#santana - Hello Poetry

I know I may not live long this year for many unknown reasons, but please rest assure knowing that I’ve loved you and I apologize for not telling you any sooner. I’m choking on my last breath I take and I can’t seem to find any other means to care. I’m stuck in my struggles of not caring... who knows me better than I? I can’t crawl or climb above the surface of all my doubts and beliefs. Last night she was a glimpse of empty pleasure, a cup filled with potential wishes. Her eyes reflected her love and desire for me and I couldn’t have possibly understood the type of love she felt for me. I took the chances of being her shoes for once and at that instance I was able to comprehend what I was doing to her to cause her to feel such compassion. She kissed me gently and with every touch and breath there was another story to be understood

0

Feb 8, 2018

Feb 8, 2018 at 1:48 AM UTC

Leorydawn

Mix

I know I may not live long this year for many unknown reasons, but please rest assure knowing that I’ve loved you and I apologize for not telling you any sooner. I’m choking on my last breath I take and I can’t seem to find any other means to care. I’m stuck in my struggles of not caring... who knows me better than I? I can’t crawl or climb above the surface of all my doubts and beliefs. Last night she was a glimpse of empty pleasure, a cup filled with potential wishes. Her eyes reflected her love and desire for me and I couldn’t have possibly understood the type of love she felt for me. I took the chances of being her shoes for once and at that instance I was able to comprehend what I was doing to her to cause her to feel such compassion. She kissed me gently and with every touch and breath there was another story to be understood

4

weathered fingertips in sensual crescendo arouse blitzing keystrokes to commove wild Js and Zeds, Ks and Is too. harmony of the king's three-thousand acre jungle swallowing the stormy orange cyclical stew and tantamount to its feral cavities thrushes whet jagged spinal bones to split news of the no-rhythm, sambas of new religious canter infiltrates the **** cavernous walls This inner ear and greater sound knew to find sanctuary here. Lends its awesome craft to the next And next, and next, and next; beautiful unboxed melodies new unused sweet single-reeds threading that 20s centrifuge. Saxophone. Incantations unfolding Aloof in its ***** it unwraps The veil of green, a costume of black coffees Cigarette stained curtains exhumed to greet Thick plumes of albicant sinewy smoke At the heap of its glorious song Uniting the funnel of eardom to consecrate Bliss. Intrinsic and purple An irrational knot of Portuguese drum Met over by African toms and rattles A glue imbued into those unmistakable Chakras of this spell of mourning and reversed Names of starlight girls and their other'd selves These are the weapons of our new key strokes. And upon the cortex it reveals this lift anew Where death greeted me to intervene a place Where sound and silence meet, and new strikes Put my hands in halves. Pear-shaped birds pecking At the joints, and where bowl-shaped tones bring Their impeccable limbs to atone with auburn and cerise soils Beneath the high ridges of doom- the empowering backspace Does not exist, only new nothingnesses and their hooves Splashing into each step into the next, and the next, and the next, And the next.

0

Nov 6, 2015

Nov 6, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC

martin-narrod

Carlos & The Stride of Horses

weathered fingertips in sensual crescendo arouse blitzing keystrokes to commove wild Js and Zeds, Ks and Is too. harmony of the king's three-thousand acre jungle swallowing the stormy orange cyclical stew and tantamount to its feral cavities thrushes whet jagged spinal bones to split news of the no-rhythm, sambas of new religious canter infiltrates the **** cavernous walls This inner ear and greater sound knew to find sanctuary here. Lends its awesome craft to the next And next, and next, and next; beautiful unboxed melodies new unused sweet single-reeds threading that 20s centrifuge. Saxophone. Incantations unfolding Aloof in its ***** it unwraps The veil of green, a costume of black coffees Cigarette stained curtains exhumed to greet Thick plumes of albicant sinewy smoke At the heap of its glorious song Uniting the funnel of eardom to consecrate Bliss. Intrinsic and purple An irrational knot of Portuguese drum Met over by African toms and rattles A glue imbued into those unmistakable Chakras of this spell of mourning and reversed Names of starlight girls and their other'd selves These are the weapons of our new key strokes. And upon the cortex it reveals this lift anew Where death greeted me to intervene a place Where sound and silence meet, and new strikes Put my hands in halves. Pear-shaped birds pecking At the joints, and where bowl-shaped tones bring Their impeccable limbs to atone with auburn and cerise soils Beneath the high ridges of doom- the empowering backspace Does not exist, only new nothingnesses and their hooves Splashing into each step into the next, and the next, and the next, And the next.

40

Α♥Ω GNOSIS, my friends, is alive and well, corrupting the hearts of the masses. They fashion a fable to fit their need until their crisis passes. An idol from here and a text from there – just a little dabble do… for a do-it-yourself epiphany as the counterfeit passes through. They lose themselves in names and mantras, thinking they’re mining gold – while the god of this world enhances the shine of spiritual lies retold. So get out your old Santana records, pass the **** to the left. Listen to Jimi and Marley and worse; it will leave your soul bereft. It’s the same old trip – the first century has seen all of it come and go: such transcendent explosions of heresy are worth less than the price of the show. In the local body of Iesous Moshiach our pastor has faithfully showed us: nonsensical notions of Gnostic obnoxiousness fail to enlighten – but load us with half-truths and fantasies, cosmic conspiracies, spiritually false revelation; which turn on the blacklight and dazzle the mind but maroon you in dark desolation. So I’d like to prepare you for several short poems exploring the way of the Gnostics. Though I love Elaine Pagels and Demian‘s Hesse, they fail to provide diagnostics…

0

Sep 10, 2015

Sep 10, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC

connecthook

Gnoxious Gnostic Gnonsense

Α♥Ω GNOSIS, my friends, is alive and well, corrupting the hearts of the masses. They fashion a fable to fit their need until their crisis passes. An idol from here and a text from there – just a little dabble do… for a do-it-yourself epiphany as the counterfeit passes through. They lose themselves in names and mantras, thinking they’re mining gold – while the god of this world enhances the shine of spiritual lies retold. So get out your old Santana records, pass the **** to the left. Listen to Jimi and Marley and worse; it will leave your soul bereft. It’s the same old trip – the first century has seen all of it come and go: such transcendent explosions of heresy are worth less than the price of the show. In the local body of Iesous Moshiach our pastor has faithfully showed us: nonsensical notions of Gnostic obnoxiousness fail to enlighten – but load us with half-truths and fantasies, cosmic conspiracies, spiritually false revelation; which turn on the blacklight and dazzle the mind but maroon you in dark desolation. So I’d like to prepare you for several short poems exploring the way of the Gnostics. Though I love Elaine Pagels and Demian‘s Hesse, they fail to provide diagnostics…

26