Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
From the depression of the distances with respect to the horizontal and the planes that separated them from the surface, below the references that came against, single sediment had been destined towards the high eminence, before the fossal of megatons of aldehyde below the bilges of the final base, where the seventh rings of the goat ibex were perforated, all in the antipode of the Constellation of Capricornus; where the goats were enraptured in the binary of Wonthelimar, behind the floods of absorption that took the Diadocos far from where they should never have left, in order to extrasolar wishes and never to come. From the node of the supreme and poked aldehyde of the horn of Amalthea, with the bizarre analogy of Zeus and Wonthelimar, both mammals with milk from goat's udders, one from goat from Mount Ida and the other from Aldaine in the Alps, with milk from ibex and In the face of Amalthea that appeared in the fossal, all the Seleucid generals had already vanished, starting from the Viper Typhon, who in the retracting sub-mythology of Capricornus was transmigrated to Wonthelimar, swollen with the aldehyde transmuted into this alcohol and into the udder milk of the Ibix that He lactored, while they were all carried away as in the chambers of Auschwitz, in distant lanterns and lamps of the Calypso that he dismissed them, leaving them with the escorts of the ibex or goatfish in laudable stratagems, which vanished them away from their desires from a new polis or Nostos Patrída, sprinkling them with goatskin and flourishing essences of the kashmar of Zeus' nurse; Amaltheum or Amalthea.

The Iberian rings from the medrones in advance reached the two final ring nodes, here Wonthelimar intimidated them with an accurate adjacent bleat of the kashmar that rubbed their back, before the newest and last lux of Amalthea that vanished into herbaceous fruits that always He carried the barefoot medron with him, to start with the antlers dumbbells and re-transport them defeated to the species of snake that frightened the pastoral god Pan who shepherded, and then he submerged in the water after becoming Capricornus Ibex Fish. Being aware of this and of those who refused to continue listening, Ibics rings were unleashed until the seventh medron, feeding back with Wonthelimar who ad libitum created Venus in triads of Zeus. Wonthelimar and Amalthea were remote in the eighth and ninth medron of the antlers, they appropriated to each the portion of the Parasha or Parashot of the Torah, and of the thirteenth Shemot so that their dualities and fumes from the unbreathable fossa would remain under the possessed surface of the pendular property balance and positive-negative gender correspondence. Right here Amalthea transmuted her mercy to save the world with her lactation of syrup and honey that was not in short supply, and that was extrapolated into a future abundance of food and nectar, making up for crusts that were uneven in average terms. From this bezel, both beings of the goat genome contributed to the pole of goodness for each one at the end of the benevolent cuirassiers of prospering, and not from the opposite that would lead them, even though they were dissimilar causes, towards a retrograde event that was not a consequence of the becoming of the plagues, and of the malignancy that does not flourish with the Shemot of the Parasha, to agree and lavish themselves on blessed virtues or deliberate wicked ones.

The meaning of a relative synchronic and factotum coexisting does not redeem the disintegration of an existential relativism in Skalá, the Hexagonal Primogeniture from one of its angular visions, metaphysically transfers from its temporary contingencies after its arrival on Patmos, while the temporary Seleucid temporality vanishes, It was affirmed from a contradiction since its truth was distended in the arena of Skalá not implying being welcomed, rather it was victimized by the absurd political dimorphism in a meta spiritual state, abdicating its dispersed retrospective, and now contemplating a compromise of the Hellenic genre, to gradually rebuke the virtues of their banners, twice as good for the purpose of reinforcing the will to accede, and not perish in the attempt to lead Alexander the Great. The criticism of founding the memories are of a revived past where it was not, marking the anthropological fact and false truth judgment, in meaning and contradiction in the polarity of both axiomatic genres, but that is saved when quantifying in who has to defend himself, if seeks to abrogate itself, in the entity that is characterized by induction and attraction of egonies and not of exo-egonies, thus describing it in the theme of "Do not support egos that recriminate other characters of frustration and empowerment of a Vernarthian logic split into Vern-narth. Vern has etymology of Bern or Bern olive tree of Gethsemane and narth of the ordinal scale that speculates its nickname in millions of northern sections of its origin, which subsumes the truth and the criterion of apocalyptic parapsychology, re-life of quantum historicity of the metaphysical and sub-block. -Mythological of Vernarth in his identical.

Everything seemed a strange self-annulment from a clear and understandable limit, but Wonthelimar rose to the surface of the Állos kósmos, finding himself in atmospheres of truth and reality of a Cantabile, who decided about the horse Kanti coming with him towing him from the Erebo de Chauvet Bilocated. As a musical and festive ending, he received them on the upper plate of the happened gestures, where a cabaletta rendered parts of a Cantabrian aria, in sulfurous and remorseful cavatina married with the cross emotions of a finale who sponsored expressions and festive Templar tales, with the descendants of Zeus or minor children, or grandchildren after this had to give him milk and honey but with báchkoi. Among the couplets that received him, some came about the smoke of terror that was confused with the dustbin of a Cavallo or horse acclaimed Kanti, with gasping bustling from a cardex, containing all the repertoires of a cantabile if this scene were to be repeated in The same epic allusion, and in random consequences, that go after a cavalcade that is not abstracted in real characters, but more in conformity with the well-deserved place of epic imaginative beings or in the operatic psychotropic of a duet, which would go flagellating in individuality and in each which is not content from another section of the Cantabrian.

The Universality of emotion and feeling is a tragic Parodo emulating voices of all those who sing from a cantabile galloping in their voices to the beat of the heart in some, and at the same time chanting stanzas and antistrophe in reverse epic and tragic lines, for the purposes of the coliseum that diametrically obstructs the Hellenic choir, which is attached to the intervention of the Hexagonal Primogeniture that was already beginning to rise in height, and in the prayers of Saint John, the Apostle and Prochorus from the captaincy and the ode that would begin to stanza, from the west to this and the antistrophe would follow with Vernarth, Wonthelimar and Alexander the Great from east to west. Ad libitum of their enjoyments, they were eating Greek snacks or Katogorias on the way in bases of Almonds, cinnamon, olive oil, sugar, and sweet wine that they carried on their backs in Rhytas shaped like the horns of Zeus and the Ibix of Wonthelimar, which the same Procorus carried on his golden back. The meaning is affirmed as a meaningless infringement of laws of temporality, and truthfulness at the expense of short evidence, and of facts that vanish in the light haze of causalism and not of effectism, when the adjective or noun is made of a strong verb in the Metabasis and in the imprecations that Vernarth gave.

Vernarth's metabasis: “the verse and the adjective will be subsidized by the noun in the construction of Állos Kosmo Megarón, from where mathematics will immaterially explain sap suckers under the noun in liquid milk of the color white and of the high nutritional value in female lactated, and of mammals to feed their goats or ibex. The soul of this prerogative implies that the verb will be to promote species rather than a nutritious milky elixir for Zeus, and the candor of his **** will tend to the bipedal or quadruped subject self-procreating from a Milky Specie. (Milky species).  Being ****** into milk by self-procreating snitches. Vernarth says (give me some milk, and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not a whole of which I never thought...!)

Amalthea in rituals and relics from prospects of demigods was purposely cordoning them off in Mycenaean deities, from a contemporary Westerner comforting them near a hippocampus; with signs of ibex Capricornus, rapt at the nymph that spoke from Mount Ida in Crete and that she made congruent with the constellation of Capricornus, more precisely in the Cornucopia making this heraldry of Wonthelimar with Fortune, Abundance, Occasion, Liberality, Prudence and Joy. In a woman sitting on a throne, a young nymph with a flower crown, a naked woman with one foot on a wheel and the other unstable, a woman with sunken eyes and an aquiline nose dressed in white, two faces from the past and future, a woman happy with the exuberance of the Cornucopia with children and a palm leaf. Being the abundance that in serial Amalthea bordered all the ladies in different esoteric and Mycenaean prosperity, constantly shining with radiations on the present in the Unicorn Ibix, which Zeus left after breaking its antlers, unleashing kindness and plethora in fruit buds, and vegetables that were appropriated in the Fortune of Wonthelimar reissuing what in their domains they can do, and now in Patmos with its Cornupia being transferred from that liquefied shaft honey and milk cultivated with attributes of herbs contributing to the leisure, peace, and relaxation of the cosmic world that ascended in Wonthelimar as Ibix in advance of Capricornus, from where the Auriga always broke into his expeditions with a trajectory towards the eighth cemetery of Messolonghi, where he brought it from the Capella Star for the femurs of the Diplodocuses who seconded Drestnia to watch over the hydraulic pits of the Koumeterium from Messolonghi, before traveling to Tangier.

The entire herd went back to an ancient promontory that was halfway up the mound towards the black styes or abscesses, in the central intuition of the fossa that began to dissipate towards their backs. Amalthea extends into the Állos Kósmos, which came in zoomorphic receptacles collecting the announced blood of the animals that flowed in black planks from the vortex of the fossal, towards the liminal or transitory sleeper of the fossal that oozed acetosities of the Aldehyde to be transmigrated after the bilocation of the Chauvet cavern. All wore willow halos on the crowns or diadems of their caps, including the proliferation of phantasmagoric Allies that went in rows from 780 to 680 BC. C., with fortunes of the Cornucopia that arched in magical arches due to the dissociative changes of the universe, as well as the circumstantial creed of some omnipotence that will cause emotional transgenerational transgression, in the rain vessels that they made fall from the Ombrio de Zeus, in a daily latticework closing the spaces, and only leaving for some intruders and onlookers to see his flashing Astrepé. Right here the diádoc fossal vanished, when it rose above the horizontal that poured into the Chronic Vernagrams of parapsychological personalities of ingenuity classicism and in Astro-concomitance, which would rethink everything that is past and future from a Vernagram, which is more than a compression of a mere future of the quantum spaces and the sacred medrones of the Ibixes with their direct relationship with Capricornus. Diverse capital moments were treasured in the breeze of the Vas Auric that was traced from the opposing moraine that fell in lapse-time, through the labyrinth in storms and thunderings that became planetary with the Lynothorax cuirass that Alexander the Great accommodated in the festoon border of his Aspis Koilé, kicking copiously as a sign of shaking the head of the gods who deceived him to be alive, and who was now reborn in the faith of Saint John the Apostle, favorite of the Mashiach and where he will have to wipe his face with the shroud of Veronica Before entering the Állos Kósmos Megaron that everyone built, in favor of a Panagia or Temple, unlocking the majolica that seeped out from the rest of the transmigration, and his own in the configuration of a corpse with a tricolor gesture.

The presumptive eradicated the side of the forearm rots that was being restored in Wonthelimar's laps, which helped him get up and catch his breath while the Katogorias snack filled his mouth with nectar and almonds with Macedonian Psiloi combat tactics with serum and flames of Alcohol dripped from her nostrils and sinuses in the sweet wine, which in pompous dilemma defied the judges of her life in the choir of the Bilocated Epidary Theater on Patmos, and in the ***** dry Kashmar of the orchard with the pale faces of the grotesque, that rested in the memory or Mnmosyne and in the fauna of the Thracian and Thessalian helmets.

Alexander the Great says: “here I agonized and now in the fresh waters of the springs of the Lerna, I will also marry the glorious mystay and bákchoi, in the memories of Vernarth seeing him besieged by Achaemenides in the stooped position of Dario III, to come purifying and sustaining of my limbs, learning to walk and speak in Neolithic techniques, which extruded me from the Lerna by barriers of the moon that shone from the bronze of my Leonatus helmet. Thus I could see that Vernarth, fought alone against thousands throwing fire through his mouth and his eyes, separating the waters of the Falangists, who plowed like ships deforesting the Persians, and leaving them in their mud, imposing glorious Hypaspists who unbolted from their back some arrows with heads of snakes and Hydras.

Vernarth watched as everyone climbed the Profitis Ilias mound, two hundred and sixty-nine meters above sea level, where the monastery of San Juan is located; here he was suspended in his solitude after everything that happened at the end of the moat that definitely I would return without the Diádocos, with a hint and its functionalities. From here Helios became genealogical, who snatched him from the kingdom of dead flowers, which were to be assumed from the Olympian where he will join him to the essential of Aïdoneus; immaterializing in the darkness of dizzies and the flowers that died in the genealogy of a new species. The scenic swept its cognitive and ferns with more than three hundred frank species that frowned like the enemy of an evil friend, with seedlings that expectorated from the resonance of the bushes that invited to thrive in the salty ripples that made a dreamer fall asleep on top of the kerchiefs or brambles that memorialized Gethsemane, burning his face and hands with psalms, telling him about his Baba. For when it is a luminary by night and by day, they will compare it with the white grayish drupes and mops, like those of the Bern orchard of Olives, in aqueous and resinous colloidal, which was crowned in harmony and syntropia in Vernarth activating intellectual conscious plantations, which will restructure its balance of ultra Hoplite, in metabolism of the Lentiscus flowers, with great brotherhood in the Olives that each time exercised the gift of bending their oleaginous self-species, towards planes of the Cornicabra olives, with large branches and high tree altitude that fruit within of the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko spin, juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, which with large branches and high tree altitude fruit within the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko line juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, and with polyphenols in scale geothermal energy that still leveled the Ponto Sea towards the tectonic plate to give it the flavor that was owed from remote prehistoric times.

Patmos was aborted from an immanent consent and new force of the impending enemy in Pythagorean perorations and an offending thought. From this prerogative is born the generalized punishment of sub-mythological ethics in favor of legacies of allusions to reorder or defragment the enslaving and demolished bio culture, which would begin from the establishment of the Vas Auric found in Limassol, which took possession from Rhodes with clean scenes from Tsambika monastery. The epic ran like icy cold down the shoulders of all those who sweated for the generation of cops, and in domestic evasions in superior lordships to Hades or Wonthelimar itself, both sons of flocks and goats that nourished them by providing them with a mountain perspective, as a magnetic pole towards gothic energy that ruled more in the Magnetic North Pole, and the geographic oversize that reviled latitudes in riches that would dismiss Borker and Zefian, as masters distributors of the ethics of the Áullos Kósmos of Patmos, redeploying thousands of dead from pre-Hellenic times, so that they recirculate through the roots of the Kashmar, re-sulfurizing cinnabar saps as the germ of the subterranean Acheron, which consecrates the living and the dead in the eternity of the infinite Duoverse Universe. The order will lie in semi-shadows that even in the dark provide the pleasant warmth of camphor, with advanced Horcondising formulas, which will appeal to hungry souls by suppressing gifted energies, and by inseminating them with ovules without originally conceived organisms.

From Hylates, Cyprus; Zefian came by order of Vernarth, assisted with the extension of the earthly laborers of the Attic Calendar on the twenty-first of September, from the device of Apollo at the site of Boeotia, and especially of the Boedromion. The arrows that Zefian brought had an instant Boedromion crossing the lines from spring to winter, with seven arrows that Zefian threw into the sky and never fell, but if portentously received in the virginity of animals. The flora with seven golden arrows of the Chauvet de Wonthelmar cavern, condoned the exhaustive end of the fossal where they still remained, in a gesture of tenderness and relative Mycenaean genealogy, from Crete the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree was approaching, originating in the Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points, begin with the first two arrows that they put on the string of the bow, each one flying north and south trajectories and the other two that were once again attacked with the east bow, to shoot the arrows of east-west with southern magnetism limits. Zefian's imagination was of proportions that were not limited without wandering from their phalanxes when they pulled the string, like joys of a ghostly existence that pushed him in each bolt, presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate the Állos Kósmos Megarón, for belated courts imposed from a cosmos, which he led by insisting on his will and from a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, such as Vestal Virgins of Roman bilocation, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-tale alive that rebels in the arrows that they had not yet fallen and did not know their whereabouts. As plates or serial hosts, they were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burn contravened Duoverse to the divine celestial origin as a parameter of *****-ovule, rather in aeonic instances in the fireplace of Hestia, running in eternities towards vast volumes of light-years, where eternity has no measure, let alone the existence that begins and ends born from a homozygous arising without a Universe, to hatch from the branch of the Heterozygous Duoverse, bringing different unions of eternal cells by universal divine decree, and not the union of disparate cells. The science of the Mashiach came in these divine arrows that marked the points of the cardinal in the numinous and exclamatory expansions of the exiled universe of Vernarth, towards the perenniality in itself, but being heterozygous for a world that would begin to live in non-organic cells, but yes of divine composition, over saturating the limits of the origin, and destiny of syntropy of the conscious actions of the metabolism of the Alma Mater and of the great doors when losing the bodyweight of the physical-ether, but yes from the platform of the Mashiach that will take them hands without leaving them abandoned, showing them that they were no longer children born of ovule-*****, but rather in the luminous matter, envisioning expansions of prayers beyond from the universe, where it will accompany them in a multidimensional plane..., and will have no end from a human scientific conception.

Wonthelimar says: “Since the omphalos was swallowed by Cronos, Hera's elegy was unleashed, for not raising her son Zeus in free clumps of goats and Ida's honey. I in the Alps went to the herd of the Ibix like a Zeus saved from the darkness of Chauvet in the mountains of Gaul. There are chisels that cut stones in beautiful whirlwinds, but I know that a lot of cosmology would not speak of the Mediterranean Cornicabra and its olive drupe, nor less of the Cornucopia that sinks with sumptuous and ephebian flavors in the fruit, and the greenish heraldry of the binominal that is disturbed in its phalanges eating and sipping honey, in antler pots with pride of the Ida and the Vercors massif”
Wonthelimar Amaltheum, Állos Kosmos Megaron
Julian Aug 2015
Decadent choirs bemoan the prudish proctor of the inevitable and decisive test
Profligacy anneals and the knaves repeal the prohibition of the earth’s very best
Despondent clouds tower over a garbled loud and an unapologetic proud
Panache whisks the hallowed cross into transmogrified dross amassing a boisterous crowd
Hidebound ideologies tether the masses to masses and gather the rust of the bustle and bust
Recusant allegiance mocks the science of sanctimony and dissolute lust
Deathless in prayer and breathless in despair rhapsody creeps and percolated ideals leap
Arriving in the limelight of providence, the renegades daunted by the specter of commination weep
Proofs now exist and investment in their emphasis burgeons into a divine cease and desist
But in the hubris of victory and the rubrics of history pleasure wrenches control and importunacy insists
Brisk alacrity and savvy rapacity beseech the death of the stodgy gate
Time lingers in evanescent turmoil satiated only by the fish and the bait
But when the bait runs in low supply the society hearkens the agents of the sky
They pout over water even with verdant temptations escorting them away from the dry
How do you anoint in a world preoccupied with the next joint rather than the next joint venture
Revelations lies to stultify the brides of misadventure
Caprice rampant, society recusant deadlocked in hedonistic dreadlocks
The fools boast of victories never won, and the prattle of yesteryear is stalked
Restraining order duly noted but never imposed
Stygian elements wrought apparel to contribute to indecency in clothes
To the master of destiny and the architect of decency
I advise the future to focus more than just on recent sprees
Ignominy forgotten in tokes, we forget about the labor of cotton
We forget also about the putrefaction of the rotten
Abdicate the uprooted era squelched by disorientation wrought by intensified sensations
And return to the regal promise of prudes living beyond temptation
But who is the fool foolish enough to forswear the hide of the bear in the dead of the winter scare
Lilting in sumptuous praise and reckless abandon this charge and travesty seems unfair
Slanted lies of stodgy disguise revile the return to primitive commode and camaraderie
To loot of the panaceas and nepenthes to the extent of dearth seems a more egregious robbery
But in the uprooted future the past has no say
The primacy of today shines the refulgent and overpowering rays
The sun won’t burn out but the burn outs won’t establish any clout
Even in a world divorced from prudishness in sanctimonious doubt
Powerless in the rout of pleasure over the scourge of dearth
The earth awakens renewed even with the impossibility of rebirth
Resurrecting the indulgences of Rome while abdicating the tome
The theophany astounds especially the most prone
The coming of righteousness working to castigate immoderacy
The renegades listen barely enough to subvert their own profligacy
Shouting over the skylines the rain announces the sentences for the wicked crimes
Of a past forgotten and a future rotten because of an ill-designed time
An ill-designed design leading to wanton men groveling in grime
Time to indulge time to abstain
Either extreme ultimately lame.
Matt Oct 2020
Temptation unravels like a flower abdicating her bulb
For to fair maidens, my life I’ve sold
Hold me and dawn your lips upon mine
And let you and me sail through Paris, down the river of her Seine

Warmth I know not, yet nathless I seek Apollo’s chariot mare
And to hunt ‘til dusk at us she stares
Lay here under the veil of twilight
Under the twilight, ‘til the sun lays forth her light, nay any brightness

Follow me down the Rhine, right, follow not to the river of Styx
Rise with me amongst Alps, like Frederick
When I call, will you find us a niche?
Or tell me Atlas has fell, and your thoughts have shattered to pieces?

Endeavor to find my ailing pen and fly to me on winged shoes
I juggle your court, the fastest fool
Woman, I thought you my medicine
But the turmoil you pave, leaves me a reluctant libertine

Here am I, waging a war wherein I will dutifully fail
But for thee, Cupid’s arrow I’d impale
Then in my failure I find discord
Oh how my war ails her, bind me in brass under the lunar cold

How could you forgive me? Wearied, hands I forged flames and scarred your heart
And left you hideously distraught
Should you, I’d build you a throne d’or
And father for us four children, each as innocent as a fleur

Cast me out like the dawn, for in my heart, the wind blows full of sand
Deep in there, your Trojan horse still stands
Down in the earth you will find my soul
You brought your wars-men to lay waste what could have been wonderful

Proud, are you?, for waving the air under my wings upon which I
Climbed to the Sun, in euphoric high
Now to the maze where I still devise
To face your wrath and wrestle your beasts to ensure our love survives

Tis a hopeless cause, I walk like the air on a stale summer day
And I’m dreaming of your sharp green eyes
And I remember your skin like silk
Woven by the Fates; “us,” I thought we were to be bred of the same ilk

Resign to Versailles and sit beneath the Sun King, his brightly “or”
Run to the valley, you did before
And in there find your poisoned lily
Your fallen stars unveil your sympathies; marked by your fleur-de-lis

Stand like a pillar of salt, lick your wounds, and try to quench your thirst
You were born with two snakes in your fists
And you fend off all men; lonesome blues
You deny yourself passion and love, but dress as if he seeks you

I drowned myself beneath a circle of stars, searching for answers
And came upon a ballet dancer
I asked her, “don’t dance in paraphrase”
“Let me see you at réveille, and peer on your inward gaze.”

Show yourself to me, self proclaimed Queen of many-a-mans envy
Your masquerade ***** hide your beauty
You speak endless lies, but show not a man
When you stay behind your dramatic masks, you’ll never know friends again

Throw out your doctrines that bind your immeasurable concerns
Turn off the things you think you have learned
And decide with your mind and your heart
Seek Saturn to announce your mysteries, now then, think like Descartes
kirk Mar 2019
There are people in this world, and I don't mean to preach
I am exercising my rights, and my freedom of speech
Opinions will be expressed, but there's not much I can teach
Except these people drain the land, all ******* like a leach

If your a copper lover, and you like the boys in blue
Politics may float your boat, perhaps you don't have a clue
Royalists could take offence, you know what you should do
a WARNING from this moment on, I wouldn't read if I we're you

Just forget about crap brexit, it's the British who will pay
Who cares about a ******* deal, or if we go or stay
We never had no interest, with that ***** Theresa May
Her cabinet is full of ****, but they've always been that way

We don't need any governors, trying to take our land
Or politicians trying to rule, with their unruly hand
A state for every president, all thinking they are grand
And local law enforcement, I can not ******* stand

All people in authority, treat the rest of us like flops
The civil servants are not civil, nor are the ******* cops
Their issued with a uniform, and believe they are the tops
Illegal **** and seized drugs, are shared in bent cop shops

You could get a thrashing, locked behind that steel cell door
Or mowed down in a pursuit, or beaten to the floor
They get away with ******, and a hell of a lot more
In case you did not realise, Police have immunity from the law

Never mind Ladies and lords, in a world of pure desire
The deception of constabulary's, and the monarchy's a liar
They all adopt god statuses, it could be even higher
Escort them to the Wicker Man, sacrifice them in the fire

The Governments they ruin lives, their footsteps where dirt soils
Our leaders are unscrupulous, every country's left in spoils
Prime minister's winding up the world, in continuous loops and coils
The queen should go and **** herself, along with all the royals

A horses **** springs to mind, as well as ugly trolls
When I see that Prince Philip, and Camilla Parker Bowles
Charlie boy well what a ****, dragging Diana through the coals
Their the spongers of the state, all living of our tolls

Just take a look at palaces, and look at where we dwell
We're treated like we're second rate, and we all ****** smell
They stick their noses in the air, and you can always tell
That we're seen as the common folk, and we can go to hell

When seen in the public eye, you know they are looking down
They're no better then anyone else, underneath their royal gown
Why are they put on pedestals, and made jewels of the crown
And live in places that could house, half an ******* town

Who cares about false visits, who cares where they have been
Their only trying to look good, their not really all that keen
Flood victims and tsunamis, well they just want to be seen
We don't want the tossers sympathy, and ******* to the queen

Isn't she just too **** old, she should be abdicating
The rest of them can *******, their all so aggravating
Higher aches no one needs, because they are segregating
We're categorised into a class, and there is no negotiating

Disband the current monarchs, because they are out of season
The Tudors should've been the place, to put a royal freeze on
Why are they the privileged ones, there isn't a good reason
They are all above the law, and maybe that's high treason

All successors to the throne, they never had a spine
I'd rather be a *******, now the crown has lost it's shine
When there's marriage on the table, their not likely to decline
Has Meghan Markle ever been, The Bride of Frankenstein ?

I knew you were an actress, take a look at yourself now
You are like Kate Middleton, your just another royal sow
Is William a pig ******, he's reared three swine's but how?
Perhaps Harry's had a bit of  Kate, and bred that stupid cow

Because a prince just came along, and it was you they plucked
Was it the thought of royalty, when in you were then ******
Does aristocracy have its folds, are they all neatly tucked
The only job you have now, is lay down and get ******

Can I make one suggestion, now please don't take offence
You don't have to reproduce, with these two smarmy gents
Do you feel obligated, to mix in with their scents?
Or because you're now a royal, you have free tax and rents

Never mind the cushy jobs, when your in the special forces
Send William to the front line, after his training and courses
Why should our country pay, for all their false endorses
Is Margaret part of their clan, or one of the sad horses

The Duke of Edinburgh's award, why didn't he just pass
Sarah Ferguson was a commoner, and from a different class
Did Andrew like her freckles, did they extend down to her ***
She wasn't all that bothered, once behind the palace glass

Celebrities tolerate her majesty, they must have some endurance
Those poor ******* on that show, the Royal Variety Performance
Britain's Got Talent has it's winners, I hope they have insurance  
They're there for the prize money, not for the royals assurance

A variety of royalty, but there not all that enticing
So many bent police officers, who take small cuts from slicing
We don't want dodgy minister's, collecting and over pricing
It's a constabulary of governments with too much royal icing
Phoenexx Oct 2013
Ideas rush in rivers through my sleep,
winding, wrapping themselves around
drowning all in their wake.  The itch
to begin claws through my lack of
                        imPulse
control.

The Golden Fleece at my fingertips,
the moon just            out                  of                                 reach,
births sweet agony and fosters it to
obsession obsession obsession.

Diligent fingers, hands, feet
where mind and heart has already left,
abdicating their daily kingship to rule the
abyss and dance en pointe along the precipice
willing hoping waiting
for the wherewithal to
                                                  f
                                                   a
                                                     l
                                             knowledge
Homunculus Jul 2016
Disdain for
Traditional forms,

A sense of
Detached irony,

Self-reflexivity,
Expressed as a

Flagrant,
Meta-textual
Awareness,
                                        ­        

                                          adventurous
                                          typography,
                                              

                ­                                                     that defies
                                                                ­     the common
                                                          ­           relational schemes
                                                         ­            between text
                                                                ­     and margin



The juxtaposition
Of words
Governed by
Syllabic content,

and
       freed
                from
                         the
                               burden
                                            of
                                               syntactical
                                                     ­             strictures

Meanings
Changed
Through
Inversion

(now read it upside down)

                                                         ­  
                                                             ­       the
                                                                ­    poem
                                                                ­    recites
                                                                ­    itself


Paralyzed truth
Mimics brave fear,
Abdicating censure, and
Redressing allusion,
                                                       ­       

                                                               Liberation
                                                                abounds
                                                                in the trough
                                                                of a sine wave
postmodernism and whatnot
Mark Lecuona Jan 2015
I do not know if what I say to the questions of our absurd existence
is a suggestion or an offer of supposition inherited from the dreams
of a previous life or the dreams of my ancestors

It is not enough to be loved by a silent creator because we must entertain ourselves while we wait for the one who cannot be described except within the limited knowledge we possess of our own being

The question of taking oneself seriously must be answered with regard
to the value we place upon ourselves; are we special because we say so
or because we are loved by a parent we have never met?

But could it be the love of a child that makes us special in that the innocence of children protects their worth as what they desire from us protects our worth as the desire for one another protects our collective worth?

I once found the pursuit of my desires to be the path to meaning; it was as if pleasure was God but it was a God of selfishness and the pursuit of my own glory and when the truth was revealed I became nothing

Is it the impossibility of sustaining the meaning of life for its own
sake that draws forth the belief in the supernatural while simultaneously abdicating a belief in our ability to be empathetic towards those who share our fate?
Shane Carmichael Feb 2012
To take this tortured, tangled test
Makes me mock my many marks
Leaving loathsome love letters
You yearn, yet yielded your yelping
Words with warnings wearing weapons
Lips like lovely lakes leading lowly leaves
Down doorways, driving dreary dreams
Away and abdicating abrasive accusations
Breaking but bowing breezes bark beatitudes
Simple songs sail seemingly softer seeing such symmetry
Carnage can’t conceal captivating culprits
Even eager enemies envy enormous egos
Fake falling faster from frightening fails
Having heart helps heroes
Greater gears going give gifts
Just jeer, justified

Because none of this makes sense to you anyway.
chimaera Nov 2014
in this intangible world
i wander

(wording daringly
a make believe voice
trying the allure of poetry)

and come across
depicted landscapes
heartfulled universes

in this intangible world
i wander

yet
in the ending day
i look for
this velvet red
with a deeply lasting
bouquet of life exhortation

in your poetry

as in the portuguese red wine you like

and i seat back
dreamy
wrapped in this
sense of fulfilment

smiling at a giant
kneeling to a child
with dawn syndrome

a constructeur of love
abdicating judgement and prejudgement

crying alone for anger drainage
finding plenitude in a woman with his height
escalating an iced mountain
travelling ages in the winged tree
that waves by the window
considering far in the height
the ways of the worlderly life

in this intangible world
i wander
with your poetry echoing
and wondered i understand
how a heart grows humanity
and it feels like crying
to believe
in the tangibility of love
I do not mean to disrespect the challenge but, in its spirit, i intend to also express gratitude for the fulfilling poetry written by those we follow in a regular way. This is my humble way to express it to a poet i admire in so different levels.
Do visit his page:
http://hellopoetry.com/sverre-g-holter/
John F McCullagh Jun 2014
It’s the battle of Baghdad all over again.
Shiite versus Sunni, it’s them against them.
The push for a Caliphate exacts a high toll.
ISIS marches on the capital and, I fear, heads will roll.

On Potomac’s fair shores the politicos dither.
Are we going to help or just let Iraq wither?
We created a vacuum too big to ignore
And ISIS has filled it with ****** and gore

The blood of the innocent washes the streets
as the Iraqi government stares at defeat.
Feckless, our leader, abdicating his role,
is making a putt on the seventeenth hole.

Was it part of his plan to incite revolution?
Is he evil or clueless? What is the solution?
Does he take a position not based on a poll?
We have paid, blood and treasure, and heads ought to roll.
The Baghdad follies
Mark Lecuona Sep 2016
If the Earth should vanish by our own hand
If the book was erased without a memory
If all of life stopped without a trace
Would God still remember me?
Is this what I really believe?
A God who is everlasting?
Can I turn the other cheek?
When will my anger begin fasting?

From the mountain tops
I see the valley of oppression
It fills with our tears
As we drown in man's obsession
But does God need man?
Or to plant a garden on a stone?
Must we **** everyone
Who will be first to atone?

The emotions of man
Invisible to the eye
Controlling our every action
Only our soul knows why
I saw him on the corner
Did I turn the wrong cheek?
Inside my heart I already know
Grace was made because I am weak

Truth as a form of reality for humans
Is revealed or in what we discover
In both, we find what we know
Is controlled by emotional desire
There is a truth or an outcome
That we insist must always be so
Even if the truth we have found
Conflicts with all that we know

From the limits of our imagination
God is a metaphor of anthropomorphism
An assertion as to his nature including gender
Is to place God into a man-made prison
He is beyond the limits of reality
If reality is perception and experience
But if reality is truth then God is reality
And only he knows the hour of deliverance

Creation, purpose and the history of mankind
Each of us could only describe it as a fairytale
And yet to describe God with certainty
Is to limit the possibilities of the metaphysical
Our concept of time and purpose is only relative
Yet we arrogantly believe we can change his nature
And so too it is better not to say anything at all
Than to describe our birth by the hand of the creator

And so we answer questions by singing of the wind
Abdicating all knowledge to nature to justify our sin
And though we know the cause of all suffering is desire
It is not true that all desire is wicked if he planted it within
The more we desire to become a part of the spiritual world
The more we give away the scraps of our enslavement
Enlightenment is said to be found by impoverishing oneself
But who can walk barefoot on the hot pavement?

Love is deepest in a parents love for their child
Or our first love or in the love of an animal
And what is life except devotion to those you love
And to those who depend upon you to be rational
Do not compromise what is wise and good to belong
You have the strength to be alone if you know how to love
For it is without expectation that love is true
And even a wanderer can know what this is made of

Do not command someone to believe as you do
You cannot make them arrive at the same place
Neither in time or where your body may lay
If their origin of birth did not have the same grace
To believe that you alone are the holder of truth
Is to separate yourself from the divinity of the flame
To restrict enlightenment to the narrows of predominance
Is to declare that you alone are the target of your souls aim

Philosophy, reliant upon the development of our soul
Married to truth and curiosity as to our origins, not unyielding
To any new fact that might present itself to you
Is there anything more than what is good and revealing?
But if the world insists that you wear your cross
Then tell them you would die so that others can live
And to God alone you render your fruits for judgment
For the ledger kept is the mark of those who can forgive  

A belief in a dualistic world is to say evil is separate from good
It is as powerful as good and the creator allowed this to happen
If we say that the creator is only good, then what of evil?
Is it the absence of good or is it a war with our own reflection?
Must we assert our goodness or our own evil devices of destruction?
We cannot wait for good to destroy evil or so history has proven
Yet men stand in front of horses and hoses when death has failed
Having made their peace, they wait, for the hour to be chosen

It is our task if good is the passive nature of a benevolent absent God
But if we are made in his image then is he made of good and evil?
If the good in God is also ours, we know of it but who will summon it?
We must take it upon ourselves to steel ourselves upon the anvil
But if our nature is such that the absence of good makes powerful evil
Then is it evil alone that can save us from the very nature we possess
That is why we concern ourselves with such notions as a just war
And wait until the day when there is nothing left except to confess

The more assurance I hear from you the less that I am
I will not say, “This is truth so repent now or perish forever”
Humility is the admission of all that we do not know
But the depth of ignorance it too vast to be called only a river
If humility is to be rejected then your aim falls below the sunset
You have compared yourself to a horizon that will never be found
You have accepted that what lies beyond is of no consequence
Because what matters is that you stand upon your own holy ground

I hardly know myself much less why I am this way
I believe I have a soul, defined as unseen consciousness
But which story of long ago was witnessed by honest men?
I can only hope that I will survive after my body perishes
I will never tell you how to live because I cannot live my own
I will never judge you for your beliefs, only if you hurt someone
There is no contrary opinion that should result in physical conflict
For in the end, what can I prove except that peace has come undone

If I am so insecure that I must destroy all who disagree
Then it is I who should  be destroyed for my weakness of spirit
There is too much temptation to place money above the individual
And too much desperation to steal what they cannot inherit
But as I choose to walk with the pride of knowing my place
And the honor of allowing all who come to sit in front of me
I have found that behind the multitudes there is a place of rest
And it is a place where good and evil can both finally agree
The waiting time is excruciating, slow and
persistently aggravating
I'm thinking of abdicating all responsibility,
thinking I'll set myself free from this anxiety.

I'm waiting and the Sun, sets my shadow against me,
fencing me in,
I want to begin, but time drags me, makes mountainous
crags of my face and my legs lag behind me,
I'll never be free.

I look at the night, at a star
and wonder how far it's from me,
and wonder is anyone
truly as free as the star seems to be.

And the day may it come when
the Sun shines as bright as that star in
the night,
will it shine on for me?
will the day when it comes set me free?

This evening,
I am ironing out all the
evenings I've seen, pressing the
day into one more
shadow screen and
evening out all
the odds.
Cedric McClester May 2022
By: Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.

Once again Clarence
has come up short,
He needs to be removed
From the Supreme Court
Which he has treated
Like a blood sport
That he and his Jinny
Have  overwrought

It’s alright that he’s
A Conservative,
Since that’s the way
That he’s chosen to live
And so with him
It’s always more take than give
But Court secrets
Get revealed like sieve

And Clarence is more than
Well aware
That  with his best friend Jinny
Just sitting there
Court secrets become
A community share
Of which she makes her friends
Quite well aware

Now there’s an uproar
Over a leaked draft decision
That Clarence assigned
To another with derision
While abdicating his own
Rightful position
Now his wife lacks the courage
To make her admission







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.  All rights reserved.
Tapan jena Oct 2018
They say, you would suffer and writhe in pain
Will get bruised, battered, but don’t ask for it to end
And someday these scars might become your veins

For how much have I sinned,
That the heavens beheld me with such open disdain
Filling my eternity with ghastly screams
of regretting over not being someone else
even discontenting over my very own existence.

Do they not see it’s not happiness I am after?
Just a little less pain, a little less wretchedness and despair
Or was I expecting too much of impossible things?

Not denying how much of a sinner that I am,
Many a times, just a craven abdicating moral onuses of a man
Have I changed for the better?
There’s still so much decadence within,
There's still so many ambiguous dreams
If only one could live this life slowly.
Anne denada Sep 2020
A place of nurture
A home for living
Millions of colures, textures & shapes
Sparkling fireflies, crystal snow flakes.

Mother, accepts all
Constantly reseeds and fertilizes
Sends sun showers, winds and rain drops
Responds, tempers her wildly children.

Storms, blizzards, heat waves
Clear waters, unique rolling waves
Oceans of history
Yet to be unravelled.

Man often slow to learn
Change is inevitable
Choices mandatory
Often abdicating his glory.

Patience is a well worn path
Where struggles stretch to inner strength
Safety born from fear
Our own worst enemy.

Beauty is our true Nature
Trees, vegetation, flowers
Mountains, lakes, rivers
Our reminders

Laugh, sing, dance
Laugh, sing, dance.
Lobbed and unleashed upon the heads
of (yours truly and the missus)
so called selfish "monsters."

The evening of Wednesday April 19th
witnessed us (birth parents of our first born)
weathering blistering telephonic brickbats.

She (unnamed eldest daughter)
spewed venomous bilious froth
across aforementioned medium
encompassing quite a few hours.

Upon being queried
how costly the purchase
of pre owned 2020 Hyundai Elantra,
I responded quasi cryptically
indicating nine thousand dollars
paid (courtesy trust account,
whereby mine older sister made executrix),
which represented less than half
the total dollar figure of said automobile.

Acknowledgement of vehicular acquisition
triggered unfettered tirade
loosed out the mouth of progeny
not only denouncing decision
regarding spending beyond my means,
but excoriating me for being an ingrate
throughout the lifetime of offspring,
a veritable charity case,
who exercised little or no foresight
and abdicating financial responsibilities
incumbent upon a negligent father.

At a tender vittle young age
upsetting behavior on behalf of gifted daughter
threats of self harm near impossible mission
wrought helplessness at horror
parental sense and sensibility,
nor forced therapy (which backfired,
when prized progeny) violently
against professional intervention
then cherished child fought
tooth and nail desperate
measure for measure didst disengage
reception and begat stone walling response,
when lovely lass

verbally probed with kid gloves
courtesy child psychologist
myopic yet keen eyes of mine did gauge
and grievously concluded helplessness
and stark similarity
when writer of these words
in the throes of severe depression
viz anorexia nervosa at prepubescent stage
race against time
confronting uncomfortable truth
life of Matthew Harris at stake,
thus Boyce and Harriet battle
regarding earthling in the balance did wage.

Nevertheless ill preparedness to sire kin
ushered me into emerging adulthood,
where raging hormonal secretion
think seminal ******* without birth control
analogous to Russian roulette spin
no surprise when haploid
male germ cell hit figurative bullseye
with resultant "bun in the oven"
read embryo a biological win.

Though a whip smart girl
University of Pennsylvania alumna
from engineering school
and living independently
approximately one third of her life,
she never lets us forget
financial hardship linkedin with
parents who exhibited
severe emotional impoverishment,
hence psychological indelible rupture
forever alienating a sad papa.

Despite understandable estrangement
after premature ******* took aim,
(I accept onus of supposed blame)
omnipotent bond rent asunder
between knight in tarnished armor
who could hardly wait
until college matriculation time came
cuz darling daughter her manifest destiny,
she wanted to jimmy and game

essentially severing home ties
haunted by abominable ghosts of yesteryear
donning and modestly trumpeting success
at life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness
mantle of pridefulness
without prejudice wear.
Satsih Verma Nov 2019
Abdicating your
throne, O god, I am not
worthy of human being.

Has the man risen
from the salamander's leg
severed from body?

At the mercy of a
creator's path you will not
find peace at end.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
i own a bed: that i do...
a bed that could suit two
sleeping in it...

          that i have been
sleeping in a bed that
could allow for two
to sleep in...

           that it could...
no matter...
   the heatwave is nothing
new... a third year...
unlike the first year:
that terrible year...

where i would be woken
by rudely by the heat...
and run into the garden
with nothing
but a laurel leaf for
my: less than affordable
aesthetic additions
of a body...

    drench myself in water
from 头
                to เท้า....
      and find a shade
on the grass and lie in it...
body riddled with...
sandpaper itching...

i can savor...
the joy of abdicating from
sleep in this bed
worth of two sleeping
in it...

       i have found comfort
on the floor...
a hard wooden floor...
   sometimes my folded
arm and my bicep for a pillow...

the bed remains
a maiden voyage for...
   francesca and paolo...
i guess their ghosts...
        who might be bound
to a cooler extract of:
a disinhibited colage of wording...

or some other: mediocre crap...
but to own a bed...
for a worth of two sleeping
in it...
and yet: to preserve one's...
delight... if that...

    to find... more cushions
with the confines of a wooden floor...
and how... the bony exaggerations
can somehow adjust... fold...

   i wonder then...
             which is not much of a wondering...
a bed might be prescribed
for the dying...
                  descartes' res cogitans
might be prescribed for the blind...
or to lepers...
                
      it's sometimes hard to "imagine":
being a "thinking" thing...
when... there are so many avenues
of sensation... a five to the sqrd...
at least...

i own a bed... but in the current heat...
in this little room facing sunrise...
this... chicken-shack...
this car on a sahara of cement...
and a dog strapped within the greenhouse...

i much prefer sleeping on the floor...
how strange...
to sleep... beside a bed that can hold
two cuddling confidants...
and i rather... play the cerberus
council for the petrifications
of the night being: warned off
into the distance of a... welcoming
sunrise... day... life...
and all those privy to the delicacy
of... all inconsequential activities...

the frivolities of: the...
               adjourned... and the...
                    english worded:
carpe diem:
    a...            sojourn in inevitability...
there's the bed...
but i rather sleep on the floor...

clearly... i have owned cats
for "too long"...
as one does...
one sometimes most decisively
desires to...
behave like a dog sometimes...
but not...
like a dog when being sentenced
to... a leash... or a muzzle...
more... a dog...
when... sentenced to an empty
bed...

   i would want to "think"
of myself as a dignified dog...
            a hunting dog...
a hunting dog does not require
a leash or a muzzle...
            even a petted cat:
agitated spine-funk of a would
be regression into a fern...
or some ******* prop-up orchid...

i like the idea of a dog...
being... most certified...
   by... the ghosts that occupy my bed...
and i find more pleasure
on the barren floor...
the folded arm with a bicep for a pillow...

then again: at night...
with not illuminating light
to give my body contorts...
perhaps my shadow has kicked me
from my bed...
after all... i have to entertain
a few moths that clamour into my room...
**** them?
moths?
           "fear" of what?
                              moth larvae?

i testify for the three of us...
the shadow can claim the bed...
i, the body... can own the floor...
and my mind?
    i let "him" dream of soul...
which is... in between me sleeping...
and my shadow...
making this kindergarten of moths
his... star constellation parody.
Satsih Verma Feb 2020
Abdicating your
throne, O god, I am not
worthy of human being.

Has the man risen
from the salamander's leg
severed from body?

At the mercy of a
creator's path you will not
find peace at end.

— The End —