*Image found HERE


Lain inside the skin of the slaughtered rhinoceros
I introduce myself to my heart,
after a few years
we become strangers.
We converse through footnotes of mud and chaos,
we convulse
yet separately and within no one.
I hear you disturbing the vocal chords of the concrete,
i hear you in the boiling cell of blood
i feel the bow of bone slide across my diseased organ,
but the abyss will merely observe you,
never sing along,
devour with the vastness of its darkness
from inside of his sojourn.
It cannot be touched by palms
clasped for prayer,
it cannot be lulled between fingers,
or tied around the wrist like an ebony bracelet,
it cannot be sutured to the last remnants
of failed divinities sentenced to death.
It is what roars between the two splits of my soul.
It cannot be reasoned with.

It is the rain of shadowy rhomboids
cascading slowly upon your relief,
it is the illegitimate yet craved currency
of the temples of the worlds bellow,
it is the coveted, ripe fruit of those winged and careless,
the sickness of the first known memory.
Here within me it pumps red
into the blue,
leaks red into the mouth.
Do not think I do not hear your summoning spells,
do not think I do not see your offerings,
the golden ratio of your Venetian masks
craves the infection
but those are not your faces,
Why would you wear me, like an omen of end,
like bite marks on the neck,
why would you lust for me
between the lamb and the wolf,
between the Sun and Moon,
why do you seek to understand?

I am the ill among you.


~ by Oloriel on January 16, 2015.

32 Responses to “Phantasmagoria”

  1. Oh I love the crescendo in that end. A serious sickness in a soul like this with some really stunning imagery. Words like concrete and the skin of a rhinoceros…
    Why would you wear me like an omen of an end… Indeed.

    • Thank you very much for taking time read, Bjorn! I wish WordPress implemented a mini character map into the comment section, I feel terrible for always misspeling your name 😦

  2. Wow! Just wow!

  3. Jesus, kid! I read with a dictionary, but the feeling I found alone (Or feeling caught me from ambush).

    • Thank you!I do hope these ramblings of mine improve your skills with the English language, but I must confess even I find myself dissapointed with myself. In this poem, for example, I have struggled to depict and bring to life the emotional difference of the word preklan and the word zaklan. Some things I guess strive to remain the most powerful in their native tongue!
      (Sad se moze reci i da sam sadista, pa te mucim sa ovim odgovaranjem na engleskom!)

  4. amazingly captivating

  5. My guy and I mused over that first line for quite some time last night! Its imagery isn’t something you can just glide over right into the next scene; it really does command attention right from the start! And on that note, your writing is never something I can read as easily as a regular “rhyming poem” or a recipe, or even something from my Behavioral Neuroscience book. It commands respect and time and more than once, I come back multiple times to read the same things. Your work is like gourmet food in that one must respect the ingredients. In “master hands”- those ingredients become a fine work of art. I respect your ingredients. ;0)

    • Good grace, I am imagining if this indeed was a recipe, what kind of a concoction would it be?
      That dead rhino, it means,to me, more then one thing. Have you perhaps read “His Dark materials” by Philip Pulman? Well, I am gonna ramble on about it, and there is an artifact in the story called Aletiometer. It is a watch-like circle with hour hands and various symbols, which all mean something different depending on basicly anything. This is how I feel about this poor rhino of mine!

      Thank you for trying out my ingredients! ❤

  6. You are a sorceress, wielding your wand to conjure images of unimaginable tendencies, such that they go on like a painting on a wall with its actual dimensions not visible to the bare eye, but only to the bare soul.

    Enchanting. The beginning grabs into a world which exists only within, but not containing its ramifications. The tango that proceeds is beautiful in its entirety. “It is what roars between the two splits of my soul”: That is what defines your poem for me.

    It is definitely another favorite of mine by you.

  7. Wonderful poem! I frequently write on things that reflect on identity crises, and I think that’s something common to all. We are all a sea of changing faces, I think. “Mer de noms” is the title of the one A Perfect Circle album I don’t own, and is French for “sea of names”. I mused on this awhile back, in an untitled poem, that was a 3-in-one Tri-Kanshi, which went thus:

    Clair de lune declared too soon / obsidian clair-obscur
    midmorn thoughts dragoon, drawn out, / stoned the crows, stows the croze, breaks
    through twilight half-life to noon / upon Dawn down the pawn, lures
    sleep-speaking since evening ’bout / silent malaise and heartache’s
    limelight lingering, marooned / blue-grey haze away – demure
    Edentide, seeking wipedout / mer de noms – shy sea of names
    identities, meanings hewn / whirlpool blurred fleur-de-lis, yours
    in two with Dawn’s cracking sound / to clearly see mine, ashamed

    My name is Ryan, but I’ve hewn it in two, and go by Ry, which is what I was referring to partially in my poem above, and to nicknames in general, that vary from person to person. Often times different people have different nicknames for us, because who we are to them, is a little different than what we are to other people. We’re strangers to some, acquaintances, friends, new friends, old friends, distant friends, best friends, enemies, co-workers, employees, bosses, parents, children, etc. and we let different facets of ourselves show to them. We are everything to no one, but someone(s) different to every one.

    I was reminded of all that, reading this:

    “Do not think I do not hear your summoning spells,
    do not think I do not see your offerings,
    the golden ratio of your Venetian masks
    craves the infection
    but those are not your faces,

    Walt Whitman is not one of my favorite poets, as I think a lot of his poetry is boring, but some poems I do like, like “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”.

    In part 6 of the poem, Whitman mentions a “sea of faces”, seen below, that I think is quite beautiful:

    “Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,
    Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land,
    With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in black,
    With the show of the States themselves as of crepe-veil’d women standing,
    With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,
    With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads,
    With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,
    With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn,
    With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour’d around the coffin,
    The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs — where amid these you journey,
    With the tolling bells’ perpetual clang,
    Here, coffin that slowly passes,
    I give you a sprig of lilac.”

    The poem can be read in it’s entirety with one of my own that it inspired at though it is a long read. I especially recommend Whitman’s poem, it’s dark and beautiful, like your poem!

    • It is very true what you say about names, nicknames and meanings. I am reading now and cannot understand how I have not seen it by myself, it feels now as though my own poem is tryng to lead a conversation with me!
      Thank you very much for your comment, and your writing, it is very insightfull, Ill make sure to read the poems you shared with me (although I must admit that I also find Mr. Walt, unfortunately, a tad bit boring at times.)

      • No problem if you can’t get through either poem. The one of my own, before the italics at the end of the post, was largely a recycling of two poems that came before and after my first “Jubilee Of Mires & Mists”. My recent work reflects better writing, as back when I wrote that sequel to it, I was struggling to renew my commitment to writing, as I had largely fallen out of the habit.

        By the way, your poem having a conversation with you – a heart-to-heart talk? I got the reference to your being introduced to your heart, and your continuing to talk about wearing it on the outside of yourself. The reference to not being able to wear it as a bracelet, sounded like not being able to wear your heart on your sleeve, to play on the idiom. The conclusion, about wearing it on your neck, sounded like a necklace, and the reference to bite marks, from which blood would flow, connected with the heart, sounded like a play on “eating one’s heart out” which wikipedia says “From “This will eat your heart out.”, suggesting that the recipient of the taunt will have their heart, the core of their being, eaten out with desire, bitterness, or pain.” which plays on your reference to lust in the same thought.

        Did I correctly interpret these references? I can relate if so, as I wear my Larkspur blue fire spinal ring on a necklace around my neck these days, the Larkspur being said to be a bloodflower born of blood at death. It was giving that girl I mentioned to you on one of our other posts, my heart, but she never asked what I meant by giving it to her. People laughed and mocked me openly for it, so I never told her it was me giving her my heart.

        Such a silly romantic thing to do. I was 23, that’s partially what I referenced in my poem “23 Shades Of Red”, that probably went over everyone’s head, as I can be so cryptic. You seem to be too, if I was correct in your references. Sort of like a Horcrux in Harry Potter, splitting of the soul into a ring, like Voldemort did. That inspired me too, my last name being Scales, and Voldemort having a thing about snakes.

        I think if everyone could see plainly just how easily we all actually are in our writings by little things, we would all realize we are in some sense, empaths. That is the point of “Combinatorial Creativity”, and how the subconscious mind works itself out creativity. Anyway, I am rambling, and I have a call to make. Nice chatting with you Oloriel!

      • how easily we all actually are INFLUENCED in our writings by little things* it’s 9:32 here, I’ve been up since early and I’m tired, sorry if I left out other words and such, I was too tired to re-read my words carefully before commenting back :\

  8. This is the 5th time I’ve read this now, and I’m still struggling to verbalise how much this poem resonates with me – so I will try to explain…
    I’ve said to you before that powerful poetry is like a painting, in that it strikes you & resonates (on an emotional and sensory level), but that response/reaction is very often inexplicable and beyond articulation.
    You have also said that poetry is lonely for you, because it’s so unique and, generally speaking, readers don’t always ‘get it’.
    Combining those two thought processes – I’ll admit, that I very often don’t ‘get’ the original intention/meaning of your poems, but therein lies the beauty and power, because they intrigue me and implore me to read more than once, to pore over, to find a meaning that is unique to me.
    And, having said all that – while I sometimes don’t ‘get it’ straight away on a verbal/linguistic level, I certainly get it on an emotional/sensory level (just like a painting).
    Long explanation short – you are a gifted poet, and l am itching to buy, read and pore over your first poetry book.
    Bianca 😘

    • Thank you very much for your comment , Bianca!
      The reason for my definition of poetry as ‘lonely” is not because the reader or another writer might not get it; it is partialy because ‘not getting it’ is the reason for not being let in, it is like others close their doors for you.
      You know that what I enjoy most is actively participating in anothers art – be it by cooperating, contributing or simply talking about. It feels lonely, because I often feel denied to do so!
      I do realise my work, or anyone’s work, might not be everyones cup of tea; I do however strive and hope my poem can help someone learn about themselves!

      Don’t be worried about ‘not getting it’ – you are a person who does ‘get it’, but what is so beautiful about it is that we will sometimes get 2 things, instead of one. And that is one of definitions of Art 😀

  9. Excellent poem…
    I truly liked it and found the ending verses speak out loud indeed!.
    “Why would you wear me, like an omen of end,
    like bite marks on the neck,
    why would you lust for me
    between the lamb and the wolf”…
    Thanks for sharing and all the best to you. Aquileana 😀

    • Thank you very much for reading!
      I do find your articles highly inspiring and forgive me the lack of commenting, I feel I would resemble a broken record for repeating the praises for it!

  10. Oh my goodness, can your writing be any more amazing? ❤ You always prove to me that it can be! (it just keeps on getting better and better) 🙂

  11. Wow, bas slojevito, ako bi neki bend svirao tvoje pesme, ja bi njih slusao, cak i da mi se muzika ne svidi 😀 ali morali bi da budu neki mracni, progressive, psihodelicni, neki krosover stilova, sve manje od toga ne bi zadovoljilo tezinu reci, cak ni neki cist dzez… eto kako sam doziveo pesmu 🙂

    • Sad si me Dule podsetio na jednu anegdotu. Svojevremeno, trazio meni moj muz da mu za bend napishem nesto na engleskom. Ja mu kazem:”Vec imam dosta stvari, pogledajte,mozda vam se nesto svidi.”.I izabrashe oni tako jednu pesmu, lepo se rimuje, dvojaka, ne znas dal je o Mraku ili Svetlu, ne preterano dugacka. Iscitavashe oni taj tekst, drnduckali svako za sebe i zovu oni mene,spremni su za izvodjenje.
      Krenuli da sviraju,kad ono, zvuci bre ko pravi 100% kantri 😀 Meni je to bilo jako smeshno i pitam Pa pobogu,zar ovaj tekst sto ste tolko citali na kantri da vas asocira? “Moramo da priblizimo publici koja nas slusha!” i ja ih tu pitam Koji to kantri bend ima ovako mrachne tekstove 😀
      I tako sam se dok su oni svirali zanimala taj dan idejom da napravim ja lepo bend i da se zovemo Sizofrenicni kauboji, cisto da ne bude zabune kad zapevamo o nekim mracnim predelima duse 😀

  12. This is really … wow! Lightning and thunder in the language of the symbols, travel between the rows of smoke, of memories, the reminder of the universal little specters in human-fantasy space, a distinctive quality of the elusive, perhaps because the the poem erupts from the skilful playing with symbols of tremendous psychological density. Very interesting artistic expression over which I remain envisioned after reading…

    • Thank you very much! I admire your writing deeply and am exctatic you manage to find something succulent in these ramblings of mine! 🙂

      • I love everything that is in poetry poorly lit and unknown, sometimes ephemeral, through which the true poet notes crude literary truths, in all this lyricism … a poet is a modern Odysseus – a wanderer.

  13. The beginning is transcendent.

    “Lain inside the skin of the slaughtered rhinoceros
    I introduce myself to my heart”

    Very original. It has added to some of the best lines I know in literature.

  14. Like throwing words at you as a mask, as a curtain to hide behind it…images suiting you, that make you think, yet toned down…at moments loosing yourself, but gaining, opening to others to bathe in your world and leave…

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