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My position is distant
My path discursive
My equality punctured
Set back, tortured
My corpse is painted
My rainbow is tainted
My bones are contracting
My skin is cracking

A knowledge abductions
Formed with childish seduction
Leaving me
Foam on the Dead Sea
Holding back
The tears of the seldom heard
Holding back
The worst kind of words

I'm heliotropic
Turning, turning, turning
My soporific voice
Is dying, dying, dying
Like a suicide survivor
Submerging ever higher
Schizophrenic priestess
Nepotistic phantom
     I'm sand
Lestie Anderson Apr 2014
alien abductions and cabinets filled with shelved memories
of the skeletons
on the dark side of the moon
radioactive cover ups
buried deep
beneath chernobyl manholes
and short conversations
with mutant ghosts dissipating in the morning rain
what if a psychopath alien
with delusions of grandeur
chasing dreams of immortality
met a genie who granted him his wish
and became the catalyst for the world religions?
Joseph C Ogbonna Oct 2023
The Paragliders like ravenous vultures flew
to southern Israel to predate on soft targets.
Like swarms of bees, they snuck, *****, maimed, shot, burnt and slew.
Terror did every man's fragile conscience becloud.
Hate made their embittered hearts to mercy forget.
Abductions followed, having to terror avowed.

Then came the IDF's genocidal intent,
having intended global laws to circumvent;
Children, women, all consumed by mighty vengeance.
A disproportionate response beyond balance.
Homes, hospitals, Mosques, Churches and schools are levelled,
as Gaza is by torrents of bombs bedeviled.
I do not with a livid Israel sympathize,
nor do I with a besieged Gaza empathize.
With humanity I have my affinity,
for my deep love for it, tends to infinity.
The raging Israeli-Gaza Conflict
Nevermore May 2014
Reading about the paranormal,
The unknown,
Hearing of ghosts and spirits --
It hurts.

The otherworldly
Stirs up the painful memories
Of you.
I'd rather feel
Horror and fear
Anything else but this.

The demonic
The satanic
Can do little else to me
That you haven't already done.

Ghostly visitations,
Hauntings,
UFOs and their merry little abductions --
They all remind me of you
Still lurking my nights

When people trade stories
About aswang and demonic possession,
Cattle mutilations in the middle of nowhere,
I get chills
Thinking of you.

You are as inscrutable
As the Works of the Old Men
As the Nazca Lines
As the Coseck Circle.
Deciphering the Voynich Manuscript
Is nothing compared to the puzzle of you.

Listening to UVB-76
Max Headroom
The Bloop
Rebecca Black
Makes more sense than listening to you.

Unmask Jack the Ripper
Explain the Toynbee Tiles
Solve the Taman Shud Case
And I can solve you.

It's far less taxing, really
And more merciful on my limited cognitive faculties.


Bring me the Mongolian death worm
And Spring-heeled Jack
The Wandering Jew
The Dover Demon
And the Am Fear Liath Mòr
Before I decide
That sympathy and love
Are more that mere legends
Roaming the windswept wastes
Of your icy, shriveled heart,
Closer to reality than cryptozoology.

Abandoned cities and colonies
Only remind me of how abruptly and senselessly you left,
Leaving me a decrepit mystery of ruins

You believed in Atlantis
I said it was Plato's illustration --
His Republic,
Like Augustine's City of God.

Perhaps this was why our Atlantis
Sank to the ocean floor --
We were just good on paper.
Or maybe we started slaughtering
Noble half-breeds and changelings wholesale
Out of a misplaced sense of pride,

Or our union was unholy
And rankled the senses of the Sovereign
Who deemed it an offense
And thus condemned it,

Or perhaps this was an act of mercy
The equivalent of what Lovecraft said
The most merciful thing
Is the inability of the human mind
To correlate all the ******* he encounters
And has to deal with
On a daily ******* basis.


That the solid waves of mindfuck,
Pushing and heaving like tides,
Emanating from little ole you,
Would have finished off
Whatever was left of my mind.

You believed in ******* everything
But us.
Lost continents
Fox spirits
Psychometry
Were-boars
The ******* occult
No problem
All that which science cannot quantify nor qualify
You embraced
Yet you ran from me
And into the arms of another.

You claimed to be an empath
So tell me
How do I feel
After what you did to me?

You tell me.

And isn't empathy
Supposed to make people more compassionate?

The **** is this, then?

These stories
Of yetis and apparitions
Poltergeists and precognition
Used to intrigue and thrill me as a child.
When I grew up
I started ignoring them.
You put meaning back into the whole thing,
However insipid.

I was a skeptic.
You walked the line
Between the physical and supernatural
At least
If what you said is to be believed.

You were nothing but a specter,
Luring another hapless soul
Out into the barren wastelands
With a *** of stew,
Just beyond reach,
To its doom.

You're nothing but a ghost
Of an angry girl
Murdered by the cruelty
Of your parents and the church
And now I'm one of your victims.

Now as I start to see
Faint vistas of the supernatural,
They start to run
With memories of you
Until I can no longer
Distinguish one from the other.

So I'll ignore the glimpses
Of lurid phantasmagorias
And lock myself in
My world of letters and literature
Of armlocks and flying elbows
Of video games and liquor
I will pretend your world never existed.

Please, please keep out of mine.
*****.
st64 Mar 2014
plea of oddities: bring the tinkling back
its bell lies silent


1.
Existing (not entirely) alone
entertaining itself with nightmares witnessed from long ago
It waited and waited
until the neighbour-orb grew to a level sophisticated enough
to house that lovely assortment of fine specimens.. of females
       that flock of dusted-crystals so long dreamt of
       that mould of sensibility, that plug of warmth
       that banner of softness
which all mirrored the opposite of their ways


2.
they fled in quiet-rebellion from inhospitable hands of the boor-males
altogether, in a ship.. down into the bowels of their breaking planet
subtleties long abandoned by the barbed-wire handling of  rough hands
these gentles could take no more and *uncoupled
themselves for good
burning, like the bridges behind them
               they disconnected and slid into a nether-sphere

When the males woke in stupor to find them gone
                 they flipped and fed in anger
and with access to goodness gone and unplaced voracious appetites
It decided to encase them.. in a giant glass-jar, preserving them in ire
until the time was right.. like a tea awaiting perfect steeping
In stasis, they remained for what seemed aeons
the glass-jar which held this army of men, was reduced
became small, like a coin.. which Foog summarily swallowed
and waited . . .  


3.
The sun turned its face in blank-horror of severe sights
                                                               splayed across the surface
forests shrank to toothpicks and died
         blue seas curled and dried
                                 meadows melted to greyish slush
every flying creature lost gravity and got ****** away, too high..
                                                        into harsh deafening-holes
when the tall sentries of oxygen.. twisted and became wiry-distorted
the sky sank and folding itself up.. hid in a black corner
                               behind the crumbling mountains

Foog hid beneath a crater made of ice, on the dark side of said planet
and once every millennium
        it felt the colliding-smack of a passing planetessimal
and it swore that somewhere, somehow..
        that punishment awaited new life

So, it shut its senses to the bay of life
       while hankering viciously for the scream of warm blood
The bell-jar inside, silent and
                        also somehow.. obscenely waiting in its oblivion



4.
Then, came Earth spinning round in flourish.. oh, the day on hand
Yet, veryyyyy far away.. an eye slowly opened
                      / /  roused by the smell of fressshhh life . . . / /



5.
A popping sound and the bell-jar was birthed from a slit on its forehead
It looked nearly quizzically at this odd creation beneath the silent-glass
this assortment of creatures trapped in the folly of Foog:
                                                                ­     oh, shall I, or not?
A cosmic joke, almost.. with so few revisions
The lid lifted and with proportion righted once more..
                                they came, oozing out in droves
Roaring from their milleniac-slumber,
                               crazed in half-remembered wounds
But alive with burning-purpose - - to find the equivalent
of
those soft-crystals

To melt the iron.. inside.



(unsolicited but self-warranted visitations:
camouflaged abductions.. secret prodding..
subtlety re-learnt.. poverty rehashed..
Fugue in a glass bell-jar.. unleashed)  



But alas, when sweet-sounds are closed again
see at whose smart-hands calamity befalls Life
Yet.. who are ultimately the ones
picking up the pieces after devastation wrought?





st, 27 march 2014
woke from nightmare.. to find this on my waking-plate.


sub-entry: day to dawn

It came in a dream.. and told me so
a day to dawn
for reckoning.
We are the missing, the dead, the lost
Never found, and in the world
No monument exists for us
No flag has been unfurled

We lie in riverbeds and wood
Beneath stream beds and in fields
Were tears of woe ever wept for us?
Did a heart break, did it yield?

We wandered off in cases, some
In others, lured, abductions
Our bodies never found, but though
We caused a family some reduction

In others, we were found too late
Dead, mistreated in a hole
The one who did this thing to us
Until caught, ******* their soul

We lie here waiting for the day
For our remains to be found
We lie in woodlots, basements cold
Buried crudely in the ground

Some of us were lost before
We ever lost our lives
Roaming streets, with no real home
Dancing on a hundred knives

Some of us are living
Still at odds with where we are
We're prisoners inside our mind
And have gone and wandered far

But, those of us, the dead, the cold
Lie waiting for the day
When our bones will be discovered
And then at rest we'll lay

Are there people out there looking?
Many years for us have passed
Are we still an open case?
Or has the time for that just passed?

Do we still have family waiting?
Time goes slowly when you're lost
We lost our lives to violence
And I question at what cost?

Are we still considered missing?
With us the searching will not cease
We lie here, the dead, the missing
Until our souls can be at peace
ZS Jan 2023
I feel your departure
in thoughts of alien abductions
stolen away in the night
leaving nothing but
the lingering puffs of smoke
from my last cigarette

in slinking shadows —
white ghostly figures
just out of reach
like the days last rays of sunshine
as the sun goes down
my sanity bleeds.

each month, we dance this haunted tango
just me and my 3000 dollar tourniquet
against the world
enough money in my deltoid to pay the rent

today, I’ll be too tired to leave my bed
but in a few weeks
I won’t be able to sleep till
golden rays
filter in through window blinds
finding my solace in sunbeams

when you fade away, my demons take hold
the complicated part of dancing with demons
is sometimes you get burnt
third degree pains holding my brains
in a chokehold
when all I’ve ever wanted
is to breathe

(in, out)
David Hall Sep 2014
*** isn't the only thing that sells
death sells too
think about it a minute
and admit that its true

war correspondent reporting live
from the middle of the war zone
another thousand people die
from the hole in the ozone

ebola outbreaks are trending
getting millions of views
while little girl abductions
top the evening news

we demonize *** on t.v.
like were ashamed of creation
while at least one prime time show
will feature de-capitation

the next time you buy a ticket
to the mass media fair
just stop and think a minute
buyer beware
K G Jul 2015
If I had only one wish I would use it for the community
Who would've thought that was an option
Who would use it as an opportunity
To stop the abductions and deductions
You know the way to get what you want
But you kept taking a wrong turn, you could help us build the 2D town
You just won't dismount that thing
You are like spider creeping on my skin
I try not to stomp all over you
If I had only one wish I would use it for the community
Who would've thought that was an option
Who would use it as an opportunity
To stop the abductions and deductions
Safana Apr 2021
It's  a shame...
That's, immoral
social indiscipline
politically bad ethic
And ethinic differences
Between you and the rulers

A wise person abuse no one
But himself for misconduct

No one respects any Nigerian
for our misconduct and then
corruption, fraud and stealing

How many foreign people are
swallowed, by these Nigerian's
cyber criminals...

North and southern ethnicity
Hausa/Fulani, Ibgo and Yoruba
the major ethnic groups are...

Muslims and Christian
Traditional and pagans

All, are of the same phase
of any crime activities and the
Selected and elected rulers are
from the same species of nature

Like ENDSARS, no one knows the
reason...
But I, slowly understand why

Robbery in the nigeran ancient
days, militia in the nigeran iron
age, religious crisis in the nigeran
social age, Boko Haram in the mid
age and abductions in the presence
age...

Because, you can't harvest the grannies old farm, you ran away
to the white men mansion to steal
in lieu of work to do...

🇳🇬🇳🇬🇳🇬
Is a shame to Nigerian old woman speak harshly to the president Muhammad Buhari

Shame to you all Nigerians for your misconduct in the eye of the world
Lucy Tonic Dec 2011
In a blinded alley
In a tornado’s eye
Otherwise known as
Eternal blindness
So they build you up
Build you up, good
A near-perfect potion
A headstrong, rooted wood
Enter their domain
On a stretcher of wills-
Questionable, collective thrills
Throw pennies in their fountain
Till piggy bank’s in debt
Still there seems one thought
They haven’t collected yet
So they build you up
Outnumbered, how dare you try
To stay tough
Enmeshed in accidents your head
Is not aware of
Still your heart pangs with guilt
From an unknown source
Future hospital bills
Or maybe it’s their stares, glares
And cheap hellos
Their confession of only keeping you around
To see you crawl on all elbows
An all the twilight abductions
Poke, **** and nod your head
Cause it’s all really happening
But you’ve no way in hell to prove it
Didn’t know telepathy could be so
Unsterile, so unclean
As seed is stolen from your bloated belly
Your drowning genes
Your mutilated mind
Your soon extinct scene
They didn’t know you already
Held back the moon in a dream
What excruciating payback
For an unremembered accident
Brought on by your words of now
Echoing your thoughts of then
Plaguing me
Cursing me for the later
Shevek Appleyard Oct 2023
Lit by angels and adrenaline
silent auctions, abductions
still as death decends here
Archadia dimmed
a dimension of distractions
sinking in a pretty little nest
feathered with fear
she sinned so softly
knowing nothing else to sleep beneath
twigs and bones returned from the battle
gnawed clean from anxious teeth
so brittle; you become a love song to the cold
a rattle of defiance
a longing for a place you cant face alone

this is not Archadia
these sweetly poisoned streets
full of tempting berries
choking on my mind
every sniff every sip every inhale is all we have
to stop what we are in-between
awaiting, impatient
feral from empathy
dreaming of each others bliss
an escape to humidity
an instant view of the sea
it might fix this

but it doesn't

I wish , I wish
my memory could imprint on me
that cascading fading message
I always leave in rem sleep
that lack of loathing now I'm older
old enough to know life's secrets
still too young to live by them
this is not Arcadia
this is a January town
where every new idea never starts
an eternal dance
a feast for show
so starving eyes swell

the grass is always gone where I go

I wish , I wish
the night could take me to Archadia
my silence as loud as
the auction lost
here were are; in the rotting sequence
pining for a reward
I'll build my own Archadia
out of precious words, molecules of hope
how to enlighten
omens of wonder, summer rain excitement

I roll down the grassy hill
turn another page
to somewhere I can smell resilience
a rest bite, evacuate the cold and reunite with your innocence

Welcome to Archadia
where hands are full of strength
a land full of scents that warm frantic souls
giving out their tidings
tiny rebels repel your decisions
deviate what you hope to replace

for here is your Archadia
empathy is everything
a peaceful wave of lighting
a quiet sob of clarity
an instant view of the sea
Welcome to Archadia
you're here to be free
Mike Hauser Oct 2014
Hello Dr. Phil, have you got a segment
I've got a few things latched onto my mind
Don't worry this won't take but a second
If you do me this I'll return the favor in kind

Hello Dr. Phil, it's about my mother
Well really both her and my mother in-law
If you care to throw my wife into the picture
That wouldn't be far off at all

Hello Dr. Phil, have you run into this problem
Or am I a first and is there a cure
Call me right back Doc, I think I can take it
Can you tell me how much longer I've got in this world

Hello Dr. Phil, you might recognize me
I've been to see Oz and those Dr's on Channel 4
Though they canceled my moment said I was clingly and needy
Hello Dr. Phil, can I be a friend of yours

Hello Dr. Phil, have I mentioned the aliens
Do you do abductions, is that your forte
Cause if you do I can get you more ratings
We'll bowl over Maury he'll have nothing to say

Hello Dr. Phil*, I keep calling and calling
The heavy breathing? Yea, could be me on the line
But if you would answer neither of us would stress out
We could solve both our problems if you'd just give me the time
Dada Olowo Eyo Oct 2021
The many, undeserving dead,
Deserve national outpouring,
Every single poor soul,
Cut untimely from fame or fortune;

No one soul is made more,
Is worthier than the other,
All came from the earth,
And it hath the last say;

So why demonstrate double standard,
Roaring silence when calamity comes afishing:
Abductions, medical neglect, ritual murders,
Innocent blood shed wantonly daily?

The transience of power is earth bound,
Only the heavens will forever stick around,
The sun rises on the day of reckoning,
Be prepared, oppressor, your time is nigh.
In commemoration of a black day in the history of Nigeria, young people express disappointment that after one year nothing has changed about the brutality of government against unarmed protesters exercising fundamental human rights on 20-10-2020.

The hypocrisy in high places is evident with the way government pampers terrorists and cracks down on peaceful demonstrators.

The collective spirit of the people of state has defied all kinds of intimidation and continues to fight for a better nation-state that respects human life and makes living in Nigeria a permanent sweet experience.
T Kwinter Jul 2010
I offer myself to you.

But you,
You'll leave me behind

Or I'll push you away,
From the pure, poisoned paranoia of my mind.

But,
I'll be better, higher, stronger
I'll move you
Prove to you.

I'll be that one you come back to.
That one you never lose.
Despite blues and fights
I'll wait through the night watching moonlight glint off closed eyes.

Closed eyes that see me,
Read my thoughts
Knead my mind
From every angle to find nothing better in this world than you

My heart aches
Encased in a cage of
Solid gold
Growing old with you.

You lock me in your eyes
Nothing to despise except the fact that your bangs keep me from the abductions of your
pupils.

No scruples, just trust
You must
Let my lust be love
Love above you and I

I try to reign it in to give to you,
but distance keeps me missing you.

Missing the looks
The walks
The only time spent in argument
Is trying to convince you
NOT to wait for me to fall asleep.
Your kindness hits too deep,
My heart leaps, too big for my chest

How can you just accept?
Accept the inevitable miles
Separating two minds of the same kind
You bind me constantly to your rich thoughts and words
Every whim brings me closer
I want to swim in you
Soak in you
Have you seep in every pore.
Give me more.
Send it to me
a letter to my soul.

Send your whole.
Bind your spirit with mine
Fill the hole only you can pervade
Your essence never fades.
Your love stained me permanent.
Dondaycee Aug 2017
Questions… if I don’t ask them they’ll get the best of me,
If I ask them at the wrong time, I’ll lose the answers,
Time itself will fail to digest in me.
Einstein said if such a thing existed it would be simultaneously,
So why did the past constipate me? Right now things are hard to swallow,
Because what I see is ahead, and, this **** is cutting me off from the rest of me.
“The important thing is not to stop questioning, curiosity has its own reason for existing.”
****** Albert, if this is food for thought, what’s the recipe?
And don’t say imagina… wait, if imagination is everything, then I’ll use it to remove the crap from yestereve.
Why did Arkyi have meaning? I mean, it’s palindrome did.
Maybe Iykra had an acronym for a reason.
I looked for the publisher but there was no trace or date, who ever did this wanted to remain hid.
I know it has some type of meaning,
Numerology says one, Astrology says Sun,
Horoscope says Attractive personality with a magnetic charm,
Why is Symbolism for rarity repeating?
Unity of one; structure of pride, purpose, and determination,
This raps into a kingdom in Israel and the culture of Hebrew,
That’s odd but I see the cohesion.
Odd because it goes back to a man named Abraham, the one that left Mesopotamia.
Crazy because Mesopotamia was linked with Atlantis, a global civilizations that fell after its main island suffered a sinking.
Now this is just my imagination guiding me, I’m not stating anything.
But, imagination is the tool to create, and I’m creating a line that’s linked in...
-Well at least that’s what I’m thinking,
Understand that I’ve reached a level of decoding messages many can’t comprehend,
It’s not me but it’s me, haha I’ll let that sink in.
Back to Abraham, Abraham means the father of many,
He died at one hundred and seventy-five years old.
Now get this, Noah died at nine hundred and fifty,
According to my research, reaching almost a thousand years of living was more than possible during the times of Atlantis, now that’s old.
Wait, before you give up on me, hear me out, I’m just looking for answers,
If it makes you feel better, assume that I’m thinking out loud with a different perspective that was never told.
Now I’m warning you these next few lines are gonna either make you question some things,
Or view me as a crazy man expressing opinions that are bold.
We’ve (meaning humans) have been in contact with 3 different extra terrestrial species,
You don’t have to believe me, but
They’ve been here for at least two hundred and seventy million years,
Don’t ask me how I know, ask yourself, why is this information being controlled?
These are 3 groups that have been competing before earth, understand as below, so above and as above, so below.
One of these groups created the dinosaurs which was an eighty-five million year experiment,
They later allowed the meteor to hit the earth because it was time for a new project,
If you noticed the mammal species on earth flourished immediately after, this is something to know,
God is very much in the picture, if anything, this shows its true power and infinite structures of life.
This isn’t new, it’s been foretold.
Our bodies were celled, yes, humans are about forty thousand years of age and counting,
But our souls are directly from the source, God, and we are not the body but a soul,
Whom inhabits a body for a physical experience,
Call it a matrix, call it a game, call it a school, call it whatever you want but the reality is after physical existence, there’s another place we go.
Now this is what makes us special, why we have so much support and why earth is currently the center of attention,
Because after Atlantis fell, we were given only thirteen thousand years to be ready to shift into the fifth dimension.
It took Atlantis twenty plus thousands of years to reach such ascension,
Thus explaining abductions, one of the reasons is for comprehension,
They’re trying to understand how humans have the ability to ascend past their extension.
As I said before, darkness is a limit, hatred, envy, greed; these are doors blocking the light.
Boundaries blocking the acceptance of all is why many can’t see or experience the same visions.
I’m trying to provide knowledge to those with ignorance, so that we are all able to achieve our true potential,
This opportunity is monumental, don’t blow it by making cowardly decisions.
Let’s not forget to mention, many died for this,
Many lied for this, many put their goals aside for this.
Many hide from this, voices rise for this, so that all instead of few are able to revive and arrive in bliss.
If the sunrise is missed, I hope that the deprived survive the sunset and deny divide and apply divine inside for flight in sight of demise, a device structure to contrive a goodbye when the next opportunity scripts.
Is Arkyi the future me showing the past me Iykra so that I am able to connect the dots and unite all before the me now becomes apart of a myth?
Einstein said, “No problem can be solved by the same level of consciousness that created it.”
After researching, imagination activates the cognitive mind, an intuitive shift,
Asking myself questions, and using imagination presented me answers that demodulated ****.
Albert: “The only source of knowledge is experience.”
This is me using  knowledge to educate how to experience knowledge from  within for the times we get discombobulated and quit.
Some diadochi came escaping from the Vóreios of Zefian, the ships of Boeotia married the dynastic of the new progenies of their infants, who prepared them for the fourth Bestiary, which in turn also escaped from the third Bestiary of the bear that tore apart everything that presented itself, within its claws and its jaws. The third imperialist beast of the bestiary was Hellenistic; It had bear claws and crushed the fish of the Aegean Sea with its fangs, this, in turn, tried to grab the dragon's back with its snout with the bear's paws and the feline's steel claws to stretch them over its lion's jaws, unleashing the inter-bestiary that severed the parallelism of the Amphictyony and the Apocalypse, summoning Alexander the Great to revive him from his larnax in the highest Prophet Ilias, this will entail the ablution of his soul and appropriation of his new empire of the Seventh Heaven to atone for all the atrocities of his empire of Blood and Corruption. Alexander the Great was aware of the existential drama of eternity for him, in order to aspire to be anointed as a Converted King and dispense with the root of the inter-bestiary in the claws of the bear with the claws of steel of the lion of the fourth bestiary. They all sailed by one major mast starting from the Delphic prophecy of Herophile, which transfigured the Trojan chronology by more island resources into dramatic new deity cultures with over twelve deities which had to include one more of the demi-god Vernarth totally dissuaded from the plague of Aristaeus in great dishonor due to the taxonomic Animalia that was in its vanguard, re-leveling the nuanced skies, also the oceans that were erected mostly on the level of Hisarlik with thirty-three meters above sea level, plus as many from the cavern to 269, and under the Prophet Ilias of 798 as a consequence of parallel parapsychology with Troy. The theological transcendental civilizing mission trembled to the Tempe valley, Thessaly specifically in the small valley in the Agia Paraskevi church, for altars that will return the ancestral domains of the locality to their voices near the Arethusa fountain. From here they will triangulate the libertarian magnificence of the animality of the bees of Gethsemane for the reciprocal of the source of Castalia, up to the Source of life on Patmos as the second coming of Jesus. From where Eurydice will always flee as she once was away from Aristaeus, so as not to be bitten by the serpent. All this transcription of the double consequence of immortal Eurydice brought gifts for each component of the Hexagonal Primogeniture, making sure that Aristeo's bees did not die, being saved by Vernarth's bees, who redoubled submythology, hanging on it as a parallel classical narrative in the construction of the Duoverse under the Áullos Kósmos. The three sources were unified with Vóreios, becoming the patrimony of the Moshaic gods for the good of an outstanding Mythological virtue with sub-mythological parallelism, with gods conditioned in the rabbinic divinity. They undertook the glamorous descent with the vapors of Delphi with their ethanol, alleviating Alikantus towards the pilgrim resulting from his connotation of a taurine steed close to a ram, but of Delphic psychic magnetism saving potential victims with the repeal of the beekeeping world of Aristaeus.

The gods of Faith went hand in hand, in some cases, they did not recognize their gender or status, but rather the divine and ineffable condition of the unrepentant Seventh Heaven, ad libitum of Titania as a mental abstraction of pro-Olympic labyrinths, which have not born under the eaves of it. Spring and winter came arrogating themselves in all the rapes and abductions of the flowers that would not germinate, and that would go away due to the promiscuous twilight that was made of dawn in some flowers that did germinate on the defenseless edge. The converted Alexander the Great caressed the tunic that he looked at more than the one used by the maiden, he looked towards his own chlamys that did not make him helpless from his gaze in the ability to transform into a Converted King, almost like a beautiful celestial lion after leaving the libidinous gestures of Astarte as a foreign goddess and mother of the lift that made her doubt the rain that was refined as a gregarious hostess in celibate women who tried in outbursts of Alexander the Great by removing Astarte's veil of darkness, in cases of lost loves of the transcript Forest of Hylates, or in the awakening of the Apennines when it was the trophy of a felid winged tetra in the rooms of the runaway Bayard of Charlemagne.

The rain bathed millennia that traveled from the boreal of Vóreios to the insane Argive spaces in the Peloponnese where the first maiden hangs her braids sixteen times to forty times more, before all the brides who stay awake in the hours that have not sworn eternal misogyny. Spring served winter mead with sweet late-harvest wine from the valley of the Sharon plain, they embraced by the chamsin, squabbling in the sand that Zefian had hoarded before enchanted by the interval of Delphi. The north and south forks dried up the cobblestones of the dusty ground, where the chamsin reverberated suffering for more than forty-six weeks, making light prey on the song of the three sources of Life, the Castalia and the source of Arethusa. A solemn red stain could be seen on the little sky that blinded the chairs that held the intramurals of the wind tunnel, breathing on the chamsin turning it into murals of dust forced to channel it and always be levitating in the gushes that shelled drops of rain, and sand in the disturbed electrical animations that made him possessed in the spiers at the mere tone of liquid marble in which they already spoke of Hellenic modernity of barbarism of the Ruah Qadím, banishing the spire from the east wind for fifty days. The lights and festivities could be seen illuminating from the feared height when descending from the diminished light of the amplified candle; everything resembled a dwelling where everyone was seated at a long table that had no end in the center of seven candlesticks, seven bread baskets, with a chalice, everyone gossiping along with the bees of Gethsemane that did everything in their glosses and nectars that they celebrated in the mansions gleaming with the transit of the muffins of San Juan and its Hexagonal. Raeder clung to the red and blue Gerakis with gold seams that talked of dining and their oblate.

They began to sit away from the cruel gods of those gods who deny their children who were engendered by the cruelest and most chaste reconversion by staying on Olympus as guests, as opposed to sitting at this free table of the very well-valued elixir with the deities invited Phrygian women, who only laughed and favored the secrecy of the bread of eternity, and well-being that was subject to the conscious tolerance of who await a lavish banquet on a table in these conditions with mood and prolonged perspective and tablecloths of penance and cross in exotic chores. They drank the hanging sheep on the branches of the fruits that hung from the cornucopia, and the baking that altered the enzymes of some harsh dispute against Asia, which Leiak concocted with benevolent sorcery by giving it sip water from the drinking sea of Asia Minor. in front of illuminated Troy. The table is made of seven bread baskets, seven mistletoes that escorted the gluten bread that was sprinkled by Persephone's strong winds as she fell hastily and longing to meet Demeter; she is picking it up from the gale with her feet pulverizing the soft grains of Hapalos Artos, with goat's milk and olives that she would anoint on the very nails of her daughter Persephone of hers when cleaning them with white leaves of the dough fluffy It used to be called Cappadocia yeast until it reached the edges of the noble bread that were installed on the table as Lakhma bread as a metaphysic of the Eucharist that took place on the white tablecloth that shrank every time it was taken as domestic bread when rolled in the angry parts of the Mataki tablecloth, for healings that continue from the protective actions of those who take advantage of a good alliance of water, and the bread on the table with bad thoughts that anger the battered thick curtains of abundance and prosperity of the ill had. The Iaspis or Jaspers resembled supra scalded as of natural belonging and shimmering authenticity in the rarity that did nothing more than make buffoons from Southeast Asia and not from Asia Minor. The greenish flashes spoke of life at full strength to fit followed by a wisp of flash deposited by Zefian coming and gliding in the seasonal, holding on to some veins of the Alikantus sapphire eyes that were adapted to sipping from the dense spring that floated through the waves. The atmosphere of the Mataki, to later pour it into the chalices absorbed by Leiak's sorcery, speaking of superior lapses of any known numeral but the seventieth preceding the current one. This martyrdom of the Mataki made Leiak's esophagus secrete with the desire of a sommelier who sips the distilled water from the ravines over the chalices that lessened the badly criminal cruelty of those who do not taste the food for another dinner, congratulations if there was a failure of the Caucasus, where elixirs of mixed and sanctified muscatel wine are brought out under the table of San Juan. Everything was of ascending ambition for any liver who coveted this table of Mataki for whom he cordoned off the mountains and made those of the valleys embrace each other, for the uniqueness of the Dodecanese islands. All of those who let go of their shyness and did not allow them to refer to drinking or eating deposed by paying sacred attention to Zefian when he arrived on Patmos as a physical, and not spiritual taste, becoming effective in those who toast with muscatel for all the star maidens who followed him above, violating the seals that held them prisoner, then just then the eye of the Iaspis was made of the karats for its recalculation, subjecting them to the safeguard to signify and meet at this time between seven polyélaios, and seven discopotira immediately to the bag of the phasmatemporos or Enchanted Paneros to taste Self-corrections were approaching with the necromancies of Leiak, they took the seven candlesticks or Polyélaios, and the seven chalices or Diskopótira immediately to the bags of the Fasmatemporos or bread basket, the crimes were archaically repositioned in this Mataki tablecloth enchanted by Leiak, the sin was self-corrected in the parallel line of slip doubly marked as a sin of omission, and concessional violation of the desert's desire to self-correct fully empty having hands with wax from the candelabrum of Kerós' spell or wax made by the bees of Aristaeus to please the avatars present at this inaugural banquet, for libations that spilled part of the lipoids of the bees of Gethsemane, along with those of Aristeo to clean the ground mixed with parasitic spiders that ****** the milk that fell from their rituals. By nightfall of the third dream, the Mataki was wrinkled by thousands of leg joints from mating arachnids from the spider's trochanter drenched in milk and Corinthian wine.

The precautionary did not wake them from the third sleep when they had just broken the bread and made the libation for the first time with alcuzas that shone superimposed on the icons of the Attic vases, here is the lavish clothing of the entomological world under thousands of overloaded spiders in the Mataki, and it is overloaded on the oak inn that supported it towards the entirety of the Tagmati in the formation of a model of hoplite spiders that would transform into specialized units formed by the deprecation of the bees of Aristeo by balancing the unevenness of the tables by attaching them with the figured beards in the icons of the vases, where they saw these images of the future and past with the Tagmati with Byzantine expressions of Constantine V, and with Philip II dispensing financing for the new military uniform of the hoplites completely financed by the Greek coffers, naming him hegemon of the Amphictyony after Philip entered central Greece and won the battle from Chaeronea (338 BC) to the Thebans and Athenian allies, here seven thousand of the fallen Athenian and Theban allies graced the figure of Demosthenes, for new vessels encrypted with Philip's iconic images "Lover of Steeds" where a spear crosses hearts in the offspring of his horses in his heart too, wronged by the page Pausanias of Oréstide as royal guard. Gradually the table was made with more guests represented in the numismatics that ran through the drag of the cornucopia, and in the majolicas that classified the blood represented right there on free floors to self-correct for all the ****** campaign carried out by Philip and his corrupt but unifying mission to dissuade providential enemies unworthy of sitting at the historical table of the Amphictyony remembered in these vessels, on top of the Mataki that absorbed liters and liters per second of the blood that was drained by the description made of the hoplite representatives, who for the first time They once sat next to the close track record of a hegemon. The Sibyls arrived commanded by the Herophile Delphic, they were served wine of conjectured blood reverted from the Mataki but from the ground preceded the greatest libation on spring propination equipment that made amnesty bonds where everything reigned for self-correction of the brutality of the symposiums, where nothing made to have Bearing in mind what would happen to Vernarth's stipend, he was still delighted to see more guests come up from the wind tunnel of the Profitis Ilias that expelled them.

The ashamed gods hid behind the candlesticks that shone with the ****** waxes of Aristaeus, and the polis that harvested the Sponde, sipping the effluvia of Persephone in the meeting of the canticles with her mother, pouring out the earthly gynaeceum that awaits the ceremonial, before only those who observe and correct themselves. Spray water fell from tidal waves from the Aegean with throats plagued by a ravenous and invasive rain of flavonoid metabolites; of the plants that poured down the gorge that Demeter burst upon, flat and monumental goblets for all who arrived with skillful fists to give rise to the mixed consumption of libation with essences of the sleet turned into the blood for the chalices on the table next to the Mataki, which began to replenish pure essence of necromancy to start with the suppressions of evil eyes on the hoplites that began to pierce them and protect them from a certain visual intoxication.
Vóreios
Fredy Sanchez Mar 2020
I'm an immigrant from foreign lands
Who made the trip crawling on my knees and hands
Who thought a change of scenery was all that was needed
Who for a better life turned to the skies and pleaded
And while searching for sanctuary with destain I was greeted
See, I think they believe I was fine where I was
Sure, outside of having to give my last quarter to get a pass
Outside of having to decide between food or the homie that's asking
*** the homie that's asking is the homie that's blasting
If you dare say no
On your way home, after a hard day's work, still have to pay the neighborhood rent tho
*** if you's broke you were the next one to go
As simple as tic-tac-toe
Except it's click-clack-pow
I seen the culprit, twas the kid from next door
Who now sleeps on the edge of death row
Guilty of a dozen of those
Danger travels in troves
In the place where they let go of their humanity
So I left
With the faded blue Jansport on my back
And a brand new fake passport in my back pocket
Leaving the world I called home behind
Facing Mexico hoping to cross it
I was 15 in a group of fifteen with a single shared dream
The Salvadorean dream team
Thinking we could escape this unfair hand
Wide-eyed we ventured in...
And then I saw, violence everywhere we went
The horrified masses didn't have to pretend
The fear inflicted by individuals with no chance to repent
But it's best of I digress and of my travels I shed light
We only moved at night
Daring to commit the horrendous crime of crossing an imaginary line
That changes with time
And for that we were persecuted
We were stopped, chased, and straight up looted
The Police or the Cartels it didn't matter who did it
To the females of the group when **** was commited
And between check points and abductions only 4 remained since the groups introduction
The faded Jansport had been stolen by a 16 year old with a machete
Who had promised to cut me up like confetti if I didn't hand it to him
So I did
Just like my innocence as a kid as well
And so I left
Traveling further north still
Looking at American soil from the hotel window sill
Hoping the nightmare would soon end
Hoping my psyche I can still mend
The four of us shared a hopeful glance
Stopped and shook each others hands and wished each other well
Said if we got lost we'd meet at the well
The one we had stopped at to rest for a spell
The plan couldn't be tested, however
Immigration came and shut down the whole endeavor
The only one who got out was me...
Forced to forever flee
Entrusted to see...what they couldn't see
And to be all they couldn't be
KorbydAngyle Nov 2022
In the littlest of hours when the cold Belfry screens its alumni...
In the God forsaken glyphs that are scrawled into the pumpkins
A ghastly glossy serpentine creature senses its prey and pleads in a trap for ablation
But cadence still strikes at the glow, virtues singing, virtues in tow
And frays, full hearted, mince meat organs, the sanctuary foregone, enters...
Decimation, exsanguination, and rectification from abduction of our souls!

Inseparable homing in- veiled in black, and stanchion hues
The cauldron was stirred bubble and toil tis the witch's brew
Lakes afire senses for which we have bereaved yet let go
Satisfy abductions through torture feeling eons of castigations
forcing hubris beyond redemption, our killed prayers...
  we shall never know!

Fasten facts, the dire force perception
   all awaiting the dense fears liquid.
Upon touch of cryptic sun...
If the treats ease a soul more... comparatively?
Mocking entities with a  dreary definition shan't
Break the barrier from what happened passed
   and what once and final in costume happened again  began
Safana Apr 2021
Alkali became...
He has became
First in command
to the Black uniform
in Nigerian police force

We wish and hope
The brutal **** and
massacre, militia
agitation and abductions
Insurgency and cultism
Will be dispose properly
In to conflict bin by your
effort Sir,

New Inspector General of Police
Usman Baba Alkali

We wish you successful ending
The gods of the Faith left hand in hand, in some cases they did not recognize their gender or status, rather the divine and ineffable condition of the irredeemable Seventh Heaven, ad libitum of titania as a mental abstraction of pro-Olympic labyrinths, which have not born under the eaves of it. Spring was coming and winter was arrogant of all the rapes and abductions of the flowers that would not germinate, and that would go away because of the promiscuous sunset that was made of the dawn in some flowers, which did germinate on the defenseless edge. The converted Alexander the Great caressed the robe that he was looking at, more than the one the maiden wore, he looked towards his own chimp that did not make him defenseless of his gaze in the ability to transform into a Converted King, almost like a beautiful celestial lion after leave the libidinous gestures of Astarte as a foreign goddess and mother of the Levant, which made him doubt the rain that was refined as gregarious host in celibate women who tried in the outbursts of Alexander the Great, by removing the veil of darkness from Astarte, in cases of lost loves of the transcript Forest of Hylates, or in the awakening of the Apennines, when it was the trophy of a felid winged tetra in the chambers of the rampaging Bayard by Carlo Magno.

The rain bathed millennia that traveled from the boreal of Vóreios to the insane Argive spaces, in the Peloponnese where the first maiden hangs her braids sixteen times to forty times more, before all the brides who wake up in the hours that have not sworn eternal misogyny . The spring served the winter mead with sweet last vintage wine, from the valley of the plain of Sharon, both embraced by the Jamsin, squabbling in the sand that Zefian had hoarded before enchanted by the interval of Delphi. The north and south straddles dried the steely cobblestones of the dusty ground, where the Jamsin reverberates suffering for more than forty-six weeks, becoming light prey in the song of the three fountains of Life, the Castalia and the fountain of Arethusa. A solemn red stain was seen on the little sky that blinded the stalls that held the intramural walls of the wind tunnel, breathing on the Jamsin, turning it into murals of forced dust by channeling it and always levitating in the gushings, which shelled raindrops and sand in the disturbed electrical animations that made him possessed on the spiers, at the mere tone of liquid marble in the intertestamentals that already spoke of Hellenic modernity, but the barbarism of Ruah Qadim, banishing the spire of the east wind, for fifty days. The lights and festivities were seen to illuminate from the dreaded height when lowering the diminished light of the amplified candle, everything resembled in a dwelling where everyone was seated at a long table that had no end, in the center seven chandeliers, seven bread baskets, with a chalice. All gossiping with the Gensemani bees that did everything in their glosses and nectars that they celebrated in the palaces gleaming from the transit of the cheeks of San Juan and his Hexagonal. Raeder clung to the red and blue Gerakis with gold seams that spoke of dinner and oblation.
The Gods
From outer space
The great beyond
The human race
Awaits response
For a signal that we’re not alone
Or a welcoming from the unknown
An alien that comes in different forms
Much less than the mundane norm
Abductions, sightings, strange events
And an answer from our welcomed guests
sandra wyllie Feb 2020
Girl. There’s a whole world
out there. Don’t be afraid to be
a part of it. You’re a work of art
from your lines down to your

toes, from your song up to
your nose. From your sass to the cracks
in your ***. From your ***** to your
closet of junk. There’s no stopping

you, from eighties style hair
to the thrift-shop clothes you wear. From
your Arnold Horshack laugh, to your
******* photographs. People will give their

opinion. Live by your own dominion. Let
them say what they want. Be proud of you;
flaunt an asset or two. Who cares if you
***** up. As long as you don’t give up. Don’t

wait around for alien abductions, or ***
robots that don’t function, or Trump to be
re-elected, or this poem to be perfected. Just Go
with what you got. As you are, you’re smoking hot!

— The End —