Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines

Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand

and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon

in big pink petals of bloom;

A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
       patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
      the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (


be gentle, though whispering wind)

Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign

      fears,
      as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
      Consume the years between Here and Now;
      Watching from blank perch, among
      the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
      Sing the branches of experience, to wake
      in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
      of waking,

ugly sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—

Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;

                          Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
        and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
        of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.

high over clear-washed stone, faint whispering,
the moon-bright tide cascades, the wild sea rose
has blossomed, nodding where the salt wave flows,
the wide unconquered brines great murmuring.
storm rock, night air, the white foam glistening
on wandering sand, the night's rich harvest grows
as passive as a flower, the sea-breeze blows
above the glassy ocean's thundering.
our love as free as this the windswept wave,
its rhythmic sigh, here in your arms i seek
a treasury of love, exotic gems,
before the folding tide, the current's slave.
the stronghold falls, the sleeping waters speak
of soft goodbyes and watery diadems.

Troglodytism. get betwixt thy cave **** rats. amass!!! beyond the wooded canvas of life.
and lay beside thy corpse of agony
in the pits of all foul'd demon beknownst to thou's angst.

there lay the chalice of life.
Oh to lay in the darkness'
o' to bask in the decadence of no light.

Anti heat
forth go ye unto distraction.
To over sensual
to photopic cancer
all bio centric failure that reveals itself in the concord of vestige

only one

only one who's skin, brines to salt. Only one who's writhed on the depth of the cave
sub terrain.
Becoming convoluted
with ulcers. In the brain.
Stomach
esophagus.
Till veins squelch the blood from oxygen as gills. Sea water.
till muscle over sinews, Myomeres.
till acts of mycotic deprecations elude your own grey. Destruction.
And sap what is left
the bends corrode all health.
You eek out a full metabolism.
You finish all hopes with each loathsome meal intake.
death.

Oysters take over.
They create their home
shell of man.
Disabled to a merman, made, morose.
Barnacles infest recesses,
chasms that held mountains of bountiful moral.
Filled till bursting in the case fit for a brain,
but these ocean vermin walk the tightropes of this goblins neural bag.
Tearing each synapse.
Like the innards of a necrotic recluse.

I am the dying vagabond of the ocean.
Finally succumbing to its ethereal pitch covered floor,
where no reflections mourn for me
and ghost wail me no remorse,
as I metamorphose.
Into, detritus.

storms watch the sailors as they abandon
prepare for despair with nought to land on
murk that lurks beneath the deep
here be the brines through which you creep
rip me to strips, undo my seams
disregard me, discard me, forget this dream

“How it is noted that metals can tell time,
Seagulls sparkle as they soar up above,
God’s creatures soar and ride the crests of waves,
People have a wind that eviscerates their souls,

Seagulls have leaded many to their sea of destiny,
In fields of dried wheat and soaring clouds,
Many born with lack of visioning stars above,
Could those be the souls that are lost at sea?

Moonlight shining on her skin like lemon flowers,  
Inebriated with fragrance of sweet lemon plants,
Lives on in a lemon light of the moon cling to brine,
In their subtle matter a bouquet scent of age,

Love is a journey through waters and stars,
Love is such a war of thunder and wavy brines,
Two bodies annexed by a single sweet aged odor,
Entwine fruitage lovers lilliputian forged as one,
Topace riding the droplet shrines of aromatic guise”
     By Andrew Guzaldo © 09/07/2018

The smooth and oiled wrap
Of hushed water
Calming through every wave
A starfish brines
To bath in what ever sticks
Cold to hold
The chance never got away
To breath some air.
And grab a decent thing when it came.

I am a unique gift given unto men—
Sent to teach and guide, and to comfort them.
From the heart of God, peace and hope I bring.
Adding depth to life, I give the soul wings.
I am Poetry.

I was here for ages, even before dawn.
I can make mount’ns skip and the deserts spawn.
The masters are all gone, who have imprints laid.
But I am here for eons to tell what ‘they’ve said.
I am Poetry.

Give me a voice, lend me an ear;
I will tell of yesteryear,
When in water the earth did lay,
And God created the first day.
I’ll give you love;  I’ll give you land.  
And place a wand in your hand.
With words, soothing and so sweet,
I’ll lay the world down at your feet.
I am Poetry.

My going is from east to west,
My message is of peace.
Inspiring souls in every quest,
I give true hope to each.
I can make the flowers laugh  
Or give the trees arms.
I can make the brines rage
Or render them ever so calm.
I am Poetry.

Give me a voice, and I will speak
Of the ocean, earth and sky.
I dwell amongst the noble,
The humble and the wise.
Look for me amid the stars,
There is where I’ll be.
In meadows, fields, gardens…
The sunset and the sea.
I am Poetry.

I am tucked beneath great rocks
Or hidden in the sand.
Come, now, search gingerly,
And find me—if you can.
I am poetry.
(1997)

Liberty tasked to a brass bell
Feigns dull a **** on consequence
Heather wanes wilt oer rosy death on winters mete
Bellowed ripe in reprise a thick on natures breach

In hurried flush a hue sets on sire scalp silken sheath
Feathering fire to lucidious claim a flay
Ambushed by echoes martyr
A drench in brines commence

Set down as thorn on kreep of ivy
A bit to writ
Chucks tic to a tocs tail
Wapping wimp to a mustard sail

Liberty tasked to a brass bell
feigns dull a **** of consequence
heather wanes wilt oer a rosy death on a winters mete
bellowed ripe to reprise on the thick of natures breach

Hurried flush a hue sat on shire scalp and silken sheath
feather fire to a lucidious claim a flay
ambushed by the echoes martyr
a drench thru brines commence

Set down as thorn on the kreep of ivy
a bit to writ chucks tic to a tocs tail
wapping a wimp to the mustard sail