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At ***** ****'s and Sloppy Joe's
We drank our liquor straight,
Some went upstairs with Margery,
And some, alas, with Kate;
And two by two like cat and mouse
The homeless played at keeping house.

There Wealthy Meg, the Sailor's Friend,
And Marion, cow-eyed,
Opened their arms to me but I
Refused to step inside;
I was not looking for a cage
In which to mope my old age.

The nightingales are sobbing in
The orchards of our mothers,
And hearts that we broke long ago
Have long been breaking others;
Tears are round, the sea is deep:
Roll them overboard and sleep.
Lawrence Hall Jul 2018
from an idea by Sheila Sharpe

In the foul heat and damp and rot and stench
After dusting off 1 the bodies of dead pals
The living and the dead, the living dead
Old Boats 2 lit off a cigarette and growled

“They say this stuff’ll **** ya.”



1 Dustoff – noun.  Dust off – verb with an adverb.  A dustoff is a medical evacuation via helicopter, as in “Doc, your dustoff will be here in three.”  To dust off a patient, then, is to transport a patient, not to tidy him.  I have recently read detailed arguments about the terms dustoff, dust off, and medevac, but no one quibbled about such minutiae along the Cambodian border.  

2 Boats – a boatswain’s mate, the brains and muscle of the Navy.  Boatswain’s mates do it all and are seldom acknowledged in history or art, not even in the recent film about Dunkirk.  A boatswain’s mate is often addressed as Boats, and always with deference, even by the C.O.
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Vernarth says: “I was at the separation of the threshold of Archangelos and Tsambika, where I was introduced to the threshold of sub mythology, which came from a promontory of the high cusp, that intersect the portal of light between Archangelos and Tsambika. There was a great vertical mass of petrified air between the two units, as I approached I saw against the light of one towards the other, the supposed synoptic and optical circumstance of sub-mythology, which makes me the creation that abandoned all of us who have dealt with it all. A life with sword in hand. For this reason, we have not restructured ourselves as a "Creation and Genesis that dwells in the myth of the warrior who is defeated on his war bed, but winner of the war of Life as Peltasts." My democracy is to narrow the steps of credibility towards a narrowing of the resurrection in all and all of us who have never been at peace, by proposing the last energy of daring to follow the triumph of the democracy of the resurrection. Many remain in doubt and waiting, others follow, but the stubborn objection of creation makes us a mere vivifying objective to revive in the exam that writes everything and stores everything more than thousands of lives and scrolls that settle in its proscription Literary”

Replied Apostle Saint John: “The Derveni papyrus was a work in Central Macedonia, 10 km northwest of the Greek city of Thessaloniki, in Macedonia. 226 small burnt papyrus fragments were found, inside a bronze jug that also contained a gold crown and other funerary objects. In the dimension that has been able to instruct, he speaks to us of God and mysticism, but with hidden and allegorical suggestions, moving towards a representative monotheism, we have enough to assert about eloquent quotes from the pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus and Orpheus. Being the son of Apollo and one of his muses, Calliope. According to the accounts, when he played his lyre, the beasts would calm down, and the men would gather to hear him and to rest their souls. Thus he fell in love with the beautiful Eurydice and managed to put the terrible Cerberus to sleep when he went down to the underworld to try to resurrect Eurydice. Orpheus was of Thracian origin; In his honor, the Orphic Mysteries were developed, musical rituals quite common in Ancient Greece, of which there is not much information, or their sources are not known”

Eurydice replies: “I read Orpheus's verses on his lips, which at length encouraged me, eager to hear more, but Orpheus turned off the lights of my curiosity, putting hidden ideas and allegories that crossed my doubts like ghosts that crossed before me in this hymn Orphic of Derveni. Orpheus was credited with abilities because with his lyre he was able to poke around with all the most wonderful melodies that humans had allegorically heard. That is how I fell in love with Orpheus and shortly after we were married. But sadly, I died shortly after getting married from a snake bite. Orpheus went into a hidden pain, until it was decided to go down to the very underworld in order to save me. And so it was, he went down to the underworld and once there he tried to take me back. But Hades wouldn't allow us. So Orpheus began to sing for Hades and me, until they appeared before him and allowed Orpheus to be taken away on one condition: He could not look at me until I was completely bathed in sunlight. We did so, and when we went outside Orpheus turned to see me. But he did not realize that one foot had stayed in the shadows so I disappeared into the darkness of the underworld and this time forever. Sad Orpheus perished in battle within a few weeks, but when he died and went to the underworld, he finally managed to be by my side, for life. Now I am in the light of the figurehead of the ship Eurydice, I am and I am the boatswain that watches and I carry this feat in the Vernarth memorial with me in the underworld supporting him. Now I appear for this creation reaching the everlasting preamble, so that in Teambika as a creation of the sub-Mythology in which I figure in this journey, with Vernarth always between we will intervene in the matrices that intersect in Archangelos and Tsambika, as a clear image that is revealed before me, like the perfect figure of perfection recreating itself in the genesis of a Marian world, judging myself to be eternally with the resurrected living”.
Derveni Papyrus
Tommy Johnson Jun 2014
I remember it well
As if it were yesterday
We geared up and set sail
And embarked upon unfamiliar waves

It was I captaining the vessel
With One-eyed Sven my quarter master
He could cut throats and roll pretzels
His weapon of choice was his bow caster

This wasn't a mission of plundering
That alone left the crew in a state of wondering
No, we weren't looking for buried treasure
But for sheep skin seat covers and Scandinavian leather

My first mate Mr. Obanion said to me
"Captain are we off course?"
Then my boatswain , Wiley asked sheepishly
"Aren't we going for *** and ******?"

I looked them in the eye at the same time
"Gentlemen, this ship is headed to Dublin"
"We're going to see a good friend of mine"
"Now get back to your swabbing and scrubbing"

This was an order of business not some sort of cruise
I'm sailing with a ship of one track minded fools
We didn't set out on a vacation of leisure
Were on the hunt for sheep skin seat covers and Scandinavian leather

I did not mean to keep them in the dark
But they would think less of me
I needed these things
For the women I married

You see we'd been on the rocks
And I know she wanted these items
So I went over the sea with a fine tooth comb
Until I had finally found them

My men had sailed endlessly for months
They were worn down and ragged
Waterlogged and exhausted
While I always came up empty handed

But I had to save my marriage
Salvage my relationship
I knew it would work
If I gave my love these gifts

We reached the golden, calling shore
Of the beautiful Dublin
From the River Liffey and headed north
My friend Seamus let me come in

I came out shaking his hand
I was satisfied with my purchase
Until I was questioned by my men
What it was we came for in our searches

I had to show them, I was under scrutiny
I pulled out two stagecoach seat covers and a pair of pants
They were enraged and called mutiny
They blindfolded me and bound my hands

Now I'm marooned on some unmapped island
And I see my ship riding that horizon
This will sadden my wife, oh how it will upset her
She will never receive her sheep skin seat covers or her Scandinavian leather
Tommy Johnson Jan 2015
You and I are going to settle this score
Now that you've abandoned your special snowflake campaign
And overcome your Stockholm Syndrome

A dynasty has been created
The snowball's chance begins to take effect

The short order cook has taken a tall order
A citrus feast for a ship of marauders
To prevent scurvy

The  maitre d' disarmed them at the door
And allowed them to infiltrate the dining hall

The captain sat and twiddled his thumbs while his crew cut loose

The first mate drank fire water and shot it out of his nose

The quarter master ordered some fiddlesticks served on door glass

The boatswain ordered the insemination of a cow so he could eat the cow and all of its offspring
It was his first day eating meat again
He remembered his vegan salad days

The carpenter and ****** constructed a shrine of after dinner mints
And conducted a seance to talk to their old crew mate, Black eyed Ollie

He squandered his life searching the sea for a doctor to restore his sight
They planned to revive him and allow his spirit to possess one of them

And sure enough Black eyed Ollie entered the ******'s body and they took turns controlling the fleshy vessel
Black eyed Ollie got every day of the week that ended in "Y" and the  ****** got the rest

The filching crew of blighters finished their meal and went on their way
They left quite a tip
"Actions speak louder than words and money talks too
Yet talk is cheap
But time is money
So every burning second counts
Then let's freeze time
Take action and buy all the talk at whole sale price
And sell it at retail price"

So pay up man, I told you working here would be interesting
marlene dunham May 2010
The mighty wooden ship awaits,
the pirate and his *****.                  
The massive sails and spinnakers bold
pondering seven seas.

Adventure beckons, be still my heart,
adrenalin rushing forth.
My pirate blood, from birth doth flood
my veins with plunderous thoughts.

But hark, my beloved approaches now
With chest of clothes abundant
She says we must first speak of things
so as not to be redundant.

“Before we leave dry land, I must confess
of second thoughts about our new address.
A secret that I’m holding must be shared:
…..I am a little scared.

Sea legs, I’ve none, nor a stomach strong.
Even my sense of direction is mostly wrong.
I’m just hoping that as your Pirate queen,
….. I do not turn green.

You’d love to sail away beyond far horizons,
though, if you must know, I cannot roam
further than my cell phone plan,
…..which is Verizon.  

Oh let me think this through a minute,
My love, my one eyed wonder
To sail the earth to see the world
To steal and maim and plunder
Sounds like fun, but when we’re done -
I’ve broken my nails
On those ******* sails
and I don’t know my stern from my bow

My teacher of Zen
will want to know when
my monthly bill will be paid, anyhow.
So I think I must stay, oh and by the way,
Have the boatswain untie the cable
And get me that yawl or I swear I will crawl
To the dock as fast as I’m able.

I guess I’m not much of a buccaneer
but the thought of the trip made me sick.
So a pirate’s life is not one for a wife -

at least not a wife
with a hair appointment
on Thursday!
© 2010 Marlene Dunham
RW Dennen Sep 2014
Those stones I think about everyday
Bill Perry and his posses' never hidden truth, endear each soldier down to rest
He gathers people near and far to plant the seeds of a golden star

A golden star not of shame
A golden star all the same
We watch and see the people cry to touch their loved ones long gone by

On stones these fingers do caress
On stones I feel the emptiness
On stones that should not be
On stones of a written eulogy

A bugle echoes taps to all
A boatswain pipe returns its call
To salute our gone by kindred all...
During the Bush years soldiers' coffins being shown was a tabu. We veterans for peace through a Vietnam Veteran,
Bill Perry and with other activists built amazing tombstone
replicas, made of wood, painted white and a photo and name on everyone. People came from all over especially
To seek out a lost loved one. I saw families and friends
touching tombstones; lots of tears, lots of flowers.
We held it in Philly on the great lawn adjacent to the visitors
building across the street is the liberty bell. In addition, the golden stare is the honoring of the families who lost a loved one. They're called "The Golden Star Families"
Marieta Maglas Jul 2015
''We share our cups of coffee marks as a bridge between friends, ''
Said Naimah.'' We share a few moments of good-hearted cheer, ''
Said Frederick.'' ''Love can die, but a friendship never ends.''
''Love is endless, '' ''I'm a widow, harrowed with grief and fear, ''

''I've lost my wife, and now I must take care of my unique son.''
''Where do you go? '' ''I'm going to Morocco, firstly,
And then, I'm going to Egypt.'' ''I think it can't be easily done.''
''I have a brother who can help me because I'm worthy.''

''You left your home, '' ''I couldn't pay the taxes for my land.
So, I abandoned my village and fled to the town,
But many people did it like me; I had to understand
That the agriculture shrank; the food prices put me down.''

''The price of the Turkish silver fell and that of gold increased.
Your raw goods became cheap for the European traders
Who could buy trades of very large amounts of stock from the east.
They were developed and exported back; friends turned to haters.''

''Their products were cheaper while having a better quality
To undermine your local businesses and craft guilds.''
'' They worked using new methods in their factories.''
''Due to our government, which this kind of bridges builds.


I've found a job in the lowest town's level as a servant.
At school, my son saw the education as his only outlet.
While dealing with angry people, I felt lost in this current.''
''You should understand this situation from the outset.''’

(He talked with Frederick about Maya, his sister.)

A strange man having icy eyes embarked for Lisbon at noon.
He wore an amulet around his neck on its leather string.
He brought three dogs while whistling the air of an unknown tune.
His cruel face looked like wanting tears from around to wring.

This strange man wore a black suit, a black hat, and a black cloak
Having equal pleats over the shoulders; his face was shrouded
In mystery; he started to walk as wanting to provoke
Fear; he searched for an employee because his room was crowded

With unusual things and he didn't have space for the dogs.
He wanted a face-to-face meeting with the captain.
He looked over at Frederick saying, ''Tell your rats and hogs
That my room must be clean; they must work for that to happen.'’

He sat down at a nearby table and decided
It was time to pay the price to Frederick for the travel.
He said, ''this is the best way to get you excited.''
He gave Frederick five rubies thick as the gravel.
(Frederick started to talk with this stranger man, who decided to confess.)
‘’In the third century, Corfu was invaded and conquered
By pirates from Illyria; later, they were driven out
By the autonomic Romans; though is kinda awkward,
I found an old treasure map; I bought that land; I’m a scout.’’

Geraldine knew that Frederick did not want to betray her
Because he wanted to be the father of her child.
She wanted his burden not to be more than he could bear
She was afraid that losing control could make her feel beguiled.

Frederick wanted his son to be captain of a ship
And to go together to do business in Italy.
He lost his dream love while being with her in the time slip.
While talking they didn't lie to each other prettily.

(The carrack was sailing to Syracuse.)

Frederick was the master and Brisbon was his mate.
He has always told Brisbon what he wished to be done.
Brisbon commanded the sailors and he was really great.
When he screamed, ''Steer, trim, sail, '' to their duty they had to run.


Sam and Sulim were steersmen while Gian and Aldo were corners.
Suaram, Cosma, and Dino were gunners while Ismail
Was carpenter; Fargo was swabber and boatswain while Hector
Was a cooper; Abseil was a quartermaster; to sail


Gino, Nico, and John hoisted the sails, got the tacks aboard
While hauling the bowlines, and steering the ship when needed.
Ibrahim cooked, furled the sails, slung the yards and washed the board.
Maya was a cook, or a quack when the rules were not heeded.


Aldo screamed, ''Sulim, I see land on the horizon! ''
''Impossible, there must be only sea until Syracuse.''
''The compass had a big variation for no reason, ''
Said Freddy, ''we're in a wrong place; I need a valid excuse! ''

(To be continued…)

Poem by Marieta Maglas
Tiffany Merkel Aug 2017
Apple red cheeks blushing from conversations with cherry-picked lips.
I ponder the track that your mind runs on.
A lover's affreightment as between sailors and ships
Nothing compares to the grass on this lawn.
Days of old have left rips in your sails
But no need to sink the zabra
For I brought needle and thread
I will sew up your wounds but if all else fails
I will still love you til the day that your dead
Call up the boatswain and throw the anchor off the port bow
I have found my piece of the sea
No more sailing the open ocean now
Because I found my lover and he has found me
West of a mutilated day, wormwood salts are scattered for some wild-chinned Controllers on a high pinnacle with viva vox in the Mandrake, Vernarth's house of Orion:

Saint John the Apostle says the proverbial Psalm: “In the lofty Cage, Gregorian sylphs, with skillful gestures and mania for cheering, are graced for coming to the Way of the cheap and venerable souls that are made up of the bodies of the evil-born on their railing. , in quagmire of swallowing spittle where the cold winter is banished, to jump from the cold oriental, having to walk with the elbows, and with the daring screams of the Sylphs that shake themselves among the foggy and fleshy tangle with rags and fur cloths flying smoothly through the tops of the oak trees in smoke to purge for Vernarth! Gospel, gospel in the barn of the delicate humus was felt, and that it was refracted in the refined forest with philosophical sacred love. Lord, all of us who are because we are, are you Lord ..., all in my exercises of loving gaze, are channeled by the indexes of my thumb to the little finger at the bottom of the sea, and float again from the little finger to the bottom of the surface. Waving in the transience of the world and holding back, Father God thunder, this with laryngitis when he outlines himself with the vast earthly sight, he covers with his right hand, the phlegm of ***** that made him drive an empty tremor, in my lack of security he testified by singing thousands and millions of choirs at this auction. The first ring of the profile will be carried by Jesus light, rubbing his back with some eyelashes of a drunk beetle, while the beetle will collect water between its extensions that will wail real needs of every morning albi - rosaceous that will travel in a circle towards the auditory of the Last auctioned saying: "As I have not to be where I was and was ..., if at night my beloved morning row impulsively and goes against it so as not to stumble into the night ...". Each cut piece of the dermis will have to be auctioned, I had Faith and the screenplay, encapsulated and embedded in each hope of the ramshackle flock, the impiety-weary ogre needed to stow his empty viscera with the cloth of the celestial kingdom, which at auction was beginning to squeeze and vanish when regurgitating smoothies and disintegrated spaces of belonging of the devotees of Vernarth. The writing is signed with lupus, this Lucia emanated from the morning resentment of skin envy, and from the massif drenched in anarchy and city archeology, lying hesitantly ..., as if the forest gave it some indication of rebirth, under the shadow of twinkling doubt, from the high front where they were nuanced over the engendered banners of truth, elucidating the forbidden and true matrix.

Adelimpia, Vernarth's grandmother, was squatting cutting the drool from the dwarf tree that lost a forage, at around 6:30 p.m. on the 39.9th day of a supposed 14th month of another dimension, almost winding up in a tangled series of productive hesitations and rituals, taking her victorious chariot in Lent where the teacher without felt traction, weave sprinkles of forgiveness on her distributor, starting her shaft and not her running engine, she already knew herself as a commoner with the wake of a ship without knowing where to go. Those who did not see themselves more backward intrigued to be part of the central bar of the rocker of the nymphs in their stadium, with a yawning lip where no one was invited. Mega-watt snitches go to the sacristan, breaking speeds of intangible entities that abide by her law, as a sage vilified in her secular realm, even in nowhere, the atmospheric larynx hissed widening through the flakes of the auctioned field, Joshua leaping with her. Cranky black horse Equus, with his anthropomorphic hooves, accelerated with action that put him among the lost belongings of the plateau, whose east limited him to two half-quarters of each other, and two-thirds slowing the sunset from ruby to ruby, brightening in the shades of green and green. Vernarth  Bernardolipo's father swallowed crops, from whose movements were born out of place gestures of residence, parturient fairies appeared emerging at once, or perhaps not emerging, the afternoon crushes the unplayable sun, Hugh and Anne covered their supra orbital eye areas, more towards a hillside where thousands of repertoires were being knocked down, and copious tableware with caked sugar, which seemed to reduce the acoustics from the beginning in what seemed solidly to fade to postulate in new shades of the weary rubbed rainbow, like thousands of shades doing the times of zascandil  in a curled comb, re-sprouting certain storm deities in the natural bow of the wind entangled in each stratus, sprinkling on the hectares of Possessions, standard deeds, sales orders, mutual funds, bonds ... the coffers and the earthly decomposed. Before each onslaught, a highly dense fog arose, highly ignored, anti-critical, and more disparaging of amassing a high scarcity with a local, in his quintals of his last bread for the flock. Lashes that exceed the grammage, foliage from leaf to leaf, from today until tomorrow, in a traveling satyr of dry leaves, "The Sphincter of the World will need Purgative ...".

Marathon of poisonings,… Lord, you have looked me in the eye; with your boat I will follow you, to your privileged perspiring cinnamon dock with various vociferous songs. What fared more than seven zeros, now they will be eaten by rodents, Lord attend my prayers, the pink mast has been sailing at several knots from the north, and it is rapidly losing its polar location, between verbs never traveled or driven, I dared to show off that the path of the gospel in small distant fragments will abound in infinite space, only the one that predominates will glide over my forehead with an accumulation of everything seen and that today in this sale; where everyone you own and care for, like a baby in front of a dissimilar kinship of good adventure and progeny that will leave your hands. "  

Etréstles says: "Soft and mellifluous presumptions ..., where do I have to look if nothing is heard? What is proposed and permeates the law of possessing and not, perhaps the strap reaches an infinite house, where the sun breaks down ..., the spout of my minimal rebirth slowly turned it into my reoriented defined cell. My grandfather Joshua fertilizes the new sales every day with his hooves bandaged with hemp, the sebum stones since they were so are already spirited circles, the hand of the maker is being compared with his tactile sense, Kaitelka's lungs, full of phosphate residues and sulphated, for the first time they milk in medium drops on their udders, although saying and what they prefer to assert of a worthy Down! If it were not, for his regal model of cetacean ostentation, he would not be in the Horcondising taking from today, towards the end of the curtain in the regular blushes, to create the great detachment, so necessary for the pulsating plain and purge his master Vernarth . The night covers it with sulfur oceanic satin, with the spauto of its jet and a magical moving game. Everyone was distracted when she circled over the routines of well-magnetized charms. More than two subjects were deprived of their well-placed jaw, when the overtime ran not crossing in the entire field in which she lived. It was time to unmask the interveners, the boatswain of the alfalfa field had been eating almonds with oil from the sole of a Joshua bototo shoe, she folded her wings at halftime to take a modest breath, to resume weak paths, deprived of confidence and not. To know who they would obey and to whom they would yield the fruit of their old and stock market work in the garden. Chaos for them, light of Lights, for those affiliated with the ruler who is Joshua, who will live behind a makeshift Patagua tree, erecting  aquisus tents and the dogmas of tomorrow. The magnificent concessions in the Horcondising massif continued to fall precipitously; some rummaged through their accounting almanacs, distanced and squandered their exquisite profits. The stagecoach is moving away, and the barrels of water were scarce, the aroma and tastes of roasted beef comes out over the bushes, the stores sway in a naive wind of blooming daisies, the sales were coming against the owners themselves, the taste of the laughter degraded their own present absence, the paraphernalia of the little birds on the carpet of the mountain plateau were, they began to do mercy of the tip in the exposed beams, the hundred feet with calluses came down from the semi-incinerated poles. Nothing smelled of pride anymore, just the last shadow of Joshua's Chief Sheriff; Vinicius, who thinned out the spotlights of the semi-strongmen still trying to collect his heavy wealth, now that among clouds of heavy cargo they went to give him only one habit to try to fit his body, just to wear his outfit. They looked, looked and kept looking at his octogenarian tearful sapro- genito dream, where the first dream ends, and his exile begins. Vinicius, locks the door, and starts drinking mate tea; while screams of those bad jackals were heard fighting for their inherited evils, in manners of not conquering those who lose a dream of their patriarchal courting-love, under the shadow of the most powerful bush for the rest of their lives in groves. Crumbs come off the beards of Joshua, his galvanized knife cuts multiform slices, to feed everyone equally and continue the purge of Vernarth "

The most desolate deity came; he walked in full sun, shelled and unattached, full of elongated bridles and with haste in his eyes. But not in its strides, thousands of years passed, and it brushed with my lost zeal in the quarrels of the Argolica, in the salinized and rotten feces of Eurymedousa, with its snowy and tricolor feet, hooded with its goods! , therefore, unable to sustain its own air from its nasal socket, dropping it likes brave foam that fell in the fired distance. Bad cooked fruit, with the flavor of a sleeping cinnamon stick, mitigating in its kind balsam, frayed wind yielding 360 and so many more suns, before the last one that I carry on my limbs ends. The end of the End began, in the seven ends adorning my steps. The obscene deities came, with their rebuilding geo music, breaking endometriums of goddess’s mobs and their almost massacred Pillan Mapu, among thousands that were, thousands of nowhere they are ..., in a today already anesthetized. He lies in the stench of the corrugated floor, in the wooden handles and rods stacked on the floor gesturing; the god Pillan Mapuche, under a generic vault of sleep falls into lethargy on the faces, leaving his unintelligible hollow free; and its unbalanced environment, crossing the basaltic moraine that circulated one day from the placenta of the fatigued cemetery. Dreams in kilos everywhere of pressed ducks, with dense covering and grasses on the hooves of bucephalos, crucible, living trident and extraordinary flowers ***** in floating skirmish, with dosing globules, thirst that is born from the whiteness of the first day in confessional liberation, cell of white with a looted look, shields of osculation, like icy air that transpires his ninth life and that is born from his ninth death, splinted in the face of death that mutilates his fingers when crossing his genes of perfidious and monkish plot of a life bypass. I sing or I do not sing, I lack my throne from where I observe the glances with time and impudence, possessing everything behind the back of the macabre time in counter-steps of tender golden plague, in foreign skin growing on my right blanket, from so much passing lights with cracked night outings, walking towards me, between roads and between Monday nights with faces of long and sinuous unctuous branches, with great step and size. Now I have to draw the curtain, on light lying in the shadow of an opening scattered in warm beets. With sincerity ..., and mistake there is no will to germinate in them, I will be born without being with them, to be meaningless without them ..., and that it is above other absences, with great eloquent and numerical weight on absent.

They are still plastered, washed out and with the frizzy pigments of a parnassus Paradise, where it has been intervening over its bloodless headers. Joshua walks thousands of steps on with his Equus skull, like a meridian slipping off certain rods of decay. Thus they all floated in the cephalous porous airs, with great airs of Cain collapsing on Abel recomposed in reserves of a millennium that fell twisted and stunned, captivated by an ominous word. Sendal covered themselves in bandurrias that covered the melodious icebergs of exulting individuals and swollen with passion, with their rummaging and thunderous noises going along with their flowers to the sea dissipated. My paternal grandmother was delimited; she paraded from the openings with cough-covered mounds of the frozen volcano, growing reflective slits of dense gradation in the nervousness of the overhang and angry sighing heat, in all the vertiginous and venerable spirits numbed by the darkness of so many sorrows on their bluish heads. Eurymedousa, already ill-fated to continue in Rhodes, appeared on stilts and with agonizing lights and yielding to the crossbows of the centaurs gagged by the Beauties; they consisted of their seesaws before the agreement with the Master, who gave us her Hellenic manifestos, and no less to others. My uncle King Arthur carried news of the locked consonants of his string and with a riding crop for his steed, tangled in rows that tore his face into small abscesses on his face, which were superimposed on those capillaries of the sweat of Heaven. Blessed Lord, the knee had grafts of golden steel, the horns of the radio sol brego that were broken in its metaphysical pregnancy, and its food collector that had solid gold baths towards a tabernacle fussing through its mucous orifices of alfalfa with the a flavours of irradiated cattle . He paraded with his loving mount flying down his track and kept clueless, at times he ran so swiftly that he crossed evil omens with Joshua, he was seen as weak and white in insulting slanders, Tamayo; his friend, who was a Talamite native, followed him on horseback, his son rode the sheep every summer, passing wool of pure holy insignia of a healthy man.
Along the banks of the reeds, he came riding on a donkey, Edward my paternal uncle, the third of Adelimpia, came three steps before his donkey, and he counted three times before riding him with provisions for good waters, wrapped in an energetic fire of Saturday tobacco in his mouth in mourning, who lovingly watching over himself, looking at today towards a peak for his sheep, looking at them for a manger of borders and tiny hunching phrases of black song about legends of the offender, which tempted to show off invading their fields. He is to the right of his mother Adelimpia, and under the rib of his father Bernardolipo overflowing, giving sugar to the colt Dolly in the sunsets, bequeathing affection with syrup, and a thousand compliments in December of 9,900 AD, Joshua, I remained in shreds of pageantry and endless lives, I always said, my lady, here I bring you a peasant's soup in flower of primed twisted canvas, in this three-year period I must call them to dinner in past lands with sweet potatoes to eat and candlesticks of flying seeds, with eager candies of a crack and their thirsty mouths. Gentlemen, I am Edward, their son, I want to sleep in your arms, after escaping from my worst perfidious toothless bite that still hurts inside. After eating great cholesterols from all over the world, amidst the tools of my children I am, always putting a tobacco leaf caught in the scrawled pieces and in great coinciding strokes, in circles dancing to throw away the bad and broken places badly thought and done. When I get to the end I will cling to the Joshua habit and shout not to leave me alone in the middle of this world, without toasted flour, cheese and tobacco. I am not a malignant man, I am only like those of us who are far below, feeling footprints on my spine, and I do not tell my wife Molly, so that she does not lack chickpea flour for our children wrapped in regrets and ***** with hunger and light blue in goodness, like saints and media, but in the end with clear blue water in my glasses. I invite everyone to my table to dine on oceans and worlds of clear celestial light, because with this hand I break this piece; I am the Son of Adelimpia and the supplier. They brought me in anemone branches when the Lord's headache invaded him, when he felt nails in his hands, to the east of Eden, without steps or turgid edges and a rough runaway palfrey”

The Horcondising massif turned into a great mountain, Edward was in the limestone of some potters and followers of Joshua molding him, they began to bait the rope that merges the mountain range, with the valley at the foot of all the mapus, mud flowing from the monastic floods , here they polisonated in the stony atonement of each lamentable trunk. They say;… faramalla  demonion, would be with a Silfife facing the mass of the vital obstacle, with faded coffee fiber, smeared in wine and bread, with eternal vintage vine. Luccica, Vernarth's mother, tackles familiar corners, with anointed frames of fiction in irrational ergonomics…; in numerous steps that will reach your distinguished heart. An ocean of doubts has fallen due to the inheritance that has precarious injuries, of battered egos and scrubbed by undue ignorance. Mountain delusions and manias, which run through the fibrillated vigils of some soft ropes and their abundant bristles like the choppy of an echidna escaping as it tingles by my twisted temples ”. The Horcondising  tam tam modulates through its crater and its pale face of a perpetual cell. Towards the forgiveness of the primordial ones and the commiseration of the orb burying itself in creation, this sacred and over the pale Sudpichian region will rest, in the roots growling in capillaries of the carbonated earths and in its badly wounded footprints. Horcondising is in quarantine, the elevation of the constellations are hyperillusionible, they migrate Along with Albalalhue and Carnivorous, the succeeded nymph that extracts exudation from a flushed match in the palm of some ideas on rollers, higher up and on angular from other right angles. Toiling with her hands, and rubbing possessions with her mazote and her patronage full of rakes.

Etréstles says: “Beyond all metal of hatred of every god not heard, beyond all evil of timid hatred I have not heard. I hold the playful phrasing of Edenic song, which calls us in voices full of long journeys, especially on this day fading. Through the hollow, belts and picket rings breaking the timid lights of the last sunset.  Cardinals in envelopes of fragile strengths, mountains with borders and deposits in the last voluminous plagues on the mason's eye.  Binding themselves in a pile, with saffron nails in their ears, with moths that run through the unforgivable morphologies. Do not lose life, abandon all noisy fight in coalition with the uninhabited *** of coins, there are forty days left to say goodbye to the god Faramalla, who lies with closed tec, limps to his lost pupils, and the sky swirls over his day when nothing not fit for any drinkable air with light bulb. Horcodising loses millimeters within minutes and rising, towards harvests to harvests, they lose merged schedule of a time without a past, reviling themselves from a present of consanguineous evil with an abstinent future. Luccica; Vernarth's mother, she is a sylph dragged by the tempest moraines, being detached to a contemplation and intake of life. The membranes of the accordion burst, and between brittle passageways crying without union, succumb to the teachings of foolish fate, Luccica as a portion owes its origin to the sea, taking its physiognomic bark from a seal specimen of aqueous flattery, to frize it on a similar surface umlauts on the "u", with phosphorescent and indeclinable forges, making it a beautiful maternal nymph, like the beautiful female picking up a moon in her arms, clinging to a new hallucinatory satellite to engender. "Live and talk with your peer, her dazzling sneaks in and laughs at this prominent queen, to exhale on those who observe her."

End Ellipsis Chapter XXXI
Horcondising  Castle Reign - Sudpichian
Transversal Valley  the Ferments - Parapsychological Regression
Mandrake, the Wild Auction
The art of the
     "FAKE" deal (according
     to Walt Dizzy Take a Knee Sing
     Matt Tilde) once again
as oft iterated in previous poems,
     doth (soup pearly, theoretically,
    and wantonly) appertain
to anyone (abstractedly, essentially,

     and loosely translated), aye ascertain
ptomaine anyone can attain
     driving a hard bargain,
(sans basement prices)
     utilizing her/his birdbrain,
(which might be about the size
     of a child size chill blain -
mebbe acquired during

     weather beaten life
     at sea as boatswain),
nonetheless for results,
     one best ought
     be without a brain
even if promoted as Captain Cain
Guru, cuz to become
     star apprentice,

     one must master
     trumpeting as a certain
Don Casanova Chieftain
     stealing the vote if necessary
     and freely distribute *******
(as an ****** of the masses)
     to silence anyone
     that might complain,

thus sets the
     figurative stage to contain
any potentially mutinous threat
     (against sought after bounty)
also necessitates practicing
     nepotism assigning coxswain
to an immediate family member
     with a skull full

     bone if eyed crackbrain
and when upon
     wheeling and dealing
     i.e. thee metaphorical curtain
call - pull out
     all stops to detain
vendor even exhibiting
     faux ("FAKE) disdain

for deplorable basket weavers
     iterated by domain holder
ye wish to acquire
     sought after envied goodies,
     oh...and do
     everything to drain
the patience of he/she who
     controls coveted *****

calling for trotting
     out "Stormy
Daniels" to entertain
and continue ploy long after
     hated yuge, bigly, stupid losers
winning morons with

     zero wind blown naturally
     "FAKE" orange blond
     wind blown hairm,
which constant induces
     onlookers with eyestrain.
Ephraim Feb 2021
My friend wears his coat like a skin
peeled from a molting elk.
Patches cover holes in the elbows
made by leaning against brick walls to catch his breath
or falling on broken glass.

His pockets had once been cornucopias milk-toothed children
drowned in.
Candies poured out in cascades of foil, wax paper
and plastic wrap.

Hands, lightly powdered with icing sugar
perfumed the air around him with
the scent of caramel.

Suffused with thews refused even Midas,
everything he touched turned to chocolate, honey and smiles…
but now,
vacant of liquorice, lint,
money, mints,
his pocket linings contain less air
than shredded banderoles
flapping on abandoned cannon scarred battlefields.

Those once confectionary hands
swapped candy canes for walking sticks.

He trudges along the sidewalk
through quicksand thick crowds
on legs more numb than a spree killer,
at the pace of a wounded man
fighting a snowstorm conjured just for him.

This illness,
called ‘old friend’ in mixed company
(he smokes his weight in cannabis)
hangs on him like a drunken boatswain
carried aboard after shore leave
by the only mate holding his liquor.

This ‘old friend’
demyelinates
desecrates nerve tissue
reduces neural pathways to shriveled river beds
leaving dead end streets strewn
with discarded bundles of axons.

My friend wears his skin the same way a coat hanger wears a bathrobe.
It dangles on threadbare shoulders like defeat,
a race worn down
by centuries under the lash.

Through it all he smiles,
a good sport
fighting through sludge
day after day after day,
dragging one good foot
ahead of the other
before it shrinks away.
For F.Polívka

— The End —