trippy_potato

I just post watever I can think up. feel free to read and support

Grid View
List View
Reposts
  • trippy_potato 16h

    Frustrations.

    In the primal Planck
    Seconds of existence,
    Did the atoms know
    Of my poetry?
    Did twisting strings
    Foretell this dawn,
    In the unwinding epoch
    Of uncertainty?
    What do my choices
    Amount to?
    I am blank now
    As I try to think;
    The imperfect symmetries
    Of this clockwork world,
    Tick away forever
    At sanity.

    This mind that came
    From so much ash,
    Made to feed
    And drink and die;
    Is plagued now
    With irrelevant destiny,
    Dogged by
    Half-truths and lies.
    The rock and soils
    It names it's domain,
    This flesh it's form,
    Arrogance it's nature;
    The grimly uncaring
    Cosmic spectra,
    It contemplates
    In nomenclature.

    And study only maddens
    With the hapless truth,
    Though ignorance worse
    As I'm human still;
    Better to despair
    In truth's worthlessness,
    Than be incensed
    By lies to kill.
    Though yet,
    As I look again
    Up beyond
    The blue that shields;
    Where Gods must lie
    In peaceful slumber
    Drunk on the essences
    Of galaxies.
    And I feel hatred
    For being birthed so,
    And not amongst
    The Gods far away;
    Though too late
    To be an instinctive thing,
    But too early
    To know how it all plays.

    But entropy
    Will break us all,
    The rulers of stars
    And of miniscule Earth.
    In that I take
    A sadistic pleasure,
    That shall transcend
    All the observers birthed.

    ©trippy_potato

  • trippy_potato 22h

    Mindscape

    The taste of parting
    Fresh still,
    Copper, and sweet
    In honour of retention.
    The calm of indifference
    Like claiming quicksand,
    Clamour 'pon thoughts
    Slowly escaping attention.

    Though still human,
    Voices decay,
    Into tongueless shrieks
    That plague peace;
    The hours forever weigh
    Upon the flickering self,
    Charnally rejuvinating
    In babbling dreams.

    Nothing else here
    In bone and flesh,
    But livid hatred, ecstatic
    Love and fear potent;
    But the stars beyond
    Drifting in coldness,
    Too inhuman an ideal
    For exploration cogent.

    ©trippy_potato

  • trippy_potato 1d

    @writersnetwork

    Some word sketches of a ramble in wilderness

    Read More

    Forests.

    The walked paths
    Carved like ochre thunder
    Meandering round
    The stooping trees;
    Shadowed thickets
    The sun they picket,
    Make leopard skin
    Of the world below canopy.

    And slopes of gravel
    Buffer trees,
    Though weaving vines
    Scale up and down,
    And burrows open
    Through green-hewn arbours
    With aged yellow leaves so crowned.

    Where shadows end
    Lie fallen trunks jewelled
    In fungi that burrow and bloom,
    It's girth engulfed in mourning whites
    Of summer flowers that hark it's doom.
    It's creaking arms have grown sails
    Of spider silk that gleams gold,
    Capturing the warmth of Sun ascendant
    In each and every deadly fold.

    And ants too string paths
    To and from their earthen towns,
    Blindly they trace great arcs
    Bringing specks from all around.
    The eye trails their pilgrim queues
    As they proceed unmarred by me,
    Their effervescent world quite different
    Beyond my human mockery.

    ©trippy_potato

  • trippy_potato 4d

    Cross

    Who will care
    For your little lies,
    Whom your patron
    And the alabi?
    Not me,
    I am quiet to truth
    And silent too
    For lies that soothe.
    So I won't dote
    On your every phrase,
    I am but desert sand
    And barren rock unphased;
    Though you could
    Speak for us both,
    With witty remarks
    And anecdotes;
    But my indifference
    Is akin biting frost,
    My detachment a meadow,
    Within which words be lost;
    So try me not
    For I know no end
    To subtle evasions
    With a nodding head.
    Fallen you
    From my regards,
    You've insulted frankness
    From a now broken heart;
    And no ammends
    That you could conceive
    Could ever bend
    Me again to be decieved.
    Only courtesy keeps me
    For un-returned favours
    Shall only stoke
    The slander you've savoured.

    ©trippy_potato

  • trippy_potato 5d

    The deal

    I've come again
    To your Cthonic hold,
    Only blood to give
    'tween the paper folds,
    Black blood
    Rotten, abused,
    Clotting, manged;
    But do not refuse.

    Strike again
    Our bargain same,
    Once more
    For I've yet to end;
    And I bring ten pints
    For one now doesn't do,
    With all the suffering
    I have accrued.
    But don't let the taint
    Deter your arts profound,
    For my veins yield paint
    From a heart that pounds.

    Despise me if you must,
    Or love my charnal offering,
    I have come all the same
    Be it out of love or suffering.
    My years starting to show
    In my mouldering works,
    Their piles ever-higher grown
    With existence running amock;
    Though most reduced to mewlings
    That say nothing at all,
    Only vague memories they of beauty
    Attrophied in paper atolls.
    But do it again, the same deed,
    That lends novelty to words,
    Alter into timeless poetry
    My splattered tarry blood.

    ©trippy_potato

  • trippy_potato 5d

    Knots and nooses.

    In night's heart
    Carved from empty streets,
    I'm the sole disturbance
    To the settling breeze;
    And streetlight reds
    My only guide:
    Homesick, blue,
    I'm a stranger twined
    With unseen strings
    That loosen and tense
    Through past's vagaries
    And the present immense.
    And in night's quiet
    Where dreams coalesce:
    No destination seems apt
    To put a stop to my steps;
    And the welcome chill
    Invites me again to desert,
    Yet strings tie, strings keep
    From freedom undeserved.

    ©trippy_potato

  • trippy_potato 1w

    Cadres of falsehoods

    Valour, honour,
    Strength and manner:
    Convention binding
    Under a heavy banner.
    Respect made ritual,
    Fetishised reverence
    For subjective wisdom
    That makes no difference-
    To material that tethers
    Held and delegated
    To the rungs of hierarchy
    From imbalance emanated.
    And upon the back of man
    This edifice of human deeds,
    Accredited to nature's order,
    Actually born from want and need.
    The subtleties though lost upon all
    In fervent promises of lost zeniths,
    Power again given in earnest
    But never returned after beginning.

    How cruelly fate plays
    When the vision of toilers
    Is but the tool of power;
    And the critique of sands
    And winds remain the only
    Rebelling forces at war.
    And suffering morphs
    To the glories of mythic past,
    Lost to the whims of Gods
    And effigies to tyrrants.
    Incensed fire obscures truth
    Bereft of symbology
    And man's rhetoric;
    Truth beyond stories
    Chanted into hymnals,
    Glory beyond brutality
    Over the unlucky and feeble;
    For what truth beyond material
    That decimates and makes?
    What hierarchy more just
    Than that imposed by united slaves?

    ©trippy_potato

  • trippy_potato 1w

    Heart-town

    Leaving,
    Living,
    And letting live;
    Running
    Outward,
    Forgetting
    To forgive.
    Traveller I,
    Clueless,
    In this cobbled
    Township;
    Yet you
    Find me,
    In rust laved
    Hardship.
    And ask not...
    For what
    Have I
    But restless-
    Odes slow
    Whispered
    For night draped
    Star ways?
    None for you
    Atleast,
    You seek
    But starlight;
    And all I
    Have known
    Are blisters,
    And frostbite.

    Only ravens
    Lurk here,
    In my idle
    Heart-town;
    Rain licked,
    Pain-sick
    Caw they
    Nest-bound.
    Friend I
    Of crows,
    Lodger
    Entombed;
    Traveller
    Homesick
    Bogged down
    In disputes.
    No dreams
    Come here,
    Through rust,
    And iron girders;
    Only thunder
    Scolding
    My ebon
    Murders.

    ©trippy_potato

  • trippy_potato 1w

    Shoreless

    Dead sea,
    Debris,
    Adrift
    Scantly;
    Trembling
    Null deep,
    Death wreathed
    Aptly.
    Skull strewn,
    Flesh hewn,
    Raft mine
    Of icor;
    Left for
    Vultures,
    Whom too
    Are gone.
    Blood sun
    Bleeds slow,
    Red taints
    The horizon;
    And teal clouds
    Northbound
    Cleave skies
    Like bisons.

    ©trippy_potato

  • trippy_potato 1w

    @writersnetwork

    I see very few if any political texts ( the few I do see are hilariously dumb), let alone leftist content on this platform; if you're a progressive leftist who wants to write about the worker's cause, I'll follow your account. Let me know in the comments. I'd be happy to have conversation and debates too. :)

    Solidarity!✊✊✊✊

    Read More

    Bourgeoisie electoralism

    Chanting heads,
    Cowed and bent,
    Accepted chains
    Undeserved by men;
    With hollow ornament
    And aesthetic appeal,
    The crowd is kept
    From the thinly veiled
    Chambers where
    Their toil and tears
    Are stored in piles
    Guarded with fear.
    And decrepit Lords
    Roost like jealous dragons,
    Fed by blood and gold
    Drunk from bony flagons;
    And they cheer to health
    As the working folk,
    Line up for pittance
    In branded clothes;
    And bicker amongst them
    Over bread and butter
    And cheer to wars
    And kill one another.
    And the shrewd Lords
    Count loss and gain,
    To pay the senator
    And crush all that refrain.
    And the truth is cuffed
    As wastes wax in girth,
    Sooty faces are forgotten
    In their cramped berths;
    And those that can
    Close eyes and follow
    Akin flesh wrought automata
    With souls all hollowed;
    They are lifted high
    In the aristocracy of fools,
    Satiated with breadcrumbs
    For enforcing rules.
    And conquest is masked
    Under the guise of trade,
    My comrades are culled
    And shot where they tread;
    And democracy allowed
    When and only if,
    It secures the power of the few
    Over the billions to them bequeathed.

    ©trippy_potato