'tis a sad sad
tale of woe
of which I sing
of gods and godesses
and their lessening

how forlorn
the goddess Ceres
once loved by all
and wooed by many

when unprovoked
and unforeseen
a war was wrought
'gainst fair queen

caught unawares
her throne assailed
her forces scattered
'twas all unfair

cast down she was
from lofty throne
no longer crowned
no more beloved

pierced thru
with many thorns
belittled
and besmirched
her reputation
and now her station
lost far beyond
re-incarnation

silently
she slips away
lost
and near forgotten
wounded
and rarely seen
her sullen thoughts
of malice reign

shamed and bleeding
plotting her revenge
till time and chance
provide the proper
circumstance

then all the thorns
that pierced her thru
she shook as many blades
and hurled
those bitter barbs as one
'gainst Hades' mighty gates

shaken he
from his dark slumber
his rallied forces
armed in numbers

their banners raised
on solar breezes
as trumpets blare
thru breathless reaches

voices shout
in protestation
slide rules locked
in astrometric
calculations

oh see how Ceres
scorned and mocked
has wrought
her rotting vengeance
on Pluto's frozen rocks


"Oh woe to thee
my Persephone
flee thee now
to thy father's house
for thy husband's hearth
hath been broken
and Hades' home
now just a token
My lofty edifice
a shattered wrack
an' all that's left
'tis a humble
wretched shack"



Pic Poem
https://www.pix-star.com/media/cache_local/download/23fc881b88e812947b061094f5694d32/JPlutoThouHastFallen-e52.jpg

.

So what?.
It is what is so.
So I acknowledge my Master equally with my Mistress?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I adore him for his naked beauty?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I licked his shaved ***** enthusiastically?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I licked the full length of the shaft of his stiff ****?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I took the uncovered head of his stiff **** in my mouth,
my tongue seeking out that ***** under the head of his stiff ****?..
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I knealt in naked submission to by Master and  begged and pleaded with him  to whip me?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I ****** the full length of the shaft of his stiff and  beautiful uncut ****?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I stood naked and submissive gladly saying "thank you Master" after each stroke of the whip on my willing, nay, enthusiastic body?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I rode the full length of  the shaft of his stiff **** thrusting in and out of my ****--***** pushing against my buttocks with each stroke?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I gasped and shuddered to feel him empty his *** filled ***** into my body?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
We three live in joint permanent ******.
Sadomasochistic *** takes us into the  ****** space that the "religious"minded and the political minded cannot enter--ever.
We three share the space that is otherwise called by the ignorant and sexually repressed priests and followers of Buddism/Hindooism/.
Vedism/ ------buddafield/enlightenment/gnosis!!.
*** takes us into the space of ****** denied to the followers of "gods" and "goddesses"--as gods and godesses cannot have *** ever.
We three share the space that the ignorant and sexually repressed priests of Christianity/Islam/Judaism have  no word for except words of hate and envy and jealousy and ignorant condemnation
*** takes us into that space where we share reality with CREATION itself.
Beyond any "god".
Beyond any "goddess".
Beyond any human conceived boundaries  of Time and Existence.
So what?.
It is what is so.

I've never heard a downpour stomp so loud
as the moisture above us incites rampage
droppin' bombs from celestial once neutral clouds.

the gods stamp their feet while the godesses pout;
eternal beings acting young for their age.
I've never heard a downpour stomp so loud.

With tents full of water and glasses full of stout,
my overdue almanac cries out to the mage
droppin' bombs from celestial once neutral clouds.

the drizzle it dropped but the encore soaked the crowd
the mud grew new flowers as hands mopped the stage.
I've never heard a downpour cheer so loud.

Drenched to the bone and wanderin' about
our level of wetness cannot be guaged,
droppin bombs from celestial once neutral clouds.

No refuge for masses sprawled under the spout;
bad acid, good music, free love makes us stay.
I've never heard a downpour stomp so loud
droppin' bombs from the celestial once neutral clouds.

the myths of birth and rebirth
are as old as humankind

scratched onto cave walls,
tablets of stone or clay,
scrolls of papyrus or  parchment,
for hundreds of years on paper,
and nowadays typed onto backlit screens
   that are recycled faster
   than old hieroglyphs were understood

in our time
when refugees are tens of millions
on our globe

let us remember that these myths
have celebrated for millenia
    not battles, war, or death
but the survival of the human race    
the joy we feel when new life has arrived
   often against all odds
the hope that emanates from godesses
    or mother saints of yore
    who symbolize fertility,
    have brought forth saviors and new tribes

these are what has propelled us to our current state

and we do well to not forget that our fate
does not depend on people slain
but on how we can save the joy of life
and celebrate all humankind again

Ink boiling, pure thought toiling
Vibrational frequency high taking us to the place of all knowing
Would shadows and dust leave us pale when we do not trust the rhythms lush?
Best we trust this echo speaking volumes of rough diamonds and crystals
Poet's Society, a kingdom of advanced beings, trusted messengers of Light beings
Spreading the truth to the world beyond what the eye sees

Arousing godesses, yes deities, over eighteen
Caressing the vapour of waterfalls
shaking the tips of mountain peaks
massaging the waves of lakes and leaves -
all in thought.

Poet's Society, a pilgrimage of enlightening
Recepients of complex thought forms from sacred future stations
The poets, stars, prisms and mediums - the tether between the seed of Creation and young races elevating
Evolving, their hunger deep, their sense (dull) of belonging
Voyagers they are taking you to the moon, the sun, stars - galaxies high above  
The Keepers of Ancient Timeless Wisdom
The Monks who are always on song in a world out of tune
Omniscient beings seeing the seed and creed of all being
Searching for the fruits of life in gardens where the darkness has taken over
The time-travellers, the creators, the aid of knowledge seekers
The poets who live in Poet's Society
In Temples of sacred Wisdom
in multiple bodies carrying out missions
The poet's eye is the vision, the picture of television; division
Feel it within intuition for it is a call to the see Light for which many are wishing... And it is poets who are on the mission.

mourning in our mornings of the sickness of lack of love which has dawned upon us
So dark a world, the angels would frown busking at the thorns of dusk to awaken us
How women loved when they vowed to die for love
how much more when they lived to love and lived by way of loving


oh but material, this fake monster that dares go to war with the ethereal
succumbing norms embrace the watmth of the hug of the surreal
and it keeps on knocking and knocking but the ears of the people were shut and soon they would forget what it felt like to love
and man or wounders of earth would rip the purity once more overwhelmed by the magnitude and magnificence of woman
helpless and bewildered, man he turns to violence to fight for his own right

but in these bouts all these fights; they leave scars so deep that they become  orifices
and the essence of woman is darkened to sin and repels all things good
becoming a vacuum that ***** out the purity and well intentions of kind men
birthing underdeveloped zygotes that populate the thinking in society
these halflings tattooed with stereotypes and false beliefs impinging a doctrine that overthrows the goodness of the male gender


so all she will know women are the evil deeds of men and the good becomes illusive
somebody rigged this program , new versions and updates are slow to process
so the image woman has of herself is low
an image of weakness, inferiority and inadequacy
the few men who do come to love, barely make it beyond the firewall of servitude of self-righteous gods and and immortal godesses but what does this have to do with love?


How is it building up the image of the possibility of good men and the freeing of violent and dysfunctional men?
How do these systems and rituals build and culminate once more the image of divine woman?
where man was and is and shall be maleandfemale integrated


There are many religions and sacred beliefs but if God or Divine Source does indeed exist then we as descendants of It/He/She/Them; should have their encoding in our DNA and that is the scribe within our conscience
our hearts
our sincere feelings
our authentic being
our celestial roots

when women loved; men went to space during *******
men built houses as fit as temples
love and marriage were separate entities
children never left home
self was fulfilled because of the freed feminine energy of creativity and spirituality within each of us
before patriarchal systems and woman-oppressing religions
when women loved men forgot about war because to their women they were equal and complete


so now relationships fake and dysfunctional
angry men and vindictive women
children at the helm of injustice
some spend time in the garden to restore
some are in the park not to look for a parking for they have found their place on the bench
they warm the bench not to get fired up before getting onto the field but to keep warm from the coldness all around:
the lack of love and sincerity or refining tranquility

Many have forgotten how to feel for many things are manufactured like products
and people engineered like parts sold off into the market
each business protecting its culture and creed no matter who bleeds
what would Mother nature say if woman still loved?

probably cry that love is being aborted and darkness recycled so material continues to industrialize.

When women loved
love was the only deal and righteous will

Staying up on nights that dont matter.

Listening to music that holds a key to forgotten locks

She breathes like an old flame.

Sings like the greatest of godesses.

I knew her then..

She had some temple to watch over,

be it in herself

or her lovers after me.

The road pulled her feet

not the other way around.

My one wish was that you’d someday

want me.

While I keep my soul somewhat untethered

and blowing in the wind..

I keep it on a first name basis

with you only.

But the reality is

is that

you get to become a movie

a poster encased in bright lights

- An overpaid actor who doesn’t

understand

the dialogue quite right.

You get to become

my favorite movie..

The one I never watch

again.

The one I memorize every

stupid

line

Just to make sure I

fall asleep before I feel

a thing.

Chaos,
grandness around us, within us
our pasts and our fates,
the heads and the tails you bring us,
nothingness,
mistress, our all that is free and forbidden
forgiven, forsaken, forseen and forsworn;

Our endlessness,
countless infinities that you defy
our unbreaking circle of charities your grace is defined by;
our mother, our barrens of space who is bearing existence;

our eminence,
baroness, dancing the torments of pregnance
our sorceress, chanting the songs of emergence;

our senses and souls,
your spawn, your kin, your death and your sins
our servant, your serfs
kneeled down and bowed over
your lust that is shameless, yearned for and proud,
raised up and all that is tall afly
your will that is mindful, yearning, forgiving;

our Godesses, our locks and our keys,
around us, within us, the now and the here,

listening through the ears of machine elves
our absolution from words uncertain;

speaking through colours of clockwork glyphs
our faith to bring magic into our lives;

teaching through picture puzzle pattern cellar doorways
our choice to approach whenever we wish.

You are awareness. We are mindful.
You are presence. We are eternal.