Cacophony Of The Soul: Select Writings Of Zarn Ishtare

[Zarn Ishtare]

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[Zarn Ishtare]

"No Sleep"

I don't sleep

afraid of what I might see

between the shuddering hours of my wakefulness.

Anxiety dreams

Horror without context

[Zarn Ishtare]

twenty three and still writing these imperfect hymns

suffering unpeaceful dreams

wishing I could write a lil' better

have a chance to rhyme 'Profligate"

with something less simple than "Dinner Plate".

23 and five days without nicotine

that little gray edge that kept my whole world smooth
little white pillars that propped up my edifice
tiny nails in a 5'6'' coffin
hammered in every time I'd say "You got any fire?"


"Poem"

This poem can't dance

cant trip along the fripperies

cannot slide along the rays of light

No, these words have no rhythm

or cadence like an incantation

the author cannot angle or invervate

he can not inspire innovation

only aggravate.


There is no beat to this poem

no pitter patter or tom tom moan

there is no high-hat emphamization

emphatically saying, "bap, bap!"

This is not a marketable poem

this is not sampled on tracks.


This poem cannot sing

It cannot find a vocalist

this poem has no lines

it's a nonverbal spoken word poem.


This poem in not marketable

this is a "mark for display" poem

This poem is not available anywhere

this is a scarcity value poem


This is not an original poem,
this poem was written before
this poem will be written again
this is a thousand monkeys banging on type-writers poem
this is my mind virus poem
but it's still my poem. Yes, it's still my poem.

[Zarn Ishtare]

Support us or ignore us

but get in the way

and there will be hell to pay.

[Zarn Ishtare]

sitting upon the edifice of truth,
Receptors overwhelmed
Too much
Its all too much
Taking the knowledge, all of the information streams
Like pouring a river into a cup.

Contextualization is an acrobatic exercise
The grand dance of understanding
It gets so tiresome to try
Translation after translation and it never gets through
But there is no other option
Except to be alone.

Genius is no consolation
Comprehension no salvation
But I keep trying for tryings sake
And for my own.

[Zarn Ishtare]

"Pour, Favor"

Pour, oh favor

Pour out

If even a drop reaches my mouth

I'll hold out.

Spill down from heavenly urns

All along the ground

Even the stones shall cry out

I'd like to hear the sound.

[goldenspines]

I've been keeping up with this thread, but can never really find the right words to respond. I'll give it a shot this time around, though.

Interestingly enough, I think you have shown improvement in your poetry over the years (I didn't think it possible for improvement since you already seemed to be at the top skill level). But you seem more comfortable in your poetry overall.

Personally, I prefer your clever plays on words (like your most recent "Por, Favor") or slight rhyming (the "Support us or ignore us" poem was quite well put, despite being so short) more so than your more darker poems (like "No Sleep" for a recent example). Though, obviously both are good and both speak to your personality and style, I think.

I look forward to reading more, as always, and I'll try my best to comment a bit more. ^_^

[Zarn Ishtare]

There are prisons
Built of words

Of promises
When you didn't know what you were promising
Words
you didn't know the meaning of.

I have built my prison
This bed.

And now...I lie in it.

[Zarn Ishtare]

"God Made a Fool"

One day God sat down, and said:
"Let's make something cool!"
So he rolled up his sleeves and made a fool.

Now, somebody happened to come along
playing guitar and singin' a song
Who goes by many names (We'll call him Old Scratch)
Who peeked in at what was about to hatch.

There He was, patient and kind,
And there was the other out of his mind.
Then the lord took out his painted hammer
And smote the rock, while Ole Scratch took a gander.

(To be continued)

[Peanut]

(To be continued)

Officially my favorite line in any of your poems.

Can't wait to read the ending.

[Zarn Ishtare]

"A Pause, Poetic"

the pause before the poetry

is the grandest moment of the movement, metaphysical

before the phrasing and phases of form conform to a norm

and become this or that particular particle,

there is a pause, so perfect

searching for a pose to posture,

a face to form

before all this, there is

an energizing emptiness

a quiet quintessence

a silence so deep it puts space to shame

It has no name but this:

Bliss.

Poetic emptiness.

[Zarn Ishtare]

there was a girl with your face today

every smile was your smile

and every laugh was your laugh

but I couldn't be satisfied

with this replacement act

[Zarn Ishtare]

My exposed femur
Is a proud white tower
Jutting out of a ruined landscape
If i were an ant
I would climb its proud peak
But i am not an ant
I am a man with a broken leg.

[GeneD]

bump

This is my favourite one.

[Zarn Ishtare]

This is by far my favorite comment; as particularly comment starved as I am, to log on to the only thread I pay attention to, and see "Ooh, someone commented!" And then to find that instead of there being a thoughtful critique of my poetry, there is only a sarcastic comment! The joy of it!

[Peanut]

I'd like to make a suggestion for your next poem. I think you need to write a poem about all the people who read your poetry and don't comment. And I am being half-serious about that.

[GeneD]

This is by far my favorite comment; as particularly comment starved as I am, to log on to the only thread I pay attention to, and see "Ooh, someone commented!" And then to find that instead of there being a thoughtful critique of my poetry, there is only a sarcastic comment! The joy of it!

I didn't think that through, I thought I was being funny when I was just being a jerk and I apologise.

Although in the unlikely possibility that it's a one-word poem I still like it.

In truth my favourites on this page is this one...

there was a girl with your face today

every smile was your smile

and every laugh was your laugh

but I couldn't be satisfied

with this replacement act

My sci-fi and fantasy loving mind wants to interpret this as a doppleganger situation, but I think it speaks more powerfully in a real world people change/relationship falling apart sense, when you feel like you don't know the other person anymore. It's kind of sad too because it sounds like he's going to give up on her and I don't know if she'll see it coming and be really heartbroken.

...and "Poem" and the one above it in that post. They both start off with single line spaces and then condense at the end, which is also when the direction changes in both, so I thought that was cool. I particularly like the "mind virus poem" line.

How does one comment on poetry without sounding pretentious?

[Zarn Ishtare]

They generally just tell me how it made them feel; and throw any worry about what people think about their honest thoughts to the winds. That's what matters to me; what did my words do? what worlds did you see? If they differed from my original meaning, I don't care; so much of it is a self-exorcism, trying to take inspiration and push it outside of myself, that I know stuff will get lost in translation, I'm from a symbolic poetry background, and I don't always explain where most of my poetry comes from or what it means. I'm happy to hear whatever comes to your mind, because it means my poetry had an effect, and wasn't just filling space on a thread that no one reads on a long forgotten message board.


As for the girl; it was inspired by seeing a girl that reminded me of someone else, who I haven't seen in years, and then just some general sad feelings from that. But I like your interpretation, you aren't wrong either, just because I wrote it for different things; that you can see another meaning is a good thing.

[Zarn Ishtare]

I will write it, Peanut. I like it.

[Zarn Ishtare]

Here is a small collection of short poems, inspired by, in order, a sci-fi novel, really looking out the window of an airplane, and listening to music.


The stars are diamonds in crushed black velvet
arranged so neatly in the jewelery box of God.

Through a fogged plane window the clouds
roll like waves on an alabaster sea
a change of perspective

The clouds built terraces
in the perilous vaults of empty sky

The indescribable colors of the sky
would take many lifetimes to paint

Your existance reminds me
not all our necks have been fitted for leashes
nor nooses
some of us are still running free
living life
as it was meant to be.

[Zarn Ishtare]

"My lover sings her siren song"

My Lover sings her Siren song

from some undisclosed location

phantom hands soothing, smoothing down hacked-down hair

caressing the stress lines in my face

what the love, what the grace

that sends this phantom sound?

I'm waiting for her to come around.

[Zarn Ishtare]

You've got a beautiful way

that seems to answer all the possible questions

scintillating, simply scintillating

but pardon me

do any of those words mean anything?

[Zarn Ishtare]

Well, isn't this a pickle

the trickle down poetry of past prophets

has kept me running through my mind all night.

I make laps

around the proverbial one track

the dust from my own feet

render me blind.

Who is to say what the meaning is

of all the inner conversations

the revolving planets of consideration,

all in orbit around an unknown destination?

Not me, that's who.

Who can know the meaning anymore

of any one thing?

But let us not hide from bedbugs! Be they ever so existential!
We are a declarative force, no universal white noise tone,
echoing like a sad grammaphone in some poor suburb!

Shout, and let the music pour out

let all your words give birth to phrases

fill pages

and create!

Don't wait.

For the moment is now, always now

and it will not walk back when it's gone.

Quick! Before resenment and boredom remark
and convince you to lie quietly in your bed
run into the street and shake the next person you see
and exclaim:

"YOU ARE ALIVE!"

and then we'll see later about the praise or blame.

[Zarn Ishtare]

Penny pound packets of sugar
float in the drift on the Washakee river
sweetening the salmon as they go

A single keel, overturned
makes turbulent percussion on the beaten rocks
played by the river.

One more boat for the breakers,
one more soaked river trader
cursing as he wrings out his clothes.

fortunes, men, and salmon runs
have all come and gone
but the laughing Washakee river
still keeps rolling on.

[Zarn Ishtare]

If it sounds, clumsy, dear reader
if it sounds like I have no idea what I'm doing
if it sounds like the words are coming too fast, too far
it's because they are.

I could, perhaps, craft a finer thing
one that shown like a golden ring
simple as a purple string
or another pretty, useless thing.

But that would detract
from the meaning of it all
which is that sometimes
in the most obtuse of phrases
the most awkward of poetic pages
real beauty can be found.

That's the answer to your question
take it as another small lesson
that there are really no rules to beauty
no perfect paragons of poetic pomposity
we're all just really trying to share, with you,
something true.

And if I can do that, even once, for just one person
I will have been a poet.

[Zarn Ishtare]

Four broken sticks
fell off a great tree.

That tree was my shelter,
that tree was my home.

I carved my hopes into its bark;
I heard the whispers in the leaves.

I was comfortable, with my tree
it was a safe place for me.

But now my tree is gone
with four broken sticks, how can I carry on?

I wish it was still standing, great boughs spreading
green leaves singing an ancient song of peace.

In its place is little to shelter from the water
to run from the tiger or cover from the thunder.

Go down the golden road, lit by the drowsy sun
Find it in the land of "Used To Be".

Climb it one time for me, and sleep in the leafy shelter
that pools the morning due into pools of crystal water.

Pat its hefty trunk for me, and tell it where I am.
Perhaps, tomorrow, it'll be here again."

[Zarn Ishtare]

thread bump

[Peanut]

Haven't had the time to catch on this thread. Just letting you know that I will soon and will give you some (hopefully) constructive comments in the near future.

[yukoxholic]

You have some really nice lines that stand out. Your poetry is kind of magnetic as I can take bits and pieces of words of phrases and make even more poetry. It's nice to have words within words that carry over with meaning. I like your recent works best. You've grown quite a lot. Keep up the great work.

[Peanut]

I like the new(ish) poems. This isn't a big piece of criticism, but your group of small poems was a little bit difficult to tell apart simply because there wasn't enough space between each one. I was able to figure it out because of the initial part of your post but an extra space would probably help. Outside of that I'm actually having difficulty coming up with anything constructive to say. I like Four Broken Sticks and, going off of my memory, it seems very different from the rest of your poetry (though maybe my memory has gone with "age"). I think stanza 4 is a bit weak in it compared to the rest, in fact I think you could cut it and keep the overall impact of the poem. Its end rhyming also feels a bit lazy and also seems very out of place in this poem . Overall I think you could improve that part. Also I think you meant "dew" and not "due" but maybe I'm missing something. Speaking of which, this line, "that pools the morning due into pools of crystal water," is a bit redundant. I think you could do something like "with morning dew forming pools of crystal water" and get the same idea across better. Overall though, very good Zarn.