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Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration,
Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world.
That's a new idea to her.
Gathering the neighborhood like family.
The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working
      around the edges,
humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet,
even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses.
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass,
two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan.
News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically
carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army
not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness
as the Holy Roman Empire.

Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up
while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North
      America,
even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical.
Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter,
up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish.
No one wants to go there.
Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery
      was voluntary.
What is the carrying capacity of the planet? Two children
have replacement value. In China is it each couple or each adult that gets
one offspring? As life expectancy and standards rise,
family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities
surrounded by farms surrounded by forests.
The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics
play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts,
      grasslands, space.

Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho
are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints:
lost lover, lost city.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
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.
Criss Jami May 2014
Fiat lux and
Then I stand and see how it looks out on
Gnothi seauton psychologies of a naughty automaton he is
Out speeding on the autobahn while she is
Now sleeping on futons in peace it's

Not pieces that need to be re-ordered yet
Since he's reckless but wrecks less when he's courting it's

A sport, you see a ticket's his master trophy in-
Deed endorsing his Porsche-speed matrimony down master row and she's
Driven to this racer who makes her en-
Force things, they later make her take her lead like lead's erasing then vanishing
Banished from whatever it is they're drinking and it's cleaned
Running from the pitcher as if it's her fantasy
Love who's the catcher who has her and
Now you see
It's not lack-lusting but luck-lasting because lastly
Down the street
Is where I swear we're running faster from crashing, finally

Into this dreamcatcher's hazard
Our dreamcatcher's hazard
Oh have you heard

It's absurd that the whip cracked
Yeah the Porsche was hacked baby transformed back in two and back into a nat-
Ural rural state where the horse power level was more morally sta-
Ble biblically faith-
Ful foolishly a-
Ble but yeah we take over whatever we face-off and baby we're faster so we'll have to chase after our

Dreamcatcher's hazard and
That dreamcatcher's hazard's a
A madness that is learned

And it's absurd
So say the mattress is glowing it's holy
Matrimony, so don't look lonely it's only
Master Roshi, to say to chase your dreams
It's you and me be-
Cause for you my blood is flowing
For you my blood is glowing
For you this blood is flowing
And too the flood is blowing
It's true our love is growing
Grant Mailo Nov 2012
I can be you, or I can be them
I can be she, or I can be him
but why be a con artist of someone else
like a shadow to my best friend, when I
can be my own person, a unique creation
created in the image of God but representin my own reflection
because I don't wanna see you, them, she, or him in the mirror
I wanna see me through my own eyes, 20/20 vision, but clearer
but the more I conform, the image of someone else draws nearer
and I begin to lose sight of myself, look back in the mirror, and see myself in the rear
a shadow to another figure, a copy of a personality
livin' out another person's dreamed out reality
copying what they think, and succumbing to conformity
but that ain't me....
what you see visually and how I appear physically
is what makes me comfortable, that's why I'm an independent, politically
I don't follow the norms and rules of what's most accepted socially
the only commandments I live by are the ones given Biblically
I ain't  the best saint though, I mean I do sin every day
but the only one I wanna copy is Jesus Christ, in every possible way
on the other hand, Satan is out there,
trynna tempt me on how to act and even what words I say
he's out offering me drinks, but I reply, "I'm okay"
cause I don't care if "everyone else is doin' it"
I just live how I like to live, that's what makes me a true non-conformist

I dress how I wish and not because it's in style
I keep my hair big, I do whatever makes me smile
I'm not trynna impress you or fit into your clique
I don't give women pick-up lines and act like I'm slick
I'm me, just me, no facades, just real
and if you can't accept that, then move forward but don't steal
the things that make me special, from my poems to my appeal
so don't try to change me and keep my uniqueness concealed
I could care less about your thoughts and any of your judgements
I refuse to give your words power, I can make your points become pointless
I'm not trynna be harsh, I just love to be different
I wanna be an original and keep my vibe realistic
not a second you, but a first me, no counterfeit
I try to keep up with what God said in Matt 26
verse 41, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak
so pray not to give into temptation and stay on your feet
I encourage us to keep our standards and what makes us unique
and accept anyone else who doesn't wanna repeat
everything you say, and everything you do
sometimes it's the people that are different that come off the most true
because they're not sayin or actin' in ways that you approve
they're given you their honest opinion, you should keep them closest to you
don't conform, forget what people want you to be
just be yourself, not a copy of reality TV.
spoken word piece I wrote for an event called "speak on, speak on it". the event was put on by 2 organizations I'm involved in at ASU, B.A.D. [black artists and designers] club and ASU NAACP. the topic was conformity. this is a piece I started and wrote just a couple hours before the event. I really procrastinated on this one. what I'm basically trying to say is this poem is a rushed job. please don't judge me too hard lol this isn't me at 100%! constructive criticism is more than welcome though.
Magick 13

My rhymes periglacial slash through foes ****** leavin' corrupted maxillofacial stay laced with the coco
Til my nose blow out nothing but deadly keys makin' monopolies at ease see my desert ease
Could make the devil freeze with the beautiful ephipanies laid though my flow cinematography ain't no fictions here G
My pedigrees been deadly since the age of three
First sips of Hennessy pictured a glare of my enemies stories of me biblically
Born a David killin' Goliath's society defiant
Knock down the orders in the cornered borders
Of the Jesuit I'm the black Pope
Elope to the celestials gods that rope
My mind hanging on to the highs of the ****
Better yet the marijuana sneaky as an anaconda
Once I tighten cells begin biting
Fighting tryna stay alive like Bee Gees
Fiendin' for my lost dynasties kin to Nefertiti since I ****** on *******
As a baby I got a taste of the universe thoughts deeper than a hearse words hurts exciting flirts beating all perks through my vengeful works
My alias an archangel leave the game triangled Titan mentality dribble like Cousy so you might loose me?
Sick with the tracks axe minds like Moses to the red sea  knockin' down Rome legacy
Back on top like the greatest plot dimensions traveler like Bishop
Capitalizin' land plots I be the Black Wieshaupt
I guess you really can not forgive me
in this beautiful country of yours
for I hold you so dearly, under those
Canadian stars, sure we may dream
miraculous things, but weight on
these feathers and waning wings
serpentine jealousy, babe, not envy
please, leave, me, be, innocent, of
steam, send onto me Jesus Christ
Girl, i need someone to clarify biblically
did the catholic we knifed, deserve
to call me a worthless being, or will i find him
in prison like everyone finds him I'm just
happy its 20 14, when Tupac  is to be reborn
Judge his reasonings were, my Mother didn't raise me
Catholic, her mother did want her Mothers
Mother , to have not wanted to raise her
Daughter, catholic, in the snow, with a tune
for you, waiting at the St, Stephen Torro Cemetery
Holden , your best friends broken rosary/broken nose
Pope Francis, we came to opposite levels of holy,
Heaven or Hell only knows, over standing does not exist
Mathew 6 Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.

2 “So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. 3 But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
We didn't love each other, we were just giving to the needy, your eyes tell me something other
than your words do , and hey so does your tongue, when will i find that kiss again no I'm done, that same sent of sorrow , as me we shared the same face and car , for however long  you want to call it babe, ill never be yours ever if you wanted i don't know but that doesn't make any sense, to me or to anyone one else, the ones who saw the beautiful moment, between us, wether or not we were drunk, or alone, they still knew, before and after the punch line, and i know youre the only one still  laughing

oh do do do , what a fool are you, to love a fool like me like you do too, if only she knew, that i can't
love you like i do love her oh do do do what a fool are you to love the ******* fool that i have turned into, after i stopped loving you, so long ago, when you could have known, before her, how to own a car, with someone like me who's addicted to going far but in a loop
before we ever knew, the feeling of
repeat
brandon nagley Jul 2015
Hello everyone
Since I saw others make writings of themselves here's one about meself....

Well first off
I'm Brandon cory nagley
26 years old born September 23rd 1988
I'm a Libra
Which I believe is honestly most important sign in the solar system lol OK it may sound cocky which I'll tell you about cocky me in one second lol... Anyways I believe mine sign is very important the Libra sign because it is the scales... The scales have always represented good and evil or God and the devil in many cases!!!! Which is like mine life I'm a sinner I won't lie.... I've done much wrong and much good. Though ive Learned we must have good and evil with it to trust God more and to learn from our mistakes... That's a fact!!! Anyways I always know prophetic info I've been posting on here which is coming I believe around mine birthday or on mine birthday.. Yea I'm a Christian BTW. Don't care if anyone likes it or not!! I respect all religions and cultures BTW!! Actually we can all learn from another but there is alot of hate greed and separation from not wanting to learn from one another!!!! So yes lol I'm off track I feel me birthday 9/23 is very important ... Numbers are everything biblically spiritually and in all world tools we use in all ways and religions... See when I was a kid I used to be a good baseball player ! I was a pitcher all way til sixth grade even Maby seventh. But I was an amazing pitcher I won't lie that's cocky but have many to back it up. I was also first basemen. And was so good had scouts look at me from Toledo mudhens and from a school called start highschool ten mins from Toledo Ohio...I also played basketball young and football!!!  I have been a musician since really like 11, 12ish.. I used to hang around a bunch of rap artists and hip hop artists... They'd rap and sing I'd write lyrics for some of those rappers....  So they gave me the nick name white chocolate LOLLL!! No joke.. I was there white buddy... Anyways one of those frends who rapped named Devon Bailey aka chuckie Bailey now is doing big things with bone thugs and harmony and Rick Ross... I played piano since I've been fifteen.. started off playing piano by watching a guy in !mine choir I was in. I was a tenor!! I can sing high or low lol.. Anyways there was guy named Turner ferrara.. He looked like Paul McCartney which I love Beatles. Turner played Beatles tunes on piano daily and I watched him like a ****** in the stands play.. I learned a few keys from him that caught on! Did music lessons for few weeks Than played meself... I started playing me fav song imagine by john Lennon on piano along with other Beatles tunes long winding road so on! Also played lots of zeppelin stairway to heaven alot!!! Lol people I think started just tuning me out . though I did have lots of girl fans lol...
Of back to me and sports lol. I always wore number 9 as jersey number I never knew why but me and !me numbers 9 and 23 me b day numbers have importance to me . well Micheal Jordan favorite player was 23 me b day lol and nine was mine fav number and b day month which I always used to see on clock btw I'm not crazy I always saw so did me mum saw 9;23 on clock.... Me b day so I know this number is of big meaning to me and to not just me the world period because ironically this year something big is coming astronomically...
Real Truth is still being sought out,
in this ever growing Age of Information;
the rise of social media has added
to the noise against spiritual institutions.

Unfortunately, ungodly behaviors continue to play out
within our society, neighborhoods and church pulpits.
We Christians must wholeheartedly repent now,
before His divine Grace, we unwittingly forfeit.

Sacred texts attest to God’s existence by faith,
while Science can only prove Him via logical sight.
Genuine and unstoppable power comes from His Word
and never by the temporary strength of human might.

Personal accountability and responsibility
can be displayed via righteous servitude;
develop your unique identity in Christ
with the character of ethical fortitude.

Consumption of the Scriptures should not be ignored
in favor of viewing biblically, inspired frescos.
Be girded on the foundation of Jehovah’s principles
and put an end to the ongoing… moral fiascos.





Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Matt 6:10; Lam 3:22-23

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Janette Aug 2012
Moon winds brush across naked skin;
Undo my logic, undo my fear…


A faint eyelash flutter,
A foreplay of glimmers through lids sewn shut;
Resting now, upon faded horizons, where oceans pool,
Along the soft-focus curve of nostalgia;


She loved him....loved him....



Timeless...the liquid silver of his lips;
Soft speaking patterns of his voice, an art form,
Lucid from lips, resting in upturned palms;

She reached for him... reached for him...




He came to her wrapped in poetic words,
A slow flame, igniting the darkness of her mind;
And while whispers gathered on the breeze;
Knew her biblically....

How powerless......distance...




Her body a sparkle shine upon wind swept storms,
Kiss to iris, sun to moon, bathed by
His silken facade, a heavenly release,
Pressed hard against her veins;


Muted prayers upon her tongue...



Led willingly across lush landscapes;
She knelt,
A sacrificial lamb; ivory flesh caressed,
Sweet sensuality, remembered, deep;

Like a kite rising on a sea breeze...



Love...the tender membrane,
A colour brush, shrouded in granite notes and steel chords,
A consummation of prophecy, vignettes of 'forever'
Written between flesh and need;

Loss, has no sound....Only a backwards glance...



She whispered his music,
A memory, a whispered echo, filled with mute pleas
Bitten into prayer pillows,
Marks of teeth left to tell the tale;

She stirs....

To fragile rose stem ribs and the splay
Of "might have been"
Her name carved upon moon winds.........
Once everything flickered on a hint of pleasure.....flush to fever.... to fits of dream.....clay-smeared......Love slipped softly in, holding it's breath in the shadows of the night....slowly unlocking the chains that she placed around her heart............... J
Still Crazy Jan 2015
sliced the thumb quite nicely,
a straight line, it,
the thumb,
applauded my skill,
turning bright infected red from
embarrassment
for me...and my minority complaints,
losing HD sight of the
big screen
of what matters

small woes and big-toes,
got ten times aplenty,
got lawyers and creeps
back in my life,
made promises that can't keep

so for sure
biblically cursed,
Job, and me,
losing parched perspective
under the tree
that gives no shade

dancing on that line called
"why bother,"
the other side of depression

forgetting again,
roof over head,
pizza in the belly,

can still stand up straight,
after a few vociferous
aches n' growls,
though the docs prescribe
what i proscribe,
i.e exercise, diet and blah, blah, blah, hah, hah

got her and got you,
goddess of poetry,
the mental health should be ok,
someday,
maybe even
the physicality

but not nut all of you,
not so lucky,
love the brave,
the courage true
those who ask,
when the time comes,
brave ones revealations,
shame me back to perspective

so do the thing,
some say,
call it the-right,

says I,
it's the no-choice
no thought needed,no praise worthy,
just
*extend the
balance,
bring back the
relativity,
share the
luck,
be as brave as those who
dare to ask
Proudly call me,
Still Crazy After All These Years
Jeff Barbanell Aug 2013
You were mine
You owned me but I thought I bought you
To the right, straight on ‘til morning, priceless
Tundra frontier vast expanse of possibility final
Let’s settle down
Our place very fine
Satan’s little acre
Where work got done you oversaw
To the left, we kissed deep, drunk each other
Families commingled extended
Biblically umbilical making babies
Behind the audacious bleachers
Our promise broken unfulfilled
Until our hot integrity solders this metallurgy
Together again like joint work power coupled
With terpsichorean abandon unleashed
I’ll stop the world
Board the white van
Emerge my own man
And you are his
hecate Apr 2020
it's like feeling eyes on me at all times
like angels tracing my moves
four heads turning my way
i can't move
they'll catch on
i'm held beneath my own breath
not a sound
no release
i can't get up
just to pass on the baton
just to trace the angelic figure
but i don't move there
i can't move there
i can't be seen
heard
eyes all around
limbs straight
watching me lord
there is no lord
JB Claywell Apr 2016
In her leggings,
and her striped
Cape Cod dress,
we meet Kim.

She’s in possession
of ankles the circumference
of Kennedy half-dollars,
a wasp’s nest of black curls
piled on her head,
she’s a straight line
from shoulder to heel.

She’s a real catch, Kim is,
and she knows it.

She has no idea that
she looks like a peacock
dipped in motor oil,

she’s giving ol’ Josh
the goldfish eye.

We’re all here to see The Freight Train,
The Rabbit Killer, but Kim’s hoping
for more.

Kim’s looking to get her
bunny stuffed, she
don’t care much about who
does the stuffing,

but she’s hoping for Mr. Clark,
he’s her mark, no doubt.

Now, Josh bought Kim
a beer, but was asked to
leave the cap on,

He looks at me, confused.
“It’s so you can’t Rufie her.
She wants to *******, but
she wants it to be her idea.”

Josh nods;
so does Kim.

As the evening proceeds,
and we’ve all done
“The Freight Train Boogie”
it’s become increasingly
obvious to Kim that Josh
is not agreeable to buttering
her biscuits, she moves,
which is to say stumbles,

around the room.

Every so often she’ll climb onto
the lap of some guy she’s known,
biblically or otherwise, before.

Sam, Bob, Steve, Ralph, or Charlie,
it hardly matters.

Earlier, she’d told us about
the 6-year-old twins,
the teenaged daughter
at home, ex-husband,
boyfriend, whatever, in jail.

The Freight Train moves ever
onward, but I’ve seen too
much of ol’ Kimmy’s show,
now depressed, it’s time
to bail.

*

-JBClaywell

©P&ZPublications; 2016
There is a band, locally, that is called Freight Train Rabbit Killer. They are astounding.  The first time Josh and I saw them, we left the venue and vowed to see them play as often as we were able.  This poem is set in a tavern that housed the second time that I’d been able to see them play live. Sadly, both Josh and I left early this time around. Kim’s dealings with Josh and some of the other guys in the audience was pretty intense and really hollowing. I hope she finds what she’s looking for.
Bus Poet Stop Apr 2015
tired of my drooping Hanes,
my slept-in choice for greeting
a new morning tad overexposed,
my weekend breakfast table
body's accoutrement,
"coverup" she deemed accurately
as in-suffice,
my nighttime slept-in choice for
welcoming the new morning
as a single continuum,
exposing my true colors,
thus declaring biblically,
"Let there be night, let there be day,"
in a manner of speak

she-woman wryly declares
over her slim sizing
yogurt Greek and half of a laugh
of a banana downsized,

"You need some loungewear"

pondering this ponderosa-sized ponderosity,
grasping its monstrosity insulting me,
coffee pouring, Eye, a
first responder
contemplate irresponsibly,
thinking to reply with bravado,
that on said day,
when Eye accrete
such a class of clothing
so nomenclatured as
"loungewear"
upon my person,
or in my ward-so-unrobed found,
unasked for,
Eye will require transgendering

but my tongue bites me,
so instead
draw down on my John Donne,
on the subject of
food, good taste
and being unclothed,
and instead
He-poet
bequeath the she-woman
this riposte...

"Full nakedness!
All joys are due to thee;
as souls unbodied,
bodies unclothed must be
to taste whole joys.


wisely retreating than be
defeating,
not wanting
a world war conflicting,
with coffee mugged, Eye return/hide,
under the bed's blanketing comforter,
thinking of the taste of whole joys
of her body unclothed,
when later, she creeps in next to me,
to practice the serious art of
*lounging...
Putting the Vin in Vignette
Barton D Smock Jun 2015
Alien’s heaven

poems

Barton Smock
June 2015



pilot light

baby, baby talk, and pilot light.

kitchens everywhere,
god is alone.

no brain

father smokes to make something disappear. he says he’s no brain but can pass for touched each time the bug is resurrected. when he rolls out of a blanket and into the side of a building, I believe again in the man mistaken for god’s pencil. mother can’t leave him anymore than she can leave her ears. terrify no one your childhood knows.

son

it was born in a bath of milk when there was milk to burn.  it drew with daylight.  when asked for details, it pulled a shadow’s tooth.  we took it to a movie, a war movie, where it made its first noise.  its pain went everywhere.  it sold, it sold until it ran out of clothes.  its mothers had fight.      

knees

visiting hours are set by a god who knows I smoke.  leaving my mark means I’ve pressed the barrel of a cap gun into my brother’s temple because the ****** keeps scooping into his ballcap the same toad.  my two fathers are here to bounce things off my mother when she prays.  sit long enough and ***** will dry them together.        

yearly

our collective identity is a sick child. some say fever, some say welcome to the loop of the biblically speechless. people are for others. are for making eyes at the gender of the god as it oversleeps in the coma we slip from. the child prays. the child causes a stir in the pastoral urgency of a moral imagination. we pray. we miss yearly the showdown between the town drunk and the town ghost. I trace a finger to put my finger on. the television belonging to our lady of snowy reception has fallen on our little angel more than once. nothing in the world is the world.

boy and gun

it entered my heart
to take a bird
from the world.
I felt nothing.    

the recent absence
of nothing.  

vernal

when you begin
to show
say
instead
you’ve a soft

spot
for god

race

says poverty
someone
at this table
has nothing to hide.

says father
touching
a UFO
cures frostbite.

says mother
open
the stomach
of the winning
monster.

area

somewhere, the mostly boy body pretends to be explored.  we are not we.  my mother ruins a sketch of my mother.  my father smokes two packs a day because online he was called prematurely haunted.  the name of your existence

is

priest retires to make umbrella for jack-in-the-box.  (her bus

is rain)

barbaric terms

each twin
slower
than the last, she spits

over my dead body

baby
after baby
out.

as news
of the massacre
spreads, the young
call it mother
by word

of mouth.

longing*     *for Gen

the baby boy stiffens at the sight of unrolled dough.  we say he is pointing the way to god.  crippled by the sadness in her hand, his mother keeps a claw mark like one keeps diary.

closings

trespassers
shoot themselves.

your son gets hired
by city

to illustrate
a book on mirrors
for households
with one
adult.

my son
dies
before the machine
that keeps him
alive

turns on.

a doll in doll country
burns its nose
trying to enter
the future
museum
of racist
oddities.

my hand tries my hand at forming
firstborn
erasures
using only
redactions.

god is exiled
for bringing
the animal
its childlike
behavior.

I am far too animated.

your body is the notice
eyes

give.

ins

night
the land
of a single
unseen
settler  

-

father
half eye, half oil    

-

self, self panic

bloodless     for Noah

my brother was blinded by a crow.

I’d tell you the story
but know
you hate it.

*******.

brother’s darkroom
became
the crow’s.

breathing spells

I chased only
the brother
I’d dreamed
of beating.

I told my sister
she didn’t have
a tail. told mother
it’s not suicide

unless you ask
to be born. I had a hand
for the year
father

went quiet
a hand
for the year
father

went quiet
for good. had dolls
over which

dying
out of character
held sway.

intelligence

magic amplifies in my loneliness a single flaw.

a bird, a high window. sound of a brain cell.

hunger and its unremarkable kitchen.

as a doctor I hammered the baby’s knee.

bio, and the undisclosed location of god’s recovery.

harm is harm’s audience.

disability jargon

i.

when it opens the bomb
it knows
like my brain knows
what it sees

ii.

homicide grief
is a recording
god’s message
speaks to

iii.

eight years old
she leaves the trampoline
in her body’s
fearful
accounting
of self

concord

cap gun.  swag from an uncle’s suicide.  

the daughter
the ghost
cartoonist.

voodoo dolls
in isolation.  isolation

in its prime.    

altar

the baby is too light.  its mother puts it on a scale that reminds her of a plate her empty childhood couldn’t break.  its mother invites neighbor boys to punch her in the stomach.  some of the boys bail.  some don’t.  the mother’s nickname doubles as her real.  the baby is not called bricks.



zero

when I couldn’t get my head around the surrender of my body to the flotation device of an immaculate conception, I’d simply swallow a baby that had swallowed a pill.  years go by and I am zero.  the number arrested for suicide.        




basics

because he is asleep, he does not find himself sleeping in the tub.  something slides from his belly and becomes wedged.  his dream business goes under even in dream.  he makes eyes at CPR manikins.  his son, his life, pushes for legs.

preparedness

you look like you’ve just been given permission to sleep in your clothes.

it’s a **** whistle only crows can hear.

it’ll put sheep
on the moon.

outlet

depression is a non-starter.  depression is depression unknowingly cured.  it is like I have this shirt because it exists and not because it invites everyone whose shirt it’s not to enjoy joy.  I don’t want to hear you say you’re sad to say.  I ******* to reappear and think it might be why my father vanished.  it’s enough during foreplay to flicker.


viewership

my youth spent trying to see the devil as a young man.  my motherly youth.  my **** scene a return to form.  cut from yours, you have your baby’s eyes.  I went unborn.  I went beaten.  we went together in broad daylight when broad daylight was god’s elevator.



pressure

the original thought in my head was to be postdated by god until god learned he had a baby on the way.  I had children until I could only have four.  what I say to self-harm is pay attention.  my daughter raises her hand on the off chance she buried something in her teacher’s body.  (we have stopped talking

but I can squeeze her anorexia into a phone booth)  poverty myth:  I groom my sons with the beak of bird abandoned.  real time I tell my tongue it’s ******* curtains for the mouth I’m getting.  full circle my daughter surrounds those brothers of hers that mine clone.        

high

mother, in the early stages of her food fight with god.

father, I can’t bury
my face.

in lieu    
of the lord’s
dog, raise

the lord’s
bone.

the mice

the conditions for mentally composing a suicide note for his sister are less than perfect. she’s sitting on his bed with a cigarette in one hand and his baseball glove on the other. both hear three traps snap shut in the kitchen. sister gags and it makes him think about gagging. now no more, these were the heart of the note.

signal

as my face
will one day
correct
my body
I expose

the elements
to my
ugliness  

-

my son is my search

history

-

headlights
when headlights
emerge
emerge
from a period
of non
worship

-

(wave your arms
long enough
you’ll have sticks
for arms)

-

they don’t  
happen
in my
lifetime
the terrible
things
I’ve done  

observance

when drought came
to my brother
I left
for the city
where I found myself
blanketing
manhole covers
with my coat
for women
who gathered
on rooftops
with men
whose daughters
had been killed
for jumping
rope

peril

I bit my tongue
when my tongue
was a cloud.

take cover, bones,
says my daughter
dancing.

I crushed my son
like a gift
and offered
god
my tactile
outlook.

stay small, future.  

persuade
a peephole
to show
some blood.      

no devil

the knock knock joke in need of my father’s skull is all that’s left of the outside world. hell was always the preparing of hell.

inseparable

mother is watching a show that keeps her from picturing the gods who portray us.  father is choosing an ice cube to bury.  myself I am very close to stripping for the cigarette my sister rescued from a baby’s crayon box in a dream that smelled like her clothes.      

masters

I have just had it written down for me how I am not classically racist. I am alone. I am brief stay of bullet. god is using each hair on my head to scribble on my son’s thought process. when I think of crab legs I think in color of the lightning bolt it snows inside. I miss mom. gospel, gospel that I hang these rags for invisible crows.

was

ask now my father if it still believes the present to be the future of a past life.  

ask then if it unscrewed one day each inessential light bulb that my party would have balloons.  

-

violence in movies.  also, food.  my mistake.  I glue myself

to nothing.  my shyness

-

is kind of
my angel.  

-

the body invents the soul it recalls.

gauze

the boy’s mother is biting off less than he can chew.  her insomnia
has put her inside a worm
her body
tries
to fill.  her milky eyed

-

husband
revs a tow truck
to death
in a heavy fog.  it is possible, humanly

-

possible

-

there’s nothing
to see here.  that her god

-

is, in a sense,
seizure activity
in the boy’s
spirit

-

animal.  

image

and do not
believe, as such, that yours
is a body

leads god
to inquire

godless

godless
balloon
animal

root effects     for Miles J. Bell

like he’s laying
yellow
on his road
out of grief
brother
takes a drag
and keeps it
until his head
is underwater
is what they call
with apples.

his eyes
have always been
two poverties
unexplored.  he is old, alien’s

heaven
he is old
but not before
he knows it.

the alien wept but was not heard weeping

not all
drones
dream
of you
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2013
Perfection incomprehensible stood in a new world and the greatest act was to make you from longing
Loneliness understanding that knew with absolute assurance what ideal perfection he made you in what
Was His own likeness do you comprehend the thought the power of study the intenseness that formed
In the being of God a disturbance the gravity that weighed on his mind and heart to create the essential
Element that would outweigh all else that came before nothing else captured his imagination like you
Did everything else was as steps to this ultimate grand achievement we experience this wonder when
We are given children he was making himself a father nothing was spared he weighed the amassed
Fortune of all existence then He set forth to top it no expense was spared he took the very meaning of
Rapture Released its power blended emotional completeness from the depths of His being He employed
The unlimited resources of His own thoughts to give life that would be exceptional with such care a
Meaningful bright exuberant child was formed whenever you see your reflection you are looking at the
Final result what splendor is divulged extravagance defined limitation showered in the most precious
A bordered perfection it is filled and presses at all sides with more promise once released how do you
Still joy expressed love without reservation is of all things freeing as our own children they make a place
For themselves using all of our best qualities but quickly they surprise us by surpassing us they are all of
Us but even more and in our heavenly Father we are unconditionally given the opportunity for unlimited
Growth he truly is the sky is the limit all we achieve is with him in our vision he draws and pulls us forth
By His power if we would only open our minds and eyes to this how much failure and negative defeat
Would fall away without our true connection we are so easily swayed by the forces that are at odds with
Us here on earth that is their first success when they neutralize our relationship with our perfect parent
And father then the enemy of us all with contrivances that to us are spellbinding and such great loss
Occurs while we try to operate in the darkness that is his ungodly shadow such bright futures will be
Ours if we reconnect biblically what soundness with hope and joy would surge through our souls out
Through our bodies into such a rich life that would surpass any and all New Year resolutions
C J Baxter Sep 2014
She draws your eyes at first when you look/
Her soft hair falls like water drawn by electricity.
In the corner spines try and strangle books.
Or some sort of bone- might not be a spine.
But they are forcing them shut. Such crooks.  

Creeping in the corner of the warmer side of the room
Is a man who stares like he longs to be her groom.
I assume he’s the focus that your not supposed to notice.
“Don’t try and draw meaning! It’s useless to do so”,

Cries the voice in my head as I try and make my thoughts slow.

I shall just gaze emptily. Theres plenty to please
my eyes without meaning rotting my brain like disease.
But theres need to unravel why he glares at her crimson.
Why crimson? Why Crimson? I have to listen.

“ Perhaps his face is the blood that runs through us.
A symbol of lust? Love? Or Mistrust. Lets discuss”/  

I must shut this noise at once. Enough.
I can’t start tying this to myself or my own health.
Ignore what is felt, focus on the symbols with context.
Think of what is in front of you not what might be next.

“ But whats next messed before. ******* it right up.
The man had been hexed in folk tale made up!
She stole the symbol and painted him to creep up.”

Regardless, Lets part with these thoughts and just focus.
Theres locust that leap beneath her feet we didn’t notice.
Now Locusts can be hopeless but also denote somewhat biblically.
Perhaps this plague lurking is his misery? Represented Physically

“ By a woman on a hill painted with locust covered feet.
A crimson man behind her sat creeping perched on a seat.
In the corner theres a pile of books with titles you can’t read.
And spines try and choke them but instead they somehow feed."

And all this by a woman who I know could not see me.
Trying to approach allegorical work in a realist manner results, understandably in confusion. This poem celebrates the confusion
Avegail Marie Dec 2015
mama warned me about the missiles
whose streaks resemble
pasty fingers of thoughts with
ill intentions.

jawlines layered with grassy residue,
a time bomb—
tick tock ticking throughout
a timely test.

silly me,
sentimental turnstiles turned back in time and
an eruption of vivid green
internally bleeding.

melancholy magnolias blooming
behold.
shadows capture my
gentrified façade
in our yellowed mellowed atmosphere.

morning bells
delight the Sapphic sleeper,
but not
the creature of the night.

enchanted amongst
the vulnerable,

beautiful,
beyond,
belief.

citadels built from bedframes,
trailing magazines
of livid dreamers
and adolescent ideas—
not an isolated incident.

mama warned me about clasping wrists
and bruised collarbones
replaced with titanium plates.

dandelion fuzz fraught with
five o’ clock shadow,
a delightful daze—
distraction.

fluid familial instinct,
virtually incapable of
****** affection.

riotous, rugged, risky.
backbone crooked
rickety.

knuckles lined up in reverse
chronological,
no,
alphabetical,
no,
circumstantial
order­.

petrifying wisps of morning’s light,
sacrificial intents of starry nights.

bruised knees and white thighs
bruised words and white lies
bruised hellos and white goodbyes.

superficial daydreams
mistaken for junkyard radiators
and the little engine
that could not.

singing birds shot out of the twilight sky,
and the red rush of accomplishment
tip-toeing towards the truth.

skipping stones disturb
the salmon’s
cove while

my butterfly’s monarchy
is out of order.

mama warned me of backfiring cannons
with delayed reactions,
laughing at the purple pigeons
who can sing the swan’s song.

cyclical and cynical
cried the weary modem.
awe inspired anticipation
set against relations.

table tennis played
with a chocolate chip,

curled eyelash confusion,

and I can’t touch my toes.

mama warned me about big guns
that don’t fire,
about broken rigs
that insist you go higher.

a projectile clock haunts my memories.

forbidden animosity plagues
the higher order,
consistently screaming
take me! biblically.

a rocket launcher versus
your catapult,
a millennium of thought
discredited.

stained tablecloths of mutiny
and sin.

an uproar of the masses threaded
between frosty fingers, and
his lullaby?
her nightmare.
a song of Peaceful Persuasion.

mama warned me about loose ends
and splitting ties,
or was it split ends
and loose ties?

belligerent invitations disguised as
fruitful farewells.
a thought for the reckoning—
mistaken mothers made merciless,
warning bells, or
morning bells?

flawed and broken tattooed
on ivory skin.
ebony lost and confused,
cracks against its own nature

wind the winding wind,
explicitly innocent—
masochism foretold.

evergreen amongst the sunrise,
pitiful playthings
strewn across the floor.

****** screams
piercing my skin,
a call for help seldom answered—
tectonic plates.

**mama didn’t warn me with her words.
I had no intention of causing any more harm than she had done to herself, which became the catalyst for a series of letters. Pages upon pages of observations, one more prominent than the others; You wish you knew me like I wish you knew yourself.
I became under the impression she received the message, neither of us were fit to infatuate with the other. However, she still met me that afternoon in the park. She still approached me in her most vulnerable character.
Hi, i’m J-
I know who you are. I always have. I know you biblically and genetically alike. I know your mother’s maiden name, and the reason for your scar. What I don’t understand is, why me?

Quiet response, scared. Vulnerable. Scarred.

*I wish I knew myself like you know me.
Cedric McClester Jan 2017
By: Cedric McClester

We’re thirty seconds closer to midnight
The nuclear scientists all say
Before the Biblically revealed Armageddon
Is tragically brought into play
The world believes that a madman
Has his hands on the nuclear codes
And frankly other leaders are worried
Because of what that forebodes

We’re thirty seconds closer to midnight
According to the nuclear clock
And people all over the world
Are frankly expressing their shock
At the talk of building up stockpiles
As a necessary and clear deterrent
While furthering an insane plan
That isn’t at best coherent

We’re thirty seconds closer to midnight
And some are abandoning hope
Others are still optimistic
By holding tightly onto God’s Rope
But whatever side you may fall on
The potential for disaster is real
When the head of a powerful nation
Operates by how he may feel

We’re thirty seconds closer to midnight
That’s’ a sad but salient fact
With all sides worried and wondering
Who’ll make the first strike attack
Instead of reducing our stockpiles
They’re hell-bent on building them up
Take the time to look at their profiles
You’ll discover that most are corrupt


















Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017.  All rights reserved.
Necropolis of Hellenika / Kímolos
Tsambika / Philo of Alexandria

They passed each other on the outskirts of Archangelos to go to Tsambika, going to the Necropolis of Helleniká where he was waiting for them more than 400 kilometers to the west of the Cyclades, precisely in Kímolos where they would do the colloquy with to do the channeling with the Necropolis. Etréstles had traveled with Kanti the steed; on his back, they saw the distance before they arrived at Mandraki in Rhodes. They all headed down the coast towards Archangelos, but Etréstles went to Helleniká, the Vas Auric was landed on Mandraki for the purposes of the Creation of Vernarth together with the Apostle Saint John. Kímolos, it is on this island that the famous beginning of the procession towards the outskirts of the cities was to deposit their sacred remains on the way to a better one, here were the martyrs who were used to Etréstles since he cohabits in delay with Drestnia for the new millennium (His female of hers) with which he resides in the Koumeterium of Messolonghi in the ninth vertical cemetery. Having a chapel and altars this place was propitious to create between Kimolos and Tsambika which was so many kilometers away, so the meeting performance between villages would be seen in its entirety to be resurrected and worshiped between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese with pious exercises between both latitudes precisely in the chapel of Theoskepasti, while in Tsambika it would be in the Panagia Tsambika monastery. Etréstles carried in both hands some matches of some population dowries with laws of affability and generations lived there without knowing each other between the two islands and tabernacles, arguing canons of burial and exhumation. In this case of performance refer to the Vas Auric of Limassol that brought the construction of a world of the right angles for the neat reconstruction of multi polygonal spectra, adopted for the first time in Kímolos to be retransferred to a logical philosophical-architectural division seeking to enclose the perfect plans where the new Christians will reside, between Rhodes and the west of Kímolos re-installing themselves among more than a third of the venerable ones who rested in Helleniká, in syncretic neatness with dissimilar populations and creeds.

Saint John the Apostle with Vertnarth, Raeder, and Petrobus plus Eurydice would bring from the rubies of Alexandria the incorporeal honor of Alexander the Great, turning both island sites into palaces of the Muses of Helleniká for the scholars who would be at the canonization of Vas Auric. Being the precursor of the chapel of the Theoskepasti, this performance of erudition will be endowed with the new status for Philo of Alexandria present here, now being a co-demiurge who will convert this necropolis city into duality with Tsambika for distinctions of the rituals and homilies, reducing the inputs basics in ceremonies. Philo of Alexandria says that only God protects the Jews, adding to what Philo wrote in La Legatio ad Gaium, the Jewish delegation had trouble meeting Caligula and when they finally met him, the emperor declared that he wanted a statue of him to be built as Jupiter in the Temple of Jerusalem, which sowed desolation among the members of the delegation. Finally, this purpose was not realized thanks to the intervention of Agrippa I and the death of Caligula, Philo attributed the happy ending of both cases to Providence. This divine letter of these translators with Saint John the Apostle and Philo of Alexandria will make this homily the spiritual custody that will be preserved in these two cities and then towards the world of Vernarth of the Duoverse, so that invisible winds blow from the chapel of Kímolos to Panagia de Tsambika, in the frameworks that feed the Hebraic and Hellenic boundary “translating Greek into Hebrew, but in two universal sites of creation in the Theoskepasti chapel and Panagia de Tsambika, about the magic of the meeting of omniscience and grace. Says Vernarth: “with the interpretation of Philo of Alexandria and his exegesis, I will rub the tract of the successions of infinity legitimately stored the creation thought of the ZigZag Universe with the Parapsychological Regressive authority now circulating in a sniffing universe with a Verthian genealogy, tempering with my Falangist disciples but being biblical when it becomes the occasional emaciated mob of a world that falls degrading with its last pieces and challenges of the world associated with an allegorical spirit, contracted to wings of ethics and doctrinal rectitude. I have two candles in each hand, similar to Etréstles in Kímolos and in Helleniká, making delights of pleasures in these ceremonies to create the world’s ignored in the office of the super compassionate language, in more than seven days that add up between the Sun and the Earth, in a sub-mythological world being ourselves our own executioner established on the ***** that falls from the match of the wick of my Lucerne in its own mood. I still have a memory of who and of each one who will always be in my prayers, reopened in a sacredness less than my own end, here I will not continue to be stored. Rather I will continue to fall, exhumed from the very storehouse and from the struggle of the thistle that falls from itself rounded up to be competent to explain himself biblically as if he had never before been read ad limit of the doctoral, and sacred in the work of Philo of Alexandria here with us leading and there in the Necropolis on another thorn; as a perpetual creeping species growing here as an unvarying summer plant in cooler climates, which would usually be prostrated on the Helleniká slab with radiating branchy stems extending the fractal distance between Kímolos and Tsambika in thistle´s ceremonies. The hirsute silts will come from the genesis of their spiritual temporal being the same wool of the whirlpool of all the weeds attached and oppressed to the lamp of the gargoyles that are tuned together with the Gulpers of Archangelos in a happy diet following patterns of even, and odd thistles spring in the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. The Parapsychological regression XIV century - Saint John the Apostle says: “from Filerimos a sidekick monk of Philo of Alexandria has come with the image of the blessed Immaculate ****** and painted by Saint Luke the Apostle. The Knights of Saint John built the Monastery of Saint John in Rhodes with this image; everything comes from there on the Miraculous Hill of Filerimos, and the temple of Athens Polias was converted into a proto-basilica with a three-bay nave dedicated to Her. The church is known since then for housing the figure of the ****** of Filerimos (Our Lady of Filerimos). In the fourteenth century under the rule of the Knights of Saint John a monastery was built here surrounded by cloisters cells and a series of chapels, that is where the figure is the miracle worker and is reverently guarded. Being a Capuchin order after the Ottomans destroyed it; it was rebuilt by the Italians. With this image we canonize the Vas Áuric in the homily prior to the spiritual link with Etréstles in Kímolos, before every morning they illuminate the sacred Earth of both latitudes in the mystical house of Saint John the Apostle with the herbalists on the wind to fight for the Somnia in Hortum et Flos Herbarium in Kímolos, Garden of Flowers and Dreams in Herbalist in Kimolos. Knowing that the Universe is approaching the Vernarthian Duoverse, Saint John the Apostle decided with the Birthright to establish a Duoversal Garden in Kímolos with the aim of laying tremendous foundations on the base of the pre-Christians and apostolic who enlisted in the Greco-Hebrew world with the addition of compression, and medicinal valences for the herbalist of Kímolos, in such a way to reissue it in the monastery of San Juan in Rhodes and the Panagia of Tsambika. Since the grains grew and germinated they became thickets of great predestined forest in Rhodes, aspiring to continue being a well-known theology in Greek also being sufficient testimonial about its Aramaic originality, being addressed to the Sanhedrin, 37-42 AD Before Caiaphas and redirecting it to his brother-in-law Theophilus of Annas. The Aramaic Apocalypse, also known as 4Q246, is in one of the Dead Sea Scrolls, found at Qumran, with notable early messianic mention of the Son of God. Saint Luke says in the voice of Saint John the Apostle: “4Q246, we are children of God…, the Highest, the Messiah as a messianic voice, being able to be confused with the Beast or the Messiah but Philo of Alexandria will be there saying “I always ignored with the most blessed indifference to Satan, because therefore in this Aramaic manuscript he only has, and will reside forever and ever in his Messiah” Given this situation, the commanded expressions were those of astragals mysticism in herbalist and botany in this manuscript, since the unfortunate leftovers are the freshness and splendor of the flowers caressed by the wind that arrived at that moment; in regard to the wind of the Anemoi being eight gods that correspond to the eight cardinal points from which they came and were related to different seasons and meteorological phenomena, but he heralded the excitement of the Cyclades, like Sound of Sounds between Narcissus of Sharon and Lilies of the Valley. The audio-images were avocados forming the deep thickets that will move according to the inclinations of the planets, each time the Universe approached Greece among all the cisterns with water for the flower meadows that Vernarth in litanies was assigned to the paths that lead to the Vas Auric.

Vernarth says: “With these titles “Vas spirituale, Vas honorabile, Vas insigne devotionis, Rosa mystical, and Regina sacratissimi rosari”, I have to transform all the astragalus, and shrubs into the consorts with the presence of the jacaranda vase of living human nature in virtue of the meeting of the Universe-Duoverse, for the herbalist of Kímolos now imprisoned in the Vas Auric of Limassol. "Sweet Nectar of the dying, eager for eternal hunger and sweetness in withered flowers"
The end of Parapsychological regression XIV century
Saint John says Apostle: “Helleniká and Tsambika, will be the lily, the saffron, the rose and the violet but also new ones, like the marigold and the chamomile making of all a diadem crown to place the world of the Duoverse in all its radius, for the star that illuminates par excellence as a white planet without thorns, which is perfect among the perfect, anti herbicide of language and of incarnation as in the Empyrean the medieval sky in the highest of heavens. It is likewise in the place of the physical presence of God, where angels and souls reside in Paradise between caltrops and Rosas towards the alimentary plane of conventual voice, and tonics of the glycogenic Milky Way sipping third-grade milk to curdle in the children who have not been a Messiah yet. Paths of thorns will guide visitors to this gallery of flowers and plants through the Panagia monkish for the holy homily with the Lilies and through low valleys, where no more Lilies can escape from their chains of the Liliorum genome in the valleys of the galactogenic virtue. Like Mother Rosette and son Lirium, being the mother of everyone and of that…, there… your son, “Myself in the path of the three Mary’s”. Over there in the desolate place, a columbine carries me imprisoned on my heels as a bond of a son who makes my steps with the Columbine of my saving feet” At 320 meters of altitude Still, Life appeared concealed behind the Vas Áuric descending…, here everyone approached the auric circle of Moral that made them authors of the proximity of the Universe falling on Greece, and the Herbolaria that fell with all its reliable structure in the foliage where many more species appeared such as thilts, Laurel, Olive, Linen, Grenade in a simple and nuanced devotional with the pro status of the delegate; the same Hexagonal Primogeniture to make the cinnabar fistulas that were elemental by the different associated colors, and by Grail tutorials that looked indigo on top of some Rhododendrons. If it is eschatological, it is in the mystical nets of the Empyrean further from a form that is said to be called a form of antagonism, between Cardinals and their dead Lilies. As first among the last, the bulbous and clayey Tulip of the orbital and basilica symbology, peacemaker and philosophical Eritrean for spiritual quests that toil outpourings from the Empyrium, reaching the Messiah on his Colt on his way to Bethany. Around the Monastery, everyone could be seen as they arrived to the beat of the cymbals and aulós, among lyres that prowled tickling the inquiry to rest their fingers, or perhaps dressed by some Trojan villain augur in those of "Daedalus". Being the latter, here a tulip with flames of a true seeker trying to sacrifice subsistence daring over the risk of the resole of salvific death or perhaps dressed by some Trojan villain augur in those of "Daedalus".
Daedalus says: “After the incident with Perdix, I Daedalus was expelled from Athens. I then went to Crete, and in the kingdom of Minos I was placed in the service of the monarch. One of his tasks was the creation of Thalos, an animated bronze giant who defended the island from invasions. By order of Minos, I built the labyrinth to enclose the monster; the labyrinth was a building with countless corridors and winding streets opening into each other, which seemed to have no beginning and no end. Minos locked me up with my son Icarus, whose mother was Naucrate, a slave of Minos in the same building. The reason for the confinement was the collaboration of Daedalus in the escape of Theseus from the labyrinth, I have to lament for the ****** of Perdix, now turned into Partridge who now carries in his claws the creation of the Universe-Duoverse, turned into his own, and myself in envy neither harassing me about my endings, and neither starting nor finishing. That is why I appear here coming from Crete, to wrap myself in the garden and its mystery closing all the madrigals and hedges, like a world that has created me, in its splendor, seeing the humility fragrant with violets grafted onto lavender with my soul now, of a somewhat syncretism Hebrew-Hellenic and Mythological sub-Mythological, like a nobleman who walks free and without chains… passing through the Parthenon to put on tiaras in dresses that are adorned with Linens, but of evangelical lineage here in Kimolo.

In Kimolos; Helleniká Necropolis, Etréstles was suspended in a columbarium equivalent near the lapidem of the necropolis. There was a great amount of accumulated air enclosed in the musty cinerary walls, with the translucent specters that fluttered through other metropolises that transited inconsistently in their proto-masonry, and some resembled pink jaspers on some grooved slabs, letting pale dovecote rhizomes slip away under an oblique columbarium domain that manifested itself meagerly on an unstable podium of Folegandros. Adhering to this enormous exteriorization were Kanti, and Etréstles in their hydrothermal genesis, lying as a petra forms at a wide range of heat towards periodic effluvia of their Devonian geology, manifesting discreetly until a carbonization of sedimentary rocks attributing their curiosity when they continued to remain in areas favorable climatic conditions, simulating to be exordiums on thermal hydro sediments, leading to the carbonization of the surface of the necropolis with micas and serpentines, to cool down in the selfless natural fields that resisted the effect of the heat generated by the ZigZag Universe, etching each other on pyrites and graphite’s with the compactness that increases, and extends the widening of the mournful enclosure attentive to channeling emanations and traces, that will be the first loads of exegesis from Tsambika for prompt elucidation from Mount Hymettus in Athens, and continue to proliferate in hives of bees libating in its thickness towards the good-smelling necropolis causing its magnificent flowers and herbs to steam; so much so, that from the paved lipoids of honey astragalus and spectra will come out deposing to be toxic, yearning the strigilas or curved striaeons (reverse or straight), imitated from pagan sarcophagi.

Thousands after Thousands of Centuries after centuries, adorning themselves in the lapidem glossaries on the exterior fronts of tymbos that were embedded in the tholons, almost as in outright Constantine-Hellenic brilliance towards an unarmed cenotaph with their flat covers, pouring over them the devastated trisomy of Kaitelka, of whose diploid organism extras, aberrated by being parity triplicates of their greatest chromosomal and homologous hereditary complement. The vestiges of fossil whales here were generating disproportions of execrable variation, being destined to the patio of fall on them in three additional courtyards of marbles at the rate of inverted strata, revealing only some of their extremities appreciating them with semi-covered figures, and on reliefs filling again by genetic trisomy for gentile practices and lead them to the Christian Vas Auric. Faced with such a famous disproportion of fossil reliefs, they turn to the scourges of the Universe.

Panagia Theoskepasti Parapsychological regression Etréstles in Kímolos: The church of Theoskepasti, due to its position could be easily recognized by the invaders during their raids. However, according to a legend the church was veiled by dark clouds of mist and became invisible as soon as the assailants approached. Due to this legend the church received the name "Theoskepasti" from the Greek words "Theos" and "skepazo" meaning "God" and "watch" respectively. So, the name is 'God Veiled'. According to another tradition, when once a foreigner managed to get into the church and tried to steal the golden candle divine power cut off his hands. Also if it is watched over by God, so it is divine for the Creation that it will begin with the synchronization between both latitudes of the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. Etrestles After staying together with Kanti, they went from Theoskepasti to Hellenika, located in Dekas Bay on the west coast of Kimolos, here in the necropolis there are ruins of ancient tombs that would form part of the new humanity in the creation of the Duoverse, existing since Mycenae and the Cyclades next to the small islet of Agiоs Аndreas, also being part of the city. Many ruined tombs can be seen from the hill on the edge of Elliniká with some stones still in the sea between Kimol and Milil, in the vicinity of Psathi on this island located on the southeast coast. Kímolоs to Chοrá is 1 km away on the hill above the Psathi port from here the foreign ships trying to come to the Bay area sighted, for the advent of the Cinnabar on the scapulae that hold the Gates of the Necropolis for the effect avant-garde, and regenerator of souls that will resurface with more universal chromosome tints mutated from trisomy, more of extreme longevity. In the homily, an archpriest of the regional deanery will make a pastoral criterion for this gesture by virtue of eminence, and guide them through the orthodoxy of the chapel to the Episcopal organizational procession of the Vas Auric. It was already twilight and Etrestles was climbing onto Kanti's pony clutching the utensils of the homily, in the customary ritual before incensing and setting fire to the laurel and rosemary in the fords of Leto and Koumeterium of Messolonghi, it rotated in ellipses sprinkling crumbs of the purest loaf from Arcadia on a gray Monday with hummus to attract sour souls that they were in a catatonic state making them more esthetic or aesthesis, of reactionary rebellious natural aesthetics with nuances, then reincorporate them into the three courtyards in a magnificent concordance with Rhodes. When the Archpriest begins the talk, he derives his prayers from semi-inert materials that were made in communion with the chromosomal dyes; with the worms with absentmindedness of progenitor snakes that were grafted undulating, being in reality only worms that were amazed at the exhortation of the Archpriest in the ritual, circulating universals destined for his elegies and celebrating from an ambo or pulpit with classical Latin pronouncing the archpriest the way it died lunae, mutating it ****** to dies lunis by analogy with dies, on a dark Monday day but full of grace for the assistants doing the sermons to interpret the alabaster patios that will lead to Tsambika. The first worms were persecuted by Kanti, he believed that they were scatterings that emerged from the ground, such an earthly ecosystem was beginning to disown him due to the metamorphosis of annelids which seemed to increase their ultra-grave texture with the same remains of an irresolution without a sarcophagus, turned into sharp curves intestinal that were depressed breathing autonomously on consistent folds of the dermis of the oldest caste of the subsoil of Helleniká. Preexisting the distant origin of the Arcadias and they're dissected that silently followed the hummus and bobota, not to digest them with their suckers, but rather surround them and delegate them to explore the surroundings that would encapsulate the ground with the proximity of the transfigured universe to Vernarth's Duoverse, to phosphorus and emit the will-o'-the-wisp nitrogenous fires before the Archpriest, Etréstles and Kanti disquieting by an arcane movement. Being a full act of the herbaceous phagocytosis, they continued ascending in the curvilinear procession with their traces weaving moment without time, which was added to the sub-mythology and a finite sub-time, like unicellular procreating others that accelerated their physiognomy detached from their immateriality, towards a longer intake of the organic material on the hummus and exudation of propolis rhizomes. In this way, they resign when falling with serious cramps cleared of the digestive world, which no cell has tasted ******, but rather direct when breathing from Hellinika's lung lobes, comprised mostly by the alabaster sheepskin that was suspended to other colonies of worms that sailed to lean out towards the surface of the altar where they regenerated from the flow of the annelids. Archpriest says: “The frame of the Vas Áuric arises from the nuclei of the medallion, pending a high presence of insulation. With high mobility between the tissues and amino acids of the annelids, new basal cell functions even being visible for Etréstles and not totally for all yet. The image of the medal had a classified functionality and concrete information, but imperceptible chronological possibly being the first function of the icon in its justification with religious symbols and manifestations of the divine, and semantic still removed from a theoretical auto-iconic. When reading in Vas Auric, "What two men do not see, a man sees who does not see..., what the creeping animal sees, self-prisoner of his lack of vanity..., He will see it". Being epistemic images that provide more distant knowledge of the sub-divisible organic matter in finite mortality towards the other eternal inorganic, contributing to the super complex neuronal development, in a veiled sensation that is lost between itself and its own bodies, being able to take them with its own differentiations”

Panagia Tsambika Monastery - Channeling Cinnabar: Vernarth commanded the three architectural courtyards of Tsambika for the Cinnabar layout. They climb the steps that lead to this monastery at the top of one and to the very connection of the homily with Helleniká. In this monastery they will have to censor three courtyards, all pointing towards the west of Mandraki Bay, on some pine trees all surrounding the virtual stained glass window of the portal that joins the main avenue with the ascent of the monastery, until very close to the Virginal Marianus icon and very close to the dividing wall from where Lindos can be seen. The Tsambika Monastery is four kilometers from the city of Archangelo, the height of the monastery is leveled with pebbles on its bare floor that led everyone barefoot, towards the three nearby patios. Cinnabar as a polygonal crystal would be specially used for the perpendicular ceremony of Mercury, to sensitize the climatologically the variation that would be appreciated once it began to sponsor the bones that would spread in the extreme longevity of annelids exchanged from the moldy alabaster arcades, and carried by alluviums of crystallized mercury, granting together with the Panagia of Tsambika fertility, and parental conception for the new Universe-Duoverse of Vernarth, extending life farther than the first-born descendant's first ancestor, being the cinnabar the diversity of versed uses now been given in the upright channeling with ultra vital extensions with Helleniká. The alabaster and the three columns of these sulfated stones form compact would dare to hydrate in the silos where the windows will be poured, this is where the sub-mythological specimens detached from any temporal dimension will be used, leaving sapiens annelids free will recombining the diploid chromosomes, and profiting from molds of exact erratic aberrations to be vindicated in the dispensaries of Saint John the apostle. Thus adorning the perfumed areas intervened three cinnabar patios, for the sermon of the Vas Áuric. Thus inspiring the chair with the verses of Saint John on the immanence after the fifty days of the Messiah in epistolary verses and the evangelizations, elaborating vessels of the low rank of Faith to opt for expectations of moldings with new consciences of selenite clay, and refine them in messianic faith. Middle-range pebbles were subtracted for the interior and extramural floor of the Monastery, being rather Biblical Calcite for the Egyptian-Hellenic Alabastron psalmody praise perfume. This typology will be the quilt for the magistracy with a canopy glass exhibited near the tulip lamps, and ceiling lights of the monastery for the use of the diamantine sphere of the opaque panels that flamed from the intersection of the arachnids re sprouting from the current wind of cinnabar. Vernarth says: “Suitable for our consciences, we will open the channels in Kímolos before our subtle bodies that will make us divided just as we parabolize ourselves, before the airs of St. John the Apostle in the headdress of mediumship to reach the wavelength to Helleniká, the interactive vibrations will leave with the expression of deep reasoning after pontificating the Mandylion with the Vas Áuric, for the effect of its icon and idiomatic monologues for the edges of San Judas Tadeo and Veronica, for such a faced event in foreign forces before the Messiah, a coherent gadget will be made in the intermittence variants. The channeling to the Cyclades will go from east to west wading the Aegean and Mediterranean waters, through the channel of the Universe-Duoverse for inter consciousness between the Hexagonal Primogen in Tsambika, and the triad of Etréstles, Kanti, and the Archpriest in Helleniká, with high degrees of the light consciousness and conclaves between both synchronous homilies. With drowsiness before the Anemoi winds that will be crossing near the voyages of the Trojan chthonic ships, and before the fateful chthonic divinities for such deities in the Mediterranean substratum identifying more obviously with Anatolia which since prehistory has followed to the site of Troy, in a cheesy union plan for Agamemnon's loyalists, to defeat Hector between farms and revolutions of agriculture, and Akkadian worlds b.C., in peripheral outposts to influence the central regions of Greece and its maritime trade. Hydro-physical influences, for the cycles of the solstice and nature with life and survival after death that is at the center of concerns that are not translated. In Crete, the supposed cult of great Gods is transformed during the second millennium BC as new actors appear: various animals, plants, etc. Given the consciousness, it will be the channeled light in the three courtyards of alabaster and between the cinnabar by bending the re-fertilization of the Cyclades channels, which go from Rhodes and Kimolos, for discernment. Sometimes it is more gratifying to hear what you want to hear and not the real message, the egotistical mind that does not come from a series of daunted egos..., or signs of the technological shamanism, intervening artificial intelligence from maniacal administered consciences, being shrill for worlds of appearances and illusions. I Vernarth with our own Khaire Fíle…, in my mind I go to the vessels that sail through the landscapes of the elusive identity, trapping her in the totemic stratum, and tracking psychology, but a seer of her present ego. Today I will wear my Leonatus cap, to separate his anger from such a shadow that clouds my grief, and my own victimhood of reduced and meekness which spurns violence, blaming it on a ruthless kind of depression and excluding shame from everyone's own fear of everything. I will bandage my eyes against diseases that will heal after three days, to straighten the ecstasy that thickens towards the scaffold, staying in Golgotha with nothing, I will create the framework of cinnabar for the pain of the skull that trembles in my claws, until sleep becomes vaporous with anger and the harmless destroying itself before your egos, colorful throbbing towards your alien beings and scarified host. I will be waking up from my subtle and anthropomorphic subconscious dreams, with sentences that hurt my worst self-destructive delinquencies before the new memorial, on the veil of Theoskepasti with its science sheltering itself by giving in on the vanquished springs and inaugurating new miraculous courses where I will surrender, full of forgiveness and more distant from the veil that does not act as a viewer.

Duet time, Duet space, one with the other illusion unreal elements and epistemic images ignoring them in expeditions crackle my Duoverse, and temples of Tsambika with the decoded annelids mutating in trisomy with flat doors towards the Olives Berna. We look at what gratifies basting and plotting the positions of the stars of the universe that are attached like sheets worthy of almighty serials, and redoubled humor on the chthonic embracing tridents, before skewing Xyston as an original replica of the dream of a night in Tel Gomel. The counterweight of the message of light lagged behind the high astral like the little bear, bustards, and her angelic breath retreated in dissolution..., now if diva emotion I have my daring, and courage towards the binge of my omniscient prosopon, similar to omniscient telepathy, my soul lies and my emotion too because in this way I will treasure the value of panic by surrounding myself with the fears of resting, against the poles and sights of a peaceful energetic confrontation that will make them in Rhodes and Kimolos, channel the consumed human finitude and not eternal ad portas of his Áspis Koilé.

Unconsciously they will continue halfway with their bouquets of flowers for Valekiria, and may they never really take the time to tell her what time of eternity will make them more crowded for her, and her reliquary poem bursting into flame with its insidious outbreak and fear of telling him that if they revive they will be other Hellenic Hetairoi towards the vermilion light of the embodied sacrificed loop state as a "Being of Light". Oh ghost phenomenon that doesn't scare me... rather disappoints, clinging to the skins that die in the unexpected female muses in Gaia, with my burning and hypertensive ballast, still frequent in me... As conjecture and presence of Greek life..., having to be promoted and involved where they should be tempered to the contribution of biodiverse, and species for island life and its balance in the Aegean. The theorem will enunciate in the image of the Vas Auric as sounds of homeostasis in classrooms, properties of intervened annelids consistent, capable of maintaining them in a certain internal and stable condition, compensating for the changes of the explosion of the intervened patios, towards an environment through regulated exchange of matter and energy with the outside towards its (comparative metabolism), in the case of a form of dynamic balance with properties of Cinnabar brilliance, as a self-regulated biosphere in the conditions of the planet to make its environment (especially temperature and atmospheric chemistry) nobler with the species that make up life in the compass of two unmanned islands by beings from Gaia, rather as entropy in physical magnitude for a thermodynamic system in equilibrium, inhabited by dynamic beings that associate nobly for adaptations of worlds that are not born. It segregates them towards a departure measuring them from heightened numbers in states of zero compatible with the laws of that physics for the purposes of watchful guardians if Gaia's engine is turned on before this psychic and spiritual combustion. The laws of this system with closed circuits and brought will tend to maximize the entropy expiring inhibitory reactions for the traces of oxygen and nitrogen of the worms, making a sign of the levitated carbon dioxide to take it from Tsambika in two converged energies of Leviathan and Saint John the Apostle in moles of carbonate dioxide, battling surviving the impostor necromancers adverse to their conditions and reproduction, keeping these habitable for many who do not they enjoyed the life-death-life cycle. Greece, as it will now look regenerated and appropriate of laws and extensive fibers concerning moles of molecules said to be equal of said Vernarth hypotheses by way of sub-mythology, rather perching on the growing ivy and strangling the signs of satiety of life with properties in consonance with severities that hurt even to the sound of the rattles before the passing of the millennia! Fear, insecurity, and frustration did not fit because they will cut the Diospyros abenuz, with its stamens usually sixteen more hypogynous or inserted at the base of the corolla; as female flowers being greened or being converted into staminodes, Diospyros with generally tetra-locular ovaries or with eight locules due to false divisions, will make us channel by inseminating Itheoi demigods, under the staff of sub-mythology with Zefián, before the migrations in Helleniká begin, just as in this pact with silence and meditation and a burning flame, below the vulnerable and high insolated frequencies..., waking up in Gaia as a dozing fairy. Shamanic vested will grade synergy and simple science.
The Homily in the natural lassitude of the created, the Duoverse presented IHΣ, falling in the eighteenth letter of the Greek alphabet and in the duo hundred changes of physical remembrance. The PH (Hexagonal Primogeniture), is conceived in the presence of the Crismón, more Hellenic with the Vexillum banner and the Kantabroi to rescind the tired depressed zephyrs, since the quantum of memory was lost in the integrity of an earth acrophobia for the subsequent it would be air-water for this reason, preceded by the ceremonial that begins with the trimming of the abenuz Diospyros with its stamens usually sixteen plus it's hypogynous or inserted at the base of the corolla; like those of the female flowers having part of the gynoecium in the part of Tsambika, and of the androecium that will be of the Diospyros in Theoskepasti; usually tetra-ocular ovaries adapted to be inseminated for the raids of the demigods Itheoi and Duoverso, with the monogram HDD (Horcondising-Duoverso), tracing the bifurcations with Zefián; the chaos ordering up to modulated Theoskepasti. The changes have to be reborn in the stamen, being almost sterile and aborting in the chronicles of Galilee personifying the pollination benefit of the Diospyros resprouting in the same stem of the whorl even more so in each stigmatized part of Vernarth and Etréstles, carrying the IHS candles with the monogram and the Mandylion-Vas Auric, pointing to the Olives Bern. Before the seams of the carved heels and the canals of the annelids rise up through the alabaster up to the calyxes with the Chrismon hat. Filling the warehouse of Anemoi himself struggling with the roof, and forgetting his deposit of the breath on synaptic abbreviations continuing to argue with Saint John the Apostle in the network of Rhodes and Kimolos, in the bark of the sensory past and consequence of fallen gushes, and affecting being restored on the basis of oxygen-nitrogenated Nemo-genetic activation to summarize loss and gain of channeling between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. The memories of the stuck Vernarth cerebellum will be loaded, trembling towards the marsh of the hippocampus where Zoroaster led the Magi to the end of the span and first-last border in the vicinity of Ein Karem. This evolutionary scale fluctuated in weak air masses with the increasing rise of the Meltemi over the Aegean taking them to Dekas Bay, on the knees of the colossus that cursed to avoid some delirium that could replace it's joint, remaining like this on a scale of reminiscent and unspoken emptiness..., it continues to be stated and not occupied and not, but raised towards the colossus from the ground of Vernarth which had unfolded bipartite from Rhodes to Kimolos, by way of the Verthian neuroscience whose prose emanated in the submissive glaciers of hyper-intuitive meditation (as a technique of knowledge and abstraction for functional links of improvisation, purgative discernment and yogic memory). All the nonsense is alluded to infringing the rationality of the Vas Áuric ceremonial in its phenomenology making curvilinear pauses to re-captivate phraseological, and diminished keys in the condensed equivalents to approximately ten terabytes from a homologous half surrendering almost when exhausted before both scholars, and their debts exchanged by driving..., thus recovering wave descents before reaching the bay of Dekas; Kímolos and final in the necropolis of Hellenika..., and vice versa before re-climbing in the middle of Mandraki, Archangelos and Filerimos to finish in Tsambika, Rhodes. As a parallel response to the archpriest not to alter the IHS monogram of the homily and the association in remembrance can affect the conduction of the mediate trance, almost prostrating it in the house of omission and frenzy, if it has to recover unstabilized. The sulfurous mercury component of the Cinnabar, came acidifying from the essences of the Vas Auric, already prospering in the tutelage of each auric conductor..., Archpriest and Saint John the Apostle, each one with the sulfurous of the Greek mountain and the arch of the Aegean Sea as a former karstic foundation for its diametric towards a change of reaction of chemical prisms up to the multi-angular of the topaz that Saint John the Apostle carried in his bag near the reliquary, hanging off some fringes of the Vexillum that had been placed near Vernarth. Immediately from the banks of the monastery, Raeder was walking with a lantern looking for those who might try to enter, he believed that it was his father from Kalymnos who came on another mission to be taken to the cinnabar, more on top of an encourage observing the quarters stationed in the sandbanks of Rhodes, Petrobus the pelican circling the ledges of the monastery, marking out the apparent slackness of his body and entreaties in case they ventured into Kalymnos for a good portent, in waters for tenth seeds and for all the rodines. From the cloister with one of its necessary dependencies, all were with white candles aggravated between the steps of each cell and attached friars they made an antechamber in the nave near the church on the hexagonal floor, being screened by the center of the garden where everything was dominated by the limits of the alabaster arcades, which only now pointed to the closet of the books, this time with plenty and saved voices with devotion. Chapter by chapter it was won..., for each cell, identifying each portion in identity up to the scriptorium and refectory, where this ceremony books were distributed to the infinite world of the Duoverse near the locutory to witness where Saint George and the Dragon raged, souring winepresses for the missal wine.

Sequence shot in Kimolos, Panagia Theoskepasti- Etréstles says: “according to what has to be said in this dimension, the word will be the Duoverse. Synchronically it will be aligned with the monastery in the Tsambika for the third hour after noon, reflecting on the unrevealed walls of the chapel on all the radiosities of the cinnabar, entering in electromagnetic lassitude through the trusses of the pulpit anchored in the Vox and mystical vortex, towards those who entered and left thousands of times through the counter shutters of the chapel, which collided crashing many times until by the glow of Cinnabar somewhat sulfurous, was mixed with the interlocking of some novas which also acted as a decoy for the Chrismón that Kanti carried the steed adjusted in the saddle on his back, as a mount in syntactic esotericism speaking with intangible brown colors of the Cinnabar.
Vas Auric
NeroameeAlucard Sep 2015
Vulture

A perfect word to describe people sometimes
When you've hunted your prey and there on your **** they lie.
Opportunistic
In most cases materialistic

A vulture, a common scavenger
Greed motivating every single move

So yeah Mr trump I described you perfectly
Or even better I can relate this to you biblically
As I recall king david was told of a rich man taking a lamb from someone who was poor,
So why would we vote for you? We've taken all the greed we can endure
They passed on the outskirts of Archangelos to go to Tsambikas. They were going to the Hellenika Necropolis, where he was waiting for them more than 400 kilometers to the west in the Cyclades. Precisely in Kímolos,  where they would have a conversation with Tsambikas to make the channeling with the Hellenika Necropolis. Etréstles had traveled with Kanti the steed to Kímolos, on his back they saw the distance, before they arrived at Mandraki in Rhodes. They all made their way up the coast into Archangelos, but Etréstles went to Hellenika. The Vas Auric was landed in Mandraki, for the purposes of the Creation of Vernarth with the Apostle Saint John.

Kímolo, on this island was the famous beginning of the procession to the outskirts of the cities, to deposit their sacred remains, on the way to a better one. Here were the martyrs who were accustomed to Etréstles, since he cohabits in procrastination with Drestnia for the new millennium (His female) with the one who resides in the Koumeterium of Messolonghi, in the ninth vertical cemetery. Having chapels and altars, this place was conducive to doing between Kímolos and Tsambikas, what was so many kilometers away, so the performance of the meeting between villages would be seen intact, to be resurrected and would be worshiped between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese, with the pious exercises between both latitudes, precisely in the Theoskepasti chapel, while in Tsambika it would be in the Panagia Tsambika monastery. Etréstles carried in both hands a few candles of some population gifts, with laws of civility and of generations lived there without knowing each other between both islands and tabernacles, arguing canons of burial and exhumation. In this case of performance, refer to the Vas Auric of Limassol that brought the construction of a world of right angles, for perfect reconstruction of multi-polygonal souls, adopted for the first time in Kímolos, to be transferred to a logical philosophical-architectural division seeking to enclose the perfect plans where the new Christians will reside, between Rhodes and western Kímolos, re-settling among more than a third of the souls that rested in Hellenika, in neat syncretism with the dissimilar populations and their creeds.

Saint John the Apostle with Vertnarth, Raeder and Petrobus, plus Eurydice, would bring from the rubies of Alexandria, the incorporeal honor of Alexander the Great, converting both insular sites, into palaces of Muses of Hellenika, for the scholars who would be in the canonization of Vas Auric . Being a precursor to the chapel of Theoskepasti, endowing this erudition performance in the new status for Philo of Alexandria present here, and now being a socio-demiurge entity, which will turn this Hellenika necropolis city into duality with Tsambika, for liturgical distinctions and homilies to lessen the basic ceremonial supplies in Hellenika. Philo of Alexandria says that only God protects the Jews, adding to what Philo wrote to them in La Legatio ad Gaium. The Jewish delegation had trouble meeting Caligula and when they finally met him, the emperor declared that he wanted a statue of him as Jupiter built in the Temple in Jerusalem, which caused desolation among the members of the delegation. Finally, this project was not carried out thanks to the intervention of Agrippa I and the death of Caligula. Philo attributed the happy ending of both cases to Providence. This divine letter of these translators with Saint John the Apostle and Philo of Alexandria will make this homily in Hellenika, the spirit sentinel that will be preserved in these two cities and then towards the world of Vernarth of the Duoverse, so that invisible winds blow from the chapel of Kímolos to the Panagia of Tsambika, on the pillars that feed the Hebraic and Hellenic boundary "translating Greek into Hebrew, but in two universal places of creation, in the Theoskepasti chapel and Panagia de Tsambika, on the magic of the meeting of scholarship and the grace.

Vernarth says: “with Philo of Alexandria's interpretation and its exegesis, I will rub the tract of the successions of infinity legitimately stored in the thought of creation of the Zig Zag Universe, and with the Regressive Parapsychological authority, now circulating in a sniffing universe with a Verthian genealogy, moderating with my Falangist disciples, but being biblical when it becomes the occasional emaciated mob, of a world that falls depressed, with the last pieces and challenges of the world associated with an allegorical spirit, with altitudes of ethics and doctrinal rectitude. I have two candles in each hand, similar to Etréstles in Kímolos and Hellenika, making delights of the pleasures in these ceremonials, to create worlds ignored in the office of super compassionate language, in more than seven days, which are the ones that are added between the Sun and Earth, in a sub-mythological world, being ourselves our own executioner established on the *****, which falls from the match of the wick of my candle in its own mood. I still have memory of who and each one who will always be in my supplications, reopened in a sacredness less than my own end, here I will not continue to be stored, rather I will continue to fall exhumed from the very storehouse and from the brothel, than from myself he bows down emphatically, to be competent to explain himself biblically, as if he had never been read before, ad limit of the doctoral and sacred work of Philo of Alexandria, here with us in Tsambika, and leading there in the Necropolis of Hellenika on another briar ; as a perennial creeping species growing here as a summer cyclical plant in colder climates, it will usually be prostrated on the Hellenika slab, with its radial stems and branches, extending to the fractal distance between Kímolos and Tsambika in ceremonials from Abrojo. The hirsute lamas will come from the genesis of their spiritual temporal, being the same wool from the whirlpool of all the weeds attached and adpressed to the gargoyle lamp that are tuned together with the Archangelos Tragones in happy dietetics, following the patterns of the pairs and odd spring thistles in the Cyclades and the Dodecanese.
Vas  Auric
Necropolis of Hellenika / Kímolos
Tsambika / Philo of Alexandria
Jay Forrest Dec 2012
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Well I say sir, the beauty is here as I hold her
Her hair streaks of sunshine
Her smile a work of art
They say nothing good can stay
Well sir I say, she's mine
I know her biblically and fully
I need her to get me through
But still they tell me you don't know what you have until its gone
She's here to stay
This woman with the beauty in her eye
Her and her timelessness
And to me she's priceless
Tom Blake Nov 2016
What if
God
Showed
Adam and Eve a visual
Like we do watching  a cinema screen
Or
In a dream as it was written so biblically,
The
Consequences
Of eating
The forbidden fruit,
Whould
They
Still
Have chosen
To
Bring All the wars and bloodshed
Immorality
Mortality
Upon themselves
And
Their Children?

IF
Things
Were explained properly, in detail,
What
Such an action would result in,
Would
They,
PRECIOUS CHILDREN,
Have
Ignored such horror and still
Proceeded
In eating...the
Forbidden fruit?
Emaysee Feb 2015
Air
I know air exists cause I breath it, I know God exists cause in 1968 I think, I’ll check my dates with Mum when she answers her phone, I witnessed a miracle first hand that involved my Grandfather Albert and my Uncle Keith. The details of which are no real matter for the moment.
I do not blame God for bad stuff; I just don’t have the depth to fathom how it all works. When I don’t understand how something works, it troubles me. I am troubled by God being so mysterious, same reason I can’t watch magicians, tricky little suckers.
I just wish God would be a bit more obvious sometimes like when I witnessed that miracle at a young age. I now occasionally discuss this with him to the point where we argue, well I argue and I guess he is just nodding and doing that “all knowing” smile thing he does which quiet frankly annoys me as well, cause in my opinion if he can be that obvious once, surely he can help out again occasionally by doing something biblically obvious.
To be fair to God, a lot of stuff troubles and annoys me that "normal" people are not troubled by so maybe I should cut him some slack, but I'm not giving those **** magicians a break, they are still on my "**** list" as are the people from funniest home video, but that’s another story.
Quentin Briscoe May 2013
It's a sin,

But I want to..
Know You!!!!

Biblically.....
Us
I love you deeply
Think the dead sea
Depths on this Earth that no man can reach
A love that's not shallow or superficial
Yet  I still call you beautiful
Think the coral reef
Love, a word often abused
And if God is love then love should identify with the truth
And if it doesn't
Then it's something
Else but not love
That's why so many are broken
And avoid the God that is love and holy
And brings us into wholeness
The concept of being one from one man and one woman is foreign
That's why God created marriages to reflect his love a pond the world
We are his Kingdom ambassadors
Called to uphold a standard
Even as the percentages climb and marriages dwindle
We hold it together with faith and grace
Not magic
It's no hash tag blacklove
If we're not first biblically grounded
Love should be  astounding
Painted in multiple brush strokes
We're image bearers of him
You see us,  you see him
The seamstress who  hemmed humans with many  tones of skin
God the Finisher
the Author
the Artist
Architect of the garden
A love that's built off of his blueprint
Barton D Smock Dec 2014
our collective identity is a sick child.  some say fever, some say welcome to the loop of the biblically speechless.  people are for others.  are for making eyes at the gender of the god as it oversleeps in the coma we slip from.  the child prays.  the child causes a stir in the pastoral urgency of a moral imagination.  we pray.  we miss yearly the showdown between the town drunk and the town ghost.  I trace a finger to put my finger on.  the television belonging to our lady of snowy reception has fallen on our little angel more than once.  nothing in the world is the world.
WOW!!!*

IMAGINE BIBLICALLY DONE ART


I went to Genesis hotel through Exodus road. On the way, I saw Leviticus recording the Numbers of people at Deuteronomy, while Joshua was waiting at the Beautiful gate for Judges to see Ruth calling loudly "Samuel ! Samuel ! At a stage, the first and second Kings of Chronicles 1 & 2, were coming to visit Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther for the misfortune of Job their brother. They started singing Psalms and teaching children Proverbs concerning Ecclesiastes and Songs of Solomon. This coincided with the period that Isaiah was engaged in Jeremiah's Lamentations together with Ezekiel and Daniel  their friends. By that time, Amos and Obadiah were not around. Three days later, Hosea, Joel and Jonah travelled in the same ship with Micah and Nahum to Jerusalem. Habakkuk then visited Zephaniah
who introduced him to Haggai a friend of Zechariah whose cousin is Malachi.
Immediately after the tradition, Mathew, Mark, Luke and John got involved in Acts of the Romans who were behaving like the 1st Corinthians group because the 2nd Corinthians group were always at loggerheads with the Galatians. At that time too, they realized that the Ephesians and Philippians were close to the Colossians, and a suggestion for the first Thessalonians visit was made, and that on their second Thessalonians visit, they should first of all see the first and second of the Timothy brothers who had gone to the house of Titus to teach Philemon his younger brother how to read and write in Hebrew. On hearing this, James asked Peter twice to explain to him how the three Johns have disclosed to Jude the Revelations of this journey.
God's Gospel the Artistic way.
Brian McDonagh Apr 2018
The Easter story,
Known by many,
Is the inverse of the fall of biblical Adam and Eve:
What fruit was eaten
Of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil
Was reattached
On that same tree,
When Jesus was crucified,
When Jesus crucified himself,
When the tree crucified Jesus.
Jesus became the new fruit
That uneven bark could not hold for long,
Though, biblically, a tree be the Christian God’s creation,
How can the created
Hold its author?
Yet it was fulfilled
That Jesus, equally human in his Passion,
Bear the creation
That would keep his body,
But free his spirit.
For earth goes back to earth,
But, considering this story,
And that each soul is different,
Might all souls default
To their common origin hereafter?
One instance where artificial and nature intertwine.
Big Virge Aug 2021
So This Line Was Expressed...
By... ANOTHER Poet... !!!
  
Who Calls Himself...
... SUICIDE SUSPECT... !!!
  
So Now It’s Subject...
Is One I’m Gonna INSPECT...
Within This Here Poem... !!!
  
Because EXACTLY Which One Is It... ?!?
  
That DEFINES It’s ACTUAL Position... ?!?
  
Do BLACK Lives Matter...
Or Do SLACK Lives Matter... ?!?
  
When It Comes To How We’re Living... ?
And Who DIES Because of KILLINGS... !!!
  
But I’ll Start Yes With...
... “ Bill Clinton “...
  
And His Treatment of Women... !?!
Because EVEN With A Wife...
He Told BARE Faced LIES... !!!
About Monica **** LICKING... !!!
But His SLACKNESS Was QUICKLY FORGIVEN... ?!?
  
By Hilary And The Minions...
Who CLEARLY Did NOT Treat Him... ?!?
  
In Ways That Were UNFORGIVING.. ?!?
  
Because His Chatter Still Seems To Matter...
When It Comes To Political Business... ?!?
And Now I’m Wondering What’s The THINKING... ?!?
That Now Has Things... POSITIONED...
When It Comes To New ****** Missions...
  
That Biblically Were Written...
As Being Something FORBIDDEN... !!!!!!
  
To Now Be COOL And DRIVEN...
To Be Taught In SCHOOLS To CHILDREN... ?!?

Don’t You People See The HYPOCRISY... ?!?
In How SOCIETY Now Has The CHEEK...
To Hold CEREMONIES...
In Places Where Bibles Now Be... !?!
  
So DON’T You Dare Try To Deem...
This Verse As Being HATE SPEECH... !!!!!!!
  
When It's Just... REALITY... !!!
  
Because It’s SLACKNESS To Me... !!!
To FILL ARSES INSTEAD of *******... ?!?
  
With **** That Helps BREED...
And Create PREGNANCIES... ?!?
  
So Let Me Quickly Change The THEME... !!!
And Now Get To BLACK PEEPS’... !!!
  
The Police And These ARMIES...
of PROTESTORS On Streets... !!!
  
So Now Black Lives Apparently MATTER... !?!
... Are You People KIDDING Me... ?!?
  
Y’all Better Check Through HISTORY... !!!
And Yes That Means BLACK Slavery... !!!
  
Because There Were BLACKS...
Who Were TRULY SLACK... !!!
  
When It Came To How They’d Treat...
And SELL Black Families...
To White Colonial Fiends... !!!
  
And Let Me Just STRESS...
That When It Comes To Black Men...
  
I’ve Seen SLACKNESS...
BEYOND BELIEF In TODAYS Societies... !!!
  
And DON'T Even TRY To Say That’s A LIE... !!!
Let Me SHOW You What I Mean... !!!
  
...... INDISCIPLINE......
When It Comes To Children...
And Black Women They BEAT... !!!
  
And Black ATTACKS...
Against OTHER BLACKS...
Are Not Some FALLACY... !!?!!
  
These Are FACTS...
That DON’T Need To Be Backed...

Because They Are REALITY... !!!
  
Now As For The Police And The MILITARY...
Their SLACKNESS FEEDS Off KILLING SPREES... !!!
Which Is Why Protestors Are NOW On Streets... !?!
  
But Is That The TRUTH REALLY... ?
When Those Who MATTER And INCITE Today’s Scenes...
Are Shrouded In A World of... “Secrecy”...
  
So You’d Best CHECK Who It Be... ?
Whose Working BEHIND The Scenes... !!!
of Protests... We NOW SEE... !!!
  
Could It Be The... LGBT... ?!?
Or The Q’s Who In TRUTH...
Are Behind These Groups... ?!?
  
So That THEY Can INCREASE...
What It Is THEY DEEM...
To MATTER WithIn Society... !!!
  
Now REMEMBER Those...
... BIBLICAL Themes... !!!!!!
  
That I Spoke of EARLIER In This Piece...
of... TRUTHFUL Poetry... !!!
  
Because MY BLACKNESS...
DOESN’T Deal In SLACKNESS... !!!
In How I Choose To Be...
Or WITHIN MY POETRY... !!!
  
So THINK On THIS...
BEFORE You Start To RESIST...
The Words In This Poetic Script...  
  
Because What It POSES...
Is A Question Like... THIS...
  
To Those Who THINK They’re CLEAN...
And HOLD RIGHTEOUS BELIEFS... !!!
  
When It Comes To Those Who LIVE...
Or DIE Because of... IGNORANCE... !!!
  
From *** To The Streets...
To... HUMANITY...
  
Do BLACK Lives Matter... ?
Or Do SLACK Lives Matter... ?
  
In This World of CRAZINESS... ?!?
  
When It Comes To What...  
People Now THINK... !!!
  
“EXACTLY Which One Is It ?”
A fairly simple question, inspired by, Suicide Suspects Line !!!
ZACK GRAM Dec 2021
first ******* called smoothe
normandy
******
light a match
"gasp"
ZACK
biting ankles
1st not last
Took The Riah Out of Zachariah
master achiever
master offensive
defense on play route
give me that bible back
******
light a match
"gasp"
1st not last
ZACK
thats Zacktree
conqueror
en-coded identity biblically
no riah no need
get rid of that talking bout the 1st
even though youre in last
ball zack aye ballazack
dime zack
big zack
number 2
Z-Man
The 1-The Only
fresh from the elements
******
light a match
"gasp"
ZACK
MC
lana Jul 2022
my eyes are buzzing; there are birds in my chest
and a hole where my throat ought to be.
my body is slick and empty. my stomach churns and I don’t know if i am harboring a fugitive in my organs or just seasick. no way to know.
my head is heavy but i have rusted too much to unscrew it now. i havent slept in millennia but i’m too old for that **** anyways.
my body is made of crushed light and heat, from biblically accurate dinosaur bones. take my lackluster god and step on her toes. you forgot your colors on my ******* neck.
my eyes are not working tonight!

— The End —