Experimentalpoetry Stories

youth grows on branches of mango trees. pluck them early green and bury them in rice baskets to ripen them quick. love grows on branches of guava trees. pluck them early green and they are solid teeth-breakers. pluck them late white, love melts in your mouth into pulpy relish.

A poem is usually born once. Here, each poem is reborn a thousand times. Mirabelle Flores: Multiform Poems is not just a book of verses - it is an experiment in metamorphosis. Each poem blossoms into many forms: minimalist whispers, baroque hymns, fragmented echoes, mystical prayers. And behind them, voices emerge - not masks, not inventions, but real echoes of memory, sorrow, and longing. Inner multiversal heteronyms: fragments of a self scattered across parallel universes, yet all authentic, all alive. This is not poetry to be read once and left behind. It is a mirror of many faces. A silence that multiplies into voices. A garden where the same flower blooms in endless shapes. 🌑 Step inside - and decide which voice belongs to you.

This poem titled "Something Something Something Something" is an exploration of creation, imagination, and the desire to transcend ordinary life. It expresses a longing to craft something entirely new beyond known forms, experiences, and the constraints of reality.

A poem in six acts, Being based on the series of conceptual albums 'Everywhere at the end of time' by The Caretaker.

basic poem ⛄️

What keeps you Cold at Night? The Second Pillar, shadowed, in the First. ~Ongoing Series~ (Pillars of Winter V in progress) *Encouraged order is 1-5* ~These are my first real attempts at poetry; any comments or feedback would be welcome.~

and so with that, in conclusion, sometimes all there's needed is a scream to shatter the glass around your own heart. tryna be poetic or whateva (not really succeeding tho!)

•deep, in the suffocating thoughts of a clouded mind• ~a variation of poems I wrote in 2019 and some from 2020

(@.@)/ - hello, i am an international speaker, greetings. this that you are about to read is a collection of poetical experiments born out of the mind of (name of the artist). # - nowadays is very hard to test new grounds. the poet is trying his best in conveying thoughts and emotion while simultaneously interacting with certain characters that will be present during the journey. [...] - this symbolises a break. it means the author has taken away his mind from the work, and maybe he's just simply thinking about something else or doing something (like smoking cigarettes). since there will be poetries written in italian, i'd like to share a word also with them: queste a cui state accedendo sono riflessioni sull'essere ed altri esperimenti che prendono in considerazione e come meta l'esistere su un piano di coscienza differente rispetto al normale stato di "euforia" mentale. l'interazione con personaggi esterni permette all'autore di direzionare la sua linea di pensiero, ottenendo in tal modo una sorta di percorso speculativo sulla possibile esistenza di esseri superiori alla mente pensante, ("=.=) - ma, hei. non perdiamoci in chiacchiere. dovremmo aiutare il povero stolto a ricucirsi almeno una fetta di paradiso. oppure semplicemente lasciarmi soffocare dal senso di indifferenza di chi ha pianto tutte le lacrime. casa mia, la funebre tempesta di grovigli.

What keeps you Cold at Night? ~Ongoing Series~ (Pillars of Winter V in progress) *Encouraged Order is 1-5* ~These are my first real attempts at poetry; any comments or feedback would be welcome.~

What keeps you Cold at Night? The Second Pillar, shadowed, in the First. Three is Key. ~Ongoing Series~ (Pillars of Winter V in progress) *Encouraged order is 1-5* ~These are my first real attempts at poetry; any comments or feedback would be welcome.~

A collection of poetry.

We slithered beneath a cathedral of beech-fleshed Nephilim, their synaptic boughs brooding above our thrifted Chevy like spires of Babel- Ether held. Quiescence shackled. Static wraiths of neural tonic and THC jolted through our nerves- jaw locked at the damp root. Breath bound. Once we were spewed from the verdant lattice into the glaring grey open, wheat tides unfurled across the plains- furnace-lit glades breathed. Moirai cut. April's breath, glassy as my marble-floored gaze on gloaming's edge. Your earlobes-gemstone suns set in Sheen's trinkets- swayed as we drifted through liquid swells- The engine stirred in the fume-thick sanctum of tacit confessions and broken plans. We, Janus-mouthed hyenas, chattered everything, everywhere, all at once- trying to claw a life beyond instinct, since our son needed a language not built from blades. Our son, a slumbering barque at anchor, hull pressed to polyester, tilted in his car-seat, dreams drifting afar. Eros' milk calcified into bone. You crept, ivy, through the map of my heat in the dark-geometry without boundary, as though I was shaped for the eve we seep. I was trellis to wisteria twine- the bind that held- palms pressed to wall, eyes spasmed- azure crescents melted into treacle- salt rising from throat. All mothers, piranesi-bricked into themselves, releasing their locks. The changeling's kingdom you cage was never beyond saving- after the keys, after the release, there is a trace in us they cannot name. Day Zero.

The poem "(un)remembered" explores themes of memory, identity, and the passage of time. It uses vivid imagery and metaphor to convey a sense of fading and transformation. The poet describes the walls breathing softly, symbolizing a living, changing environment. The speaker feels themselves becoming less visible and more transparent, with memories fraying and silence growing between heartbeats. The body is depicted as a landscape of vanishing landmarks, with each breath representing a small act of defiance against the inevitable erasure.

basic poem ⛄️

•the thinker• ~poetry/poems 2020

Localization.Strings If you only read one, please read "Speak Slowly." Poetry. Some is long. Really long. Some are average length. I don't think any are particularly short though. The Indigenous Language used in some poems is Menominee and any Menominee words are translated. All are accurate translations, but some are more artistic translations rather than straight translations. Waewaenen! Thank you!

Love. Lust. Culture. Good. Evil. God. Humanity.

Infernal Requiem of the Cascades is an ongoing dark poetry archive exploring psychological fragmentation, industrial decay, corrupted memory, machine-like endurance, and the haunting silence left behind by emotional collapse. Blending cyberpunk atmospheres, ritualistic imagery, analog horror, glitch aesthetics, and existential free verse, each entry feels like a recovered transmission from abandoned cathedrals of static and fractured consciousness. Some poems read like hymns forged from machinery and grief. Some like system logs from collapsing minds. Some like requiems echoing through ruins where flesh, memory, and noise can no longer be separated. This collection is not about healing. It is about surviving the aftermath of distortion. Living through fractures. Listening to the static after the world goes quiet. Every upload expands the archive: a growing cascade of broken signals, iron halos, dead frequencies, forgotten prayers, and emotional ruins still searching for meaning beneath the noise. Genres: Dark Poetry • Free Verse • Industrial Horror • Cyberpunk • Glitchcore • Psychological • Experimental • Atmospheric Status: SIGNAL DETECTED THE VOID LISTENS STILL RENDERING.......