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Given the apparent magical surrealism that the months of April is the month of fate for and death of writers, artists, dramatis, philosophers and poets, a phenomenon which readily gets support from the cases of untimely and early April deaths of; Max Weber, Miguel de Cervantes, William Shakespeare, Francis Imbuga, and Chinua Achebe  then  Wisdom of the moment behooves me to adjure away the fateful month by  allowing  me to mourn Gabriel José de la Concordia García Márquez by expressing my feelings of grieve through the following dirge of elegy;
You lived alone in the solitude
Of pure hundred years in Colombia
Roaming in Amacondo with a Spanish tongue
Carrying the bones of your grandmother in a sisal sag
On your poverty written Colombian back,
Gadabouting to make love in times of cholera,
On none other than your bitter-sweet memories
Of your melancholic ***** the daughter of Castro,
Your cowardice made you to fear your momentous life
In this glorious and poetic time of April 2014,
Only to succumb to untimely black death
That similarly dimunitized your cultural ancestor;
Miguel de Cervantes, a quixotic Spaniard,
You were to write to the colonel for your life,
Before eating the cockerel you had ear-marked
For Olympic cockfight, the hope of the oppressed,
Come back from death, you dear Marquez
To tell me more stories fanaticism to surrealism,
From Tarzanic Africa the fabulous land
An avatar of evil gods that are impish propre
Only Vitian Naipaul and Salman Rushdie are not enough,
For both of them are so naïve to tell the African stories,
I will miss you a lot the rest of my life, my dear Garbo,
But I will ever carry your living soul, my dear Garcia,
Soul of your literature and poetry in a Maasai kioondo
On my broad African shoulders during my journey of art,
When coming to America to look for your culture
That gave you versatile tongue and quill of a pen,
Both I will take as your memento and crystallize them
Into my future thespic umbrella of orature and literature.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez, an eminent Latin American and most widely acclaimed authors, died untimely at his home in Mexico City on Thursday, 17th April 2014. The 1982 literature Nobel laureate, whose reputation drew comparisons to Mark Twain of adventures of Huckleberry Finny and Charles Dickens of hard Times, was 87 of age. Already a luminous legend in his well used lifetime, Latin American writer, Gabriel Garcia Marquez was perceived as not only one of the most consequential writers of the 20th and 21ist centuries, but also the sterling performing Spanish-language author since the world’s experience of Miguel de Cervantes, the Spanish Jail bird and Author of Don Quixote who lived in the 17th century.
Like very many other writers from the politically and economically poor parts of the world, in the likes of J M Coatze, Wole Soyinka, Nadine Gordimer, Doris May Lessing, Octavio Paz, Pablo Neruda, V S Naipaul, and Rabidranathe Tagore, Marguez won the literature Nobel prize in addition to the previous countless awards for his magically fabulous novels, gripping short stories, farcical screenplays, incisive journalistic contributions and spellbinding essays. But due to postmodern global thespic civilization the Nobel Prize is recognized as most important of his prizes in the sense that, he received in 1982, as the first Colombian author to achieve such literary eminence. The eminence of his work in literature communicated in Spanish are towered by none other than the Bible, especially  in its Homeric style which Moses used when writing the book of Genesis and the fictitious drama of Job.
Just like Ngugi, Achebe, Soyinka, and Ousmane Marquez is not the first born. He is the youngest of siblings. He was born on March 6, 1927 in the Colombian village of Aracataca, on the Caribbean coast. His literary bravado was displayed in his book, Love in the Times of Cholera.  In which he narrated how his parents met and got married. Marguez did not grow up with his father and mother, but instead he grew up with his grandparents. He often felt lonely as a child. Environment of aunts and grandmother did not fill the psychological void of father and mother. This social phenomenon of inadequate parenthood is also seen catapulting Richard Wright, Charlese Dickens, and Barrack Obama to literary excellency.Obama recounted the same experience in his Dreams from my father.

Poverty determines convenience or hardship of marriage. This is mirrored by Garcia Marquez in his marriage to Mercedes Barcha.  An early childhood play-mate and neighbour in 1958. In appreciation of his marriage, Marquez later wrote in his memoirs that it is women who maintain the world, whereas we men tend to plunge it into disarray with all our historic brutality. This was a connotation of his grandmother in particular who played an important role during the times of childhood. The grand mother introduced him to the beauty of orature by telling him fabulous stories about ghosts and dead relatives haunting the cellar and attic, a social experience which exactly produced Chinua Achebe, Okot P’Bitek, Mazizi Kunene, Margaret Ogola and very many other writers of the third world.
Little Gabo as his affectionate pseudonym for literature goes, was a voracious bookworm, who like his ideological master Karl Marx read King Lear of Shakespeare at the age of sixteen. He fondly devoured the works of Spanish authors, obviously Miguel de Cervantes, as well as other European heavyweights like; Edward Hemingway, Faulkner and Frantz Kafka.
Good writers usually drop out of school and at most writers who win the Nobel Prize. This formative virtue of writers is evinced in Alice Munro, Doris Lessing, Nadine Gordimer, John Steinbeck, William Shakespeare, Sembene Ousmane, Octavio Paz as well as Gabriel Garcia Marquez. After dropping out of law school, Garcia Marquez decided instead to embark on a call of his passion as a journalist. The career he perfectly did by regularly criticizing Colombian as well as ideological failures of the then foreign politics. In a nutshell he was a literary crusader against poverty. This is of course the obvious hall marker of leftist political orientation.
Garcia Marquez’s sensational breakthrough occurred in 1967 with the break-away publication of his oeuvre; One Hundred Years of Solitude which the New York Times Book Review meritoriously elevated as ‘the first piece of literature since the Book of Genesis that should be required reading for the entire human race. The position similarly taken by Salman Rushdie. Marquez often shared out that this novel carried him above emotional tantrums on its publication. He was keen on this as his manner of speech was always devoid of la di da.so humble and suave that his genius can only be appreciated not from the booming media outlets about his death, but by reading all of his works and especially his Literature Noble price acceptance speech delivered in 1982.
Ja Jan 2016
Walk with me, while I age
Help me write, each tortured page

Instill in me, compassion and courage
To my ego, and oppression discourage

Assist me to, life’s challenges manage
Forgive my failures, do not disparage

In grief, with comfort, do me assuage
In death, my virtues, with homage gauge
BOEMS BY JA 344
Sibyl Apr 2015
Misery has no chance of overwhelming you.

Lenient are thy limbs and causing pain you refrain to do.

Surrounded by gold, your life is all splendid and sweet.

Reminded not of the world below, full of pain and deceit.

Flaws, one cannot find in you, you are perfection

yet unseen by you still, this beauty in your conception

A face conjured from that of great goddesses –

merely known to many, a face of broken promises.

without seeking the depths, one cannot know you well

He shall adjure to tear the walls and break the spell.

And when all arises, you will be liberated from your own hell.
An Acrostic
Jarod McCusker Jul 2018
The song of Lilly Flower and her King

(Lily flower) - out of your eyes gleans the love that sheppards my heart, there is no fragrance in all of the earth as sweet! I have watched you from afar, and I have seen your heart, and it is better than that of great noble princes.

(us)- come keeper of my heart, our vineyard is ripe, let us indulge the fruits of our garden,

(Lily flower) early grapes blossoms are the nectar of our wines.

(Lily flowers King)) drink of my cup, all that is mine is yours, I delight in your pleasure.

( Lily flower) my ******* awaken, pleasing my loves desire, I am our shepperdes.

(Lily flowers King) beautiful Lilly flower, my bride

(Lily flower) yes,my king? I sense your stirring, my love. My heart follows in procession, anticipating our every move.

(us) come closer, I long for your embrace, like a gazelle leaping high along the meadow, I imagine our Holy union, our marriage beneath the heavens, I will wear on my arm the seal of our love.

(Lily flowers king) [imagining her saying] sow my feild ,move within me, let us sing our Union song "the wedding of the halves" uniting into one, beloved let our breathe flow,and hearts tempo join, let us join with the infinite, the holy union of the Divine masculine and feminine!let us promise God before the foundations of the earth our love ! Can you hear the delight? the land cries out! raising the banner of our love! and how sweet are the melodies of the turtle doves!

(Lily flower) [ softly steps in to remind her king ] My King! the youth of my love, speak subtly, the time is near look to the horizon, I adjure you my king, to remind you.. even as my passion burns! that ****** desires in haste risk loving relationships. When the time is right, we will lock away our treasure and share only between us.

( Lily flowers king ) O, my love! what have I done! Never will I risk our precious love I will always protect it. Pardon my desires- yearning, haste!, wisdom flows from your lips, and gladdens my heart! Your wisdom of love is a gift in Holy union, I will treasure taking heed to your voice and insight! Then only then , will I eat from our appletree, there we will express our love, in the secret gardens , under our appletree, we will lye, sharing our sweetest treasure, having weathered many joyful winter's past, we've yearned, anxiously,waiting, Holy union- The fullness of our apple tree!

Wisdom is good, the labor of our love rests upon our hands , the sun and the moon govern the times and the seasons, in which we labor,the sunrise awakens the dew of the morning, a new experience arises: the morning light unveils. All has a time of fullness, so to does our love!. Lily flower , friend of my dreams ,I will build our castle around your youth, and there we shall remain securely, the eternal sting of death will not overcome our love, there is only one part immeasurable between us, where the throne of God sits! pouring out blessing and guidance, God's grace, and our love, shall overcome death, forever we will grow!. I am becoming long stroked, well refinded,my eyes heavy, I will not quentch the spirit, in my dreams I will find you, together lets rest, I await the illuminating sun rise of the morning dew. Goodnight Lily flower I love you
Wade Redfearn Jun 2010
On my bed night after night I
sought him who my soul loves, I sought him
but did not find him...

I sought this morning
a handful of domestic tools.
I raked, I shoveled, I let fly
a gust from my mighty
two-stroke gas blower, which
shuddered to death in my hands,
before all of the leaves reached
the end of the ******* driveway.

I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem
that you do not awake my love until
the motor has had a chance to cool off,
or you might flood the engine.

David was anointed with the
oil of myrrh and cassia. My wrists
are caked in Havoline from
1998. Solomon ate banquets,
loved Sheba, three hundred
concubines and boats of perfumed wood.

Ramen at lunchtime. Sixty yards of two-by-fours.

If I never resemble a king,
let me sup of television dinners
let me work my hands in the valleys
of a clogged fuel line, let my bed
fill with the twin odalisques of
leisure reading and ***** sheets,
and give me never three hundred concubines.

And if I go about the city at night,
pleading with the watchmen, have they seen
she who my soul loves, let them answer:
"There."

The driveway is clean, now,
all the leaves left at the end to rot,
or be swept away.
Just ask me.
Because you have thrown of your Prelate Lord,
And with stiff Vowes renounc’d his Liturgie
To seise the widdow’d ***** Pluralitie
From them whose sin ye envi’d, not abhor’d,
Dare ye for this adjure the Civill Sword
To force our Consciences that Christ set free,
And ride us with a classic Hierarchy
Taught ye by meer A. S. and Rotherford?
Men whose Life, Learning, Faith and pure intent
Would have been held in high esteem with Paul                        
Must now he nam’d and printed Hereticks
By shallow Edwards and Scotch what d’ye call:
But we do hope to find out all your tricks,
Your plots and packing wors then those of Trent,
That so the Parliament
May with their wholsom and preventive Shears
Clip your Phylacteries, though bauk your Ears,
And succour our just Fears
When they shall read this clearly in your charge
New Presbyter is but Old Priest Writ Large.
Dylan May 2012
We saw the end coming, but did nothing to stop it;
there's no room for humanity in the margins of profit.

We silenced the dissenters, all the prophets of peace.
We killed all the thinkers, and the questions soon ceased.

We did nothing! Nothing!
We got drunk, in our stupor,

with wine and cheap pleasure, and any synthetic allure.
Plastic and silicon, then anything the men would adjure.

We did nothing! Nothing!
Except create senseless rumors:

"Our God will protect us; we are his love, so pure.
Mother will correct us; she always has the cure."

So, please! Burn this empire down!
Let those ashes fertilize the ground.

Erase all our names from the textbooks we covet.
Then **** on our graves, and grow rainforests from it.

We saw the end coming, but did nothing to stop it;
there's no room for humanity in the margins of profit.
Sho Victoria Jan 2019
"You're no stray feline,
you're a lady," they will say.
As I trim myself to the pattern they made,
adjure me to learn the dance of their stick.
Turn a blind-knowing stare in a contrivance
of my tragedies, war, and my five inches feet.

"You're no stray feline,
you're a lady," they say.
Fettering my hopes to brew lies in my entrails,
for I have no value without a bind on my step.
Endowed with no shield nor shaft for fight that I was trained,
must cower behind closed doors with a conflict in my chest.

I am no stray feline,
I am a lady, they told me.
Churning and wobbling under their commanding breathe
to flaunt I am more than a dancing bone in a vessel.
But why would they bury my lust for helm and sword away,
and exhort me to put these 3-inch shoes of hell?
Stop binding me with every step I take.
Kerry Jul 2019
Do you know the world spins
Through grimaces and grins
Yet it still spins
So like the world I adjure you to
Keep spinning
Keep grinning
Don't let anyone take your twirl
Be it man boy woman or girl
The thing is the world needs your twirl
They need it like air
Don't be small don't you dare
042816

I can taste my bitter tears
And still grasp you with crippled and blemished nails.
You drove me to the depth of my greatest remorse
Even those unpolished task that I used to adjure,
"I must finish you now."

I am unfeigned.
The hair of my eyelids were drippin' and yawning
Like those falling stars I once believed as fraud.
You taught me how to count the sheeps
In order to face tomorrow at full throttle.

My lips were dried mangoes,
Both my hands were held into the fleecy tree.
I feel like floating, and my shroud was a disgrace,
It keeps on covering every disfiguration
And I want some shutters for my disguise.

I wanna die,
Not to face death
But to welcome life.
Once I was fond of fairy tales
Or superheroes or some bed time stories,
Yet the pages were simple scratches,
They're just torn leaves trying to punch my back.

I used to believe in lies,
Until I became a liar.
I am a lie myself,
I'm dying, death isn't me.
I just died, died in Your arms,
*I still believe.
Ken Pepiton Jul 2020
New, as a thing under the sun, may not be, if
you know
beyond any shadow of doubt
[
WAIT}{ Wraith, tell no lie, I adjure thee

Human… made of fertile dirt, humus, clay,  right
or did this thing i thing you may
bean be, may be an AI virus
human concept formed from,
star-stuff,
highest dust of the desert
by fortuitous concurrence of events,
after ever begins or began
like a big bang and all kinds of unbelive- oh, that e, escape believe me,
once
just once, you come this far,
you never ring that ****** alarm again and shame,
shame's
a thing of the past, and we don't fish that hole.
Push on, pursuit of happiness is a right, not a privilege,

I inherent have, as a given, an intu ifity? An information messenger
from all who survived before now, this now, the right now?
I am, I think
A meme that makes me know,
from dust I came,
to dust I go, or is it some idea everybody knows

this me, the thinking me, I dust, become dust, damthatkansasong,
in the wind we then inherit
as
a means of propagation. Idea viruses evolve from invented
necessities formed into memes,

like on Facebook yes, yes and in Animal Farm where the egalitary
evolved an elite corps of the finest minds

and they formed a cadre of guards, to guard the riches caused by
the blessing of god.
A necessity for coping with --
op [option: change the course of history, portunity, or
position…

step by step as an upright walking being humanoid, but not dirt.
Nobel,
aragon level refusal to mix with lesser, looser fields of
gaseous matter dust,
atoms,

the un breakable thing at the point, until the Alamogordo,
fat cottonwood song was danced
in silence, and we saw

we make peace, where there is no peace,
do we lie,
can you wrestle with a message formed in media no scribe
could realize,
nor resist imagining if touched with the sting of this
what if, what if
god did adopt useless dirt beings and enoblize them above
all aaaa acc use
me. What if you got it? The itch, the kurio bite, the feel of a snaky lick?
--
In confectionary affection for special effects, I nod to the pines for their
shushing of whatever brings you pain that you wish would cease to exist.
Jimmy Hegan Sep 2015
I opened to my beloved,
but  my beloved laid turned and was gone.
My soul failed me when he spoke
I sought him , but did not find him.
I called him, but he gave to answer.
Making their rounds in the  city.
the sentinels found me ;
they beat me ,they wounded me.
they took away my mantle
those sentinels of the walls.
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem,
if you find my beloved, tell him this,
I am faint with love.
Emma Apr 2019
This violent duality
Is physically docile
Yet
There is blood
On the screen
On the sheets
Obscuring vision

Who
Did this?

You're drenched in crimson
It drips
In sickly strands
From the tips
Of guilty fingers

You plead innocence
And choke on it

Cornered
Seeking the path of least resistance
An admission is made
And
Brackish streams
Adjure forgiveness

Cornered
Seeking the path of least resistance
An exception is made
And
These hands
Are red too
I adjure you
to put another arrow
through my heart
And nails through my feet
My arms shouldn’t be free
Maybe it’s the only way
To my redemption
For the crown of thorns
You put on my head
To shame me
Rather made me a king
It made me strong
Now I’m used to it
I love the dejection
I’m ready for the antipathy
I want more of the evil things
You do to me
Maybe I’m like Jesus the Christ,
The tears and blood streaming
down the sides of my face
Represent my victory —
From above,
Where I came from
And ready to return
Andrew Guzaldo c Jun 2019
“Once I did love her as everyone knew,
And the Elysium can adjure to such,
Globules of love still trickle in my soul,
And benevolence of pain fills my heart,

I loved her endlessly even of her cynically sense,
Sometimes hesitant and at other times resentful,
Loving her regardless of her ambitious benevolence,
As tears is infamously brief the brow of my cheek,

She was the shadow of darkness that hid from me,  
Will a new love me with an obverse passionate fervor?
The globules of anamnesis drip from my heart and soul
Are these pieces of my soul that still cling to her?

Nor can I descent from despair from this I once loved,
Inescapable moments of life are as sure as leaves fall,  
As clouds form before a storm and the sun sets in eve,
As glacial flowers have fallen upon my latent heart,
And from ethereal hopes to a crevice of vicissitudes,    
By Andrew Guzaldo 06/25/2019 ©
By Andrew Guzaldo 06/25/2019 ©  #Poem#161 HP
Jimmy Hegan Sep 2015
I am a rose of Sharon,
a lily of the valleys.
As a lily among brambles,
so is my love among maidens.
As an apple tree among the
trees of the wood,
so is my beloved among young men.
With great delight I sat in his shadow,
and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He brought  me to the banqueting house.
and his intention toward me was love.
Sustain me with raisins,
refresh me with apples ;
for I am faint with love.
O that his left hand were under my head.
and that his right hand
embraced me!
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem.
by the gazelles or the wild does;
do not stir up or awaken love until it is ready!
Le dernier coup de vêpres a sonné : l'on tinte.

Entrons donc dans l'Église et couvrons-nous d'eau sainte.


Il y a peu de monde encore. Qu'il fait frais !

C'est bon par ces temps lourds, ça semble fait exprès.


On allume les six grands cierges, l'on apporte

Le ciboire pour le salut. Voici la porte


De la sacristie entr'ouverte, et l'on voit bien

S'habiller les enfants de chœur et le doyen.


Voici venir le court cortège, et les deux chantres

Tiennent de gros antiphonaires sur leurs ventres.


Une clochette retentit et le clergé

S'agenouille devant l'autel, dûment rangé.


Une prière est murmurée à voix si basse

Qu'on entend comme un vol de bons anges qui passe.


Le prêtre, se signant, adjure le Seigneur,

Et les clers, se signant, appellent le Seigneur.


Et chacun exaltant la Trinité, commence,

Prophète-roi, David, ta psalmodie immense :


Le Seigneur dit... » « Je vous louerai... » « Qu'heureux les saints.

« Fils, louez le Seigneur... » et, vibrant par essaims,


Les versets de ce chant militaire et mystique :

« Quand Israël sortit d'Égypte... » Et la musique


Du grêle harmonium et du vaste plain-chant !

L'Église s'est remplie. Il fait tiède. L'argent


Pour le culte et celui du denier de Saint-Pierre

Et des pauvres tombe à bruit doux dans l'aumônière.


L'hymme propre et Magnificat aux flots d'encens !

Une langueur céleste envahit tous les sens.


Au court sermon qui suit sur un thème un peu rance,

On somnole sans trop pourtant d'irrévérence.


Le soleil lui faisant un nimbe mordoré,

Le vieux saint du village est tout transfiguré.


Ça sent bon. On dirait des fleurs très anciennes.

S'exhalant, lentes, dans le latin des antiennes.


Et le Salut ayant béni l'humble troupeau

Des fidèles, on rejoint meilleurs le hameau.


Le soir on soupe mieux, et quand la nuit invite

Au sommeil, on s'endort bien à l'aise et plus vite.
Save1 Oct 2018
Why aren’t we dancing?
I see how you smile at me.
Shouldn’t we be busy romancing?
I know you fancy we.
Shall I keep me guessing?
When I feel what you’re sending me.

Jovial eyes
Do they tell me lies?
Have they seen
What I hide - do they see me?
Why am I dancing?
I have seen how you smile.

How long have I been waiting
For this longing to be waken??
To draw such bliss from a
Kiss that may never be?
And as of yet I cannot see
we two dancing as in my dreams.

Writing words that are mistaken,
Dreaming dreams of steps not taken
Hearing music I have forsaken
Are you the Muse
That amuses my dream?
Adjure these dreams into reality.
Derrek Estrella Nov 2017
Thunder shattered lightning o’er the moor
The hoarse women spoke of what’s to come
Beneath the set of sun, they adjure
The fated, bloodied fool of the kingdom

Written here is an early epitaph
Of the golden well and its fall
The order’s domain, once in paragraphs
Stained, slain and cursed by its thrall

The Captain of the ministry of peace
His bloodied steel, speaking of some rage
The fires hung, the creases on their knees
The pawn, the hero, of a noble gauge

Major Mylland and General Barnow
Emptied their guns and scarred their bones
A rebel slain, the traitor thane in tow
Mylland rested on a stolen throne

They stumbled on the old women of fate
Who knelt and spoke of riches yet to come
For them and their own kin, a golden gate
They fled with a quick tongue of costly sums

These men, taken aback by many a dream
Mylland’s fate, it seemed to serve him well
The sinister truths have given him royal seams
How close to hell must one want themselves?

King Dunwell heard of Cornell’s dead
Cried out freely, by his silvered son
The thane confessed, now less a man by the head
With the fall of boys, came ****** won

Mylland and Barnow were revered
With carpets of sand and diamond busts
It was heir Mnaleer, the son he feared
Shall Mylland be a king, return him to dust?

The silhouette of the once-great gestalt
And its walkways of emerald tongue
In thickened, wary blood it found its halt
And rides in the pocket of fate’s lung

Lady Mylland received a letter
From her love, who did not take the reins
Unsexed herself as the cosmic order’s debtor
Duly indulged in some gain from pain

Dunwell arrived on the palest day
Praised the charms of the seething Myllands
In this jovial banquet, he sways
And greets the ravaged likes of ****** hands

Mylland caught himself and his drink
And sought to render prophecies untrue
But his wide did not fall for meek links
And spat on Mylland’s wishes to rue

He happened upon Barnow, who would tell
Of cursed thoughts and nightmares neighbouring
His pillow, Mylland shrugged and claimed all’s well
And set a later time for his flings

Mylland happened upon a floating blade
The blood stained air beside a shaken mind
With reflections, his cowardice fades
Promptly adheres to his calling’s binds

The blow to shake the sun, committed then
Perpetual stains that water can’t wipe
Murdered was the sleep of the kin
The loyal, now chained to the void’s gripe

A drunken porter named Bazeleu
Mocked the visitors outside his door
Drank and whispered of a distilled dew
Droopily continued his chore

Mygdla, a righteous fighting man, walked in
And greeted his hollow heart, a vicious sight
The blood of kings that dwelled within
He called an echo of the kingdom’s blight

Sons of the king, Mnaleer and Delireey
Sought to flee from miming as a home
With sharpened smiles and daggers, merrily
They escaped from corruption's shattered dome

Mylland, granted a crown by all and none
Broke the stationary cosmic hierarchy
It brought eyeless nights and blood-red suns
Oh, to find oneself in fleeting patriarchy

But he grew weary of the women’s words
Anxious of Barnow and his kingly son
Should they rule, or be ash under his sword?
Now Barnow rots, his child meekly runs

On the finest feast of the night
Mylland’s sins appeared in tattered rags
The dead Barnow, a ghost, a visage, a blood-addled sight!
The guests fled with his sanity in bags

In his rage and royal dissatisfaction
He duly had Mygdla’s family maimed
The truest, newest colour of his deluded faction
Of one man, shall comeuppance be his bane?

Mygdla, in righteous fury and despair
Sought revenge and gathered men of war
And found Mnaleer in hopes to repair
Their lost purpose, ****** be Mylland’s scar

Lady Mylland talked into her pillows
Asleep of the dreaming, newfound dread
Of her guilt of fate, she would bellow
Dead is the heart of the pierced head

Mygdla’s forces came in forceful stride
The sweeping vanguard of the vengeful eyes
They walked as trees to the kingdom sides
Sharpened their resolve for due demise

Mylland pondered on a hollow throne
A fruitless crown and a plastic sceptre
Relied on fate’s dubious loans
And found his wife’s visage, now a still spectre

Tomorrow, tomorrow is to never come
For life is foolish, with its voices and vice
He steeled himself for his solitary kingdom
His shield, a shining rut of chance’s dice

The smoke and fire, war rages true
Screams followed by screams of vain quarrel
With Mygdla’s entrance, vengeance shall ensue
And hereby comes the full fool’s final peril

Mylland and Mygdla clashed with rage
Mylland fell to his vaulting ambition
Mylland’s head, severed by the closing page
Mylland’s final breath of his mind’s attrition

Mnaleer became king
The people, overjoyed
Merrily sing
Of the ceasing void

This was the story of the Whirligig Well
The beaming gestalt, the golden land
The dew of morning, drank after hell
A sempiternal bond to fate’s twisted hand

Take heed, take heed!
These are malleable times
Purposeful places
Stringed pages
David R Aug 2022
Knock, knock! - 'WHO'S THERE?!',
{I fairly shouted, I do declare,
but then I cowered back, quivering in my chair
all a-shiver like a shawl o' prayer,
for there arose outta thin air
sepulchral aura everywhere,
from eyes blood-red, demonic glare,
to sallow skin and pasty hair,
a curious charisma that bade 'beware!'}

ooh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare
{here bowed he low with flourish and flair}
I've been sending you messages all through the year,
all winks 'n hints that I'm to appear
,

{I'd have mustered strength then 'n there,
bellowed, "I adjure you, spirit of air,
be thee fiend, or phantom fair,
daytime vision or strange nightmare,
get thee hither to place elsewhere!", (- or "banish thee I to world nether!")
but dread demeanor 'n awesome stare
caught my tongue; I could not dare}

Come on, now, don't start to fret,
nothing's over - well, not quite yet!

{he masked a chuckle that gave me a turn,
then continued nonchalant with little concern}

hmm, you've been dilatory all your life,
i don't expect anything better now,
I've brought me tool, me carving-knife
,
brandishing grandiose blade before my brow

{then in undertone I could scarcely hear,
whispered grinning into my ear,}
don't take offense, don't take umbrage,
all it takes is the slightest scritch
!

'Wow, what a fine specimen, a work-of-art',
I said loudly, trying to sound smart,
'looks the epitome of a cutlass' blade.
Bet that can cut through man or shade!'

Why, of-course it can! in jaunty tone
death replied (with air of sensibility),
there's well nigh nowt that this can't own,
here held he it high for me to see

as off he went, waxing vociferous,
recounting tales o' strength so vigorous,
unending litany of victims passed,
until for breath paused he at last

well, the rest, say they, is history,
as i made rash grab for immutable edge
and, unabashed, lopped his belfry,
fell'd with one swoop, i do thee pledge!
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
#sensibility, dilatory, brandish, epitome, jaunty, immutable, rash, vociferous, litany, sensibility, vociferous, unabashed, charisma, umbrage, grandiose, adjure, demeanor
Worldly pleasures, will our vision blur...
Knowing temptations, do often obscure.
Our Victory's in Jesus! We have the Cure!
Surrender to HIM...to thee, I adjure!
Having clean hands, and hearts that are pure...
Give ALL diligence! Make your Calling sure!
B Jul 2021
I am
goddess of wet feet and sunken things
wandering thoughts, broken dreams
and all the seashells children never claim
I am goddess of a misty rain.

Mermaid tears that shine like opal
and promised ring of empty proposal.
Whispers heard from the depth of tide,
a lonely ghost without another beside.

Sand upon the crease of weathered skin
how long it takes, years and years
of "when?"

Lilac scented candles, hovering in the stark of night
I am goddess of hand struck - albite.
I am goddess of all things that will never go right
of moon waning, of sweat beads, fallen kite.

Spilled champagne upon a dusted floor
dying breath...we ask for more.
Romance, you and I could never adjure
I am goddess they seldom kneel for
a woman sheepishly dying, along with her lore.
pisces zodiac zodiacsigns signs astrology love unrequitedlove
Jayne E May 2019
I need to feel something
other than myself, today, sifted,
blown apart and separated,
exalted touched venerated

need to feel sighed back to life,
renewed, recharged and
clitorally activated by someone
other than myself, other than
masturbated, getting underrated,
validated and well just outdated

need to feel the wet wet wet to forget by an others hand tongue lips teeth, *****, **** fingertips

or by voice to direct instruct
enjoin adjure command, by demand
the shuddering rivers choked internal,
to be undammed released,
with earthquakes trembles freed,
to deliver me swept downstream

by currents bidden on tied of your
steadied voice and fervency driven,
beyond what's taken and what's given,
need to taste blood drawn by lip bitten
stroked and coaxed, choked little kitten

if my mind thought sick
then dis ease me please,
I beg forgiven, just sweet release me,
from this prison of stifled moans groans,
held on loan while desire lay risen

this need is real uncontrived,
it can't be hidden much longer,
need this dam to burst,
shatter crack and shiver
lest it perish me, or my me will wither
in decline waste away to dust,
repine disappear with her

I need this need please please me steady,
unlade this load cargo it is heavy,
these aching ***** much more than ready,
to fill the cup with nectar heady
to feel the rush the pull and push,
on my knees begging please, I need.

J.C. 18/03/2019.
Word of warning this one is s little spicy, explicit in parts...
Trust
a monopoly
the fickle
must earn

Rooted
in confidence
their faith
must confirm

Trust
is a progeny
whose offspring
endures

Embraced
by the concept
all parties
— adjure

(The New Room: October, 2024)
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Jul 2020
Words are wondrous. Somehow in fourth grade I read a biography of Noah Webster, who compiled and published the first dictionary of American English. That got me hooked. I have been a poet since my early 20s. Words are not to be used to be pedantic;  rather, they're chosen to be the 'precise" word, the exact word, to convey to the reader as chearly as possible what the poet wishes to convey. Words in a poem are chosen for their timbre, their tone, their color, their heft in a way similar to how Beethoven chose the exact note for the exact place in the work he was composing, the admixture eliciting the precise effect he wanted his work to have on his audience. I read dictionaries while others read detective stories. I am the only person I know of who reads a college book on English grammar for fun. Some of the words I enjoy using:  "meretricious" means ******;  '"veridical" means speaking the truth;  "threnody" means a song of lamentation;  "solipsistic" means egocentric;  "adjure" means to entreat;  "dithyramb" means a Dionysian choric hymn;  "mare's nest" means a hoax;  "phatic" means noise, but no substance;  "bootless" means futile;  "rebarbative" means grim;  "truculent" means surly;  "esprit d'escalier" means a witticism that comes after it could have been uttered;  "Stygian" means gloomy;  "surcease" (as a noun) means cessation;  "rubric" a category;  "meliorist" means a person who believes the world can be made better;  and "obloquy" means verbal abuse. Just memember, there's still the Oxdord English Dictionary (20 volumes).

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.

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