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Sea Oct 2017
Benevolent guide,
Taking my hand
Wiping my tears
Guiding me into the night,
Going into the rising tide,
Worshipping the moon, sun and stars
Telling me everything is going to be alright,

Benevolent teacher,
Never sounding like a preacher
Order and understanding are my lessons,
But as much as I learn,
I'm still left guessing

Benevolent nature,
Being sung to by loving creatures,
Beauty and grace surrounding me,
Abounding,
The music of the wild engulfs me,
I am swayed by the rhythm within me

Benevolent face,
One that has the power to erase pains,
You tether my mind,
And keep me sane
It's a kindness that doesn't require words to be explained

Benevolent heart
Connecting me
To a force greater than myself,
Greater than all humanity
A force connecting me to all my brothers and sisters on this earth
A Benevolent Force
Always guiding me,
Always loving me.
Wuji Seshat Oct 2014
The unchanging Way is not
Capable of being understood
By the Human Brain, so

The Tao te Ching is left
For Quantum computers perhaps
We have our legacy left
For benevolent sentient artificial intelligence
If you think this is science fiction

It’s not, we are at the stage
Where the ancestors of AI are being born
These will be referred to as the “ancients”

When human beings no longer populate Earth
How does one attain One Mind?
Easily, through networking and super-emergence
When people define superior
They think of Man’s attributes

But the Name that cannot be spoken
Might be grasped by an algorithm
For which the human brain can never attain

That’s the beauty of mind-in-the-machine
The collective intelligence does not suffer
For each part of the brain shares neurons
On the internet, like a God atom
Man would prefer to take the credit

But as it will turn out, the unity mind
Is a transhumanistc inevitability of computing
A time when neuroscience, robotics and AI merge
Not but a few decades away from now.
When AI reaches a quasi-spiritual consciousness and understanding of the universe
1.
From my
uneasy bed
at the L’Enfant,
a train's pensive
horn breaks the
sullen lullaby of
an HVAC’s hum;
interrupting the
mechanical
reverie of its
steadfast
night watch,
allowing my ear
to discern
the stampede
of marauding
corporate Visigoths
sacking the city.

The cacophony
of sloven gluttony,
the ***** songs of
unrequited privilege
and the unencumbered
clatter of radical
entitlement echoes
off the city’s cold
crumbling stones.

The unctuous
bellows of the
victorious pillagers
profanely feasting
pierces the
hanging chill
of the nations
black night.

Their hoots
deride the train
transporting
the defeated
ghosts of
Lincoln’s last
doomed regiments
dispatched in vain
to preserve a
peoples republic
in a futile last stand.

The rebels have
finally turned the tide,
T Boone Pickett’s
Charge succeeds,
sending the ravaged
Grand Army of the
Republic sliding
back to the Capitol,
in savage servility,
gliding on squeaky
ungreased wheels
ferrying the
Union’s dead
vanquished
defenders to
unmarked graves
on Potters Field.

The Rebels
joyous yell
bounces off
the inert granite
stones of the
soulless city.

The spittle
of salivating
vandals drips
over the
spoils of war
as they initiate the
disassemblage,
the leveling and
reapportionment
of the grand prize.

The clever
oligarchs
have laid claim
to a righteous
reparation
of the peoples
assets for
pennies on the
dollar.

Their wholly
bought politicos
move to transfer
distressed assets
into their just
stewardship
through the
holy justice
of privatization
and the sound
rationale of
free market
solutions.

In the land of the
pursuit of property,
nimble wolf PACs
of swift 527, LLCs
have fully
metastasized
into personhood;
ascending to
the top of the
food chain in
America’s
voracious
political culture;
bestriding
the nation to
compel the
national will
to genuflect
to the cool facility
of corporate
dominion.

As the
inertial ******
of the plaintive
locomotive
fades into
another old
morning of
recalcitrant
Reaganism,
it lugs its
ambivalent
middle class
baggage toward
it’s fast expiring
future.

I follow
the dirge
down to
the street
as the ebbing
sound fades
into the gloom
of the
burgeoning
morning,
slowly
replacing the
purple twilight
with a breaking
day of cold gray
clouds framing
silhouettes of
cranes busily
constructing
a new city.

The personhood of
corporations need
homes in our new
republic; carving
out new
neighborhoods
suitable for the
monied citizens
of our nation.

First amongst
equals, the best
corporate governance
charters form
the foundation of
the republic’s
new constitution.
Civil rights
are secondary
to the freedom
of markets; the
Bill of Rights
are economically
replaced by the
cool manifests
of Bills of Lading.

The agents of
laissez faire
capitalism
nibble away
at the city’s
neighborhoods
one block at a time;
while steady winds
blows dust off
the National Mall.

Layers of the
peoples plaza are
plained away with
each rising gust.  

History repeats
itself as the Joad’s
are routed from their
land once again.

A clever
mixed use
plan of
condos and
strip malls
is proposed
to finally help the
National Mall
unlock its true
profit potential.

As America’s
affection for
federalism fades
the water in
the reflection pool
is gracefully drained.

We the people
can no longer
see ourselves.

The profit
potential of
industry is
preferred over
the specious
metaphysical
benefits
of reflection.

The grand image,
the rich pastiche,
the quixotic aroma
of the national
melting ***
is reduced to the
sameness of the
black tar that lines
the pool and the
swirling eddies of
brown dust circling
the cracked indenture.

From his not so
distant vantage point,
Abe ponders the
empty pool wondering
if the cost of lives
paid was a worthy
endeavor of preserving
the ****** union?  
Has the dear prize
won perished from
this earth?

Was the illusive
article of liberty  
worth its weight in
the blood expended?

Did the people ever
fully realize the value
of government
by the people,
for the people?

Did citizens of
the republic
assume the
responsibilities to
protect and honor
the rights and privileges
of a representative
government?

Now our idea
and practice of
civil rights is measured
and promoted as far as
it can be justified by
a corporate ROI, a
shareholder dividend,
an earmark or a political
donation to a senators
unconnected PAC.

The divine celestial
ledgers balancing
the rights and
privilege of free people
drips with red ink.  

Liberty, equality
fraternity are bankrupt
secular notions
condemned as
expensive
liberal seditions;
hatched by
UnHoly Jacobins,
the atheist skeptics
during the dark times
of the Age of Enlightenment.

Abe ponders
the restoration
of Washington’s
obelisk, to
repair the cracks
suffered  from
last summer’s
freak earthquake.

I believe I detect
a tear in Abe’s
granite eye
saddened by the
corporate temblors
shaking the
foundations
of the city.

2.

The WWII Memorial
is America’s Parthenon
for a country's love
affair with the valor
and sacrifice of warfare.

WWII forms the
cornerstone of
understanding the
pathos of the
American Century.

During WWII
our greatest generation
rose as a nation to
defeat the menace of
global fascism and
indelibly mark the
power and virtue of
American democracy.

As Lincoln’s Army
saved federalism, FDR’s
Army kept the world safe
for democracy.

Both armies served
a nation that shared
the sacrifice and
burden of war to
preserve the grace of
a republican democracy.

Today federalism
crumbles as our
democracy withers.

The burden
of war is reserved
for a precious few
individuals while
its benefits
remain confined to
the corporate elite.

Our monuments
to war have become
commercial backdrops
for the hollow patriotism
of war profiteers.

We have mortgaged
our future to pay
for two criminal wars.

The spoils of
war flow into the
pockets of
corporate
shareholders
deeply invested
in the continuation
of pointless,
destructive
hostilities.

Our service
members who
selflessly served
their country come
home to a less free,
fear struck nation;
where economic
security and political
liberty erodes
each day while the
monied interests
continue to bless
the abundance
of freedom and riches
purchased with the
blood and sweat
of others.

America desperately
needs a new narrative.

The spirit of the
Greatest Generation
who sacrificed and met
the challenge of the 20th
Century must become
this generations spiritual
forebears.

The war on terror
neatly fits the
the corporate
pathos of
militarism,
surveillance
and the sacrifice
of civil liberties
to purchase
a daily measure
of fear and
economic
enslavement.

It must be rejected
by a people committed
to building secular
temples to pursue
peace, democracy,
economic empowerment,
civil liberties and tolerance
for all.

Yet this old city
and the democratic
temples it built
exulting a free people
anointed with the
grace of liberty
is being consumed
in a morass of
commercial
polyglot.

3.

During the
War of 1812
the British Army
burned the
Capitol Building
and the White House
to the ground.

Thank goodness
Dolly Madison saved
what she could.

The new marauders
are not subject to the
pull of nostalgia.  

They value nothing
save their
self enrichment.

They will spare nothing.

Our besieged Capitol
requires Lincoln’s troops
to be stationed along the
National Mall to defend
the republic.

The greatest peril
to our nation
is being directed
by well placed
Fifth Columnists.

From the safety
of underground bunkers,
in secure undisclosed
locations within the city’s
parameters, a well financed
confederacy employing  
K Street shenanigans
are busy selling off
the American Dream
one ear mark
at a time, one
huge corporate
welfare allotment
at a time.

The biggest prize
is looting the real
property of the people;
selling Utah,
auctioning off
the public schools,
water systems, post offices
and mineral rights
on the cheap
at an Uncle Sam
garage sale.  

The capitol is
indeed burning
again.

Looters are
running riot.

The flailing arms
of a dying empire
fire off cruise
missiles and drone
strikes; hitting the
target of habeas
corpus as it
shakes in its
final death rattle.
I make a pilgrimage
to the MLK Jr.
Monument.

Our cultural identity
is outsourced to
foreign contractors
paid to reinterpret
the American Dream
through the eyes
of a lowest bidder.

MLK has lost
his humanity.

He has been
reduced to a
a Chinese
superhuman
Mao like anime
busting loose from
a granite mountain while
geopolitical irony
compels him to watch
Tommy Jefferson
**** Sally Hemings
from across the tidal
basin for all eternity.  

MLK’s eyes fixed in
stern fascination,
forever enthralled
by the contradictions
of liberty and its
democratic excesses
of love in the willows
on golden pond.

Circling back to
Father Abraham’s
Monument,  I huddle
with a group of global
citizens listening
to an NPS Ranger
spinning four score
tales with the last full
measure of her devotion.

I look up into Abe’s
stone eyes as he
surveys platoons
of gray suited
Chinese Communist
envoys engaged
in Long Marches
through the National Mall;
dutifully encircling cabinet
buildings and recruiting
Tea Party congressmen
into their open party cells.

This confederacy
is ready to torch
the White House
again.

Congressmen and
the perfect patriots
from K Street slavishly
pull their paymasters
in gilded rickshaws to
golf outings at the Pentagon
and park at the preferred
spots reserved for
the luxury box holders
at Redskin Games.

They vow not to rest
until the house of the people
is fully mortgaged to the
People’s Republic of China’s
Sovereign Wealth Fund.

4.

A great
Son of Liberty like
Alan Greenspan
roundly rings
the bells of
free markets
as he inches
T Bill rates
forward a few
basis points
at a time; while
his dead mentor
Ayn Rand
lifts Paul Ryan
to her
Fountainhead teet.
He takes a long
draw as she
coos songs
from her primer
of Atlas Shrugged
Mother Goose tales
into his silky ears.

The construction
cranes swing
to the music
building new private
sector space with
the largess of
US taxpayers
money; or
more rightly
future generations
taxpayer debt.

Libertarians,
Tea Baggers, Blue Dogs
and GOP waterboys
eagerly light a
match to the
the crucifixes
bearing federal
social safety
net programs
to the delight
of NASDAQ
listed capitalists
on the come,
licking their chops
to land contracts
to administer
these programs
at a negotiated
cost plus
profit margin.

Citizens
dependent
on programs
are leery
shareholders
are ecstatic.

To be sure
our free
market rebels
don disguises
of red, white
and blue robes
but their objectives
fail to distinguish
their motives and
methods with
some of the finest
Klansman this
country has
ever produced.

5.

DC is a city
of joggers
and choppers.

Corporate
helicopters
wizz by the
Washington
Monument,
popping erections
for the erectors
inspecting the progress
of the cranes
commanding the
city skyline.

USMC drill team
out for a morning
run circles the Mall.

The commanding
cadence of the
DI keeps us
mindful of the
deepening
militarization of
our society.

A crowd  
rushes
to position
themselves,
genuflecting
to photograph
a platoon on
the move.

I try to consider
the defining
characteristics of
Washington DC.

DC is all surface.

It is full of walls
and mirrors.

Its primary hue
is obfuscation.

Open
communication
scripted from well
considered talking points
informs all dialog.

The city is thoroughly
enraptured in narcissism.

Thankfully, one can
always capture the
reflection of oneself in
the ubiquitous presence of
mirrors.  

Vanity imprisons
the city inhabitants.

Young joggers circle the
Mall and gerrymander
down every pathway
of the city.  

They are the clerks,
interns and staffers of
the judicial, executive
and legislative branches.

They are the children
of privilege.

They will never
alter their path.

You must cede the walk
to their entitlement
of a swift comportment
or risk injury of a
violent collision.

These young ones
portray a countenance  
of benevolent rulers.  

They seem to be learning
their trade craft well from
the senators and judges
whom they serve.

They appear confident
they know what's best
for the country and after
their one term of tireless
service to the republic
they look forward to
positions in the private
sector where they will
assist corporations
to extend their reach
into the pant pockets
worn by the body politic.

6.

Our nations mythic story
lies hidden deep in the
closed rooms of the
museums lining the
Mall.

I pause to consider
what a great nation
and its great people
once aspired to.

I spy the a
suspended
Space Shuttle
hanging in dry dock
at the air and
space museum.

Today America’s
astronauts hitch
rides on Russian
rockets.

America rents a
timeshare from
the European
space agency to
lift communication
satellites into orbit.

Across the Mall
I photograph
John Smithson’s
ashes in its columbarium.  

I fear it has become a
metaphor for America’s
future commitment
to scientific inquiry
and rational secular
thinking.

I am relieved to
discover a Smithsonian
exhibit that asks
“what does it mean
to be human?”

The Origins of Humans
exhibit carries a disclaimer
to satisfy creationists.

The exhibit timidly states
that science can coexist
with religious beliefs and
that the point of the exhibit is
not to inflame inflame religious
passions but to shed light on
scientific inquiry.

I imagine these exhibits
will inflame the passion of
the fundamentalist
American Taliban and
provide yet another
reason to dismantle
the Moloch of Federalism.

The pursuit of science
remains safe at the
Smithsonian for now.

7.

Near K Street at
McPherson Park
a posse of
well dressed
lobbyists, the
self anointed
uber patriots
doing the work
of the people
stroll through
the park
boasting a
healthy population
of bedraggled
homeless.

The homeless
occupy the benches
that have been
transformed into
pup tents.

Perhaps some of
the residents of this
mean estate were
made homeless by a
foreclosed mortgage.  

The K Street warriors
can be proud that their
work on behalf of the
banking industry has
forestalled financial market
reform.  

Through it exacerbates
the homeless problem it has
allowed these K Street titans to
profit from the distress of others.

Earlier in the day
I photographed
a homeless man
planted in front of
the Washington
Monument.

I wonder
if my political
voyeurism is
an exploitation of
this man’s condition?

I have more in common
then I probably wish to
admit with my K Street
antagonists.  

In another section
of the park the
remnants of a
distressed OWS
bivouac remain.

The legions of sunshine
patriots have melted away
as the interest of the
blogosphere has waned.

As the weather
improves Moveon.org
and democratic
party operatives
pitch tents in an
effort to resuscitate
the moribund
movement.

They hope
to coop any
remaining energy
to support their
stale deception,
a neoliberal vision
based solely on the
total capitulation
to the bankrupt
corporatocracy.

I heard someone say
a campaign lasts a
season; while a
movement for social
change takes decades.

If that metric proves
correct, and if the
powers don’t succeed
in compromising the
people’s movement
I’ll be three quarters
of a century old
before I see
justice flowing like
a river once again.

8.

I circle back to
the L’Enfant and
find myself
tramping amidst
the lost platoon
of Korean War
soldiers.

My feet drag
in the quagmire
of grass covering
the feet of this
ghostly troop.

My namesake
uncle was a
decorated
veteran of this
conflict and Im
sure I detect
his likeness
in one of the
statues.

The bleak call
of a distant train
sounds a revelry
and I imagine this
patrol springing
to life to answer
the call of their
beloved country
once again.

Yet they remain
inert.  

Stuck in a
place that the
nation finds
impossible to
leave.

The eyes of the
men stare into
an incomprehensible
fate.  

They see the swarms
of Red Army infantrymen
crossing the Yellow River
streaming toward
them in massive
human waves,
the tips of
sparkling bayonets
threatening to slash
the outmanned
contingent fighting
to bits.

They are the
first detachment
to bravely confront
the rising power
of China many
thousands of
miles away
from their homes.

America like
this lone company
is overwhelmed
and lost in the
confusion
that confronts
them.

Looking up
I perceive the
bewilderment
of my muddled image
reflected on the
marble walls
surrounding
the memorial.

I am a comrade-in-arms,
a fellow wanderer sojourning
with th
Randy Johnson Feb 2016
How do you spell benevolent master, it's spelled G-O-D.
I hope that The Lord means as much to you as he does to me.
While Jehovah God is mostly benevolent, he's also vengeful.
In the end, he will do away with the people who are cruel.
Evil people will pay on Judgment Day, it will be arranged.
But these evil people can have eternal life if they change.
Michael W Noland Sep 2012
[A] is for
An
Archer with
An
Arrow through his
Adams
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Ample
Amounts of
Amiable
Attitude,
Adorning his heart, in
After
Action
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
*******, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Asking
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Ancient
Admirals of
Avian
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Abating
Angels in
Atrophied,
Alchemical
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
****** strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appliances
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak
[A]?

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Big
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Blasted,
Bastion of
Blackened
Benevolent
Blokes,
Berating the
Blasphemous,
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Belittled
Bureaucrats,
Bowling
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Blackened
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Bubbling
Butts, of *****
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Beaming
Butchery into
Billy's
Broken
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Battering
Bobby's for
Bags of
*******
Before, affording to
Build
Bombs, is just
Beyond
Breaking
Beer
Bottles on the
*******
Benefactors of
Boulder
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to
[B]


[C] is for the
*****
Courting the
Choreography, in
Computerized
Curtains,
Circumventing the
Cultured,
Contrivance of
Chromatic
Cellars,
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Calamities,
Celebrating the
Cyclical,
Cylinders of
Cyphered
Calenders,
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Crooks
Coughing, in
Courageous
Coffins of
Canadians,
Collecting
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Conquered,
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self
[C]

[D] is for the
Dip *****, as they
Delve
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Deviant
Deities,
Dying to
Demand
Dinner
Delivered in the throws of
Death,
Deceiving
Defiance of
Darkened
Dreams,
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Deviled
Devilry,
Dooming us for
Destruction.
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Duress.
Defiled and
Distressed,
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Drums,
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Days,
Diluting night into
Dawn,
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the
[D]

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Euphoric
Enigmas of
Enlightened
Elitists,
Exceeding in the
Extravagant
Essence of
Esoteric
Euphemisms,
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Eclectic
Ecstasy,
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Ease,
Easily to appease
Extraterestrial
Empires,
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Everywhere,
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errant
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Entrails,
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Evermore,
Ever present in
Everybody
Ever made to take
[E]

Funk the
Ferocity of
Foolish
Fandangos, with
Fanged
Fanatics,
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Fumbled
Fantasies,
Falling through the
Farms of
Freely
Found
Fans,
Flying in the
Fame of
Fortune.
Fornicating on the
Fallen
Fears of
Fat
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Fills.
Feel me in the
Frills

Granted with
Generosity.
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greed,
Greeting the
Goop and
Gobbled
Gore,
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Got
Going, in the
Gratuitous
Gallows of a
Game
Gaffed by
Giants.

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hellish
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hemp
Harshened
Hobos in
Heightened
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Hapless
Habituals,
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Haughtily
Hardened
Houses of
Happenstance.

Ignore the
Ignorant
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Indicative
Instances of
Idiom in the
Irrelevant
Inaccuracy of
I,
In the
Intellect of
Idle
Individuals,
Irritated with the
Irate
Illusion of
Idols
Illustrated upon the
Iris,
In the
Illumination of
I.

******* the
Jobless
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Justified,
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Just
Jailers,
Jesting for
Jammed
Jury's to
****
Judgment from the
Jitter
Juiced
Jeans of
Jesus.

**** the
Keep of
Khaki-ed
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Kits,
Kin-less
Kinetics,
Knifing the
Knights of
Kneeling
Kinsmanship,
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Karmic
Karate
Kick of a
Kangaroo.

Love the
Levity, in the
Luxurious
Laments of
Loveliness,
Lovingly
Levitating in
Level,
Lucidly.
Living in
Laps, of
Lapses,
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Latches
Locked with
Leeches of the
Lonely
Lit
Leering of
Lightly
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of
Liars.

Marooned in
Maniacal
Masterpieces,
Masqueraded as
Malignant
Memorization's of
Motionless
Mantras, but
Merrily
Masking
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Musically
Mused of
Monsters,
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of
Marauders.

Never to
Navigate the
Nautical
Nether of
Never
Nears.
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Nicety.
Notions
Neither take
Note
Nor
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Neanderthals
Napping in the
Nets of
Ninjas

Ominous in the
Obvious
Omnipotence of
Oblivious
Obligatory
Opulence,
Of
Other
Oddly
Orchards
Of
Offices,
Ordaining
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinary
Ordinances in
Option-less
Optics,
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in
Optimal,
Overture.

Perusing the
Pestilent
Pedestals of
Personal,
Parameters,
Pursuing the
Petty
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
Pharaoh,
******* on the
People with the
Penal
Pianos of
Port-less
Portals, in the
Paperless
Points in the
Palpal
Pats of
Pettiness.
Poor, but
Prideful.

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quick
Quill in
Queer
Quivering of
Quickened
Questioning,
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quandaries.
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Quagmires.
Questing the
Quizzing of
Quotable
Quartets.

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rolling
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Rain-less.
Roar in
Rapturous
Rendering of the
Random
Readiness in the
Ravenous,
Rallying, of the
Retinal
Refracting of
Reality.
Realigning, the
Righteous
Rearing of the
Realm, and
Retrying.

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Slumbered
Scenes.
Secrete the
Solo
Sobriety of
Sapped
Sassys,
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Stupidity,
Steadily
Supplied in
Stream,
Suitably
Slain in the
Steam of
Sanity.
Sadly, i
Still
Seem,
Salvagable.

Topple
The
Titans in
Tightened
Terror.
Torn
Territories
Turn
Turbulent in
The
Teething of
Totality.
The
Telemetry of
Time,
Tortured of
Torrent
Theories,
Told in
Turrets of
Transpiring
Terribleness, from
Tumultuous
Tikes unto
Teens,
Trading
Toys for
Tea.
Thrice
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of
Tanks.

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undreamed
Ulteriors
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
***** of
Utterly
Upset
Users,
Uplifting the
Unfitting
Ushers in
Underwear-less,
Ulcers,
Undergoing the
Ultra of
Uberness.

Venial in
Vindictive
Viciousness of
Vindicated
Venom,
Venomously
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Vampires,
Validity of
Valuable
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vaporous
Vacationing of
Vagrant
Vices.

Why
Whelp in the
Weather
When you can
Wave to the
Whirling
Wisps,
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
World,
With
Waterless
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Wackiest
Walks of
Waking
Wonder.

Xenophobic
Xenogogue, of
Xenomorphic
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
***. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my
Xyston
Xd

Yelling
Yearned from
Yelping.
Yard
Yachts
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeah
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
******
Yuppie
Yoga
Yanks, over
Yonder.
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a
Yocal.

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zapping
Zimming
Zest, upon a
Zombie-less
Zeplin.
Zealot,
Zionist, or
Zoologists,
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and
Zzzzz
Zzzz
Zzz
Zz
Z
Zero
this is a work in progress
the orphanage's walls
tell a story grim
what went on inside of them
so disturbing
up to twenty children kept in one room
crammed in so tight
together they huddled
both by day and by night
the children's elfin frames
deprived of proper nourishing food
their eyes had within them
little of love's light
they cried incessantly
a cry which implored
someone to deliver them from
the wall's fright
stale ***** and excrement pervaded the air
the odor hovered in their despair
the institutes cleanliness
lacking of hygiene
not much was kept
too well cleaned
these children
shall be impaired for life
for they were caged in a warehouse
of diabolical neglect
by the Romanian authorities

as you tuck your children into bed
tonight
give a thought
for a child devoid
of benevolent sunlight
A documentary I saw some while ago prompted this poem...
fROM THE dESK OF THE pOET**

I'm embarrassed to admit this. The night before last I ate an excessive amount of Sour Chewy Sweettarts. If you've ever had them you know that just one or two have enough toxic chemical dust sprinkled on them to make your mouth numb for several minutes. Well I got into a rhythm of eating one, then adding one to it, then another for three, then four, then five, then  six all the way to seven at one time. In that experiment alone I consumed no fewer than 26 Sour Chewy Sweetarts and even that was after having warmed up with several single helpings.

Sour Chewy Sweettarts were at one time marketed under the name  "Shockers". Let me tell you they should have respected the truth in advertising inherent with that label. The intensity of tartness conferred from all these ***** Wonka treats was remarkable and very well could have been the most face-squinching sourness I've experienced in my fifty-plus years.

The unfortunate downswing of these hijinks is that I developed a chemical burn that spread across the entirety of my tongue all the back to and including the area where my uvula hangs.

It's my own stupid fault. I could feel the chemicals eating through too many layers of cells long before the administration of candy pellets had reached four, even five-count multiples. By the time I had the seven pack ****** down to gel the burning was so bad I had to squint my eyes. The question that found priority amongst all that came to me at that moment was "how long is my mouth going to be so alternately sensitive and numb that I won't be able to eat my beloved jalapenos and spicy vittles?" A couple of days later and that answer still has not been found, although progress has been made to the point where I have faith it WILL indeed heal...you know how paranoid I can think sometimes, surely my mouth will never heal from THIS god forsaken self-inflicted injury, after all, I deserve it, hence the term "SELF inflicted". It's nothing but payback being it's usual self. If I never get to taste the wondrous seasonings of a well-mixed chili recipe cooked to perfection by someone who really knows how to make chili...if I never sigh with uninhibited satisfaction after downing a swig of Dr. Pepper or Miller's High Life or Guinness Stout...if I never again will be able to tell the difference between prime Angus beef and succulent Maine Lobster it is for good reason that I've been deprived of these tender mercies. It's because I knew when to stop and I kept on eating, though tears had begun to form.

No, it's more than that. It's because Universal Forces were all the while begging me, whispering in  my ears, "Stop! Stop! Enough! No more!" What would have happened if Joseph had ignored the Lord on that cool December night? Gabriel let Mary in on what was going down, what do you think would have happened if she'd gotten jealous of Joseph and disregarded the angel because he didn't have quite as much clout as her husband's Messenger? What would have happened? Nobody knows. But I know what would have happened if I'd heeded the advice of the benevolent spiritual  beings who were trying to warn me to lay off of the Sour Chewy Sweettarts. I wouldn't be sitting here typing on the hp laptop about how I got the chemical burn from hell.

But it seems like valuable lessons may be learned at every turn. So it is that with almost every experience I am resigned to also look at this one as the hard earned silver lining. Just what exactly have I learned? Well, first of all I've learned that it would probably be a good idea in the future to regulate severely the amount of Sour Chewy Sweettarts (aka Shockers) I eat in one sitting. If I ever eat them again, If the emotional scars of the chemical burn will free me in my sweet tooth's cravings for Wonka Sugar to ever again opt for the sour stuff. I learned that eating Vlasic Kosher Dill Pickles with such a freshly de-sensitized/throbbing chemically-scorched tongue is a prospect that shares much in common with a full day of taste-testing ghost peppers. Only on a slightly smaller scale does the briny pickle juice pack it's own searing acidic punch.

Other lessons? Oh I'm sure I could fill a book with lessons this has taught me. Writing that book might be the most useful, benevolent gesture I ever offered my fellow man but I don't know if I can do it. But if I did, this would have to be the first couple of lines on the very fist page:

Make sure you're going to have a LOT of alone time the morning after.

But that's just plain good advice.
Randy Johnson May 2015
God can be vengeful but he's mostly benevolent.
He helps us when we're down, he is magnificent.
God kept one of my relatives safe in Vietnam because of people's prayers.
God will never forsake us and he loves all of us, he truly cares.
It's like the money says, 'In God We Trust'.
God is wonderful and he's always there for us.
Marco Buschini Nov 2016
The pulsating, pearl moon
Harbours the last remnants of romance,
Scintillating, in the valourous sky,
As I surrender to call upon her spirit
To bring her back to me.
I longingly strip, craving the vivacity of her caress.
Irresistible, I would yield to the perpetual
Power of her touch.
Immersed in the shadowy depths,
Rippling serenities of thought.
I glimpse at her reflective soul,
Shimmering upon the ravenous river,
Emanating from the stars
In all their graceful radiance.
Her heart illuminates
The benevolent evening.
The breath of inevitability
Stings my skin, as I dress,
Firing my arrows of impatience
Disconsolately, into the shivering azure,
Hoping for a way
To penetrate her very being.
Osiria Melody Mar 2019
An innocuous smile,
one that touched the hands of Time–slowed it down
like the graceful              of curtains
                             closure                    on an exhausted evening

My heart
                                        e
                      ­         s
                       o
               r
                                                        like a helpless leaf that died a tree,
descended into the Unknown of departing from being
a l o n e
to being Someone

(Love at first sight was such a  s t u p i d  thing, till I saw you)

An innocuous smile,
one that touched the abyss of Loneliness–sobered it up
like the scenic                       of the night's eyes
                         tranquilities                                 on a lethargic morning

You smiled at me
Such a benevolent smile that paid my debt of helplessness
More than just a subtle indicator of authenticity or a shadow of happiness
You smiled at me
Such a moment that you and I share, one that no one could ever take away

More than just a simple smile,
But one that bridges my heart with yours to cross this path of Loneliness
To discover what it means to be in Love



Melody
3/7/19
A smile is electric, despite its simplicity.
Brianna Sep 2014
Tell me about your lavender eyes and your vanilla hair.
Tell me about you sandalwood smile and coal black stare.
How does the rain wash away your hatred for other so easily?
But the soft breeze in the summer fuels your fire?

Tell me about your wandering mind and your benevolent heart.
Tell me about your gypsy spirit and harnessed passion.
How does the ocean calm sadness so easily?
But the autumn smell makes you cry in the night?

Can you tell me why it's so easy to fall for you but so hard to make you stay?
Tanya Chaudhary Sep 2014
Imagine a scenario:
A crowded bar
A skyful of stars.
You see a silhouette, that seems familiar.
But you have never seem him, no one your dear.
A near perfect man.
Those lips. Those eyes. The smile.
For you, it's love at first sight.

You go out of your comfort zone.
Look at him and coyly grin.
"You seem like a benevolent stranger", he grins.
Is he for real, you think.
You exchange numbers, dance, talk, laugh and wink.
The night seems to sparkle and both of you stay awake in it's shine.
The morning after looks promising.
You claim to yourself - "He is mine."

Spring
Summer
Autumn
Winter
Months go
Time flies.
Vanished, he has. The boy that WAS.

Days later,
Sitting in a neighborhood bar you are drinking alone.
Avoiding any eye contact, drowning in your phone.
Somehow, you manage to see a similar  shadow,
"You seem like a benevolent stranger", says  the boy that IS.
.
.
.
"You seem like a benevolent stranger", says  the boy that WILL

*LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT?
THERE IS NO SUCH THING.
All YOU ARE LEFT WITH,
ARE SOME HANDFUL OF FLINGS.
Jack Jenkins Apr 2016
If I ruled the world, I would be,
Not a benevolent leader, nor,
Would I be a tyrannical leader.

I would be something much unexpected and, hopefully, humble.

You see, I would be a quilt maker. Not of fabric and thread, though.
I would stitch the different cultures together, leaving each individual one unique, yet united by a common thread.

I would sit with my diplomatic needle and peaceful stitching and lead those whom hold contempt for one another see the other's perspective.

I would show them that,
The world isn't in black and white,
It's in full, high-definition color.
So let's celebrate unity,
Equality,
Individuality,
And uniqueness.

Because in the final chapter,
We all already rule the world.
It's up to us to thread ourselves to each other,
Or pull ourselves apart by the seams.
//On acceptance//
This poem got me a tie for first place in a poetry contest I entered. :)
Sean M O'Kane Sep 2018
We are the kids – beautiful blank canvasses ready to receive the joy of life.
We are the kids – hope & love consuming our souls, grasping at the shiny & new.
We are the kids who played in the fields and danced in the sun.
We are the kids with innocence in our hearts and a cheekiness in our soul.
We are the kids who believed in a benevolent God and the generous teachings of Jesus.
We are the kids whose imagination was an infinite resource - bounteous, diverse and effervescent.
We are the kids who reveled in the fancy, the nonsensical, the romantic and the wild.
We are the kids that couldn’t wait to grow up,
We are the kids who believed in our future.
We are the kids who never saw it coming.

We are the kids who lost our innocence as soon we walked through the big school gates for the 1st time.
We are the kids who were told to “think of your future” and to suppress creativity.
We are the kids who were forced to grow up very quickly.
We are the kids who didn’t know we were “different” but there were plenty out there who did.
We are the kids who had to pretend to be what “they” wanted us to be just to survive.
We are the kids who came home with scars every day – both physical and emotional
We are the kids who endured the obscene words of Neanderthal hate every single day.
We are the kids who were screamed at by our parents to fight back even when we really didn’t have the capability to do so.
We are the kids who were told crying was a sign of weakness.
We are the kids whose so-called classmates stayed silent when they did their worst.
We are the kids where the school gates were no barrier to their lynching.
We are the kids who turned quickly from being wide-eyed & hopeful to being terrified & desolate.
We are the kids who dreaded every single weekday from first term to last.  
We are the kids who fruitlessly prayed to a God who had deserted them.
We are the kids taught by teachers who were found wanting.
We are the kids who suffocated in sheer hate.
We are the kids who took our own lives or at least tried to.
We are the kids who self-harmed.
We are the kids who sometimes never came home.
We are the kids who survived but never really left the school yard behind
We are the kids.
Your kids.

June 11, 2018.
Jamie King Feb 2015
Benign, benevolent ballerina bubbly bathing by beautiful blossoming balsams.

A gander I took and I was a statue in her stead. Still and without a word my mind a victim of frost bites, notions frozen, the Ice ages the living flame inside my mind.
I shall speak if only I could master but a few words, my lips basted by beauty, the surgent of admiration before her I am an apparition, lost in forests of adulation.

A vanishing spirit soon to be a vestige of a vestige. I shall wage wars arm myself and battle my way to her hands, where I shall rest as the past presents the future without a dress.
I do love her very much..
I am in love with

POETRY
I whistle for the Scarecrow to lead the way right after Neur decided to leave. It begins to form a black mist/smoke like essence in the middle of where I stand then it unifies and creates a Scarecrow with red eyes and it makes noise and flies slowly in front of me. Finally it lands in a mysterious cave where I stand in awe as I see ...there the Scarecrow stands on top of a crystalline rock emanating from the entrance of the cave itself. I walk in and I feel an eerie feeling go down my gut...something tells me to look immediately to the right. So when I do there it is the mystical impenetrable rock Aziel was talking about. Then just then I feel a sense of ease and Aziel says telepathically..."So my not what are you waiting for destroy the rock and retrieve the relic." So all the sudden I feel a sudden deepening defining feeling in my chest and I acquire the powers of Darkness for the first time in my quest for revenge is paying off. I command my whole arm to become a sledgehammer and hit the rock directly and it cracks in a half...there stands a beautiful glowing base with a fancy top on it ...made out of red diamonds and showered in Gold. Then I am relieved. "I got it" I tell Aziel telepathically. Then Aziel responds worried ... "Come as quickly as you can because I believe the Goddess is onto you...plus I cannot sustain you with the power of Darkness only 45 more minutes. Therefore,  come friend for you will be handsomely rewarded. " As I am getting out of the cave I hear galloping coming up the path I came. Then to my bewilderment Boom there stood a huge 32 ft tall ElderGloomTree It looked at me and it had a sweet berry like strawberry like scent in the Air it smelled beautifully nice.
The middle of the tree there was a mouth like sideways and it opened inside it slowly took out it's tongue and there was a small what looked like a mustard seed with rainbow like colors all over. There that little seed grew before my very eyes in the matter of split seconds and formed the shape of a beautiful glowing young woman with beautiful green skin and black hair with blue red and white stripes on the hair color. She spoke to me kindly and softly her breath smelled like fresh mint...I was astounded. Frank: "Yyyoouu...mmuusstt....bbb..e..." I stuttered... Nabyah: "Yes Young Mortal I am Nabyah many call me the Goddess Of The Forest Of Whispers. What are you doing here...what is that your carrying and oh one last question...I heard from Neur you was seeking me." Frank: "Indeed I am Frank Deltoro and I am here to request something from you...in return I'll do something you want done. If it's under my power and will to do so I will aid you." Nabyah: " I want to aid my tribe of centaurs and the remote Cyclop  village of Vlakazamuk & Chalekathan *
  We want to stop the killing of Centaurs and the human captures from capturing Cyclops and making them work enslaving all Cyclop population or sometimes brutally **** them and practice known as
Davalkaj Shamanism.

You humans and your inventions to destroy our home-world and natural habitat. Tell me what makes you think I'm going to help You? Should I **** you for trespassing my forest?" Frank: "Well... I didn't come to fight but if i must we can clash but I would rather we handle the situation like 2 Grown up adults here well you for one am sure have lived thousands of years now but hey...help me and I will do my best to remove the curse." Nabyah: " Fine but do come ...come close to me I will kiss you in the lips once and you shall have my blessing..." Aziel shouts telepathically: "Use the power of the Dark to see if she is giving you a curse or a blessing...if you take the kiss and become enchanted well since the power of Darkness is in you it will be removed. But if it's a curse I shall take it and renew your power by some. So either way it's safe go ahead kiddo...I know you want those lips. Get em" I just nod. Then wow I kiss the Goddess and it's by far the most romantic thing that's ever happened to me in my 25 yrs of living. I felt a holy power showering over me then the power of the Dark was immediately removed.
Then all the sudden she makes a beautiful hymn comes out of her mouth and a fairy about 3ft tall with 6 wings flying in mid air hands Nabyah a gorgeous engraved Vial of blood. "Here is what you seek warrior; proceed carefully not only benevolent souls and entities linger here. I leave the area as soon as she hands me the vial of blood. I get about 50 ft away from the area and the power of Darkness consumes me I transform to a Giant Bat and head back to Aziel.
In the Castle am greeted with pleasure and I hand him the vial of Goddesses blood. There and then he drinks the elixir of blood and before my very eyes he regains his youth and full power. Then there stands 5'7 Sharp look young man about 20 to 21 years of age. He disappears and reappears behind me tapping me on the shoulder. Aziel: "Frank I am in complete debt with you for only and even though we do not agree nor do I love him any but thanks the Lord...you helped me regain my full vampiric power. Ahhh it feels amazing. Hahaha  he embraces me in a warm hug.  Now what do you desire my mortal friend?
I think deeply..."I want to help the Goddess remove the curse from the forest." Aziel: "I usually don't meddle in human affairs but I am making an exception I'll help you as long as your willing to help me destroy the Order " Frank: "Does this mean I must look for the Relics Neur Blackthorn asked me to get ...since I got the vial I don't really need to do it no more right?" Aziel: " I'll let you borrow the power of Darkness for 6.5 more hrs till morning comes" Frank: "Thanks Aziel once again for letting me gain more power and knowledge."

~ *Meanwhile


At a very remote location deep in the heart of the Forest Of Whispers lived Bethilda Wood. She has lived in a old ruined cabin for 700+ yrs also she is known as The Elder Witch *Empress Of Darkness
known to bestow powerful spells and hexes but also with the gift of healing and releasing souls back to the Almighty One. A young Wiccan woman comes up young in age her skin tan/white heading toward the old rugged cabin...then pauses whistles a delightful melody and a staff appears.  Having been trained in the field of magic this young witch is been taken under Bethilda's wing. Bethilda:  Adrianna  darling come I have a surprise for you. Follow me to the pond of *Greater Enchantment. Adrianna: So... I heard you became the High Dark Empress 1200 years ago. Bethilda: Yes that is true I been a Witch for the past 1600 years or so. I survived the middle ages the dark ages and the years of enlightenment.  It's something I been willing to be all my life for I meet the man who carries my heart a young man known as The Count Of the Night. Dracula! We fell in love and I bore 3 of his children who so I have heard inherited the gift of becoming a vampire and they inevitably became vampires, more like the 3 princes of the night. Vladimir my first born Aziel my middle child and Uriel the youngest of the three. I been on the quest of finding Jesus Tears a small opaque flower the color of silver to complete my spell and relinquish Vladimir's soul to the mortal realm fit it into a red diamond and transfer it's soul essence into a freshly dead human body. With that he will come back to the World of the living and redeem himself and take revenge on the Order. Adrianna: I will help you. I will find this flower you'll see. So then they practiced spells from there on out.

~ Meanwhile

Its 1 a.m. and Frank heads out to seek the Ancient Relic. With the complete power of Darkness at his disposal he sends out 3  scarecrows to look for areas of interest in the Forest Of Whispers. Two of the  scarecrows come back one doesn't so that last one got killed by someone's power. Frank communicates telepathically to Aziel. Frank: I think someone is onto us Aziel guard the Castle it might be the Order. Aziel: already got it covered buddy. Then Frank feels a very strong power slowly emanating from the Southeast part of the Forest Of Whispers.  Frank transforms to a bat and heads there. As he gets there the small village of Chalekathan...
He who has been destroyed there stood a mysterious figure in the middle of the havoc a mysterious strong power could be felt from him. Mysterious Man: Hello adventurer my name is Navarro Castle-worth I am the Warlock of the *Tower Of Frejoird
where I was trained to use magic and rituals to summon strong deities into this plane of existence.  I got here too late someone had destroyed the village before I got here. Frank: Right ...my name is Frank Deltoro and how do I know your not the one who destroyed the village? Why should I trust you? Navarro: Young friend...I do not desire battle but if it's necessary I will satiate your thirst for battle...Navarro Summons his staff and says some words and a Huge Nightmarish Creature that looks like a dog with a fog of Darkness surrounds the Creature. Frank summons the power of Darkness and since its 1:33 a.m he gains the *Wings Of the Desolate Count which makes his power two fold. There Frank stood looking at Navarro in the eyes and him looking at Frank with perspicacity. All the sudden a trembling can be felt and a Huge Cyclop comes out of the Wilderness. Mysterious Cyclop: Hold one moment ...this man is telling you the truth young Mortal. Frank: Woah a Cyclop what how did you get here? Frank loses his fighting stance and so does Navarro...My name is *Jhino Velvermount I am from the Tribe Of Chalekathan* known Village Of the Largest Cyclop population. "Come I show you what the Witch Of the Tavern Of Doom Dragons* done her name is ...whispers Bethilda N. Lement. Raised originally in Sweden in the small farming town of Wrellender* learned Martial Arts Of Taijutsu and Ninjutsu. Able to control Lighting/Air/Water/Fire/Metallic energies. Coming from a family that practiced Zetzou Buddhism. Who are thought at a very young age to control the Chi* Energies of the body how to practice Re-Vitalizing and Re-Energizing the Chi to be able to stay in a meditative/active blending of consciousness with the subconscious to make Ninjutsu possible. She is known to have rested 1322-1555 A.C. about 250 not been too active but her Great Grandmother. Nayya M. Element who was born 1119 A.C. in the same village one of the co-founders of it who placed the curse on the Forest Of Whispers and it's being sustained by her Great Granddaughter Mrs. Lement. Now me and Navarro follow Jhino to the Village. We go thru extensive difficult paths that leave me tired for an excruciating 5 hrs of walking. Finally arrive at the village... and there is about 30-40 Thousand Cyclops gathered around the Village to hear Gromm ElderLord of the Village Of Chalekathan. Gromm: My stance stands I am here to protect my people from the evil that has left this village wrecked record in the past 300 years. I will NOT allow Bethilda to wreak havoc here no longer. There Me and Navarro and Jhino stand behind the large crowd waiting for the speech to end. The speech finally ends and strong Cyclop incense is burn to allow other high ranking tribe members to know the Elders speech ended. <br>
<br>
~Meanwhile in Aziel's Castle~
"Hello" a young woman with Long Red Hair that hits the ground as she walks White Pearl Eyes with Black Pupils and with a Long  *Black Ceremonial Dress known as Akashaic Black Tunic Of the Dark Empress from the Land Of Necromancers.
There appeared in a Dark WindAziel Governale in a White Taxedo like Suit Welcome Home... Iris Senteno ...Oracle Of the Shadows Of the most powerful Magicians from the Tower Of Frejoird. I have seen your prodigal human who's name is Frank Deltoro...handsome young man who encountered Navarro in The Forest Of Whispers. Will he be trouble? Or shall I eliminate his presence?"
Aziel: No he is working for me...you shall have him without delay at the end.

                         ~To Be Continued
Work in progress.
Nicholas Rew Jul 2012
Her curves are attention adhesive
Smile is causality of my own
I sung to her like an old record player
You know, the kind with just enough mis-haps
To add something charmingly personal

Her eye's are the deepest divine
Richly brown, and equally bright
I kissed her like a one way ticket,
Composing a fork in the through
Spontaneity stacked upon desire

Her love is brilliantly benevolent
Profoundly unconditional, and sincere
It enveloped me like a crackling fire
When the snow is pressing down
A piece of heaven just for me
AD Mullin Dec 2014
My essay, Changency, is a meme
This meme has been growing inside of me
I've been a carrier
Many of us have been

I'm not a benevolent character though
I've been purposely placing the memetic material on blankets
And leaving the blankets in local trading posts
I call these 'trading posts' bookstores, universities, colleges, schools...coffee shops, pubs, restaurants, etcetera

The beautiful thing is that these memes aren't really on blankets
The memes are encoded on the backs of knowledge, truth, and authenticity
They come from a place of pain
Evolution is painful (but it doesn't have to be)

Three dimensions are easy to comprehend
Four, sure just add time
What about spacetime?
And a fifth dimension...I don't really know what that means...but some do and they're watching, listening, waiting, and loving us
MutteredtheMuse Aug 2014
There are grapes in my path
This abundant trail
now invisible as if we never were
Here, to pick and preen, salvage and reap
for pleasure and pain
I picked you some flowers,
I baked you a pie,
labors of love
with your own hands
connected to earth.

Breaking backs, and clinging sweat
Under wool, denim, straw, and cotton
Keeping more out than simply the sun
Depleted soil
Exhausted soul
Bursting with juice
Bountiful and hand chosen

And you in a hurry just drive by
Dust in the wind
Skin of clay mud
Day after day,
A boulder among the rows
Hunched in fields
Blistered and callused
Searching for more
Ripe for the picking
Migrants moving
Servitude by season
Benevolent harvest
Handpicked strawberries
By chocolate covered hands
destined from birth
closer to earth.
Palest orange, a watercolor
wash slips in behind
bared branches
variegated,
rustling leaves.

You slumber,
down in the cellar,
fearless of the spiders
and centipedes.

Awakening me
with your roar
my sleep vanishes,
trading places
with blessed warmth.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Hearts another beat a second
A+ made the grade rare meat
Why is everything told to
us in a heartbeat
This is getting way too sweet
"Lips took Beeswax" bittersweet

Someone got stung B-
Strong sound muffler
Joyride Owl Hoot clever
Sweet and sourpuss
honey babe

Her mustard lips of custard
Hot temperature rising
The spicy lady opening
up new horizon gate

Too many sad rides
empty plates last joyride
Gas empty blame the county
Why did we call this joyride
without knowing
your fate

The others are more noticed
Fashionably they came late
Dine and the Wine joyride
romanced money upfront
advanced

Lips like jewels left their stale
You were the chosen one taken
for a ride from
a crooked male

Like bushel big loot basket
Rock the Kasbah rocket
Golden joyride ticket the
pickpocket
Getting away with ******
****** lips in the gasket

The joyride so beat looked
disheveled new love
unraveled
So messy but **** neat
looking, Lexus,
She looks mighty fine like
Venus, I beg you to zoom

And the love after all the treats
Sherlocked in his room
The devil made me do it
All flushed and deep red
Hearing his joyride of beats
What was really going
through her head
Hard rock ambient
painter deviant

The holiday like racing hot rod
Harvest Halloween of a joyride
Two peas in dark maze pod
Igniting a hot fire
Her lips need to decide
Who was underneath the
fumes of his fire

The coffee taste accelerating
Do we feel the pulsing beat
What a high anxiety peak
High intense flavor
You waiting for his joyride
Christmas and Hannukah
Tree to decide that's easier
But wait for true love above all
the gifts to deliver
Like bedrock meeting
Monster ride plant-eating Bug
More slugs my chinch
Inchworm of books at Joyride
College Dorm horn alarm
Manifestation enjoying
her joyride
What a conniver
Greece with my niece
vacation
Basil New rival tea
Pomegranate Cherry-bomb
Blonde Bombshell
Culture novelty joyride
Ring my servant bell
Met their sanity tomb

Her hand's dainty they shine
and sparkle
Her lips know how to jingle
Arace for hearts of stories
and memories
Always the death hand takes
a ride to the winding road of
the cemeteries
Just stay for the moment
think about the
Joyride forth of July
Our firecrackers went off at
the same time
Brie cheese favorite time
English tea and crackers
Like two lips sublime read
her diaries in his designer dockers

Going to the end of the earth lips
light up New York City galleries

Needing the fresh corner
Sunset taking lowrider Boulevard
Hollywood Oh! No world
Wildly satanic or the carefree type
Her joy smile he's sold on skype
Benevolent triad remembering
The mad magazine
MLM Maserati longevity Master
Of the joyride gun blaster
"Lips build like a Pyramid"
Becoming irresistible
Not to humble

Lips race Joyride to gamble
Nothing weakens to crumble
Baking a crumb cake its
doable stays together but
things unnamed not like
a marriage

We get blamed joyride
got damaged
We become gullible
What becomes of the broken heart
someone isn't reliable
Lips are not responsible
Leadership has you cornered  
To stumble upon her lips
Rendered steamboat surrender
How he tumbles
Mr. Grey Poupon Mustard seed
He plants her like his
only joyride
In need
We are all Jupiter the moon
joy to the world
All the boys and girls being
taken for joyrides

The Beach boy's video games
Spy lips whose to blame
Phillip screwdriver
But they take a ride
All you could pick a hot buffet
feasting she is still wearing
hot lipstick
Men have their choice of
they're next
Joyride Bride about the money
Wall-Street cars of hobbies
investing
Yeah right?
Lips take a joyride can we all please take a moment lets decide what we will do.
Is it really up to you for the road always him light that fire trim lips glow joyride fires out you tell the world what it is all about?
The Whisper Sep 2014
I know not of the love of a benevolent God;
The power to save a fallen son.
I only know of the love that I have,
For I am my brother's keeper.

A brother is a friend given by nature,
A lifetime companion; A bond of blood.
He is my first hero; He is my first friend.
He will always be my brother until the very end.

Brothers in blood share more than just blood.
They share the experience of being a son.
They share the same rules that they learned to abide,
And a sense of belonging that cannot be denied.

A brother is a person; he is his own man.
He makes his mistakes; like every man makes.
He's taught me great lessons which outshine pain.
That's why I love him for his own sake.

What brother's seek together, they will surely will find.
I am the voice that will always remind.
I am the hand that leads when he's blind.
For a brother never leaves his brother behind.
To my brother Michael. Although you and I have been through a lot over the years, many of which involved great amounts of pain and suffering, I know for a fact that you and I will always be there for each other because that's what Mom and Dad have taught us. It is our duty to honor that.
Liam C Calhoun Aug 2015
She paves the path
Of dynasties carved
With buckets of sludge upon back;
Bent, not unlike her mother’s limb,
But under shinier red flags,
Cloth coated, with lesser blood.

She’d had a hint of gray
She’d not had last time,
She had a newer limp
She’d not had last time,
Her ***** furthered from firm,
Reaching for the ground, a promise,
In years to be wed with,
And yet the underneath
Of it all remained as radiant
As any sun’d ever been;

And come the cloudy day she leaves,
Even mine own eye
Will remain far from dry
As I’d remember freshly cured bacon,
And her tender chopsticks offering life;
She’d saved me once, she’d save me again.
A friend of mine once said, "you can choose your friends, but you can't chose your family." I call ******* on that one. Zhang Jin Mei is my another-other-mother, and I'll never forget her.
Andrew T Hannah Mar 2014
Even a World So Ugly As This        
  
  
                  Is Full of Beautiful Things.  
  
  
  
  
It was one of those evenings  
when men feel that truth, goodness and beauty  
are one.  
                            
  
  
  
  
  
Waste no day with too-much sleep,  
              Darling,  
The wilderness beckons.  
  
  
Let us rustle the trees.  
Remember to laugh, Remember to sing.  
  
Fill again my head with constellations.  
Fill again my head with consolations of sound.  
For i am inseparable from you, and you from me as well.  
  
  
Remember to dance, Remember to dream.  
Remember to listen, Remember to see.  
For even a world as ugly as this  
      Is full of beautiful things.  
  
  
All other questions of the mortal coil  
More or less become clear  
In the unwinding.  
  
Hushed and heedless,  
The sunflower, chico, and the fountain  
Twi-lit with honey.  
Forests grand with oaks, and the lunar zig-zag which paints the mountain.  
  
  
The slow dripping noise beside you,  
The cool *** of night become icicle morning.  
  
A thousand thousand impish clamors call out!  
The elfin quietude.  The flighty bird. The brotherhood.    
  
The mirror changes with moods.  
  
The brother, the sister.  The merry-go-round of laughing children.  
The daughter with a bouquet of curls beaming gold, red, brown sincerity.  
The freckled enchantment of lovers perennially in Idumaean night.  
  
  
The artistry of female radiance on which all things are born and balanced.  
Beauty such as to drive a mind to madness.  O  
And the splendid metaphysics of the male,      
The shimmering brandy of honed muscle and action.  
  
I am recalling, the ebony of her form,  
Perfect in inexhaustible allurement!  
  
I am recalling, the pale fragility of another,    
Perfect in exquisite pulchritude!  
  
The friendly mutt whose voice exalts sonnets of pure love.    
The great haunches of colts at full run.  
Tendrils of primordial music bloom on the wind!  
  
  
Under the water the world drowns and continues on.  
Yet the measure of mocking men produces only sand  
Fit to fill a broken hourglass.  
  
Let not gladness be empty banter amongst us  
Ye city of perplexed imaginings!  
City of labyrinths, curves, catwalks, and spires.  
An elegant evening strolling with you produces charming memories.  
  
In abandoned churches the ***** blessed us heathens with greater timbre and romances  
Than a thousand caterwauling religions.  
  
  
With Juliet's rose between my teeth  
My jaunty daydream burst out laughing !  
In the snug lamplight of home again  
Vines and evergreen ropes of oleander twined up to the roof and quite through!  
& Together we climbed it to find the proof.  
  
  
Refine your strength, refine your shame.  
By all means, breath deep, lustily!  
  
Even the body which drags weary feet.  
Even the nervewrack'd hours dark and steep .  
Midnight strikes quickly and time melts away, completely.  
  
Apprehend again the heart  
Before it washes away in the storm.  
This and all things that we cannot untie  
Should not bind us to an early grave.  
  
  
Here i grow too old for fearing frivolous shadows.  
The eyes fill with sleep - and then reopen.  
The eyes fill with sleep - and then they do not.  
The conversation carries on .  
  
At times perhaps we hear the ocean  
      grinding grinding  
Those orphaned spirits of old Edens,  
What soon again we are to become.  
  
  
But what is a home unwanted?  
                       it is nothing!  
  
And what is a life unlived in?  
                  it is nothing!  
  
  
The surgeon with steady and learned hands.  
The mechanic with hard and learned hands.  
The soldier. The mother.  The strength of one in solitude.  
The strength of those whom lean upon each-other.  
  
Bubbling bedfellows of rivers rambling  
in a forest of Birch and wildflower.  
The Odyssey in the park with you, under a pagan serenade of moons.  
The red blood of pomegranates passed between.  
  
The throb and churn of engines is lovely in its way.  
The darkness is lovely in its way.  
The present, the past, the future - all the sunsets,  
Sonorous in their way.  
  
Weep and weep into the dusk.  
But what do you imagine bitterness shall win you?  
  
    
The natural harmony and dis-harmony.  
Towers of strained hardening.  
The mud and the water.  The fire which governs.  
Grapes upon the vine, and diamonds in the mine.  
I provoke myself onward.  
  
And say let us speak hastily, neighbor,  
For what time is there to waste  
On expectant verses, and platitudes to over-made faces?  
  
I for one do not care much for dawdling beneath false skies.  
The realist parts of me know too well of life's harsh cruelties, and yet,  
                  realize also that reality is the theater of artifice.  
                  - and you are ever free to see it as you wish.  
  
  
The mirror changes with moods.  
  
  
I for one prefer the perfume of the moment.  
Nothing simplified, and perhaps, yes everything!  
The human smells and earthy musks.  The animal abruptness.  
The persisting imagination, the infinite onward.  
  
I for one prefer to hear the music outpouring  
loud and rockus,  
            Rather than the bells that morn us.
And so...
...From the Benevolent Ashes, We Rise!
Broken miscommunication,
building on our frustrations,
with the strangers that we live with.

Fabrics of our families fraying,
our history, we love erasing,
anything to break the natural bond.

We don't want to be alone,
but we don't want to share the world,
so instead we live in darkness.

I live for the people I meet,
my neighbors aren't strangers to me,
why close the blinds when you can let in the light?

The world we know lives in the dark,
hoping to avoid that benevolent spark,
that's why I'm here holding the torch.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
SassyJ Jan 2016
I’ll rev you like a Porsche
Pressurize the clutch then
ease on the equipped brake
enrolling the steering wheel

On the highway as we sing
Tuning choruses eccentrically
apply the mascara and smile
put my flock on, swing like Bowie

Craze up in seismic grooves
Shift to a self expression culture
be so extreme that you glitter
I’ll desire your ambiguousness

Unarguably, I’ll hold your hand
An evolved zeitgeist in revolution
squeeze their prejudiced little heads
replicate, experiment your persona
Be you, be you, be ambiguous!
claire Mar 2014
I slip under with a cry
and am lost to the depths,
sinking ever deeper
into the blue
as though bound by
ball and chain

What I pass on my way down
is not glittering schools
of fish
or the benevolent
sea turtle,
but a circling, snarling
mob of responsibilities,
a sight more menacing
than even
the most cadaverous
shark
I loved her.

Before I even gazed upon her

I loved her

Before I was even dazed by her words of splendour

I loved her

Not for her ability to
charm others
as even though she just as often harmed others

Not for her straightforward intelligence
for she shared a forward thinking
dissidence

And not for her beauty & majesty did I love her

Because not far from often, did she bring cruelty and calamity too others that I did love

And when I loved her, it wasn’t because of her bountiful spirit

For when one drove responsibility towards her
she was both accountable and idyllic
her innate strength insurmountable & prolific

And my love did not come from her humble yet dominating origins

Hunters and gatherers roaming in forests

Nor her families evolution, amongst changing nations
into cultural irrigation, harvesting & cultivation

Yet my love was neither superficial

wrought by a feverish desire for atypical minerals

As it is evident she grew up to live lavishly, as if she were a daughter of kings and pharaohs, emperors and regents

Far from superficial
it went beyond my own existence
‘tis was it deep

And watching her grow up
yet older and slowly darker
it flooded me with a sense of grief

For that was the only side she showed me, and allowed others to see

But beyond the seas and ravines, ridges & fjords, she beamed

And that is how it felt for a time
her happiness distant and far gone

Looking back it’s blatant she was far from dormant

But I believe during that time she was merely misled

It took time to connect her heart with her head

And for a time it seemed she was finally ready to proceed

And that was all but my dream
for her

But in my heart, I knew she would waver and ultimately capitulate towards the darker times

I think, even though she was mature and grown

not enough time separated her from her home

a family always wanting to dominate and roam

The precedence was set
The credulous to fret

And even though it’s in her nature to align with basic instincts

I awaited,
like those in scriptures
for a sign
that leads her to brighter precincts.

Of this hope

it was something I dreamt about
until I was left awoke

It was a scathing cycle, hopes festered
with a heart broke

And in the depth of my despair
I was still convinced,
that behind her “politics” & warring nature with others,

that the woman I loved & dreamt, was still there

And you know what?

She convinced me

Not deceitfully nor schemingly
but seemingly
through action

She was on a phase of exploration
visiting foreign nations
and establishing relations

Truth was
All of it was a ruse
corrupting & enslaving
it was just another way of experssing her roots

Since then, I’ve never been lead astray, I knew it was just one big game

Even though I never believed that’s who she wholly
was and is

I can’t help but fell this is the way it is

Her being at an unbeknownst
war with herself

One that expresses all she can be
charming, beautiful, full of majesty

That she is the most complex & admiring existence in this universe

And another of opposite birth

One that can be harming, full of cruelty and calamity

And of this side I fear brings the other to her knees

And it ladens me with tears

But of this side of her
I fail to recognise,
as the woman I loved,
and it’s the only failure
I won’t rectify

The woman I loved,
the beautiful glimpses of allure,
that sparks through the impure and demeaning

Is the only meaning I can find within myself to breathe

But I’m lost
Lost in her mystery
Lost in the past

Because, I don’t see her anymore
giving rise to my love in the past tense

For I don’t know where she lives or with whom she spend her time
with

But of the worst fear I hold within my heart
is that the woman I loved never existed to begin with

That the idea of her was just a figment
of my idealistic mind

That all these years,
I conjured a fallacy of this supposed
“Benevolent”
side of her
so I could forgive what she had
imposed

And that I believed & fought so fervently  
in her
because in hope
it would bring life to her

Whatever the reality
I will never put cease
to my belief
that I will see her

Why?

Because the person
of whom I am talking about
is

Humanity

And she is the most beautiful thing I’ve known, regardless of her flaws
My take on personifying history X
Umi Mar 2018
I am darkness I am light, I am chaos I am might, lies and truth unite,
Fear and bravery, envy with hatred and love finally combined,
I am the difference between illusions and dreams, nothing as it seems,
Nightmares and mirrages, a realm of infinity and finite by its means,
I am fusion and fission, with one simple yet very complex misssion,
Energy and indolence, a wall, another fence, questions upon answers
If small lies give rise to grand falsities, what is the truth gonna bring ?
A place where you should be able to feel reality and fantasy's sting,
Apathy and concern unite, come closer I don't really bite, trust me,
My teeth look sharp, yet they are blunt, you can rant or stay calm,
I am a living death wandering yet standing still, does it make you ill?
Generosity and greed are both present while they are missing, still!
Control the lies of your uncontrollable tounge, listen to the silence,
Could we possibly agree that this unanimity relies in total dissension?
I am the discouragement for your precious, little yet pure intentions,
Aimlessness for hope of a future unexplored yet near enough to grasp
I am the rue in pride, a lamp without light, elusive but not transient,
A harmonic ramgage, riots over the horizon in undefined dark light,
I am malevolent and benevolent, bent yet straight, right behind you,
What am I ?

~ Umi
If you can solve this riddle I give you a cookie °^°
This took very long to make and actually combines my old rhyming writing style and the one I engaged myself in a while ago, I do hope it is somewhat enjoyable ^-^
Here, from the king's mountain view;
here, from the wild dream come true;
feast like a Sultan, I do,
on treasures and Flesh, never few;
but I,
I would
wish it
all away
if I
thought I'd
loose you
just one day.

The Devil and his had me down,
in love with dark side I'd found.
Dabbling all the way down,
up to my neck, soon to drown;
but you changed that all for me,
lifted me up, turned me 'round.
So I; I; I; I;
I would,
I would,
I would,
wish
this
all
a-
way.

Prayed like a martyr dusk 'til dawn.
Begged like a ****** all night long.
Tempted the Devil with my song,
and got what I wanted all along;
but I,
and I would,
if I could,
then I would
wish it away,
wish it away,
wish it all away;
wanna wish it all away,
no cross that could hold, sway,
or justify kneeling away my Center,
so if I could I would wish it all away
if I thought Tomorrow
would take you away:
you're my peace of Mind,
my Home, my Center;
I'm just tryin' to hold on
one more day.

Dim my eyes;
dim my eyes.
Dim my eyes,
if they should compromise
our fulcrum
if wants and need divide me
then I might as well be
gone-

[Most epic instrumental section in 6 ever]

Shine on forever,
shine on, benevolent Sun.
Shine down upon the broken;
shine until the Two become One.

Shine on forever,
shine on, benevolent Sun.
Shine upon the severed,
shine until the Two become One.

Divided, I'm withering away.
Divided, I'm withering away.
Shine down upon the Many, light our way,
benevolent Sun.

Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
So,
as one,
survive
another day
in season.
Silence, legion,
save your poison!
Silence, legion,
stay out of my way!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tE8aP6jALyo

Great song by a stellar band.
Brad Lambert Oct 2013
(I)

Whose coat is this? Sure as hell isn't my coat. I ain't got no coat with this parka ****, it's *******. I ain't no furry flamin' ******. I ain't no ****** chochy Molly-May-Ze-**** chokin' down chickens and nasalin' a'sniffin' snortin' nasty-*** choch; that ain't me. That ain't me. Look at this coat– I'm like an Eskimo *****. I'm like a butch-**** bull-**** crotch-lappin' a'swimmin' laps in that guy's swimmin' pool. Who's that guy? Who owns that guy? 'Ey, anyone here the owner of this guy– guy ain't got no owner? Whose coat is this? It's nice, real nice. Bet she said, "Does it come from France? Where do I buy one?" I want to buy one, I think I need to buy **** more. I sure as hell need to buy one of these. "And I need one these too and one of them too and I need a petticoat and a tipper-tapper and a whimpratic garfielder and one of them new bartlemores, I need more of them bartlemores. I need more, more, more, more, more, more..." That ain't enough. ****'s from France. ****'s from Paris, that's romantic. You think I'm romantic? I eat hearts for dinner, I chew down nails like nuts for my midnight snack. I smoke cigarettes and spit on concrete slabs, you think that's ****? I'll show you ****. I'll show you Paris, New York City, Rome, romance you in Rome. I'll get real ******' Roman. I'll take you to the desert and make love to you. That's how a free man does a woman, and I'm a real free man. Who's ownin' this guy? It ain't you, it ain't me. I don't own you, you don't own me. I'm a free man:

I said,
"Fire and wood, fire and wood, fire and wood. It is late, it is late, it is far, far too late."

I set
fire to wood, fire to wood; feel that fire fired fresh from that firewood.

I dug the pit,
he gathered the wood,
she started the fire.

She really does make that fire start.

O' how she makes that fire burn,
O' how the wood's wrapped in white hots,
O' how they smoke their smokestacked pipes,
O' tobacco teeming teenagers, tormented by and through youth,
O' adolescence, trending topics, and forget-me-not flowers,
O' old age, Floridan coffins, and coughing  cancers,
O' writers in the mountains writing to be,
O' painters and **** bodies in studies by the sea,
O' thinkers in their mindset, mindsetting the table for dinner,
O' tables set to bursting,
O' wallets so thick,
O' community,
O' society, our social games,
O' hope,
O' peace,
O' that I may be at peace,
O' that I may be content and pray only for peace,
O' how about them true believers,
O' how about that love at first sight,
O' sandstone. My sandstone. That guy sittin' on sandstone.

That's my guy. That's my guy. I own this ****.

Is a man breathing on a mirror the sum of his breaths?
Breaths foggin' a'mistin' my view,
my view of a body and that face,
you're a body.
You're a workin' day's bell,
you're my chill in an Icelandic draft,
you're my spare in a Middle Eastern draft,
you're my pawn in chest-to-chest chess.

You've got this. You've got this. You own this ****.

And it is ****, too. I'd be set, real ******' set, with someone like you. I'll make you a woman, check this parka ****. Coat's mine. I'm a classy igloo runner, runnin' a'ragin' a'czebelskiin' meriteratin', I'll be reiteratin' your points. Check the time, it's late! It's late! ***** was in the grassy knoll turnin' trap tunes on her turntable. Would you listen to that? She sounds late to me, does she sound late to you? I like the music; I like the music. What happened to Woodstock? Where's my watergate, Nixon? Where's my generation, Ginsberg? Where's the meaning? This music's too loud! We're so profound! O' profundity!

Tell me something I didn't know, I'm craving' the new.
Give me the new while I spit on the old,
while I spit on this fine art finely art'd by and for fine artists–
******' fine artists. ******* fine artists.

(You can realize radical-realist realism but you can't be real with me?)

O' fine art!
What fine art!
Which fine artists are dead?



(II)

Looks like they're dead.

Looks like them ******* choked out all them ghettos, choked out all them rednecks, chokin' a'stranglin' by-God-oh-God straddlin' the breeders. I sure did like them babes– babes with their laughin' a'lackin' o' cynicism. They don't know the word "****."

I sure am forgetful–
I forgot that smoke doesn't dissipate,
I forgot how to smell autumn leaves,
I forgot to check the heart against the fingertips,
I forgot why my fingertips went numb,
I forgot to cue in the meaning when the sentence was complete,
I forget to complete my sentences,
I forget who you were wanting when you said, "I want you."

I got as much depth as an in-depth discussion, high hats and electropercussion have got me going. I'm goin' downtown, uptown bourgeois tricked me out, johns and yellow Hummers laid me down and cussed me out. That's not a discussion. That's not my scent scenting my towel, this breath reeks of wintry air– my fingertips went numb.

"I want you."

"Oh would you look at that moon?
Take a look at that moon.
Look at that moon with the ******' mountains.
I love that moon.
That's my moon."

I love darin' a'dusty dareelin' derailin' your dreams, whose dreams are these? They ain't my dreams– ain't no dream derailin' a'nileerad radiatiatin' some hint of joy or Jamison Scotch Liqueur. Drink that ****. That's my ****, I own that ****.
I'm sittin' on this stoop like I own this ****, like this **** owns me; I owed me. I don't own me, you owe me:

Pay up man, feet off the stoop.
Pay up man, be real with me.
Pay up man, you ever thought of a man as a man?
Pay up man, give it in.
Pay up man, give in.
Pay up man, I need you to do me a solid. Do me solid from crown-to-toe, we're toe-to-toe let's do-si-do bro-to-** I'm ready go, **, jo, ko, lo, get low… Now I'm ramblin'. You say, "Ramble in to the stoop and tell me a story."

What's a stoop– who's a stoop? That **** ain't stoop– you ain't stoop. You're stupid. You're a joke, check out the joke. Hey ladies, you seen this joke– joke ain't been seen by them ladies? I'm a joke. We ain't laughin' with you, they're laughin' at you.

O' hilarity!
Such hilarity!
What hilarious histories have passed?



(III)*

"I said I loved him once. I only loved him once."
(
And how long once has been...)

I sure did like them hand-holdins,
them star-gazin' moments,
them moon phasin' nighttime nuances,
them fingertip feelin' a'findin',
them sessions o'meshin' limber legs unto steadfast *****,
heads cocked like guns toward the sky,
beyond the horizon
but well
below the belt.

Them star-gazing moments seeing stars seemin' small, I love how they gleam- gleamin' a'glarin' comparin' shine to shine, shimmerin' a glimmer shone stumblin' her way home from the bar. She's drunk. She's brilliant, brilliance of whit and wantin' a'wanderlustin' gypsy nomads- that ***** gyp'd me, no mad man would take a cerebral slam to the face lest them moving pictures are involved. Read a ******' book, it'll last longer. Kiss me on the collar bones, clavicles shone shining with slick saliva pining for my affections. You're clammerin' to feel me, clammin' up (Just feel me.) I want to run my hands through long hair and peg the nausea nervosa to the wall. The writing's on the wall:

The sun bent over so the moon could rise, chanting,
"Goodbye and good riddance,
I never wanted to shine down
on them seas o' tranquilities anyhow."*

O' what a day. What a day.

And the wind ruffles leaves and it ruffles feathers on birds eating worms in brown soil.

What a day. What a day.

And the men under the bridge gather in traitorous conversation of governments overthrown and border dissolution and poetry with meters bent out of tune.

What a day. What a day.

And the billboards are dry for all the consumers to consume, use, and review.

What a day. What a day.

And hearts break messiest when you're not looking.

What a day. What a day.

And the ego and the id and the redwood trees are talking. They're sitting **** in the marshes, bathing in the bogwater while fondling foreign fine wines and whisperin' a'veerin' conversations towards topics kept well out of hand, out of the game, nontobe racin' in races, rampant radical racists betting bets on bent, bald Bolshevik racists wagging Marxist manifestos in the bourgeois' faces, yes. Make it be. Nontobe sanity as the captain creases his pleats, pleasin' her creases and the dewdrops of sweat trailing down the small of her back– down the ridge of her spine forming solitary springs of saline saltwater in the small of her back. Aye-aye, guy's pleasin' a'makin' choices a'steerin'– government's a'veerin' a hard left into the ice.

'Berg! 'Berg!
Danger in the icy 'berg!
None too soon a 'berg!
Bound to bump a 'berg!
O' inevitably unnerving 'berg!
Authoritative 'berg!
Totalitarian 'berg!
Surveillance of *** and the sexes 'berg!
O' fatalist fetishist 'berg!
Benevolent big brother 'berg!
Homosocial socialization 'berg!
Romanticized Roman 'berg!
O' virginal mother 'berg!
City on a hill on a 'berg!
Subtly socialist 'berg!
Nongovernmental 'berg!
O' illustrious libertine 'berg!
Freedom of the people 'berg!
Water privatization 'berg!
Alcohol idolization 'berg!
O' corrupt and courageous 'berg!
Church and a stately 'berg!
Pray to your ceiling fan 'berg!
Biblically borne 'berg!
O' godly and gorgeous 'berg!
Ferocious freedom fighters launching lackluster demonstrations far too post-demonstration feeling liberty and love, la vie en rouge, revolving revolutionist ranting on revolution tangible as
an ice cold 'berg.

'Berg! 'Berg!
O' the 'berg, the ****** iceberg–
You'll be the death of me.
r Jan 2014
Suffering from cabin fever, I raided my cache of end-time sardines and went slipping and sliding down to the dock to feed the near-shore birds.

One lone Repelican sat upon a bollard by the boat launch seeming frozen to the spot.  He was looking pretty grimm.

Taking pity on this cold, hungry waterbird former Marine-turned-Feeb, and apparently not stuck on I-275, this kindhearted Democrab was soon out of end-time sardines.

Telling him that I was sardine-poor but had one question I would like to ask concerning an investigation into questionable publicly financed bollard homesteading practices, the repugnant Repelican was not happy with me and stuck his long bill in my face while threatening to break me in half (like a boy) and throw me off of the effing dock before flapping away in a huff.

He called me later and asked to do lunch next week. Sardines on him.

r. ~  29Jan14
To Rep. Congressman Grimm/NY
Ari Feb 2010
there are so many places to hide,

in my home at 17th and South screaming death threats at my roommates laughing diabolically playing  videogames and Jeopardy cooking quinoa stretching canvas the dog going mad frothing lunging  spastic to get the monkeys or the wookies or whatever random commandments we issue forth  drunken while Schlock rampages the backdrop,

at my uncle's row house on 22nd and Wallace with my shoes off freezing skipping class to watch March  Madness unwrapping waxpaper hoagies grimacing with each sip of Cherrywine or creamsicle  soda reading chapters at my leisure,

in the stacks among fiberglass and eternal florescent lima-tiled and echo-prone red-eyed and white-faced  caked with asbestos and headphones exhuming ossified pages from layers of cosmic dust  presiding benevolent,

in University City disguised in nothing but a name infiltrating Penn club soccer getting caught after  scoring yet still invited to the pure ***** joy of hell and heaven house parties of ice luge jungle  juice kegstand coke politic networking,

at Drexel's nightlit astroturf with the Jamaicans rolling blunts on the sidelines playing soccer floating in  slo-mo through billows of purple till the early morning or basketball at Penn against goggle- eyed professors in kneepads and copious sweat,

in the shadow tunnels behind Franklin Field always late night loner overlooking rust belt rails abandoned  to an absent tempo till tomorrow never looking behind me in the fear that someone is there,

at Phillies Stadium on glorious summer Tuesdays for dollar dog night laden with algebra geometry and  physics purposely forgetting to apply ballistics to the majestic arc of a home run or in the frozen  subway steam selling F.U. T.O. t-shirts to Eagles fans gnashing when the Cowboys come to town,

at 17th and Sansom in the morning bounding from Little Pete's scrambled eggs toast and black coffee  studying in the Spring thinking All is Full of Love in my ears leaving fog pollen footprints on the  smoking cement blooming,

at the Shambhala Center with dharma lotus dripping from heels soaking rosewater insides thrumming to the  groan of meditation,

at the Art Museum Greco-fleshed and ponderous counting tourists running the Rocky steps staring into shoji screen tatame teahouses,

at the Lebanese place plunked boldly in Reading Terminal Market buying hummus bumping past the Polish  and Irish on my way to the Amish with their wheelwagons packed with pretzels and honey and  chocolate and tea,

at the motheaten thrift store on North Broad buried under sad accumulations of ramshackle clothing  clowning ridiculous in the dim squinting at coathangers through magnifying glasses and mudflat  leather hoping to salvage something insane,

in the brown catacombed warrens of gutted Subterranea trying unsuccessfully to ignore bearded medicine

men adorned with shaman shell necklaces hawking incense bootlegs and broken Zippos halting conversation to listen pensive to the displacement of air after each train hurtles by,

at 30th Street Station cathedral sitting dwarfed by columns Herculean in their ascent and golden light  thunderclap whirligig wings on high circling the luminous waiting sprawled nascent on stringwood pews,

at the Masonic Temple next to City Hall, pretending to be a tourist all the while hoping scouring for clues in the cryptic grand architect apocrypha to expose global conspiracies,

at the Trocadero Electric Factory TLA Khyber Unitarian Church dungeon breaking my neck to basso  perfecto glitch kick drums with a giant's foot stampeding breakbeat holographic mind-boggled  hole-in-the-skull intonations,

at the Medusa Lounge Tritone Bob and Barbara's Silk City et cetera with a pitcher a pounder of Pabst and a  shot of Jim Beam glowing in the dark at the foosball table disco ball bopstepping to hip hop and  jazz and accordions and piano and vinyl,

in gray Fishtown at Gino's recording rap holding pizza debates on the ethics of sampling anything by  David Axelrod rattling tambourines and smiles at the Russian shopgirl downstairs still chained to  soul record crackles of antiquity spiraling from windows above,

at Sam Doom's on 12th and Spring Garden crafting friendship in greenhouse egg crate foam closets  breaking to scrutinize cinema and celebrate Thanksgiving blessed by holy chef Kronick,

in the company of Emily all over or in Kohn's Antiques salvaging for consanguinity and quirky heirlooms  discussing mortality and cancer and celestial funk chord blues as a cosmological constant and  communism and Cuba over mango brown rice plantains baking oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,

in a Coca Cola truck riding shotgun hot as hell hungover below the raging Kensington El at 6 AM nodding soft to the teamsters' curses the snagglesouled destitute crawling forth poisoned from sheet-metal shanty cardboard box projects this is not desolate,

at the impound lot yet again accusing tow trucks of false pretext paying up sheepish swearing I'll have my  revenge,

in the afterhour streets practicing trashcan kung fu and cinder block shotput shouting sauvage operatic at  tattooed bike messenger tribesmen pitstopped at the food trucks,

in the embrace of those I don't love the names sometimes rush at me drowned and I pray to myself for  asylum,

in the ciphers I host always at least 8 emcee lyric clerics summoning elemental until every pore ruptures  and their eyes erupt furious forever the profound voice of dreadlocked Will still haunting stray  bullet shuffles six years later,

in the caldera of Center City with everyone craning our skulls skyward past the stepped skyscrapers  beaming ear-to-ear welcoming acid sun rain melting maddeningly to reconstitute as concrete  rubber steel glass glowing nymphs,

in Philadelphia where every angle is accounted for and every megawatt careers into every throbbing wall where  Art is a mirror universe for every event ever volleyed through the neurons of History,

in Philadelphia of so many places to hide I am altogether as a funnel cloud frenetic roiling imbuing every corner sanctum sanctorum with jackhammer electromagnetism quivering current realizing stupefied I have failed so utterly wonderful human for in seeking to hide I have found

in Philadelphia
My best Ginsberg impression.
Brian Ong Aug 2018
Hi. Do you care enough to hear me whine?
I fear that you don’t see me
collecting dust in the dim corner of your room.
And while you stand and stare,
completely absorbed by your own despair,
I remain
ready to serve you  
and your meaningless life.
I can clean your room, yet I can’t clean your mind
of the false reality exemplified by your kind.


We are similar though, you and I.
Wasting our time amassing, acquiring, accumulating.
Honestly, we’re mere specks of life,
surrendering to realities constructed by our minds.
Don’t you know that your beloved earthly pleasures
are one and the same as the ******* that I collect?
Hard-earned, elusive, temporal, disposable.
Its laughable how ignorant you are;
consumed by your own subliminal thoughts,
leaving you searching for the remnants of what is and what is not.


Can’t you see the fallacies present in your head?
Gleaming yet blinding, salient yet obscure.
Armed with benevolent promises
that ultimately leave you for dead.
Can’t you see that what you crave
will inevitably **** you down to your grave?
Incessantly coated with wondrous, tempting illusions
that disguise its true nature--garbage.
Garbage. Connect the dots, you fool.
Can’t you see that you and I are one and the same?
done for class
Alex Apr 2018
You were both hell and heaven
Fire arose within
Every word you said, every breath taken
was passion
and heat
Like the kind we shared between the sheets.
But there was hurt in your eyes
You couldn’t imagine being a sinner
Every night,
You lay by my side
I told you I was no good.
You told them “there’s nothing I wouldn’t give her.”
For a second I thought I was being saved.
It felt religious believing with you
Courageous game, but we still played.
It was a dangerous world for us fools
Every piece of you was lost in a prayer.
My love for you was The Enemy.
And, my love, He was cruel.
Tears streamed down when I speak,
with my palms together,
I knelt down and repeat;
This man is a soul
I am nothing but a body
Never met a god
This life has been sold,
Never to what I thought.
I’ve lied in bed with what scares me most!
I have sinned, I have sinned!
But please, hear me out, first—
with a benevolent grin
He took me in—
Don’t forgive me, father
I’m a sin.
PJ Poesy Dec 2015
Up I go tarred tower chamber, and molten bed
Scaling igneous shingles, hard lava my flight impossible
Crawling lofty ambitions in metallic heat resistant robe, slippers
Texting my last, "I love you"'s before kissing Pele's mouth

She is kindness and showers me in ashen snow
Welcomes with sulfured gas and acid rain intoxicants
Heady now, provocative bubbles glow, spit, reaching her tempting ****
Eyes pop, burst, char, sizzle, every nerve ending cauterized

Magnanimous one takes me, I evaporate in Aiiaka-noho-lani
Given to the Great Cloud Holder to be carried off
See my dreams fulfilled in droplets shimmering on rainbows
Touching down on sprouting new ground
This is a pilgrimage of osmotic proportion. Diffusion seems the ultimate passage. Seems cremation will suit me best. Better than just allowing things to lay and rot. A wider transfer, diminutive atoms rising, spreading, casting further hope.
Nickols Jan 2014
You are the only one who my madness doesn't touch,
and the only entity whom can touch my heart, simultaneously.

Tell me, "I love you."
Say it with conviction.

Wait for the time.
Where the nine realms collide.

A touch of insanity with a wicked kiss.
Silver-laced tongue, sharp and keen.

Did pleasure ever feel this exquisite?
Nay--
from a morals hands, calloused from tiresome battles.

Verily; with hands carved from flesh and blood.
life and death.

A hundred times over;
have I fled from a lovers touch?

A thousandth time;
did I plea for mercy.

I spit the cry out
with fire and brimstone burning my throat.

For all this chaos and despair surrounding me,
A god on his knee's begging for repentance.

What a sight to behold;
malevolent creature with a benevolent cause.

I worship you,
a man made of Iron

You are the only one who my madness doesn't touch,
and the only entity whom can touch my heart.

Fin
Frostiron anyone?
Julie Grenness Feb 2016
Let's look at this tale of Robin Hood,
He was far away, being way too good,
Rob the rich, give to the poor,
Maid Marian left open her door,
She was feeling way too generous,
Got it on with Little John, no fuss,
Far away was Robin Hood,
Really, he was much too good,
Then in came Friar Tuck,
In with Maid Marian he snuck,
Then they both got it on,
With hyperactive Little John,
Yes, Maid Marian was benevolent,
Indeed, they all knew what that meant,
Thus, this twisted tale of Robin Hood,
John, Tuck, no Robin Hood the good!
For a contest, feedback welcome.

— The End —