Iconic Soul

Thoughts are surging inward the mind, and outward the eye, meeting the grey waterfront. And the sun is veiled in pebbled blobs of clouds, which raises, by hand, a mindset that travels on painted walls, and tightens within you, but in blackness.

Tightens, still.

You search for the escape, from the electric theater of human bondage, but in real life you’re in tranquil slow-motion. A hundred arrows chasing after you, with a screeching imprint of words racing away, as you stand, gazing the mystery of the waves squeezing the shore, and the concrete that gives place to you seems to be salted by gravel spilled from the ovenbirds that that set ablaze the sunshine, and then crash against the pillar of your resting palms.

Stare fixed at the horizon, nose flaring at intervals in semblance to segments of broadcast news.

Standing motionless, with a psychological dream at repetition, a movie projected on a celluloid monitor like the one you saw in Ibiza, or Ljubljana, or two meters away from home. Home. Where you’re going to be next, with your heart still intact, and your veins throbbing in dull pumps of blood, but your mind flourishing in darkened colors. Soon, you will tear the folds of the paint-tube, to release a splash of paint onto the world, which is a tainted canvas, and you are its cult leader for the minutes to follow under possession.

The noose loosens? It does now.

Words that magnify ache, and oven mittens that bake pastries, devouring in the existential cartoon tragedy show, which life is, happiness being the ads that attack and invade the television, trying to brainwash you into a vortex of zero contemplation, and full-on amazement toward dance, and drinks, and laughs. The scene is set. And you box one word hitting another, until knockout – the beautiful win whereat you finished an entirety. Now, its time to publish, bask on a softened mattress, dream a little dream of tomorrow. Tomorrow. With all its sickening parties, fizzy morning espresso, and all things in between.

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Watt

It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

93 thoughts on “Iconic Soul”

  1. I adore your ability to build character, and to light candles that shine coherence to pieces, otherwise raw and dark in nature. You are worldly, but your mind otherworldly. That’s just how you stay here on earth, and you know the graceful life of Mars at the same time.

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  2. (from your eyes are get extended the eyes of others till getting to the eyes of mine which filtrate any word, not with gamma, X-rays or a radio frequency, but observes the puls of the words and their force from a realm out of somewhere, where the thoughts are surging and tighten up again and again in any kind of escapes found… in each vibrating day) in a pleasurable reading, from my part

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      1. It’s the scent that remained after I’ve been read it. Pardon me if something were wrong the interpretation… absolutely involuntarily. And yes, and again, was pleasant to read.

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      2. Nothing was wrong. In fact, I feel unusually proud that I could inspire something as beautiful as what you have written. You have an excellent mix of very creative poetry, and very earthy feelings, I see that in your comments, in your poems. I love what you write.

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    1. Really? It was about a poet who lives life looking for things, and has visceral struggles, but the spirit still dances in that dark paradise. This is one time anyway, it’s a snapshot. This isn’t all he/she is.

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      6. It’s pretty nice. I don’t much care about the political climate, it’s geographically diverse. Plus, in all the people you meet you find a fraction of your own desires. Especially people of the newer, more influenced generation.

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  7. I feel like I could step inside this poem, walk around in it and that I would feel at home with all the pieces. Maybe I’d curl up here and rest on the softened mattress with my fizzing espresso.

    “You search for the escape, from the electric theater of human bondage, but in real life you’re in tranquil slow-motion.”

    Suffice to say, you perfectly captured a feeling I have but cannot articulate. I love everything about this poem.

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      1. Well, I can tell you that I loved it. And when I’ve just reread it, I found even more that I just want to turn over in my mind again:

        “…you box one word hitting another, until knockout – the beautiful win whereat you finished an entirety.”

        You absolutely do. I’m still basking on the softened mattress.

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    2. Rachel, you’ve picked the exact same quote as the one that spoke most to me… Watt, that is spot on. I also love reading all the comments here… so much life, curiosity, love, humanity!

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  10. Being surrounded by the Last Men, chased by their images of happiness and standing at the edge of a sea, realizing you’re not exactly Übermensch (because if you were, you would…) Never mind, at least there is the coffee and all the other things.

    Loved it again!

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  13. I felt and saw the struggle within the poet. It’s spirit still lives to find that journey in his or her life.

    This was my take on your work. And always your work has a scene to scene of technicolor experience.

    Masterfully a beautiful write and such heart and honest truth. 🙂

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  16. And the sun is veiled in pebbled blobs of clouds, which raises by hand. I really like this part of the post. When you say a hundred arrows chasing after you, what do you literally mean in the sense? ( I was not able to interpret that part properly)

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  17. Hi-Watt! What a beautiful lunchtime read for me. I’m finding I have less and less time here, but I always try to get by and read what’s on your mind. I felt like I took a little trip somewhere foreign to me and peaceful! 🙂

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  20. Your words are spiked with “cool” …snap, snap!
    I hear the “bon” go.
    What have I missed? I know there is something, because I read this.
    I walked for 3 hours today, looking for street art. I found a lot, but I missed my Art Gowns.
    Is life about finding, and missing?
    Anyway, you make me think.

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    1. That’s every writer’s dream I suppose. To creep in from the back of the mind while you find ways to occupy the front with whatever you actually want. Thank you very much, Resa. 🙂

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      2. Please try. Because you are a bull faced, chicken legged “person”. And I will rip your frog voice, and your insect eyes. And drown you in the ocean. You will choke on your own broken teeth. Understand, bitch?

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  22. Beautiful and evocative of style. You create a place and describe a mood. Your phrasing I have never heard is a bit like brutish architecture or futuristic. Can you write a novel like this? Or create abstract art? You belong in a minimalist setting. Have you seen the movie Silence of the Marsh on Netflix? You are an influencer.

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