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J J Aug 26
There she stands,
An angel with broken hands,
An angel with stones for wings,
She sings the sun away
And spins timorous sky ashade
Of wonder, thunder row'n’ down
Her body, she sang of me
As I died asleep

Another night, my eyes too worn to cry,
Too alone for an expression of lonliness
     To bare any meaning.

The sapphire trail
Skylark doled to drain
The riverrun grass of
       Substance built.

Lifted in hypoxic transcendence
Glistening with light, ****** gold,
Skin to lilt, and touch to felt
And dawn rotted unto morning
With one less life having made it.
Ormond Jun 26
.
1
In the corner stands
My blue guitar,
Mirrors my grimace.


2
I have played you
So like dream was the dear song
Where you playing me?


3
Your body makes mine
Shudder as I imagine
A woman in my arms.


4
At the top of your body
Are keys unwound at the ready,
Silver spirals of tunings.


5
My soul is near hollow
But the blue guitar
Is filling in the foundations.


6
What makes the blue guitar
So shining in the mundane,
All the world is makeshift.


7
My fingers wet with you,
What water sounds like,
As it kisses the earth.


8
Deep in the strings
I summon my being,
Always blue as sheer sky.


9
Blue guitar, silent, singing,
My fingers ***** your neck,
Never do you scream.


10
Once I heard music,
The sweetest tabulations
Of sorrows in rosewood.


11
My fingers ache on steel,
These are your moved guts,
Strings that I borrow.


12
At an open window,
All the day obtuse,
I hear birds in your vibrations,
Untouched air of blue guitar.


13
I do not know anything,
Music is lathed on an open fret,
The heart is beating to a note of bliss,
Hole set in the body braced by wood,
Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires,
All the chords are listed in primes,
Is the ear a window or is the eye,
Blind in the choral songs we make,
All things are ephemeral, wonderings,
Variations we work as structure fades,
As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.
.
Ormond Oct 2018
.
I came to a courtyard of my own making,
To a cottage by the sea at the worlds edge.
I furnished it with my left over life, complete,
Barren and colourless and I wrote the newest
Book of psalms out of tinder and flame, a tome
Of grey and useless poems, unheard of songs
And reams of flesh.  There in the lightest dark,
By the Druid stone that was placed just for me,
I planted a creeping yew tree.  And the moon
Sang in celebration and silence like a fallen
Priest.  
                    Under the covering hazel trees,
That sprung to life after the longest winter,
Which taught me to forget my name, I now
Struggle with light and my body, warring, torn
Is fading slow, like the always arriving, down
Turning solstice, the climates of the mind,
Where it is digging the never ending shallow
Hole only the spreading eternal yew, that I
Planted, will ever know and only the Lazarus
Moon shall ever rise above.

I came to a courtyard of my own making,
Was it dream that led me there or my eyes?
.
Philosophy about Solstice

Scientific method:

1. Observation: He said his physical theory raises dreams and joins inter racial ideas - could produce longevity and immortality with his idea of raising world with levers and raise their strength the world to bring the earth on its axis and improving the quality of evolutionary life the geniuses who come into the world. The Elves would raise with his new meridians to build a world that links the current mythical world with realistic ancient philosophical, to bridge the gap of the dying world today.

2. Pattern:    The new world of elves help me transcend to improve today's world, to connect with the old, so I'll see needs that today could fraternize with seniority, to enhance resources and maximize them. Example: feeding more people necessary to prevent homeless people of their rights, maximize the cosmic world today with an Elf Archimedes to rule the new world and its vicissitudes.


Nights longer and more alike, not sleep or sleep, getting numbers for half days ... but no more whole, more evaporated water in the boilers of hell to recover from our inefficiencies and disabilities. 1-2-3-4- ... 4,5- 4.6 -4.7 ... I exist - I get up - I invoke the dew, and drops the recovery leftover for next winter - thus saving in my mind the fear of not extend beyond my unethical proportion of aid for subsequent actions helping future for those who need to continue or ...

3.  I managed to see that during these days reviewing the epistemological axis where Archimedes stands with optics, physics and engineering, strikes me how maybe even if he lived, he would have invented things to save us from the worst threats. I managed to raise my faith to join science and move ideas through numbers, astrological and cosmic phenomena. Today on Hydrostatic overcome the demographic Tsunamis threaten the world about crowding industrially. We would do more immune power of the mind without reason, making sensitive PLCs and computers programmed. I've noticed that we can all be engineers; in fact we are, what happens is that we do not dream dreams starting unfinished, but rather we always begin and where the same without it.

4.  For millions of nights exercise my way of looking at ancient world and observe that it was still the Sun - trip with my thoughts and saw that the days were universal, to the moon was sharper - touch the sun and moon with my mathematical calculations caressing the entire universe. Inquiring as sleeps the world in my hands and my senses, to measure the physical magnitude beyond being I Archimedes - raise me to the world in my hand and reach the Nordic worlds - try to go to bed thinking he would lose the night to count stars and beams of morning light -even got the world in my hands feeling lashes mortality. The results are: with the Elf I sleept counting stars in 5, 8, 3, 10 minutes (average 6.5 min), with the arithmetic in 3, 7, 11, respectively 3 minutes (average of 6 min) , without at 9, 15, 14, 12 minutes achieve agencying (average 12.5 min). I am a prisoner of the proportions that occur over time. Counted nights and days pass and my mind was seeing everything together once.

5.  Therefore the phenomenon Solsticio helped me measure the nights intoxicate fatigue levitating night inspiration. Biologically alive even if Archimedes still have hopes of immunology strict life, but rather do good fighting it scientifically, but how is knowledge enemy dying in their own ignorance called fear. The more than academic Epistemology is one gram of salt to the ignorant homeless, which is all the Universal Sea to water and all the sea to move ships to those who really thought of it back and not stray it for those who use it. Elves revive the mythical millennium sick every year remembering that it is possible to heal the lost time.

The Sun gets tired and already have varicose veins, I would think that given time restores me to return to the rivers where they were born. But the sun continues to rise and this fat and cholesterol, we need ways to measure how much longer we can keep watching the Solstice like ours. Perhaps infusion of Mandrake for poor people starting to be good ...
If Archimedes had been an Elf -  Solstice Holistic Dreams
Ormond Jul 2017
.
1
In the corner stands
My blue guitar,
Mirrors my grimace.


2
I have played you
So like dream was the dear song
Where you playing me?


3
Your body makes mine
Shudder as I imagine
A woman in my arms.


4
At the top of your body
Are keys unwound at the ready,
Silver spirals of tunings.


5
My soul is near hollow
But the blue guitar
Is filling in the foundations.


6
What makes the blue guitar
So shining in the mundane,
All the world is makeshift.


7
My fingers wet with you,
What water sounds like,
As it kisses the earth.


8
Deep in the strings
I summon my being,
Always blue as sheer sky.


9
Blue guitar, silent, singing,
My fingers ***** your neck,
Never do you scream.


10
Once I heard music,
The sweetest tabulations
Of sorrows in rosewood.


11
My fingers ache on steel,
These are your moved guts,
Strings that I borrow.


12
At an open window,
All the day obtuse,
I hear birds in your vibrations,
Untouched air of blue guitar.


13
I do not know anything,
Music is lathed on an open fret,
The heart is beating to a note of bliss,
Hole set in the body braced by wood,
Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires,
All the chords are listed in primes,
Is the ear a window or is the eye,
Blind in the choral songs we make,
All things are ephemeral, wonderings,
Variations we work as structure fades,
As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.
.
Ormond Oct 2016
.
Winged caterpillar
That frees my soul,
Sets my mind to dreaming,
How the hand of man
Out plays the God,
Makes love
To its master.
With fondled fingers, you paint
A dumb firmament, the way
Light dazzles as it breaks
Or how the itching rain
Taps a teasing melody as it falls
To the lover ground.

Beloved of Orpheus
Whose wove you coiled in-
Vents a garment of bird song loom,
Content my breath
The way that water wells
And lolls into puddles
Nesting not before the hot,
Harpy steam.

O melodious pool,
Undulating lake, frame
To emotive vapours, without
Ship you ply in wakes.
The oarsman plucks the main,
Your body is the sail,
Drunkard winds and warblers,
Blow hard, but fail my ears,
Atone as well, the wretched sounds of day
For they are sour spells, and but a fools
Trash canned movements, in a state
So needy of weeding,
Mere sound is soiled
The way you rake.

Evolution spreads,
As stones do,
When moves the river bed,
Grace, in violence,
Sparkles as it blooms,
Like an ears creation—
Rose on the tomb.
Ormond Sep 2016
( Sonnet )*
.
Out
Doors
Shout
Floors,

Whispering
Wrings,
Wilding
Wings,

­Emptin­ess
Full,
Loneliness
Unruled,

Angels'
Spirituals.
Ormond Apr 2016
.
In the dreamlands of sun,
He streams the invisible rivers
Of lit glories to come,

Careens, lording the beams,
Airs, above the ordinary
Grasses that dry in the gleams,

With eyes that wash over kills,
The forking fowl and mealy vole,
Hare in the runaway hills,

High above the fourth wall, stead-
Fast, stately in his dress,
To commencements of death,

Where eagle strikes with talon,
Crescent as day moon,
Sudden, silent to the cast fallen.
The fourth wall is the imaginary "wall" at the front of the stage in a traditional three-walled box set in a proscenium theatre, through which the audience sees the action in the world of the play.
.
Ormond Feb 2016
There is no awakening.  Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.

In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.

In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.

In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.

The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source.  The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.

In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.

How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun?  Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.
Ormond Aug 2015
Winged caterpillar
That frees my soul,
Sets my mind to dreaming,
How the hand of man
Out plays the God,
Makes love
To its master.
With fondled fingers, you paint
A dumb firmament, the way
Light dazzles as it breaks
Or how the itching rain
Taps a teasing melody as it falls
To the lover ground.

Beloved of Orpheus
Whose wove you coiled in-
Vents a garment of bird song loom,
Content my breath
The way that water wells
And lolls into puddles
Nesting not before the hot,
Harpy steam.

O melodious pool,
Undulating lake, frame
To emotive vapours, without
Ship you ply in wakes.
The oarsman plucks the main,
Your body is the sail,
Drunkard winds and warblers,
Blow hard, but fail my ears,
Atone as well, the wretched sounds of day
For they are sour spells, and but a fools
Trash canned movements, in a state
So needy of weeding,
Mere sound is soiled
The way you rake.

Evolution spreads,
As stones do,
When moves the river bed,
Grace, in violence,
Sparkles as it blooms,
Like an ears creation—
Rose on the tomb.
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