I MUST GO TO ELYSIUM Or the asylum

I've planned before to die when I believed I was finished

With my suicidal ideation throughout life, it'd come easy

I realized, against my natural inclination, she was a proof

My life had needs but grave isolation left me diminished

Because I needed love, wanting it, I was told I was greedy

Though often told that others loved me, my life was cruel

Perfection was never my goal, and yet, it was enforced

My life was often a failure, I believed I was unlovable

But my Katya's love was unforced, and she taught me

That her love was a gift, as it was the voice of God

Telling me I was worthy of love, in her perfect form

When she left me I too wished to die but I will not

Elysium is the answer, and there she and I can rest

In a perfect place, with joy and dreams, and love
Katya taught me, that in this life, there is enough
With her life was endurable, with her I was blessed

Photos taken by Elizabeth Ness and Jonathan Ness, 2024©

Deathless

Floating through the ethers, a fog's veil
A living corpse calls his master's name
The rain is freezing, the air's bitter
Though early Autumn, feels like winter
Watching ghosts of lives flourish
In the white thick clouds they live
Memories of lives once given
And seeking love
At last to be forgiven

Revelation Leaves

An immaculately clean place of study, with walls of books
At a silent monastery, comes dedicated study of sacred truth

A sole monk is capturing the thoughts he has focused, in ink

A foundation of knowledge, coming from inquiry and proof

Love lays beneath all layers and infused within every atom

No hate, no lies, only the deepest place of holding commune

There is nothing in any atom but the blueprint of knowledge
The perfect machine, fully organic yet designed to function

The day had come, the truth fully revealed, nothing left
Hour after hour, day after day, all knowledge blooms

Damned by Ink

All proof is lost in the evidence files
Facts exist but they confuse issues
Nothing is equal, not even thought
In the absence of knowing, I plead
As ink flows, into misery wrought
The truth is worth knowing, dream
Sleep escapes me, nightmare bleed
The ink in my veins pours from me
A vein is cut, all my arteries burst
Knowing isn't the same as a proof
Paint the walls, paint the corridors
My ink sprays across the room
I am well prepared for the end
The cold ground is my tomb

As a Poet, As a Warrior, Archilochus of Paros, Ancient Greece

It is a rarity of a mind and outlook found in those who revel in fiction or memoirs of war, to find one who eschews heroism, who holds survival highest of all the noble traits. Archilochus bore arms and fought, but actively identified himself as a poet. He was a warrior. He fought, and injured and likely killed other warriors. But he considered being alive at the end of a conflict as the chief goal of any battle.

He is in my favorite poets list, but the sole unhappy aspect of reading him, is that this seemingly modern minded and individualistic poet wrote so long ago, most of his work is lost to time. The three books shown above engage in his work and probe the historical person he was. But there was surely much more, and is now beyond our reach.

THE SHOUTING GOD

From the raining fire, their god Vesuvius cried
Smoke roared and flames screamed from a gaping maw
Fleeing for safety, many found nowhere to run
Sound of an angry God fiercely casting stones
The dead lay where they fell, in unholy ash
For this God's anger had only just begun
Humanity need learn to obey the lash
Punished for dreaming of the different dreams
The time for thought was gone, earth and gods are one
The people lived for pleasure, lived for themselves
Rather than sacrifice for the gods or in fear

SOURCE

Ancient Impermanent Existence

I was cast into the ground, once open, foul and wet
A place no longer needed, my soul no longer met
You are the cause of my despair, and I have no hope
For I've life, but no longer of legacy, I stand
This violence you desire, the stain is not by my hand

“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon 
the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts."           Charles Dickens

Image from Pixabay, https://pixabay.com/users/stocksnap-894430/

Silenced In 6 Lines

When I called your name, nothing echoed in sound
No songs, no words, no fresco of beauty or thought
My voice has been stolen, no hope I'm earthbound
Days fade, dreams never begin, my end is wrought
For without love and without my voice, I'm silent
And in the quiet I can only hear myself cry

Obeying the Crop

Tied and laced behind, the suit covers every bit
Darkness lingers rather than shines, as if lasers
Shine and gloss, reflective and solid, just admit
You are thrilled to be the one, receiving favors
With gag and tightened collar, he can't escape
Your hand works a crop, retrieving obedience
Every moment of darkness reveals layers
With you the trust is always in doubt
But I think you like that, even a lot

Forever my soul

You left my life the way you came, whispers in the wind
Heart healed by a presence, soul broken, alone again

You called my soul from somnolence, and rest within
Gone from me, knowing the beyond, a message sent

I'll search the after all place, to find your voice and love
My broken body, my broken soul, still longs for you
Your presence, time by my side, is, for me, enough

Too much

After my great loss, I could barely imagine being worth the effort to survive. But I didn't actually desire more time. As my greatest hopes and sweetest dreams splintered, they were all shattered beyond my ability to care. 

I am beyond the ability to save. My future is meaningless due to my inability to embrace what is unfair. Why bother? Why live for tomorrow if everything I embrace remains in the past. Why try to live in a world manifestly broken as entropy tears.

An Inferno Inside

The empathy meant for others, turns to apathy
When a love I long for turns against my being
Sleep and my future turn from joy to grieving
Waking in realization, that dream isn't believing
As I listen to the echoes of the celestial choirs
Does it matter, do I believe, will I in time?
In me there is a conflict, I need to be rewired 
And as my world constantly burns, I am fire
I am an inferno, I am destroyer prime
I'm nothing, unworthy, and I'm afire inside

Chained to the rack

They taught me how to stop writing and end my reporting
They taught me by breaking every finger I have, with glee
And every time I expressed myself or I did not conform
They chose a new part to destroy, for a sheer joy of hate
Each moment to be savored by them, still horrifying me
A human body has needs, but I was punished for hunger
My mouth slapped, a breaking mind, I shook in thunder 
For all of my choices made, I know that I am a number
I'm an idiot or fool, and they've never cared, so cruel

Defessus Sum

I gave chase, but before I found you, I suffered
A loneliness cast upon me, your beauty tempts
My life was destined for pain, receiving it again
Time is spent in sorrow, more than all tomorrows
And now we walk in a place, ever lasting grace
But I am so tired now, what's left of me, nothing
Elysium calls, I can't answer, broken by a cancer
Time is emptied but it goes on hope not embraced
But the tides of time linger, and yet I still chase

What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross
What thou lov’st well shall not be reft from thee
What thou lov’st well is thy true heritage

                                   Ezra Pound

Beloved Katya

I just lost the greatest pet companion I have ever had, and will ever have had. My Katya chased me, even within the last 6 months. But she has left this place. And I can't begin to express what I've lost.

I don't know how I am sposed to endure, because I can tell you, this hurt is one I can't even endure. It hurts that I can't go with her. It hurts badly.

ACTIVITIES

The great hive hums with fevered activity
The hum sounds grinding, driving, constant
These are workers, drones, tireless, reliant
They've been designed, chosen for energy
Engaging in all they were designed for
Not unique, they are identical, and still
They are ever in motion, finding joy in being
Given birth in batches, serving with labor
They will always return to assigned paths
Grateful workers finding purpose in tasks
Philosophies of the hive found in every act
Standing like an unmoving stone in a stream
The outside world feels threatened, attacks
The hive is perfectly designed and is ready
Here is an enthroned war queen, seated
She is surrounded by servile attendants
By her elite body guard, violent, vigilant
For they are oath sworn, DNA encoded
These elite hive warriors rise and fight
Worker drones constantly build and act
All areas disconnected and vulnerable
Now brought into union with the hive
This is a walled home, a great fortress
Despite the cadres being divided by task
The hive is one, with rooms and walls
With designed organic created bridges
Within are birth chambers, royal seats
The hive holds a merge of functions
Hive elites, the common, and royal
Never see distinction in purpose
Prepared to fight the persistent threats
Workers and warriors are both utilized
They act in a harmonized resistance 
The hive rises amidst of enemy's land
Not hiding, they announce a presence
Walls, able and designed to withstand
They are prepared by constant action
Workers and warriors always ready
To perform their tasks and find purpose
Of their design codes and factions

Image by https://pixabay.com/users/thedigitalartist-202249/

Into Oblivion Again and Again

Born into an abscess, an emptiness, the negative space
Bleeding ink, scream shrieks, reaching for an embrace
The event horizon is yet to be found, but still replaced
Why go forward into oblivion, why retreat not chase
My flight course is stable, into a wrath of being chaste
Even as Icarus I am, I shall never fly this day
But, truly, I surely will fall again

Image by commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:Kaldari

Worms

This world demands our conformity
In the survival mode we must obey
Some of us possess different gifts
That the world steals and betrays
We are ready, to endure and resist
As if performance in tragic ballet
Our lives are dramatic and persist
All lives lived balanced by tragedy
The end will happen as life changes
To lay in the very cold ground
All the while eaten by worms
While the body falls apart
The spirit flies away

New Poem: Spirals

Rising, this ascension feels so sweet, love
But spiral down, feels worse, it is enough
Enough to crash and then to flail falling
Rising, by the same spiral stairs, as one
With no greater moment to ever be alive
Aroused, then made pure, in glow thrive
Then the rise goes on, in energy of youth
Evidence is living, love is the final proof
What do I do, if I've never had enough
If I did love, and was left emptied
What if my life was a vessel of grace
But I'm bleeding, selfish, I didn't share
Covered in tears, silent screams, despair
If I'm the void, rather an agent of grace
How can I rise again or ever be fair?
If I believe, hope to receive and dare
Aware, my broken hands still pray
Lord they are emptied, so I wait
For any help that spirals down
Never landing, hope is gone
Indescribable, unrealized

NEW Poem Our plague of sorrow, self inflicted

Could we ever hope to become wise, with flaws leading our paths?
Do we perceive we are compliant, in these dreams of future wrath?
In a gray morality, why bother, hunger determines righteousness?
What do we deserve? Shouldn't we pay our costs, even slaughtered?
For what we do to each other and to our planet, needs divine justice
Payments now empty, but costs are lavished, if no hope on an altar
Let us stand as we might otherwise have fallen, no fear amongst us
For we must recognize our choices as having true consequences
Or a full weight of entropy will be poured out upon all legacies

Dreams Of Eternal Youth, Dreams of Innocence: Reprint post

A summer sun, revel and know, you can linger here
As winds blow, refresh in each breath, understanding
In the winter, never grows so cold as to freeze a soul
Elysium never changes, it is the land of eternal youth
If children find happiness here as you take my hand
My love is forever, let us spend an eternity together
Awaken to beauty, find warmth in this summer sun
After our flesh has passed, please let eternity begin
The world was a cage, it limited our intelligence
As temptations of knowing are lost, life is done
We can spend the time, knowing what is good

Victory or Defeat?: Reprint post

There's always been a dual outlook
It is fought between truths and lies
Why do you feel right about life
When you kill, defeat an enemy?
Do you mock those who paid
While you then survived alive
Do those who die in war count?
Is victory worth any life lost?
Why kill, if it is, in fact, wrong
While few are willing volunteers 
So many die without questioning
Still we fight, still we make war
Across the planet Earth it spreads
People choose to die or be prepared
War is feared, warriors are revered
Should we go to war, ever again?
Do you even care? Why do you pause?
Will you stand before the god of war
What cause are you dying for?
Or do you serve only yourself?

Our greatest trait is killing Reprint post

In another day, our efforts might have been worth much more
But in this emptied era, all our anger brings the greater harvest
As we stand and watch, and the machine mind counts the cost
Our labors seen as wanting, we're trained for bestial conquest
For our greatest abilities, our life long goal, war leaves us lost
Do we abandon our society as we try to escape our proclivities
Our greatest ability is to kill, destroy, entertain our worst ways
If we do not change, we'll fall, our own species soon extinct

Bread and Circus, Bloodsport and Fame: Reprint post

In a fecund but foul world, fetid, ravenous, gluttony seen as advantage
Hunger for pleasure, as a starved child viewing a restaurant's offerings
Eager to development ways to consume, ways to celebrate indulgence

A world nearly bursting in numbers but hasn't a fear of over breeding
Ignorant of simple math, the sort where too many consume too much
Humans assume it will all take care of itself, trust me, earth does that

We watch violence, revel in drama, while celebrating blood splatters
The bloodsport allows us to live vicariously in the acts of our heroes
As the participants all die or retire, must find new aims of our leisure

We see how the favorites of the Empire take their seats at the coliseum
We shower them with applause, for they've stolen our heart and minds
And we long to be them for they are celebrated for beauty and power

Rather than live our own lives, we watch reality, indulge a hunger
We selfishly long to live with leisure, pleasures, and prowess
Resolving issues with charm, charisma or violence
Instead we watch or we stoke fires of desire
To find excitement or a false intimacy
And to imagine it is rewarding

March 31, 2026 is the day my poem per day experience ended.

This post is my final new entry in my poem per day life. It ends with my health having improved, my hope being positive and active, and my blogging about creative mediums continues on my site Poplitiko. I'll now write poetry as it moves me, when it moves me, instead of constant writing endeavors and blog posting.  I've written over 8000 poems, 6000 here, 2k in other archives. That number of poems is probably more than anyone wishes to read.

Obviously I will still write. If you enjoy my work, it is appreciated, and it buoyed me to have the many people who have shared with me their replies, support and kind acts. I do still have an ongoing writing life, and still try to have copies for sale of the books I have created, often with others, but as often my self. Feel free to check out my work, and to accept my appreciation for the interest.

I will be going to Quantum Con in Plymouth Minnesota during the month of May, and who knows where or how thereafter. Life is good, and I am grateful to all who aided me in my effort. Especially my wife, Beth, my son Jonathan, and all my friends and family. (Including every cat companion we've shared our life with too). 

RE: Conventions... Wherever the arts are celebrated at gatherings of fans and retailers, local writers often get told they only have finished product to sell, and therefore aren't put out by enormous table costs or anything like that. Know that most of my works are $5 to $7 cover price. How many of them do I have to sell considering travel and table fee, to make money? There are probably 1000 writers or even less who make a great amount of money from their sales. The other million writers, might not even make a sale in a full calendar year. Urge your local conventions to invite writers as well as artists.

The library, bookstores, ebay, and a variety of kick ass librarians and library techs are the keepers of the flame of knowledge. They make our experiences and unique lives live forever.  Support your local libraries and share the wealth of our years of written communication! 

Thank you for everything, and please stop by now and then, as new works, though unscheduled, may pop up.

Moments from Ezra Pound

This poem fragment goes well beyond explaining why the poet Ezra Pound and his poetry moves me so. Yes he was a flawed genius, but flaws do not worry me, I am flawed as well. We are all flawed, but I am not, nor are most people genius. Not everyone who creates such beauty can be defined by genius or flaws. It is only with the words that move hearts and minds is such genius so plainly seen.

To Remake what was Created

He'd chose to be the creator
Making new all that was made
An artist of the flesh and scent
Worlds restored, under the gold sky
Beauty was a portion of life
Art, a language of creation
Memories of life, the past times
I'm unworthy, an impurity 
Creator no, a re-maker
Creation calls forth life to all
Existence, language of being
Spoken by each heart beat endures

Blind to Empathy

In an emptiness of my soul's vacuum
Knowing no further than of my sight
Being blind to empathy, alive to pain
My mind was death, a cluttered tomb
In the cosmos, thoughts were a blight
Regardless of effort my flaws remain
Flesh is my outer being, as a costume
Here will my soul await for the fight
Behind me, paths of loss bloom

More

Who are we to ask for anything more
For species as a term is nothing at all
And race has no good answers either
One's legacy doesn't offer a solution
We are misled by the phrase destiny
Should life be an exit through a door
We're cheated if we believe in fate
As why of existence isn't answered
Without understanding the present
Or defining experiences of the past
But we must find the great path
It is resting in our inner core
It offers hope and liberation
Of redemption and truth
And awareness being
Life is more than dreams
It is a promise of more

Drowning in Emptiness

The void is a vacuum, endless darkness
To escape pull costs wisdom I don't have
My life's full of desires, lust and hunger
The world requires hope to endure, I can't
One must endure more to suffer the cost
All I know lost, nothing remains of me

Fleeing the Abandoned Module

Beneath my suit, armor
The future is waiting
But won't fly without me
The result must be found
This is like a vague dream
I've been losing my mind
Every step forward will burn
I walk in deepest mire
Life has limited time
My body screams in pain
Knowing, life's a trip wire
Seeking life, seeking proof
Falling through atmosphere
To seek discovery
The planet calls my name
I'll will survive in truth
My body, a vessel
Seeking life beyond us
Beyond me, beyond you
In first contact, we'll meet
I am ready, willing

Answers to many riddles

Why are the many riddles of existence answered with all or nothing reply
If life is so great as many say, why does it end so capriciously, as it does
As I die my deepest loves will all be stolen from me as well as my fears
I pray to reach the future, with my spirit intact and hope and joy alive 

"when I saw the improbable, the implausible, often the 'impossible,' come true."
                                                                                                     F. Scott Fitzgerald

In my Final Days I can See

I walked in midnight ink darkness
And sleep in the gold ray of the days
My life is one built upon rare dreams
My old brain fails, I've lost sharpness
Along with that, my heart is in decay
And this pain steals away my sleep
I swear I never meant to be so cold
I've been losing, nothing is found
And nothing will remain new
Until I reach sacred ground
And make my final claim

“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, 
far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”  Charles Dickens

Love's Proof

I'd tried to be her one, since I'd known her since school
With just one remark, she had made sure I was the fool
I'd never known why was I ignorant, why was she cruel
My point of being, to be only with her, she didn't agree
Her acceptance of me was conditional, her words reveal
I'd never said anything similar to others, but her to me?
She held no reservations, breaking faith, drawing blood
Beauty amazing, with a mind sharp, her attacks a flood
All alone in a relationship and yet she was my beloved
But love doesn't become real  because it is requited
I am alone in a room of countless many

To Walk Upon a Planet Alone

There is nothing in my heart since you left me
A world holding no mystery, even as in dream
My hopes have emptied, with no air to breathe
My body is left to rot, my soul bleeds its being
Lost without you, for this world offers nothing
I was left behind to die, every desire now flees
Abandoned on a world now empty without you

Romantic Equation

All need love, any human with a beating heart needs love
But is that enough? Do we need love as much as oxygen?
Does our flesh hunger for love like we do for food or air?
I think that we must find love or we'll become embittered
But I am just a poet, I might be using words to entertain

Unblinded

Bathing in pure white light covered in shine
With midnight colored paint on black canvas
A being of flesh, writhing in pain from inside
Ripped from life nothing left but thought
Dream ending long before awakening
Sweating from invasive dream cycles
Here one was trapped by the night terrors
I stared at the sun, it could never blind me
Yet I saw could surely cause blindness
Forcing me now by choice to never see
For I saw a God broken, dying, crucified
If an eternal being dies, how can I live?
I am unworthy of my spark of life
Will I endure, will I be forgiven

Contact

First contact, no mutual understanding, no language but violence
In next contact fear breeds defensive preparations, is there hope
In this interim, the peacemakers try to find a means to reach out
Final contact, mutual needs must be sought, fears left in silence
The merge of people and different species, all fears are disrobed
In common grounds and mutual needs we bury all of the doubts

The Artifact of a Forgotten War

Castle walls, once housing crusade knights rests in ruin
The wars that led to building sturdy walls of stone, sleep
The towers still overlook the plains, watching for others
In its memories are past wars, as long forgotten dreams
Buried beneath the walls are remains, the dead mingled
Seeking answers, seeking moral homogeneity of people
Now as the remains are empty winds, memories reach
Wars for the righteous are still fought, but do not teach

By seeking perfection one must be imperfect

Seeking to change so that I might reach perfection
Is in itself imperfect and wrought with moral folly
If I choose to seat myself at the throne of knowing
I've lost all understanding of daily walks of being
For it is in my doing, living, making mistakes 
That I learn to make better choices the next time
It is by seeing truth (nothing perfect in my life)
But to seek and find, higher realms can be found