"adamic" poems - Hello Poetry

On the ladder of pain, others sadder than we are Are climbing up and down constantly I watch them from my balcony, when they come and take out their garbage Because right behind my building, by the containers Is the end of the ladder, and beyond it Well, who knows. Nobody knows Or maybe I’m not told. I’m not as yet one of them, you see, to be let into such information. First I told myself: nonsense. And John, from 7th floor said the same: Get out of here, what ladder? What holes? Hey, buddy, I’m telling ya, there’s no ladder there! No hole, man! And I take my ******* out every evening. There might be one in your head! I touched myself: no hole! So, I started watching. Today, tomorrow, until one evening when I saw it. It was…a huge hole! It swallowed me at once! And the ladder, Was shiny and sturdy. I ran to the kitchen, I took the sack with leftovers and started going down Running. The others, quicker than me, were ahead. And they were running as fast as their legs would take them, as if someone was after them. And when they were touching the ladder, they would suddenly throw themselves head first! And the ones they were bracing themselves trying to hang on were pushed from behind. So, slowly but surely, I started to slow down. And, when I saw no one was watching, I started going backwards. Then I started running. I went to a halt in the middle of the sitting room and grabbed my head in my hands. Somebody had moved the ladder by the foot of the table, the big one, covered in the Last supper doily (maybe the guy upstairs, John, in a moment of adamic hate rage) Years have passed since. Questions, frictions, showers, pills…anyway, nonsense. I’m now cured by that thing with the ladder. Oy, mate, I say, there’s no ladder there! In my house only the wooden floor’s shining! You can shave in it mate! You can shave in it! Look at it! It came all the way from Germany, they know their stuff, Germans!

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Mar 24, 2010

Mar 24, 2010 at 12:23 PM UTC

dorin-cozan

Resurectio in integrum

On the ladder of pain, others sadder than we are Are climbing up and down constantly I watch them from my balcony, when they come and take out their garbage Because right behind my building, by the containers Is the end of the ladder, and beyond it Well, who knows. Nobody knows Or maybe I’m not told. I’m not as yet one of them, you see, to be let into such information. First I told myself: nonsense. And John, from 7th floor said the same: Get out of here, what ladder? What holes? Hey, buddy, I’m telling ya, there’s no ladder there! No hole, man! And I take my ******* out every evening. There might be one in your head! I touched myself: no hole! So, I started watching. Today, tomorrow, until one evening when I saw it. It was…a huge hole! It swallowed me at once! And the ladder, Was shiny and sturdy. I ran to the kitchen, I took the sack with leftovers and started going down Running. The others, quicker than me, were ahead. And they were running as fast as their legs would take them, as if someone was after them. And when they were touching the ladder, they would suddenly throw themselves head first! And the ones they were bracing themselves trying to hang on were pushed from behind. So, slowly but surely, I started to slow down. And, when I saw no one was watching, I started going backwards. Then I started running. I went to a halt in the middle of the sitting room and grabbed my head in my hands. Somebody had moved the ladder by the foot of the table, the big one, covered in the Last supper doily (maybe the guy upstairs, John, in a moment of adamic hate rage) Years have passed since. Questions, frictions, showers, pills…anyway, nonsense. I’m now cured by that thing with the ladder. Oy, mate, I say, there’s no ladder there! In my house only the wooden floor’s shining! You can shave in it mate! You can shave in it! Look at it! It came all the way from Germany, they know their stuff, Germans!

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At Etemenanki, the bell has rung Echoing into the dark desert night Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue Though the sky is old, the earth is still young And the world is still full of love and light At Etemenanki, the bell has rung Free the prisoners who have not yet hung For even the ****** could never indict Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue Every voice cries out, every song is sung While the jealous one looks on at this slight At Etemenanki, the bell has rung And from the ziggurat, his hand has flung (As they all protest and declaim his might) Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue The crowd babbles and speaks and shouts among Themselves, but none meet with any insight At Etemenanki, the bell has rung Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue

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May 31, 2013

May 31, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC

michael-patrick

The City and It's Tower

At Etemenanki, the bell has rung Echoing into the dark desert night Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue Though the sky is old, the earth is still young And the world is still full of love and light At Etemenanki, the bell has rung Free the prisoners who have not yet hung For even the ****** could never indict Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue Every voice cries out, every song is sung While the jealous one looks on at this slight At Etemenanki, the bell has rung And from the ziggurat, his hand has flung (As they all protest and declaim his might) Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue The crowd babbles and speaks and shouts among Themselves, but none meet with any insight At Etemenanki, the bell has rung Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue

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Atomic Adam. Adamic Atom.

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Nov 8, 2017

Nov 8, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC

jedidiahfleming

Adam Bomb

Atomic Adam. Adamic Atom.

2

The soul breathes and its light bleeds the flesh of physicality It is the crystalline water which is the essence of this entity Adamic in structure, moulded with silica clay the said fourth phase of water :the human. The unit of the student soul, the illusion of the Sugmad offshoot In its manipulation the patterns of its identity have been confused the DNA stripped of etheric balance and its consciousness subjugated to the confines of Systemic Conformity Tied in time, a slave of wonder, a child of discovery Wandering in the tapestries of Material streams oblivious to the Surreal bells and strings Tapping into the wild, the way would oft look foggy the backbone rests against the fig tree The eyes shut from the silence of the wind, the breath within sinks him into the Fourth A state described heavenly as it is ascension facing North In the pursuits of comfort he seeks the way in dogma confront Media and temptation at his forefront He is trapped and conflicted Abused immensely by the memory of past lives, and the truth of his Galactic roots Some serving ancestors, that there be guides who are advanced souls in the afterlife others believers in Watchers some serving the soul-igniting Messiahs It is said that these Superheroes of distant skies could fly fly and walk on water Did they really walk on water or were they merely reviving those buried in the ground with the purity of their footprints as the were clearly star-aligned Reviving the dead yes would be as walking on water, teaching the souls that have devolved to tango once more Preparing them for the Galactic Dance a Ball, the twist of a storm Walking on Water, swimming in the Ocean Of Love and Mercy for all we are is Water For Water is merely stretched light and thickened sound Until we walk on water once more, the waves echo on and warn of a storm if we do not listen and answer the call.

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May 27, 2014

May 27, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC

moment-momeant

Walking On Water

The soul breathes and its light bleeds the flesh of physicality It is the crystalline water which is the essence of this entity Adamic in structure, moulded with silica clay the said fourth phase of water :the human. The unit of the student soul, the illusion of the Sugmad offshoot In its manipulation the patterns of its identity have been confused the DNA stripped of etheric balance and its consciousness subjugated to the confines of Systemic Conformity Tied in time, a slave of wonder, a child of discovery Wandering in the tapestries of Material streams oblivious to the Surreal bells and strings Tapping into the wild, the way would oft look foggy the backbone rests against the fig tree The eyes shut from the silence of the wind, the breath within sinks him into the Fourth A state described heavenly as it is ascension facing North In the pursuits of comfort he seeks the way in dogma confront Media and temptation at his forefront He is trapped and conflicted Abused immensely by the memory of past lives, and the truth of his Galactic roots Some serving ancestors, that there be guides who are advanced souls in the afterlife others believers in Watchers some serving the soul-igniting Messiahs It is said that these Superheroes of distant skies could fly fly and walk on water Did they really walk on water or were they merely reviving those buried in the ground with the purity of their footprints as the were clearly star-aligned Reviving the dead yes would be as walking on water, teaching the souls that have devolved to tango once more Preparing them for the Galactic Dance a Ball, the twist of a storm Walking on Water, swimming in the Ocean Of Love and Mercy for all we are is Water For Water is merely stretched light and thickened sound Until we walk on water once more, the waves echo on and warn of a storm if we do not listen and answer the call.

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