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I **** on your grave for I have had too much to drink!
A glass 'o ginger beer and shrimp crackers I ate today.
Thou art not to fall! To tartuffery for a drink is as good as the last.
But alas, I am not to drink.
For my heart is heavy with woe.
Those stoics! They bring me much misery.
Oh the stoics, with their logically given truths that are naught but prejudice! Prejudice in truth they claim, liars.

Oh the stoics, with their ****** analogies of nature and so fourth.
To be! Like nature, is to be indifferent and prodigal.
That's probably why we love the intelligent uncaring character. He is nature.
She too! O' who's heart is full of love! She brings me roses and kisses upon my lips. She too, is nature. Stupid also, unbelievably crass.
Is crassness then, what we call nature? Then it is he! He! Who bring us our daily news who is unnatural. But then who is the preacher?
No, nature is to live. To live! Hah! A joke! To live is not a command for you cannot conceptualize living without living.
You'd do better as a pretty little scarab, but he doesn't drink ginger beer.

So too, our conclusion is to be natural. But not the scarab. To live, obviously. To be correct! by our own prejudice. And to reject divinely given truths. I do not know how I would feel about children of my own, we'll see when I have one.
******* ****
Now let us pray.
May hellfire rain down
on us today, on all those who
offered pay in
full metal change to watch
the life sized lights explode
& wicked witches
hanging by the throat
from a tenth floor window
it was all so cool.

so cool.

demon induced
dementia cemented in
an underground parking garage

sleepover
sleepless

starry eyed orphan
**** princess-
apparel section
regressing to an
oral fixation & a
need to keep the
fingers busy.

pink **** carpet
heart shaped atrocity

rotten thing.

you ain't the boss of me

paleface
scarab angel
seraph snake
made up cheap

heart tarnished
purely
black comedy
legs like a limousine
keeping company with
the holy cross
dressers on the
local drug scene.

oh how special.

yesterday
I fed my
edificial fetish
& I could not
stop thinking.

these high
arched ceilings.
could not contain
my feelings,
if they tried.


drive by advertisements
remind me there's
not much
to be excited about.
Torture ****.
Payton Hayes  Feb 2021
Sun Beetle
Payton Hayes Feb 2021
Tell me, my dear,   why      you keep

that golden sun beetle      tied so       tightly around your neck?

You say       that you feel naked without it, as

                           it hangs gently

        over your *******.

                         But let me tell you something.

I feel naked without you wrapped around my neck.

                      I am totally and completely exposed without your love

       to shield me from the night.

But your arms are not a ribbon.

                                  I cannot keep you on

a leash.

             Nor do I want to.

Darling, you are           the most valuable thing in the universe            to me.

And because             you mean so much,                     I must let you fly free.

I cannot keep you tied around my neck like the scarab on yours.

I can only hope that you'd willingly hang around.
This poem was written in 2016.
It's inspired by a golden beetle necklace I had years ago.
Chum floats the pool
encircled by sharks and piranha
a pity, nature's fool
as fearful teeth do their work.
Could they be as bad as I?
Apex predator, Invasive species
where it means to die
as a means to live.
Growth from a spineless cherub
to a spiteful formless entity
possessing a cunning golden scarab
controlling wheels of fortune.
Slaves to our own demands
aren't we antagonists to someone else?
With machinations of wicked plans
to justify righteous intentions.
Hypocrites line the tank
tapping their fingers in rumination
Abandoning morals, faces left blank.

I am not your foil, I am a mirror.
Chris Saitta May 2019
Her eyes are the lighthouse of the Pharos,
Alexandrian, bronze-mirrored fire flung round
The gloaming coastal sorrow like sand-glittered spears.

Her praying mantis limbs of light,
Sever-poised for needlepoint strike
At the jeweled glint of wings in dim, rare-seen limits,
Now one with her rasping sea of scarab beetle husks.
Elm  Feb 2019
Khepri
Elm Feb 2019
The scarab sits atop its collected sphere
Wielding its mental sextant
It chases the sun
And it gives its life direction

Man sits atop the same
How we yearn for unreachable ideals
The gold of perfection
Ra, the sun

So scarab we aren't much different
We spend our lives with eyes fixed on the past
Blind to the future
We roll our cherished ***** into so many obstacles
Purely out of our condition
Strike the baring rock and become lost.

We climb back up on our ball
To find our golden god
And continue as if before
Our endless journey to find Tum
The **** always strikes the fan first.
Liam Sep 2013
Imprinting herself around me
   a tenderly etched embrace
Integrity of heart and soul
   intact, time shan't erase

A scarab if a beetle
   a nova if a star
An amulet of conviction
   pulsing light from afar

My hand is open to her
   my life freely given
To be loved simply by loving
   ancient wisdom recently rewritten
Yitkbel Feb 7
Scarab

By: Yisselakh

Intro:

The beetle climbs the wall of reality
Rolling the sun into place, into the sky of dreams

Verse:

So the beetle rolls around the Sun
Like in dust, our soul rolls around
And they say we're guided by the stars
Or is it our hearts
Or is it our hearts
Is it our hearts

Bridge:

Is this just poetry, is this just art
Is it really the truth of what we are
I'll never truly know
You'll never truly know
We'll never truly know

Pre-Chorus:

What the wise men say
The fools will never follow
If you say so if you say so
That's how they always go
That's how they always go

Chorus:

But when her heart of gold
Shines warmly on your mold
On countless fateful noons
Your heart and your soul
Your shell like sun upon the moon

Post-Chorus:

You'll know
You'll know
You'll know
And you'll believe
And you'll believe

CODA Verse:

So the beetle rolls around the Sun
Like in dust, our soul rolls around
Like they say we're guided by the stars
And all of our hearts
And all of our hearts
All of our hearts
Reading Fabre's Book of Insects by Jean-Henri Fabre
Written: June 18, 2024
Shepard Leopard print not calligraphy double "L's" lively as llamas lily roll roots lull underwater dreams felt from the events of hypnotized by the words of the orator, an ores rating is the basis of the all purpose flowering behind the veil, human as satiated, red as sunsets lewd as an anagram of wed rings marry Saturn on this mourning of the death of time, rocks felt sediment may ties tan in the Sun pelts peeled layered in the wind steaming serpentine smokes coils in the sky Clouds the equipment of the buster Organs play louder than church hymns reigns power blood men straighten in their pews at the sound of the root of all evil the mouth of the whale begging for the message more "S's" in saliva drool without one of Oh now bow before the bow arc in the Know a Self flooded urge elevated surfaced by the pit of the concrete, open your abstract the path leopard prints in the mud escape the boar snarling winters Solar is the limit speed time for the Scarab dry enough for the role of matter being dense as ******. In no sense cures us from our aged protractor, human after all is how I robot rock.

I am earth breathing fire hearing wind moving water beneath my meat eating feet. I stare through the ghost riding I am Equine the warship of the Poised den at landings end I devour funnel cakes within the three circles, I merge the warmth and cool blending the reflections with its shadow commanding paddle cyclical backstroke the Frog's moment chosen amp powered transition form and fathom an alternate realm, I dropped a meteor on a puddle world displacing half of all livin; Lanced a Wasp's nest as a Dragoon steals an egg as a test.
brandon nagley Dec 2015
Thine temple is an edifice, holy, ever-reaching the overhanging of cliff's, step by step I walketh; a journey I only canst travel. Thou hast guided me on the long road's, wherein soul's get lost and caught in the world's tempting channel. O' blest refinement, God hath freed me from confinement; as the angel yea the angel he sent to me was thee;
Sanctified I am, inside of thine wing's. In commitment shalt I bring, in song's I shalt ablaze in glory with thee wherein the mind's of two shalt cling. O' mine hymn, O' mine diamond .
On a turret I shalt keepeth watch, when the round ball we loveth smoke's up thus, and drop's; beyond fear and falsehood talk's, we shalt walk in a grove,
henceforth the evil staying below, ourn cheeks, colored into snow that fall's starlit, warm-bits. Ourn finger's warm, ourn toe's kick to hot spit by the kissing over-satisfaction. Ourn coroner's laced inside with baguettes, daily deeds like seeds groweth from fountains with nets, nets to catch ourn amour' like open door's we shalt enter. Ourn heart's at the center exploding into a universal call to all other cherub's, seraph's, archangel's, stomping the scarab's. As eternity draweth us as the lost city of gold.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley-filipino rose dedicated
Johnny Noiπ Sep 2018
The space of the body of an *** is a good thing,
as long as the face
of the poet is Black;     keeping ur hands out of the war,
the head of the dead;
The heat of the land of years of snooch in the darkness;
he has the white feet of the Queen to do all that, you learn to **** when u're young;  & 1 have thought of the Green American Jesus,
      coming out of the Big chosen field of the Gold find;
the beauty of the standard of a living being; the sun,
           the ancient fortunes of money are an iron barred jail cell;
           ******* War is hell, the city,       the future of the goddess of death,
the stars of the blood of the females; In place of the word ***** is a great sea of ​​six poets; Called by the name of the Kids,
              her hair in roller thinking of a Skinny hand to love
              & to hold,
            but she  lost the baby at the door;               but it's better
what w/ the fire living in the sky;          the Moon's true history
of the happy girl's marriage [Media General]          
was a Dream told to Wall Street Roy; Igor, drunk then married the air base
opening where her American father heard she was made of gold;
a person writing in English w/ hand around a cool beverage
in the middle of a part of Greece that was a highly rich in fresh water  
& should it come into his heart,
he was willing to see that new-born children
                      are the real saints but the work  
   of turning it all around & walking through
                              the three states of yellow;
is the nature of lateness,                  however, it was full of the stars'
              yearning to feel
the Book of the Medusa; the son of ugly red wild beasts
     was on the way, walking onto a small amount of a kid in
     pieces,                                     & suffering the rock;
              the stone Guy's aquarium flooded in the year
     of the age of Maria Brown, gay mothers
     leaving us to take up arms;
in                    the month of the lips, but where there is the spirit
of the osculating dear friend of the mistress    & the deep things
of course to form;              Virginia Civil Society, as it appears that
at 1 a.m., I am writing the best of Ivan;  the wet Russian girl-child
fills w/ smoke            & 1 & 1 will say to the soul of the song
                               dancing to the evil of smoking firebrands,
          the material of the window
whose mirror is the revolutionary
perfection of God; Secret of the underdog,                  the invisible things
of the guys, including the blind man;   modern history turned into reality;
standing & listening to music,                    she was asked if she read a lot;
of eating the ***** in the field                               free of a stripper's cares

enough to talk rings way around the plate
of Standard club strippers,
Kissing & Falling over;                                      then leading to the house
                                                  once up on their feet again;
        The war the death of the good of the land of the poet;
          Nigeria within the body of an ***
pulled out of the fire by the head
of the mutilated snooch;              & the fixed period of the heat of the feet
                                of the
                                                   Princess of all others in the dark;
& for him a white stone, & for her fresh **** in the field because,
                            for 1,
                            because he is considered too green,
                       & the Americans own the Big Knives,
                       that they conduct to the chosen;
            The beauty in the methods that have been prepared;
by the goddess of the Sun,            |      the star of the old iron one:
& the sister that had been defiled       by the blood of the female,
        & the price of the fortunes   of war is great glory to the sea,
                                                     then the city would be hell,
                        & out of six places come the acts of the poet;
But love has become a lost child;  1 thought the skinny kids
in the air were really the opening of the Moon's seminal story:
[Media: General]  but they were only |      | Dreams told to the
Wall Street Journal,
get Igor drunk & he'll lead the way
            to the American Air Base's
                      glory hole
                         where
a Golden man is writing in English by hand
  & comes in from the cold
  hole &                                                shall be given drink in the middle
of Sparta of Greece,          as they had been waiting for Him to come on
                         the  first,
where the water is deep;         & a new boy is out w/ his new toy,            all   out except for the work;          To walk in the same amount of time
as just the small amount of time;                            of
                             ­      red high-spirited kids cutting it to pieces,
& they shall strike the ugly son of the stone cut out of the rock,
it is the sorrow of the fisheries,
not the Guys living in the time of Mary Brown;       
  leaving the arms of mothers
                     & the gay press,
                     at which time these ladies' love runs deep in Virginia
deploying among civil society, it appears that the mind is the best;
                          writing about you & us wet in the Russian 1000's;
                        1 will say that it is filled w/ the music of 1000 Bad dances;
& these fires;           this is the perfect picture of the revolutionary
                measures        taken
                through the window
                into the dog's secret invisible,
    because it is blind;      modern history            has become reality;
      1 asked the girls listening to music & reading a lot;
    not because 1 hate them: but for the expression of a man made of iron
     in order to be allowed to sit w/ the dog keeping watch
on the territory;    which consists in speaking
                        w/ the carelessness of his toes,  
& a sparkled stripper in the Strippers English Club    |    dances to show
                                she knows
                                  her way                 around the plate wear
                                       [testimony to the house of legs]:
The head of the inside of a she-*** out of the fire of death
for the good of the land of poets;                           War & Nigerian snooch
that fixed the period of the ****** feet of the African Princess         in the dark; the heat of the fact that it is said,               |            to him, |
a white stone lost in the green of the field,  |
& w/ it with the sacred scarab; South America knows knives,    
choosing &                          Ready to be born into the first path into form;
1 thought the skinny kids,        were already up in the air
but the door of the moon's seminal story has not yet been opened:
                | -}[Media: General]{- |    dreamily told the Wall Street
John that Igor was drunkenly leading everyone to the American
        Air Base's glory hole where the golden heads of the fathers
bobbed up & down;
who can write,        For example, in English,
                        from the hand to the heart of Greece;              from the cold;
we shall give drink to the first;                         |    that it will not be lacking
in the waters of the great deep;                                The child without a toy
   making a new effort to walk in the small amount of space
   that the sons of the high-spirited kids have cut into pieces;
           his being deformed & the amount of red in the stone;
                    which had been hewn out of the rock of sorrow
on the earnings of a woman,           the fish that we bought;
the guy is a writer of histories; in the time of Mary Brown;
husbands,   & wives are the weapons of the bottomless pit;
leaving the ladies gay,                               love has flown to
| Virginia;                                  Deploying the wine-presses
                                at a time that pertained to civil society,  
to the life of the mind,                                  to be a woman,
it seems that it is the best way for you, & us to write
                                                     of the wet Russians;
                                                it is what gets the evil out of the music;
  I filled 1 Cup so far w/ inflammation in the perfect image
  of the dog
  in the window; blind revolutionary measuring
                                        Secrets w/ invisible instruments,
                                   because modern history is the truth;
                                   1 asked the girl        
          standing beside me listening to
                                   music
if she read a lot;  1 did not think that she had a desire to do so,            so far,
&   yet she may be awakened out of the devil w/ the sword;   Doth not your fellowship w/ the black dog in the field
preclude breaking the covenant; that is to talk about the carelessness
of his fingers sparking against a stripper's back;             | Or of a meeting of the shifting
                                   Tectonic plates below the
                                                       English Isles,
          having sent the sun-burnt strippers
          spinning in the House of see-through underwear,
          considering
                                    the ways of the club;    
                                    her budding feelings
                                                        ­                                            & beautiful shining feet
Brycical Aug 2013
but that could be said of anywhere.
However, some places
seem to have hypnotic hips and easy eyes
with a mischevious, seductive scarab grin.
Like magic, it pulls me in.
Here, labels like good or bad are trite,  
there is only this magnetic whirling
energy culling myself and others inside
simply because we picked up the phone and showed up.

But now it's our responsibility to find balance
amidst serene listless apathy on the beach
and party hardy into the midnight arty energy scene jack & coke down the rabbit hole we go.

Some Bedouins say Dahab means "time  goes,"
which has me convinced Moses and his folks weren't lost
in terms of location but lost when it relates to time,
trying to find a middle path
between excess and sloth
in this south Sinai town.


Yes, not two but three schools of thought,
forming a triangle in this hypnotizing spiral;
two points of excess and one of balance!
All three balance each other,
and it's hell trying to stay in the center of this eye
of this metaphorical storm of enlightenment.
Naturally, gravitational forces pull some to the
gray matter island headspace of echoed sins
and carnivorous lascivious pandemonium.  
Not everyone will find what they seek on the warm beaches here,
or the raving, bubble foam dance parties in strobe light nights.
That's just the way it is;
there's not enough room for everyone in the center.

And this is where we learn to accept ones place,
because only then can we move on to another plane,
on another beach with more to learn and some to teach.

— The End —