heart.... i'm impressed by this work
i'll come back and delve in further tomorrow
late now... gnight and thanks for sharing this piece!
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