pendulous plumes- Max Meunier

solitude sleeps
at a slow summer’s wallow

in madness
I muster

to miss you

will lost,

summoned chimes

in the clasp
of our past imposition

we splayed

into static imposters

what life is
in laughter

when farewells are left

and release
rends
but loose-leaded contrivance

returned
us to dust

swept

and rebelled

as the sun swore its vestigeof vengeance

the west burned

to weakness
before we could leave

sable clouds came
to wrest

and I
in this clement

caressed none


Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of hyper-vigilant observations. I am obsessed with words and rhythmically woven wordplay.” We are honored to have him as a member of our tribe. He writes at Max Or Not

By Her Implore- Max Meunier

even in this wintry wake

she whispers words untrue

 

still, i can see

far beyond the walls

 

where once i knew her

 

waging wars

within her arms

 

i could not walk away

 

beholden

to the fragile child

 

who wept

in shades of fury

 

these preambles never fade

from light

 

found in the aftermath

 

branded by the searing touch

of cruxes

 

born to bear

 

no more

do i hear my own voice

 

echoing

through time’s collapse

 

having been eclipsed

by her implore

 

Image courtesy of Pinterest


 

Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of hyper-vigilant observations. I am obsessed with words and rhythmically woven wordplay.” We are honored to have him as a member of our tribe. He writes at Max Meunier

 

Umbral Nimbus – Max Meuiner

black-and-white-sacred-heart

Umbral Nimbus- Max Meuiner

the preference
is to not partake

thus, do parts
persist with aching

much akin to skin
forsaken

and inference
of its open ends

through foregone hope
denied amend

that only cloaks
a wartime pretense

in pensive pantomime
suspending

flush with fiery flashes

spurring tear-soaked
soft surrender

as those failed attempts
by hailed December misanthropes

whose fragile mark we missed

when tenuous hearts tempestuous
had stumbled
just to kiss
an ushered shadow’s curse

stark as stillness

set to filaments
of nimbic aureolae

these scarecrows
sowing ceaseless storms

bestowed upon us

bested by our time-worn stoic brand
of listless christening

forsworn
for sake
of Christ

or what we think
we know

or know
to think

our thoughts unflinching
tethered tight
to sinking vessels

versed in would-be servile vaunting
self-availed
and self-avowed

cowering as our symphonies wail
like ailing scripture
subsisting
on some Sylphium-shaped shield’s frail sense
of fleeting
contrivance of an inbound safety

only flames suffice
resolved to e’er resound
the halls
of filigreed-framed lore
scrawled by human-flawed philosophers

and profane paleontologists

since plaintive

whose pallor paints
the will
of their walled reception

void as emptiness
reflected

found in the white-hot conflagration

following ephemeral suns

Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of hyper-vigilant observations. I am obsessed with words and rhythmically woven wordplay.” We are honored to have him as a member of our tribe. He writes at Max Meunier Dissocative Void.

Sentence of Sentience – Max Meunier

max

 

Sentence of Sentience – Max Meunier

what have i
but quieted inquiries

hollowed
and echoed
through vales
of a sub-violet druse
of aversion

no tangible touch
to form valid expression

intentions adrift
amid merciless
miles of mutable morass

from which somnolous streams
softly spill
forth eclipses

in lapses
bereft of availing account

where whims slowly waft
beyond walled apparitions

fled from partition
to form in summation
a dormant despair
born of quiet desperation

awaiting conclusion
in sediments muring

a freedom reprieved
of sententious ideal

for what purpose plausible
peers within prisms

but spectacle
cradling consciences captious

enraptured in casting incessant goodbyes

alas
i digress
lest my thoughts
become i

[image credit: Wilhelm Kotarbinski]

Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of hyper-vigilant observations.  I am obsessed with words and rhythmically woven wordplay.” We are honored to have him as a member of our tribe.  He writes at Max Meunier Dissocative Void.

 

When Today Found Me

Max or Not

and it was today

not knowing its meaning
not knowing why

i know that i love you.

that nothing remains

in this nomad’s world

for hands to behold

but the fleeting whispers
through eyes spent

desiccant.

i watch
immured in solitude

when laymen’s hours prohibit

with all they dared to disregard.

i struggle to make out a face
its features framed of faint obscure

ne’er could i mistake
that feeling

the comfort of your company

forever, it resides within me.

with naught but useless
power of flesh

i flounder in this hopeless muster

holding onto dust
the taste of rust upon my quivered lip

all that i do humbly ask
would you now hear this utterance

“just one simple sentiment, i miss you.”.

through these memories, i bleed
into somatic nights of static

’til our stars again align

go now

ravage every sky
that stings with freedom
whence sought of your heart’s requite

[image credit: Sadanobu…

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As We Are – Max Meunier

max

As We Are – Max Meunier

the consequence
your kiss requites
e’er moors my heart’s
intrinsic orbit

gravity
of your exert
affords each breath
its fate anewed

the magnitude
felt by your presence
stays the precipice of earth

your words avow validity
to voices once devoid
of venue

emptiness was heretofore
now understated
understood

stoic walls
electric impulse
chemicals, reactive substrates

ushered by the impetus
of oscillating frequencies
athwart velocities in flux

a symphonic polarity
imploding spectrums infinite
through spectred trials
of flesh profound

resounding far beyond
the vacuous expanse of space
in timeless incarnations
as we are

Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of hyper-vigilant observations.  I am obsessed with words and rhythmically woven wordplay.” We are honored to have him as a member of our tribe.  He writes at Max Meunier Dissocative Void.

 

Please Explain

Max or Not

i wouldn’t be lying
if i told you
i was being dishonest

at which point
would it really matter
anyway

its purpose
was not born of malice
nor to pacify
or justify

it is rather precisely
this reproachable pretense

of which it was my intention
to deftly circumvent

i’ve yet to find
the patience
for effusive explanation

if by scrupulous omission
i can subsequently skirt
obligatory inquisition
based on commonly feigned misconception

i would much prefer
to proactively forgo contention

conveyance is not my forte
abeyance is far more fitting

honestly, is honesty
not honorably objective

true, this might sound objectionable
as veracity is, voiced aloud

i swear i’m not despicable
and certainly, not proud

but i so despise such prodding
it deprives me of the scant control

over that which i have deemed
as essentially inconsequential

arbitrary, as it were
not befitting of retribution

now, if you would exuse…

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