Blessed blessed
Is the heart
Whose knees
Kneel on acient hills
Because in them
Is a source of life.

Blessed blessed
Is a soul
Whose hands is digging for a source of light
Even when buried in darkness.

Blessed blessed
Is a heart
That knows a washer
That which washes impurities
And source of sin
From the a dying soul.

Blessed blessed
Are the legs
Walking in a path of truth
Even in difficulties.

Blessed blessed
Are the eyes
Those seeing  a ladder to heaven
Because when the world
becomes a river of tears,
They'll easily go to paradise.

Blessed blessed
Is a hand
Holding a hopeless soul
Even when it's about to sink a ***** hole.

Blessed blessed
Is the heart
Whose life is love
Even in a bed of death.

Blessed blessed
Is an ear
Hearing this song of faith
That's giving birth to hope
With children of kindness
Whose life is patience
Even in difficult circumstances of life.

Leaves crackle as she slowly steps
She enters the glade, her magic she preps
She listens for the sound, first soft then strong,
This music is the Faerie Song

A smile creeps onto her face
As she observes the spider weaving her lace
This creature trims the gowns of Dryads
The velvity green of summer they add

The wind blows and they bow their respect
Their rustling applause goes unchecked
She pauses by one revered, acient tree's heath
And pats the small fawn resting beneath

On she glides, though the mists of twighlight
For ahead she sees a scene so bright
Dancing 'round an enchanted flame
Are the Faerie people, frolicking without shame

She steps into the light and all goes still
She throws back her hood that kept out the chill
The Fair Folk all bow as their clothes they brush clean,
"Welcome home, Fair Lady, our own gentle Queen!"

acient splendor of a city's identity
succumbing to nature's
greatest trick

everything falls apart,
even our gods
of stone

I think about
The things that don't
Involve me
Like science
And problematic equations
Missing pieces
To acient artifacts
Long poles
Connecting electromagnetic frequencies
So he, or she, or them
Can hear the low whispers
Of the man on tv
Telling you
About the woman
Who died
Because
The man
And the man
Knew to much
He was crazy
We are all crazy
Including me
So I'm involved

My ***! Walt Whitman & Ginsberg inc.
I didnt *******!
I didnt eye tea black boys
Tonite my ***! Yes da one
And ubiflated cabage cloud
Hipped out like blue
Trowsetes
Died acidiniated
Lying greenish like salmon
Pink milk
***** sweat pull
Blacked
With satin smooth fantasy
I rotted likeke pecked tomatoes.
******* and left acient in prune meat.
By pass products of crates bigger
Like patatoe famine
Off of grain
Feeding stock bull fabrics.
Letrexaxing condense
As is strangers mated publicly.

All your actions are one sided deeds

So what do you claim to have ever done for me?

Except run from me

Block driveways

Disguise pathways

Lock doorways with melted keys

Having me walk on burning sands

Melting the bottoms of my already rotten feet

Yet you continuously encourage me

By speaking a tongue so enticingly sweet

It has me swimming in a tomb full of acient Egyptian

Straight out the farmers kitchen  

Honey

But Its ugly

I drown in its texture

As you religiously lie to me about the glimmer of your treasure

I only begged for the minimum

And received half of that measure

I would have died for you

Lied for you

Cut all ties for you

But now I know better

Now I day dream

Fantasizing about when you need my presence

When you can no longer fight

No longer strong enough to draw your own weapon

Exposed to those you label as foes

Nothing left but to glare at the heavens

Enemies draw near because you hopelessly let them

Praying that my sword will protect you

But It won't be in attendance

I only reserve the blade for my own independence

who are these people fooling? light "pollution"?! sure, if you're standing directly under a streetlamp, i could concede a point being validated... but in the scottish highlands, near ben nevis, drinking ***** in a smoky bothy - where light "pollution" is zero through to nil, down the road from a pub that served up sheepshagger ale; did i see more stars? i hardly think so; it almost feels biblical when they show you the heavens on television, and the heavens you see at night with the naked eye: what, that's it?!

winter is knocking on our doors
like the angel of death on the doors of acient
egypt...
            the first night that amounts
to seeing frost,
as i once mentioned, paparazzi frost -
twist your head, twist is right,
   the frost paparazzi are taking snaps,
more so, they look like stars...
these tiny diamonds -
      there are more stars on earth than
there are stars in the heavens...
           winter is knocking on the door
of late autumn...
     frost paparazzi are at it again...
i'm holding a glass of ms. amber and my
finger start feeling numbed -
pinched by the ***** of frost pinching
at me...
                 **** feels good...
          the moon is slightly but just about
right the paleness of azure,
          an orb of a frothing sea...
  and there's that debate of light "pollution"...
the **** are you talking about,
seems to me the grand lying dragon fell to earth,
i see more constellations in william blake's
account with the naked eye, observed:
there are more stars in the heavens than there
are grains of sand on the shores of england...
well... hardly.
    even in the remoteness of the scottish
highlands, i see as many stars as i do
in central london... light pollution by ***...
            the dragon fell to earth
and dragged more than a "fair" share of a third...
        bullshitters in the propaganda
machinery of television never poised to
disclose the william blake naked eye observation...
once more, paparazzi frost amounts to
more stars during winter,
than the stars above...
            man has, to be adequately said,
in need of humbling...
this one convict called be a hunchback angel...
*garbaty anioł - well, no, paul was wrong,
rather i was wrong:
boże czemu to tak boli,
           usłyszymy zór pizdy garbatego anioła
i.e. god, why does it hurt so much,
we'll hear the tongue of a
                      hunchback angel's *****!
man has walked the walk of pride for
to long, he needs a hunchback baptism -
             i find has lost a degree of respect
in being humbled for too long...
                man has walked too proud,
too solipsistic for at least 50 years,
50 years is enough,
        man requires a humbling...
               you know what is identifiable about
a hunchback angel...
islam will tell you...
                iblis / satan is the hunchback angel...
whatever the koran states:
         satan did bow, but regretted it,
since he became lodged into a perpetual
crow-like...
the islamic story is actually a story of
japanese etiquette...
  iblis was asked to perform a dogeza -
hence the pose of the praying muslim - sujud -
when in fact he rebelled and performed
a seiritsu -
   he was, unfathomably tested -
god said, perform a dogeza before adam,
satan replied: but i only bid
myself most humbled & most ashsmed
before you in that pose -
   god insisted, and as satan began
to procrastinate before the icon of adam -
god stopped him at the stage of seiritsu.
    akin to milton,
      i find the story more in the great
humanitarian's favour,
     than in the story of the bench-marking despot.
my, could you ever find more perfect
similarities, the map of europe
circa 1347 - 1351 - the black plague -
and the years circa 2001 - 2017 pending -
the spread of islam -
and what area is still, persuasively, immune?
po-land,
either that, or they clearly wash their hand
after taking a ****...
   hygienic hypersensitivity...
                      and yes, inside poland you
hear of the idiotic catholic conservatives,
    but at least there's some humour in that,
rather than the bombastic sound of terrorist bombs...
history replica -
   islam is the black plague for the poles...
         given the geographic proofs...
     god, i just love writing religious poetics,
it just has to be the most fertile ground for
expression...
    secularism is so barren for the poetic
spirit...
                  there's always the zeitgeist to mind,
there's always the mundane everyday *******,
that always follows up with:
    i'd sooner be seen trainspotting that crowd
surfing with a populist "poem for the people"
sort of material; seriously,
  trainspotting over pop. poetic creep-custard
of verbiage.

If there were no oceans
and we could travel everywhere
Just walking


If there was no poverty
and everybody fills his belly
by working


If there was no religion
that gives us reasons to hate
and ****


If there were no politicians
leading us the wrong road
just to serve


If there were shamans
leading us to heaven
in acient ceremonies


Would we be free again, or construct another prison???