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patty m Apr 2018
The far space is closing along a band of trees,
peelings of shadowy rind expose ghostly hues.
all around the air is flammable,
until the setting sun a burning bush turns ashen.  

Strange mood around this monolithic rock
that some folks fear.
Overlong we have waited presenting our sacrifices.
yet not a breath of wind stirs as we chant
and seeds take root.  

A strange spirit leaps into our midst
and all around there is a quick intake of breath.
Piercing movement collapses in upon itself as it whispers
though our pores.
Rhythms strange insistent beat, a driving force
whirls through our bloodstream,
its slow sensuous movements lead us into dreams.
Attached ghost,
your haunting aria spins in ethereal mist
transposing meditation.
Someone has put a hole in our language and now as we
look with hazy speculation upon the book
with tiny red stitches we remain baffled,
turning it round and round looking at all the foreign symbols,
                                   but it cannot be deciphered.  
Only the creatures of the forest remember;
Mid-Summer nights, the sound of magical flutes and the
bells of dancing nymphs.  
Only they understand  the gifts that Gaia bestows.    
Only they remember the Wisdom Of The Faun.
Francie Lynch Feb 2017
From the Tower of Babel,
Being chiselled in stone,
Come forth new commandments
To appease the throngs.

One through three
Remain the same,
Following a change
In the demigod's name.

Numbers five through ten
Need some twerking,
They weren't working.
Lie, cheat, con and steal,
Whatever works
To seal the deal.

Covet women and neighbour's goods,
Stay west of Eden's pussyhoods.

Number four stands alone,
The command is clear:
Honour the unborn, not the Mom.

After a frantic panic,
Babel collapsed in pitiful spite;
Its ruins scattered
On the western Atlantic.
Our world continued to spin,
Because we were resolved
To sin.
I am that I am.
Jing Xi Lau Nov 2018
So many thoughts I can’t fathom,
So many feelings I can’t put into words,
Bottled emotions I can’t pour,
Onto a page of poetry.

Yet here we are spewing out syllables,
Vomiting words we don’t mean,
Mumbling phrases we don’t understand,
Just to fill the void that has grown between us,
The space between a pair of parentheses.

Afraid of running out of things to say,
We make up truths,
Weave pretty lies,
And hold them within,
Our brackets of babel.
Dead Rose One Jun 2015
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn

rays reveal some bright,
some yellowed spots,
all a potent color palette

resting worry wearied eyes,
untroubled by the gentle fading light's illumination,
that soon will disappear and seal officially,
another week gone by

the lawn,
acting as an ceiling acoustic tile,
absorbing and reflecting
the varied din of disharmonious
natural sounds orchestrated,
an ever present reminder
     that true quiet
is not the absence of noise

I hear
the chill in the air,
insects debating vociferously
their Saturday evening plans,
the waves broom-swishing beach debris,
pretending to be young parents
putting away the children's toys for the eve

the birds speak in Babel multitudes of tongues,
chirps, whistles, clicks and clacks,
then going strangely silent as if all were
praying collectively the afternoon sabbath service,
with an intensity of the silent devotion

this moment, i cannot
well enough communicate,
this trump of light absolutes,
and animal maybes,
that are visually and aurally
presented  in a living surround sound screen,
Dolby, of course,
all a plot of
ease and gentility,
in toto,
sweet serenity

here to cease,
no more tinkering,
leave well enough,
plenty well enough
for Sally and Rebecca, who love the lushness best....

JUNE 2015
O' how they rise above each other,
the descendants of Babel!
Rebels to forefathers.
All as righteous as they seem –
to the law, but not to reality

Towers Among Towers!
unreachable by mere ones
mocking the lowlands
with their heights  
Even dreams could not fathom!

And oh, how Towers fall too,
at the top of their limit.
Catastrophe! Phenomena!
their power too is frail
because there is always
One that stands taller
than any other could avail.
When all falls, the towers will first
Evan Stephens May 15
Here, under a
dead dream,
slurred men
coagulate under
a chord of cloud
that late was
lanced by stone.

Their tongues
cluck with new
noise. Anxious
alphabets rise
in the dust.

Was the tower
a plea? A yearning
to return to God?
Or something
defiant, an arm
extended in theft?

Scattered men
seek those who
they understand,
wage war against
the rest.

The division of
language is
the birth of
the shibboleth.
Ylzm Apr 13
It sounds like prose,
perfect sentence,
punctuation and all.
But broken up here and there,
an attempt to imitate poetry.

To say words that are not words:
Driven - like a wind blown plastic bag:
Uncertain, circling, bobbing around -
But driven it is, if not tapped,
it’ll reached the seas and be lost:
To bring into existence a thing never heard.

A fragment, a hint, an ineffable thing,
an echo of the Word, long lost since Babel;
Yet living, its life’s magic very much potent,
resonant, manifold and transcendental.

Encouraged by similar sounds and whispers,
of dead and living poets,
of the same spirit but differently gifted.
That I owe it to all of them to do my part,
to craft this unique bit of mine.

And the ethereal Word,
more wholesome by the Day,
that it may soon resound,
loud and unambiguously,
that even the dead will rise.
Surely, though our story is to be found amongst the rooms and walls and shelves  within the library of Babel...

Each letter perfectly paired to the next, and every space in its rightful place.
Periods and commas punctuating every moment exactly as they should.

...That room has yet to be illuminated, The walls therein unseen, It’s shelves have been left unenumerated.
And the book is yet unnamed...

Lost is the certainty,
the written account,
existing within the infinite possibilities of algorithmic and mathematical clout.

...Leaving us to marvel and worry only armed with faith and good reason, through all of life’s seasons and its many unmeasurable miserable doubts.
Kinda at a crossroads with relationships and work... I found a website called the library of Babel where a guy basically came up with a way to get every possible combination of the 26 letters in the English language, plus periods, commas and space. Making it possible to find a perfect written account of your birth/life/death and everything in between... if you just knew the location within its infinite volumes of seemingly endless babble.
I weep at what is lost in translation,
I scream at what is lost to the ages,
If they, both, can be set adrift,
What hope do We have?
Edifice erections surreal mistic heights
Wayward excursions and catenary's bight
Communal collusions of harmonies site
Ethereal subsistence on exsertion's light
Lingam and yoni are indefatigably tight
Exponential overload was communities plight

Semantic regalia is myriad temptation
Finite being a mutual oblation
Vicarious recalcitrance an obeisant sensation
Conception's vastness like incalculable equation  
Ephemeral effulgence is indomitable pervasion
Treacherous traverse and eternal occasion

Succinct salience is symbiotic allegory
Fecundity's verve a transcendent promontory
Imperative ascension the conjunctive's divinatory
Audacity's exigence and fertility's invocatory
Erotica's erectile like mentality's trajectory
Futurity's fatidic and inherent delusory

**** it fell right over like categorical imperative's contradictory
Leeward lecher leer lingam. Yogi yowl yoni yore.  Straight up forever ontology on high.  Pandemically phatic futurity fatidic's raucously riotous.  The angel was a visage of resplendent beauty as it hovered in mid air above the knoll.  Deontological probity.
Sam Hawkins Jan 2018
With a shift inkling, concepts dropped
and I was all of my true name.

I etched in moving water.

I streamed me--water frozen,
water falling, water drifting
as fog, as cloud.

I was mini-singular

My hydrogen rabbit ears
danced five ways,
and oxygen laughed and sang
(what a team!)

Sundried, now as the clock struck noon,
I found my feet and I stood.
I built myself of basaltic rock.

Tower of Babel--polyglot sounding
in cyclic revision spoke some intelligence,
spiral I was.

Inverted, I apt dived down.
I n transition, I grew rounded

I Earth. I Center.
I Sun at Earth Center

where timeless pinpoint passages
did ****** me home again.

O, what strangeness and wonder
in practicing freedoms.

And you, too ~ have experience?

good beginning.
Traveler Aug 31
You could never believe
Reality as I perceive
Waves of my realm
Flow like an angry sea
I gasp to hold on
As my shadow bleeds
But inside its calm
Where air flows strong
I gasp to hold on

On the shore of my isle
Reality crashes
Deep in my sleep
Frightening flashes
Perhaps these moments
Never existed at all
Reality is a state of mind
An interpretation of cause

I gasp to hold on
Hold on to my *****
Babel of a mad man....

Fear Inoculum
Connor Apr 2018

Somnambulists cast
paradise magic, allowing a thimble to fall
upon the floor of our private heaven
(a perfect disquiet to our loving)

We daily reveal our reclusive
sensitivities, a flash (a lowered head, laughing distinctly)
Trailing close behind German poets/path of devotion, a second summit of their passionate influence, rippling generations ago now:

(vineyards caught by grasping suddenness/placating daytime/fig & flame/false tower of Babel, ornamental ruin/he feels owed the sensations of an active spirit, to repent the contrary forces within him/myself)

                      & upon my reflection in the Cabaret of Hell,
I see a gate perched at the base of my wondrous

                    BLUE MOON                 WALLFLOWER

(or perhaps the other way around?)

Overtaken by oscillating darkness/hall of mirrors (memories)
distorted flashbulb *** and anger

until the acts become indistinguishable from themselves/doubly
******* tigers brushstroked in animal blood... essence of devour/temper/
captivation, incredible lips, pulp teeth, pure excitement all disfigured
& joyous


My azzurine goddess, faced away in
shame, no wonder why!

(hair let down in a drowsy spill of
uncertain hours, wavering in a sullen high, thickly feeling,
the immensity/pleasure renounced for a cabbalist subliminity)

Mockery of the dead dead dog/blind in boyhood/while
curious ghosts skate across the ice-peripheral of our dreaming

I feel love, and horror/a frigid hand who's body I have dissolved-
-caressing my back tenderly
bordering terrific malevolence

...Later, in another try at my own eternal return, I find my comfort brother, accompanied by an overhead
divination lantern..

pounding! At the sun skull, for you (my cherished)
are of high order
I tempt soaking the cloth,
to steer the intention

..missing black mass, indulging instead
on feverish Damascus perfume

Splash ramp
down. Flesh, wailing
hidden by darkly earth to inevitably
decay by their self-solitude

(descent writhes in the milk of heartache
and cusps the night firmly in his *****
withering palms)

I refuse this fate, and
in Western-fashion
fire down the city worshipper which was once
I, too        (unmercifully so)

..burying his bones in the Scottish dirt

Terrarium hydrangeas, pale (yourIrises) lipstick daggers
slashing in the white sleeve-
red with epicurean


Big bad wolf
banished to his hole,
I kiss the winter fruit clean from your mouth (succumbing to pinnacles of fire/your lost domain) ******* on pebbles, trying to crack through the surface
like a dragon's egg for pride
(big bad wolf is hungry)
We wear away the season, memorizing the newspapers
which are tossed carelessly to our door. Ah, the kitchen ballet dancers are finally tired..endowed to the triplicate beauty
that we individually define (takes a bit to get there)

You/I privileged to ******* Venice with our mutual
imagination,                              owing to Calvino

To crave eachother
as an Acrobat craves the

kirk Jan 15
A starship is in orbit, around an unknown planet.
Science officer Mr Spock, is just about to scan it.
Lieutenant Uhura's on the bridge, she's on communications.
Unscrambling the garbled messages, from different alien nations.

At the weapons station, Pavel Chekov's a good aim.
Birds of Prey and battle ships, torpedoes locked on again.
Helmsman Hikaru Sulu, he will take evasive action.
Avoiding fleets of enemy ships, with his fast reaction.

Bio beds are operational, report to the sick bay.
Doctor McCoy's ready to heal, with his hypospray.
Christine chapel will assist, she is the ships top nurse.
Helping with the medi scan, if anything gets worse.

Way down in engineering, you will find Montgomery Scott.
Tending to his engines, he's giving it all he's got.
The captains personal Yeoman, will always lend a hand.
She's versatile and beautiful, and known as Janice Rand.

A planets cultural Interference, this directive is our prime.
Is Kevin Reilly going to sing, "Kathleen" one more time.
This is Starfleet's finest crew, it comes as no surprise.
Captain James T Kirk's in command of the Enterprise.

Tricorders at the ready, step of the turbo lift.
The Galileo Seven needs Dilithium, the shuttle's set adrift.
Let's look in the engine room, there's an Enemy Within.
Transporters are malfunctioning, creating an evil twin.

The Changeling Nomad got destroyed, a classic computer error.
They matched the Romulans ship exact, in Balance Of Terror.
Tomorrow is Yesterday, with a sling shot around the sun.
Phantom bullets will not ****, The Spectre of the Gun.

A shape shifting monster is aboard, a Man Trap to revolt.
Just give it what it desires, a large amount of salt.
Young men like Mr Evans, shouldn't be all that complex.
He can **** with just a look, that's why he's Charlie X.

Wasn't it the Deadly Years, when the crew got old.
Jack the ripper then returned, in Wolf In The Fold.
Pon Far fighting to the death, this was a Time Amok.
Believing captain Kirk was dead, and killed by Mr Spock.

McCoy had to heal the creature, before they could Embark.
The Horter was protecting her young, in The Devil in the Dark.
Vampire clouds smell sickly sweet, It was a valuable lesson.
Firing sooner makes no difference, cos it was a pure Obsession.

Kirk used the Corbomite Manoeuvre, Balok was just a boy.
Captain Garf took over the asylum, in Whom Gods Destroy.
A parent's death, no remorse, And The Children Shall now Lead.
Kahn's a genetically engineered superman, found frozen in Space Seed.

They had Trouble with Tribbles, too fast in reproduction.
Light In Operation Annihilate, caused the parasites destruction.
Caught in the Tholian Web, lost in between dimensions.
Mudd's Women had an agenda, and their own hidden intentions.

An Arena was selected, so Kirk could fight the Gorn.
It's guaranteed when Kirk fights, his shirt is always torn.
On a Journey to Babel, Sarek hadn't seen his son for years.
Him and Spock are logical, and both have pointed ears.

What are Little Girls Made Of, was replaced by robotic law.
Three Witches sent a warning, to beware of the Catspaw.
You will be accelerated, within the Wink Of An Eye.
Doctor McCoy will say " he's dead Jim" if anyone should Die.

United planets quest for piece, the federations ultimate desire.
The Klingon war, a warriors way, to create their own empire.
Phasers charged and set to stun, grab your communicators.
Save the ship, protect the crew from all war instigators.

The final frontier is out there, turn over treks first page.
Captain Pike was in command, and captured in The Cage.
Number one was female, but she didn't take the glory.
Pike relived The Menagerie, but it's still the same first story.

We've scanned for alien life forms, and stepped through the Guardians door.
We have been to Vulcan, and Where No Man One Has Gone Before.
So live long and prosper, the captain is on deck.
Beam up the landing party, to continue our star trek.
As many Trek fans will realise many episodes have been referenced in this poem about the original and in my opinion the best Star Trek Series.
For those of you that are not as familiar with the series here is a list of the episodes mentioned.

Season 1:

The Cage
Where No Man Has Gone Before
The Man Trap
Charlie X
The Enemy Within
Mudd's Women
What Are Little Girls Made Of ?
The Corbomite Manoeuvre
The Menagerie
Balance Of Terror
The Galileo Seven
Tomorrow Is Yesterday
Space Seed
The Devil In The Dark
Operation Annihilate

Season 2:

Amok Time
The Changeling
Journey To Babel
The Deadly Years
Wolf In The Fold
The Trouble With Tribbles

Season 3:

And The Children Shall Lead
Spectre Of The Gun
The Tholian Web
Wink Of An Eye
Whom Gods Destroy

I hope that if this is read that it will give you
a slight insight into some of the situations encountered by the crew of the Enterprise and what happened during their five year mission.
Of course if you want more detail you will have to consult Starfleet records which come on DVD discs and see for yourselves.
Is there more to come well who knows, space is of course infinite and there are always possibilities.
Onoma Apr 8
sound that musics

a bird--

towers a prideless


throats of the winning


harmonic to the

feather, in counts

of wing suspended

on spring.
Bryce Feb 13
At the ending of the world
there is a great unraveling
that celestial bow, wound into heartsong
and maestrate the caring music of things--
with these passions of the mind,
God seeking to unravel himself in the ever-fleeing
moment of philosophy, a Persephonic instance
in the archetype of love, psychotic and misnamed,
strait-jacketed in sin and given nothing but sweet
momentary decay

all the powerful souls connect sexually with the cosmos--
payed off, bastardized with a cigarette between their whispered lips
we hold no wealth but the ever-shifting dollar of life.

Fat Jack, fondly Catholic with angel smiles-- holds a rock of God in his hand, rocking softly
in god's busted gut-belly
spread like butter amongst the stars, asking all the same questions of Nirvana--
The last rumble of a skin-tight drumskin wrapped within a screaming symphonic twang of remnant souls--
Walking the notochord of corporeal form
the fantastic drone of rotorcraft, taunting the angelic lads and their brigadier God, singing psalms of limerence
Charlie Parker, musical sadness
Jack-man gladness
Don't forget them in the moment of monastic incantations

High-risen pyramidicals
Euclidian pitter-patter against the gusts and rains
in familiar, repetitive shapes the droplets of ichor
elucidate the frowns of downtown humanity
the locked door at the edge of the room, the air evacuated in fear,
seeking safety in the favorite belfry of an ancient wailing abbey
the dusty oil-towns of century ago
Imbibes the modern-day Maricopa plain
folk digging for dino-rock and black gold, selling dreams to downtrodden lost boys
the mistakes of RV park families

Farmland road
in Louisiana brew
the atmosphere, keeping personal thoughts trapped
a high-pressure zone
the ever-wandering
churning winds of eventual hurricane
the sequence that tickles Fibonacci's fancies and
calls us to dream--
a great Babel of God's consistent scattering heart.

in this great combustible chamber, loud obnoxious gaseous veils
in a low sigh our precipitate souls
smog on the failed shackles of stale blood
dripping this oil on the lips
holding friendly smiles
hiding sickening grins
callous, angry, the honey-chalice sought be not by man or God

Charlie Parker, playing the world's instrumentation
a track to follow
faded as the ancient road roaming
Rome's wet snail trail
blinking and shimmering into existence
a dewlit morning
the conglomerate rock is a cradle for human discomfort
admitted and hidden
to be a better hold than the hands of the earth
in these cornmeal roads,
digging out sugars from her *****
and sipping on the liquor of life in classic fermentation

to hold the road in your hands, the world on your lips
to tell the catacombs of love you would be her hostess,
seeking answers in the bones of ancient souls and refining
in deep sighs,
loving the things we cannot be.
Julie Rogers Mar 29
My morning feet ponder the pavement
Lonely eyes saluting the clouds
And the skyscrapers that grasp at the sky
The Tower of Babel
We reached god, and we branded him
Profited on his grace
So now we must build towers that shoot towards the sky
Like the twisting fingers of a falling man
Ken Pepiton Sep 3
Learn how to detect, contain and mitigate threats faster,  

that' why our kind studies war.

War against chaos and all it's spawn

Since the dawn

Never lasts forever.

Ever-y story's hero in the end


No exceptions. That is the rule.

On the scale of grav-it-a-tional forces,

This muthas-hell-vier'n hell i'self

In yo face spell chick ain't nobody

Got no papers on me

I am the teller of this story in this book

And you, there, are the readers.

Welcome to my collection of clichés that click

In time to the echoes of the spheres

A.I. *******. In a gotta d'feata! We allus try umph, first.

Say you put a spell on me

Correct me if you must, but

Later, spell chick.

Now we have guests who've never known

A hatter at all, mad or otherwise.

I have known three, all saner than me,

You shall see

What I mean but

Do not fear

Fear is a terrible thing right

Here here

We need God's Grace by everyname

Any of you can think or say or know fore sure

Carries hope and peace to nullify victory.

That legend was lost but indeed did hap

Upon a time when songs

Lived the stories and the stories were legend.

So few survived the chaos at Babel and

Those few that did are t'ain'ted all to hell

One's I heard tell 'em as well

Say it ain's so. All to hell. T'ain't

Whacha thank ye know ye know

Crazy old coot pushin' her Safe Way Cart

Cat-a-corner from the zoot suit shoppe

To Walgreen's, middle o'fift n'Broad Way

Downtown LA, back in the day

Can you see that man. That really happened

Jus' the way you

Saw it.

Onliest thing is it only happened now then

Get that it's like getting' all wrapped up

In light no shadow at all

Doubt to the power of the farthest prime

Fails to fragment such light

From the outside.

Ever-y fire-y dart that twisted sucker shoots…

Quenched by the light.

Good news always seen from every perspective

Same thing, perfect

Peace full nothing broken nothing missing


Get that, too.

Now, just watching old Mrs. Crazicuk

Makin' Her Safe Way Cross Broad Way

Famous image. It looks exactly like you imagined

It would

Had you imagined it and

Not just me I mean

I think we all are lonely for

No reason for some reason

Notice Mrs. Crazicuk's book cover

Upper right corner

JESUS SAVES in ten foot tall daylit neon

Top'o Fift' n'Hill. That's real.

I got a picture. From the internet.

(Hello Poetry don't take images, so Google-it)

Look real


If someday somebody explains that  

Castle Gothic crenelated thing in the back ground.  


I know ain't real.

Please point out I point out  

the otherwise overlooked – image

If you ever see what I mean

I imagine there's more mystery  

than here at the moment

You see we wee are at peace  

ever-when you find us


Legends have never turbed us in such a way

As to cloud the waters  

Stirrin' mud

o' cludin' weak light to simulate more dark,  an old trick/

an angel-like message troubles the water
stirs up the muck and mire.

Jump in

Then walk home the long way

This book we're in, life we're in, what ye may call it, we say here,

So it is.


Little people. Legendary little people survived

Babel's chaos?

Not that I know, no.
From January 2017, this is like a flashback in a Series, to a scene that happened ages ago, which led to now, by way of AI.--- I reread post posting and remembered using that picture  on a book cover you can see at
Ikimi Festus Feb 26
Trapped in a place of mystery,
My Heart beating wildly,
Scrutinizing gaze of thy soul,
To know if someone is alone,
Edam grew empty,
But two gazes stood locked,
And thy feet start feeling weary,
Until I,
The beast came along,
Strange yet mutual,
New yet sensual,
We couldn't leave but stay,
And watch each other fade away,
she, so beautiful.
I, a beast.
Our love for each other could never be.
I died when she said no.
She died when i left.
So what if i'm a beast
can't you see i've a heart?
With terror you screem - kong
but mind you, my heart is free of dirt
That woman is all i want
the one i fell in love with
She is my morning sun
and star my nights are blessed with.
When she holds my hand and grab my finger
I know for once i'm not alone
In my veins her scent lingers,
Her thoughts make me smile
No power in terra and above can end this love
There's no such pain that i couldn't resist
Her beauty is made for me alone,
it's not meant to be,
Bringing nothing but tears to me,
For her beauty has killed this beast,
For our love was not meant to be.
So I made me a goal
Up to Babel
Climbing with a note that reads.
" #beauty killed the beast"
Got to the top
took a Leap
With hope the struggle will be over any seconds.
Breathing no more was as easy as standing.
She filled her tub as i made my goal.
Got in it and pulled her razor out .
She made a note that would read.
"His inner #beauty killed me the **** beast"
She slit her wrist and gave a last sigh.
Her last breath left her as it did me.
beautiful yet a monster in disquise.
a beast whos beauty was inside.
Finally we now can be.
Together forever the beauty and the beast
Rashmi Oct 2018
Whatever I want to say in real went wrong everytime....
The gap between my heart and my mind never gonna combine...
Those eyes which seems magical, if they have any real thrill?
That mind which I love the most, Can I get a chance to see it's coast?
Trust which I built a long time ago, do i show it everytime to make you roast?
Yes, I feel jealous when I see the ducks around you,
"Sorry" ain't the word I want to listen but your heart beats,
I love to stay quiet when it's only your babel,
"Self-respect" I know what it means, but is it necessary everytime to scream?
Do I need to say things to prove everything?
Or your mind is enough to read the unspoken words.
Though our love be uninformed
It is yet the best prayer we have
To offer when seeking gifts from
One greater than ourselves- Are
Our prayers but a child's way of
Speaking- a wish that dares to be
Sincere.  A pleading not of our
Merit but of our desire: offered
Without regard to  imperfections
Of the little petitioner who only
Knows to speak the heart's truth
That is pleasing to the beloved
Even as a baby"s babel is to the
Mother hearing one  that is loved
Ralph Akintan Mar 30
Strutting stuttering town crier
Crying, howling and barking
But dews of cry spilling
Over blighted ears of a messed
Obduracy of hearts prevented
Waves of warning.
Binding the wings of wisdom
Behind the altar of recriminations.
Let your crying pierced
Through grommet of grimy
      grubby spivs,
And exhume foetus of righteousness.

Strutting stammering bellman
Howling for attention of inattentive
      sullen audience.
Poles of attention standing
Away from the lobes of ideas
Murmuring with inattentive agenda
Like the babbling of a rustling
      dry leaves.
Say your saying
Out of the babel of noises
Cry your crying
To the congested muddled
      market of voices.
Tricorne hat's bellman
Howl your howling to the strangers
      from the strange land.
Ralph Akintan Dec 2018
I heard your voice
Echoed sonorous voice pierces ears
Engrossing underneath babel of voices.
But this gurgling sounds l understand not.
Call me father.

I heard your rumbling,
Of a thunderous grumbling.
Velvety voice arrests attention.
Disturbing ranting of disturbers
Saying sounds strange
to hearing.
Now call me father.

Babylonian wall of distance ,
Spottering sentinels standing.
Seven seas,
seven streams.
Multiple ravines,
multiple ranges.
One terminus,
Gamut of posts.

Stretch forth your tender hands,
Reach out to me.
Similitude of aura
Similar light complexion
Bonding bloodline
Sameness in character.

Now l comprehended your voice
Distinct language
Encore my name
Call me father again
Mention my cognomen.
LR Thompson Sep 2018
Why cant we do more?
Be more?
Reach for Babel!

All stories told.

Yet we remain cattle,
Chained like links,
Tied by bonds,
We CAN do more,
But first we must unravel,
Travel the infinite highways
Of the mind,
Rewind the needle
And pull the thread.
Shed the unnecessary
That necessitates a clarity,
Away from the herd
Toward the ultimate

To do more,
One must first,
Ylzm Apr 6
word to us speak
words cannot say
ancient fragments scattered
word in words embedded
craft by spirit and intuition moved
faint and fleeting echoes conjured
strange voices awakened soul
word unspeakable spoken
James Floss Oct 2018
Everything I know
I am learning now, the
What why where and how
Subcutaneous instantaneous
Transliteration transcriptions

The you you don’t know undertow
Burbles beneath the underflow
Below Babel is the true power
Speaking truth beyond tower
Is the way to flow
Poetoftheway May 21
the instant, the instance, is that your body?

the clear cleansing storefront windows
ask for clarification.

is that your body, presently?
is that your body presentably?

just in that secular instant, again, over,
the body’s inquisition clarifies, asking,
requesting in a babel of foreign languages,

repeat after me!

each window pane that follows repeats the query,
the themes in each, tiny variations,
the variables of rhythm, timbre, harmony,
engine timing minute minutiae alterations,
in that passing milli-instant,
each a separate instance for each separate pane.

in every instance.   in every language.

the accusations tonality oscillates in wavelength pitch.
quest nonetheless similar,
     is that your body?

all the replies are mirrored reciprocal.
that was my past.
this my present.
the next, a future vision.

the here, the now, all of it, each a flashcard.

the insistence!

when your body falls finally upon
the sidewalks concrete filthy city Persian tapestry,
the shameful answer tastes always the same.

always the same.

— The End —