I like a church, I like a cowl,
I love a prophet of the soul,

And on my heart monastic aisles
Fall like sweet strains or pensive smiles;
Yet not for all his faith can see,
Would I that cowled churchman be.
Why should the vest on him allure,
Which I could not on me endure?

Not from a vain or shallow thought
His awful Jove young Phidias brought;
Never from lips of cunning fell
The thrilling Delphic oracle;
Out from the heart of nature rolled
The burdens of the Bible old;
The litanies of nations came,
Like the volcano's tongue of flame,
Up from the burning core below,
The canticles of love and woe.
The hand that rounded Peter's dome,
And groined the aisles of Christian Rome,
Wrought in a sad sincerity,
Himself from God he could not free;
He builded better than he knew,
The conscious stone to beauty grew.

Know'st thou what wove yon woodbird's nest
Of leaves and feathers from her breast;
Or how the fish outbuilt its shell,
Painting with morn each annual cell;
Or how the sacred pine tree adds
To her old leaves new myriads?
Such and so grew these holy piles,
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles.
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon
As the best gem upon her zone;
And Morning opes with haste her lids
To gaze upon the Pyramids;
O'er England's abbeys bends the sky
As on its friends with kindred eye;
For out of Thought's interior sphere
These wonders rose to upper air,
And nature gladly gave them place,
Adopted them into her race,
And granted them an equal date
With Andes and with Ararat.

These temples grew as grows the grass,
Art might obey but not surpass.
The passive Master lent his hand
To the vast soul that o'er him planned,
And the same power that reared the shrine,
Bestrode the tribes that knelt within.
Even the fiery Pentecost
Girds with one flame the Countless host,
Trances the heart through chanting quires,
And through the priest the mind inspires.

The word unto the prophet spoken
Was writ on tables yet unbroken;
The word by seers or sibyls told
In groves of oak, or fanes of gold,
Still floats upon the morning wind,
Still whispers to the willing mind.
One accent of the Holy Ghost
The heedless world hath never lost.

I know what say the Fathers wise,
The Book itself before me lies,
Old Chrysostom, best Augustine,
And he who blent both in his line,
The younger Golden-lips or mines,
Taylor, the Shakspeare of divines,
His words are music in my ear,
I see his cowled portrait dear,
And yet for all his faith could see,
I would not the good bishop be.

St. Margaret's bells,
Quiring their innocent, old-world canticles,
Sing in the storied air,
All rosy-and-golden, as with memories
Of woods at evensong, and sands and seas
Disconsolate for that the night is nigh.
O, the low, lingering lights!  The large last gleam
(Hark! how those brazen choristers cry and call!)
Touching these solemn ancientries, and there,
The silent River ranging tide-mark high
And the callow, grey-faced Hospital,
With the strange glimmer and glamour of a dream!
The Sabbath peace is in the slumbrous trees,
And from the wistful, the fast-widowing sky
(Hark! how those plangent comforters call and cry!)
Falls as in August plots late roseleaves fall.
The sober Sabbath stir--
Leisurely voices, desultory feet!--
Comes from the dry, dust-coloured street,
Where in their summer frocks the girls go by,
And sweethearts lean and loiter and confer,
Just as they did an hundred years ago,
Just as an hundred years to come they will:--
When you and I, Dear Love, lie lost and low,
And sweet-throats none our welkin shall fulfil,
Nor any sunset fade serene and slow;
But, being dead, we shall not grieve to die.

Look:

If mankind is a forest and you then a tree
then I am the one who stands sentry
and watches for signals in a distant belfry
one of if by land and two if by sea
a position not revered watching danger near
and screaming curdled-canticles dear
that fire is sweeping and the kindling is fear
the smoke's in the distance – it doesn’t just appear
you frogs oblivious to the quick melting veneer
to afraid to strip it away, to look in the mirror
and see yourself for what you are; for what we're
becoming – something less than...

Stop:

And you think there's truth in this verbal climbing
but it's just that what I'm saying was designed to be rhyming
and is syncopated to give it an ear-pleasing timing
like a...a........a
***-***-***
heartbeat
a heartbeat pinging unbirthing mountains
on a static-shot blue monitor
in a faraway
hospital where all the rooms are
painted black and the
Doctors curse themselves.

Cursed like we are cursed,
to our death marched and the only
sound ringing is the bleating
of a New Orleans trumpet
in a funeral march – our coffin
into the dirt sank and left behind
these idolatrous sycophants who
have like pigs at a trough suckled
the very marrow of genius from our
bones, then spit back but a slim
shadow of our once impeccant brilliance.

Like the unborn galaxies of celestial mothers,
like the toxic lessons of a distempered
youth, like the sullen, momentary terror of a
child before sleep: let it be said that we
are forgotten.

Let it be said that it is as though we never were,
that the banshee curses we have screamed at the
horrors and the inequities we have witnessed
are for naught, are
disappeared, are into the ether ****** until
the great unknowable beyond has become
the altar of our yesterdays, forgiving the
domain of God and forgetting that of man:
show me a man of faith and I will show
you one of fear; man the animal, the scourge,
man the fiend who cannot forgive, merely
erase the memory and think not of the
transgressions done to him

Forget us and we will forget
what you have done to us;
but do not ask us to forgive the
pillage of our sacred rights, to forgive
the devolution of our ideas into the mire
of the ordinary, to forgive at all- No
man is not an animal who forgives; leave that
to God and **** him for it.


Forget we ever were; it is a greater kindness
than to remember the mutant bile we will become.


All of which is to say this:

Earlier I wandered outside and heard cries
behind the closed doors that guard our loyal lies
and this boy sitting near with a gold hooped ear
called it a ghost town
then took another drag and tears
slipped past his locked up frown.
I'll never know his name

Ethereal Theories and Rituals
By Rosicrucian's and Masons
And The Knights Templar
Secrets whispered in listening Ears
Bound to Silence by unknown Fears
Symbolic  Accoutrements Adorn
Compass, Cross, Aprons and Horn
Secret Rituals done in Dark Shadows
Robed Members with Incense and Candles
Perform ancient Tomes with Canticles
Reciting Century old Chants of Words
Enarmed with Pike Shield and Sword
Perpetuated through the Centuries
All Carried out in total Secrecy.....1/19/15

up from luminous dream,
in the soft hours
of deep night's thrall
suddenly discovering
I am in
          our small corridor,
no longer
                  a narrow hall
for now, to my wonder
it is stretched into
milky-way cathedral
walls robed in
flashes of
     lit-up nostalgia
                 on black
I float, eyes wide
mind open, a-light
naked skin splashed in
the cool nocturnal breath
and before me,
    a vast gallery
          of memories:
faces in frames,
some long gone
some now turned from
round baby cheeks into
vibrant adolescent beauty
delicate curls on toddlers
now muscular,
                fire-talking angels
ancestors who I never knew
but who I am named for
stare in sepia elegance
their eyes
piercing my soul
I am a warrioress
clothed in memories'
sub-conscious fabric
my weapons,
the love
that backs me up
so full it oozes out
            from the ether
spews from geysers
soaks up through
                      the earth
stains beaten feet
my fingers feel it
in strokes of
wind-whipped canticles
generations standing
behind me,
before me
ready to rise
holding staffs
live epitaphs
ready to split the rock

My center is lit up in
past and present voices
                 echoing prayers
I feel them in my
            heart-tunnels,
                     reverberating
they turn
future ponderings
into endless possibilities
I let them all in,
absorbing strength
into deep tissue
and the hell in my spine
opens its scars
like
    flowers of
               the
                  night

St. Frances

replays his eyelashes ,

zeroing down on

the drifting continents--

of their native Country.

as spot on canticles phantom--

leaves pressed by light

to a forest floor.

“With what stillness at last you appear in the valley,
Join your divine sounds filling the empty vessels of night,
As pillages silently alight upon the shrine you behold,
First sunlight reaches down to touch the tips of pedals,

Her eminent auspicious arm band lusters dulcet canticles,
Sublime reaches things with aptitude able to shrill aft,
Dwells of brilliant wires laurels hymns devout in tune,
May we soon again renew that song singing endlessly?

Abaft her green eyes omens mayhap as emissary divine,
The bewildered by visions apparitions beside a hidden perch,
It seems that the resonance of a dove calls from far away,
Placid content sung before the colored cathedra naiad,

Fronds not ado had not noticed the presence of a naiad,
I know not where this solemn revelry odyssey would end,
My conscious mind we have much to discuss young naiad,
I abiding with heath musing carried by the scent afore me,  

Inexorable time that passes quickly as time has stride away,
Sing endless morn of light with the naiad piqued at my soul,
Steadfast heart draws me out of labyrinth and takes Naiad hand”
  By Andrew Guzaldo 1/04/2019 ©

You didn't say you loved men with suits
dressed as barflys, buzzing around the counter
for that one last drink. Home a memory slushed
in ice cubes and excuses.

You didn't say either, you needed a sunday church- goer
dressed in a grey suit of psalms and canticles
and ropes of revelation wonders
which would send you scampering to the pages
of eternal life, wisdom and penitence.

You didn't say that you wanted a one-eyed wonder
with the other eye permanently fixed
on butts and guts, ***** and tubes
and one night stands in a circus tent
of  innuendos.

You did say, however, that you wanted
a quiet life, of roses and candlelight dinners
and wine chilling in a bucket of excuses
of fun and frolic and fame
and when I married you,
you danced the night off
in satin, confetti and cake and whatever
and I admired your mother
in her wonderful
up
lifting
dress.

I married right.

Author Notes

Joking.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 23 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11561722-Ceremony-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.UDj0xs1j.dpuf

My beloved, the desert sand and I are alike
Prostrating and burning since our painful birth,
Where from we rippled through a roving death,
While love shades our existence at bask

We drink the sun a fake water light,
And thirsty freedom creeps to mirage's bound,
And pride moans with a cry of squalls' sound,    
While love cuddles our thoughts close and tight.

My beloved, the desert sand and I are ineligible,
Drifted and assaulted and broken up into  particles,
And carried away on echoes of discordant canticles,
Where love remains truthful for the negligible.

My beloved, the desert and I are a color of a mould
Deliberately chosen to adorn beauty and free fingers
For those who wish, the meek sweet strangers
Are melted to keep true love audacious and bold.

Salt-grain-taken greetings

from the land of curmudgeons,

powwow in these

craters of overblown canticles.

Dragon-puff proofed spirits

with the matchsticks of nigh-nights...

till we add eyes to the lambs of

Johnny from Patmos.

We can disturb the peace, till it

spews war from windows--gag

reflexes of great purges.

Catching venom samples in our

plastic cups, for posterity's telltale tipples.

Etching paralysis through deadlocked

saints and sinners.

May the penumbra of your green eyes ogling gently,
You have left me with this secret in my soul,
May I recount to you an image of you before me?
Jollity as of a magnificent art painting of innocence,

There you were susurrated in reciting a canticle,
Acute feelings in my heart as the respite end,
As you spoke the words spiraled over your tongue,
Radiates over your lips I am laced in your rapture,

Your eyes are my guide to stay always by your side,
This love will never be replaced I’m born to love you,
I shall pirouette a tale for you of star studded loves,
I suspire for you my love for you is perpetually yours,

My love for you I have found your smile is my light,
Wreathed like a web of intensely yearning desire,
As warm as the west winds blow with sunsets heat,
Blossomed in canticles as it breaks into an eruption,

As we cling closer before a festive ligature of flames,
Inebriated with our own artistic designs of pure love,
I embark as a sail into virtuous commonage of our desires,
I shall commune to you in all silence in all passion,

Luminously bright and pure as a star lit night,
Reticence with halcyon moments of our passions”
                              By AG 05/10 2018 ©

Some diadochi came escaping from the Vóreios of Zefian, the ships of Boeotia married the dynastic of the new progenies of their infants, who prepared them for the fourth Bestiary, which in turn also escaped from the third Bestiary of the bear that tore apart everything that presented itself, within its claws and its jaws. The third imperialist beast of the bestiary was Hellenistic; It had bear claws and crushed the fish of the Aegean Sea with its fangs, this, in turn, tried to grab the dragon's back with its snout with the bear's paws and the feline's steel claws to stretch them over its lion's jaws, unleashing the inter-bestiary that severed the parallelism of the Amphictyony and the Apocalypse, summoning Alexander the Great to revive him from his larnax in the highest Prophet Ilias, this will entail the ablution of his soul and appropriation of his new empire of the Seventh Heaven to atone for all the atrocities of his empire of Blood and Corruption. Alexander the Great was aware of the existential drama of eternity for him, in order to aspire to be anointed as a Converted King and dispense with the root of the inter-bestiary in the claws of the bear with the claws of steel of the lion of the fourth bestiary. They all sailed by one major mast starting from the Delphic prophecy of Herophile, which transfigured the Trojan chronology by more island resources into dramatic new deity cultures with over twelve deities which had to include one more of the demi-god Vernarth totally dissuaded from the plague of Aristaeus in great dishonor due to the taxonomic Animalia that was in its vanguard, re-leveling the nuanced skies, also the oceans that were erected mostly on the level of Hisarlik with thirty-three meters above sea level, plus as many from the cavern to 269, and under the Prophet Ilias of 798 as a consequence of parallel parapsychology with Troy. The theological transcendental civilizing mission trembled to the Tempe valley, Thessaly specifically in the small valley in the Agia Paraskevi church, for altars that will return the ancestral domains of the locality to their voices near the Arethusa fountain. From here they will triangulate the libertarian magnificence of the animality of the bees of Gethsemane for the reciprocal of the source of Castalia, up to the Source of life on Patmos as the second coming of Jesus. From where Eurydice will always flee as she once was away from Aristaeus, so as not to be bitten by the serpent. All this transcription of the double consequence of immortal Eurydice brought gifts for each component of the Hexagonal Primogeniture, making sure that Aristeo's bees did not die, being saved by Vernarth's bees, who redoubled submythology, hanging on it as a parallel classical narrative in the construction of the Duoverse under the Áullos Kósmos. The three sources were unified with Vóreios, becoming the patrimony of the Moshaic gods for the good of an outstanding Mythological virtue with sub-mythological parallelism, with gods conditioned in the rabbinic divinity. They undertook the glamorous descent with the vapors of Delphi with their ethanol, alleviating Alikantus towards the pilgrim resulting from his connotation of a taurine steed close to a ram, but of Delphic psychic magnetism saving potential victims with the repeal of the beekeeping world of Aristaeus.

The gods of Faith went hand in hand, in some cases, they did not recognize their gender or status, but rather the divine and ineffable condition of the unrepentant Seventh Heaven, ad libitum of Titania as a mental abstraction of pro-Olympic labyrinths, which have not born under the eaves of it. Spring and winter came arrogating themselves in all the rapes and abductions of the flowers that would not germinate, and that would go away due to the promiscuous twilight that was made of dawn in some flowers that did germinate on the defenseless edge. The converted Alexander the Great caressed the tunic that he looked at more than the one used by the maiden, he looked towards his own chlamys that did not make him helpless from his gaze in the ability to transform into a Converted King, almost like a beautiful celestial lion after leaving the libidinous gestures of Astarte as a foreign goddess and mother of the lift that made her doubt the rain that was refined as a gregarious hostess in celibate women who tried in outbursts of Alexander the Great by removing Astarte's veil of darkness, in cases of lost loves of the transcript Forest of Hylates, or in the awakening of the Apennines when it was the trophy of a felid winged tetra in the rooms of the runaway Bayard of Charlemagne.

The rain bathed millennia that traveled from the boreal of Vóreios to the insane Argive spaces in the Peloponnese where the first maiden hangs her braids sixteen times to forty times more, before all the brides who stay awake in the hours that have not sworn eternal misogyny. Spring served winter mead with sweet late-harvest wine from the valley of the Sharon plain, they embraced by the chamsin, squabbling in the sand that Zefian had hoarded before enchanted by the interval of Delphi. The north and south forks dried up the cobblestones of the dusty ground, where the chamsin reverberated suffering for more than forty-six weeks, making light prey on the song of the three sources of Life, the Castalia and the source of Arethusa. A solemn red stain could be seen on the little sky that blinded the chairs that held the intramurals of the wind tunnel, breathing on the chamsin turning it into murals of dust forced to channel it and always be levitating in the gushes that shelled drops of rain, and sand in the disturbed electrical animations that made him possessed in the spiers at the mere tone of liquid marble in which they already spoke of Hellenic modernity of barbarism of the Ruah Qadím, banishing the spire from the east wind for fifty days. The lights and festivities could be seen illuminating from the feared height when descending from the diminished light of the amplified candle; everything resembled a dwelling where everyone was seated at a long table that had no end in the center of seven candlesticks, seven bread baskets, with a chalice, everyone gossiping along with the bees of Gethsemane that did everything in their glosses and nectars that they celebrated in the mansions gleaming with the transit of the muffins of San Juan and its Hexagonal. Raeder clung to the red and blue Gerakis with gold seams that talked of dining and their oblate.

They began to sit away from the cruel gods of those gods who deny their children who were engendered by the cruelest and most chaste reconversion by staying on Olympus as guests, as opposed to sitting at this free table of the very well-valued elixir with the deities invited Phrygian women, who only laughed and favored the secrecy of the bread of eternity, and well-being that was subject to the conscious tolerance of who await a lavish banquet on a table in these conditions with mood and prolonged perspective and tablecloths of penance and cross in exotic chores. They drank the hanging sheep on the branches of the fruits that hung from the cornucopia, and the baking that altered the enzymes of some harsh dispute against Asia, which Leiak concocted with benevolent sorcery by giving it sip water from the drinking sea of Asia Minor. in front of illuminated Troy. The table is made of seven bread baskets, seven mistletoes that escorted the gluten bread that was sprinkled by Persephone's strong winds as she fell hastily and longing to meet Demeter; she is picking it up from the gale with her feet pulverizing the soft grains of Hapalos Artos, with goat's milk and olives that she would anoint on the very nails of her daughter Persephone of hers when cleaning them with white leaves of the dough fluffy It used to be called Cappadocia yeast until it reached the edges of the noble bread that were installed on the table as Lakhma bread as a metaphysic of the Eucharist that took place on the white tablecloth that shrank every time it was taken as domestic bread when rolled in the angry parts of the Mataki tablecloth, for healings that continue from the protective actions of those who take advantage of a good alliance of water, and the bread on the table with bad thoughts that anger the battered thick curtains of abundance and prosperity of the ill had. The Iaspis or Jaspers resembled supra scalded as of natural belonging and shimmering authenticity in the rarity that did nothing more than make buffoons from Southeast Asia and not from Asia Minor. The greenish flashes spoke of life at full strength to fit followed by a wisp of flash deposited by Zefian coming and gliding in the seasonal, holding on to some veins of the Alikantus sapphire eyes that were adapted to sipping from the dense spring that floated through the waves. The atmosphere of the Mataki, to later pour it into the chalices absorbed by Leiak's sorcery, speaking of superior lapses of any known numeral but the seventieth preceding the current one. This martyrdom of the Mataki made Leiak's esophagus secrete with the desire of a sommelier who sips the distilled water from the ravines over the chalices that lessened the badly criminal cruelty of those who do not taste the food for another dinner, congratulations if there was a failure of the Caucasus, where elixirs of mixed and sanctified muscatel wine are brought out under the table of San Juan. Everything was of ascending ambition for any liver who coveted this table of Mataki for whom he cordoned off the mountains and made those of the valleys embrace each other, for the uniqueness of the Dodecanese islands. All of those who let go of their shyness and did not allow them to refer to drinking or eating deposed by paying sacred attention to Zefian when he arrived on Patmos as a physical, and not spiritual taste, becoming effective in those who toast with muscatel for all the star maidens who followed him above, violating the seals that held them prisoner, then just then the eye of the Iaspis was made of the karats for its recalculation, subjecting them to the safeguard to signify and meet at this time between seven polyélaios, and seven discopotira immediately to the bag of the phasmatemporos or Enchanted Paneros to taste Self-corrections were approaching with the necromancies of Leiak, they took the seven candlesticks or Polyélaios, and the seven chalices or Diskopótira immediately to the bags of the Fasmatemporos or bread basket, the crimes were archaically repositioned in this Mataki tablecloth enchanted by Leiak, the sin was self-corrected in the parallel line of slip doubly marked as a sin of omission, and concessional violation of the desert's desire to self-correct fully empty having hands with wax from the candelabrum of Kerós' spell or wax made by the bees of Aristaeus to please the avatars present at this inaugural banquet, for libations that spilled part of the lipoids of the bees of Gethsemane, along with those of Aristeo to clean the ground mixed with parasitic spiders that ****** the milk that fell from their rituals. By nightfall of the third dream, the Mataki was wrinkled by thousands of leg joints from mating arachnids from the spider's trochanter drenched in milk and Corinthian wine.

The precautionary did not wake them from the third sleep when they had just broken the bread and made the libation for the first time with alcuzas that shone superimposed on the icons of the Attic vases, here is the lavish clothing of the entomological world under thousands of overloaded spiders in the Mataki, and it is overloaded on the oak inn that supported it towards the entirety of the Tagmati in the formation of a model of hoplite spiders that would transform into specialized units formed by the deprecation of the bees of Aristeo by balancing the unevenness of the tables by attaching them with the figured beards in the icons of the vases, where they saw these images of the future and past with the Tagmati with Byzantine expressions of Constantine V, and with Philip II dispensing financing for the new military uniform of the hoplites completely financed by the Greek coffers, naming him hegemon of the Amphictyony after Philip entered central Greece and won the battle from Chaeronea (338 BC) to the Thebans and Athenian allies, here seven thousand of the fallen Athenian and Theban allies graced the figure of Demosthenes, for new vessels encrypted with Philip's iconic images "Lover of Steeds" where a spear crosses hearts in the offspring of his horses in his heart too, wronged by the page Pausanias of Oréstide as royal guard. Gradually the table was made with more guests represented in the numismatics that ran through the drag of the cornucopia, and in the majolicas that classified the blood represented right there on free floors to self-correct for all the ****** campaign carried out by Philip and his corrupt but unifying mission to dissuade providential enemies unworthy of sitting at the historical table of the Amphictyony remembered in these vessels, on top of the Mataki that absorbed liters and liters per second of the blood that was drained by the description made of the hoplite representatives, who for the first time They once sat next to the close track record of a hegemon. The Sibyls arrived commanded by the Herophile Delphic, they were served wine of conjectured blood reverted from the Mataki but from the ground preceded the greatest libation on spring propination equipment that made amnesty bonds where everything reigned for self-correction of the brutality of the symposiums, where nothing made to have Bearing in mind what would happen to Vernarth's stipend, he was still delighted to see more guests come up from the wind tunnel of the Profitis Ilias that expelled them.

The ashamed gods hid behind the candlesticks that shone with the ****** waxes of Aristaeus, and the polis that harvested the Sponde, sipping the effluvia of Persephone in the meeting of the canticles with her mother, pouring out the earthly gynaeceum that awaits the ceremonial, before only those who observe and correct themselves. Spray water fell from tidal waves from the Aegean with throats plagued by a ravenous and invasive rain of flavonoid metabolites; of the plants that poured down the gorge that Demeter burst upon, flat and monumental goblets for all who arrived with skillful fists to give rise to the mixed consumption of libation with essences of the sleet turned into the blood for the chalices on the table next to the Mataki, which began to replenish pure essence of necromancy to start with the suppressions of evil eyes on the hoplites that began to pierce them and protect them from a certain visual intoxication.

As they headed for the roadstead of Skalá he was eclipsed just as he had been predestined by Wonthelimar. They had contravened with Apollo after coming from his winter appointments in Hyperborea, he came to meet his twin sister Artemis towards an olive tree that would be the directive of the battle of Patmia with the Zefian arrows and the Iberian Rings of Wonthelimar in the direction of the Zenit, with the first arrows of the string of the arch of predestination of the blessed land as Skalá will be, commanding and carrying the insignia of Hyperborea with Zefian and Vóreios violating the stormy East bow after addressing the sibylline oracles, which already had the date Synchronous of the Flegrean Fields, to locate the Codex Raedus n °VI of The Cumana sibyl that was found at elevation 97 of the wind tunnel when listening to these waves, very close to the sinkholes, in avidity of the Delphic Pythia with divinatory proselytes that ran through the folds of her garb, with pleats of a cerebral divinatory legion. His Cumana relativity was distended from his arrival at the Mausoleum, prophesying life for all in the passion of living together with the bodies abandoned by the souls of the Devotee, in the innocence of the soul that slips away daunted by not being desolate, between the Lilith parchment, and in the offerings of the Strigoi, for breaches of the troubling visions of the darkness of the cavern of Chauvet, by sacrificing competitive sensory-emotions of the malefic Votum of Lilith. Only one can exist as an inviolable part of chaste Wonthelimar tradition, groping the Xiphos with human sheepskins, tectonic offerings, and fringing the altitude 103 of the Strigoi wind tunnel. After writing the 9 books of the Synoptic of Rome and of King Tarquin who rejected it until the last three books that the Sybilla had burned were awarded, after having challenged the six that made up the compendium that Apollo had written for the approval of Rome.

After they distanced themselves from the contravention of Apollo and Artemis to the southern east-west magentism. They would carry their belongings with the "The Ibic Rings", which would be the transmigration towards the cardinals and points where the Megaron of Vernarth was going to be exactly after the battle, arguing that the Zefian phalanxes would be ordered in Sintropia and organic chaos in Patmos, where Pythagorean proportions would be made in essences of numbers that idly advanced in the temporal steps of Wonthelimar that mobile was made of religious Saetas and of the Mercurial Ambrosia of the Cinnabar, to help him with the most insightful points of the Constellation of Capricornus. Zefian's tendency was to blatantly delight afterward to pull the bowstring, to spooky existence; presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate Áullos Kósmos Megarón! for calm courts imposed from a cosmos, who were directed by committing themselves to the will of a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, as Roman bilocation Vestal Virgins, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-fable alive that rebels in the arrows that still They did not fall, not knowing of their whereabouts, waiting for Apollo to launch them, like plates or serial hosts that were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the hyperboric Duoverse contravened organic, vigorous and anti-curd even in the divine origin celestial as a *****-ovule parameter, rather in aeonical instances in the furnace of Hestia, running eternities into vast volumes of light-years. From the medrones of Wonthelimar's antler, regenerative sobs grow in the Ibic Rings that were native to the Nyons massifs, taking hold in the Seven Ibic Rings. Before reaching the Battle of Patmia.

Ibico 1: "The first one was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and brought purity, for all who needed him and were visiting in the dark, then he would find the light when he left the cave alive if he was accepted."

Ibico 2: ”He was guided by Vlad Strigoi in the priesthood center of his shelves with the Chiroptera, and others of the mercurial ambrosia for the purpose of energizing the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus ”.

Ibico 3: "From the Eygues, the waters evaporated for healings of the tormented initiation processes of raising the four Zefian Arrows, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron."

Ibico 4: “This ring was from the antlers of Wonthelimar, here they wore the Oikos or threads of Gold from Orfí, for the Himatión and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a complement to Mycenae- Valdaine ”.

Ibico 5: "This piece of metal speaks of the fifth plasmatic element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to elevate it to Vernarth's neurological and Duoversal hyper brain twinned with the Mashiach."

Ibico 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns of Kafersesuh, bringing the pollinations of the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the gloom of Helleniká and Theoskepasti".

Ibico 7: “It is the grave voice of the Cinnabar and the Antiphon Benedictus, together with the Lenten fast of all the hoarse voices, which inquire about the true phoneme and photon of divine mass light, to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medron, up to the millimeter shoulder of the assembly of the square meters, which will illustrate the Acrotera del Megaron "

Once the Rings were instituted, the Arrows after the Codex VI of the Sybilla Cumea, everything would turn green in the direct plane from Grikos to Skalá, causing splendor in the Emotional Subclavian Kabbalah; bringing on himself his own external atmosphere of Zohar Light attracted by Saint John the Apostle, expressing with this phenomenon the scene of physical mysticism, to induce the archetype of great volume of the Kabbalah pipeline between both points, mobilizing between these two nodes the Vital homeostatic of light and divine blood that would be transported by the dualistic subclavian that could be seen in the floods or roads that led to the place of confrontation, displaying the Greco-Judaic vital of language that poured through these fistulas of light to overcome the red blood cell bloom; That would be portions of the presence of divine blood of the Mashiach, where every arrow has its focus as is the Torah in fulfillment of a sky adorned that was positioned on the figure that was sniffed by the essence of a skeleton exempt from a Subclavian, that only with it and the emotion of Saint John could be exclusively Kabbalistic only transported by the Zohar light that Vernarth and his phalanxes offered in anticipation of their Misná, and not of the nocturnal powers that exiled the luminous circles that left them circumscribed by the full moon that it would unite him around its intensity, and that it would degrade into the Platonic theocentric. The works of projecting indeterminate successism the uncontrolled defragmentation by the higher orders where their unity could be reiterated in the mystical memory, over the divine irresolution of right and inconclusiveness of the deductions of the full moon, therefore the Subclavia of Kabbalah will exonerate these ambiguous emanations, to starting from the ordering of the ibic rings, procreating in them the order that is not replaced or reversed.

Ibic 1: "The first one was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and brought purity, for all who needed him and were visiting in the dark, then he would find the light when he left the cave alive if he was accepted." It indicated the Kabbalah of Saint John of everything known and remained stable given its transcendent radiance with the cosmic energy that was usual, preserving, and at the same time externalizing the absolute presence, purity towards the stage of absolute admiration, while stillness and silence he was fascinated by the creatures of the expectation of an extra personal Vernarth after the eschatological of his soul.

Ibic 2: ”He was guided by Vlad Strigoi in the priesthood center of his shelves with the Chiroptera, and others of the mercurial ambrosia for the purpose of energizing the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus ”. It was consigned to the superior spheres of the eons and ignorance of the destiny of the lamas of those who would go to collate in this affront of Patmia, relating Gnostic tendencies with the epigraphy and materiality of the Cinnabar as the elemental computer of the Vas Auric of Limassol and the canticles. from the esoteric melisma of Vlad Strigoi.

Ibic 3: "From the Eygues, the water evaporated for the healings of the tormented initiation processes of raising the four Zefian arrows, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron." All rivers flow through the Kabbalistic of the Subclavian, for she upholds the correct uses of the pastoral sermon that would reach the venerated elevation space of the Megaron with her homiletics.

Ibic 4: “This ring was from the antlers of Wonthelimar, here they wore the Oikos or threads of Gold from Orfí, for the Himatión and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a complement to Mycenae- Valdaine ”. The centrifugal speed of the rings yearned for other geographical heights of Valdaine, near Chauvet with the epigraph saying that “all vibrations lead to the Onyon massif, in the mystique of beings that will always lift the trees of the growth variants, such as those that are the medron in the antlers of Wonthelimar.

Ibic 5: "This piece of metal speaks of the fifth plasmatic element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to elevate it to Vernarth's neurological and Duoversal hyper brain twinned with the Mashiach." Universes can be divided into numbers or letters all interacting alphanumeric. The multidimensional Duoverse stipulates that Vernarthian submitology flatters the Kabbalah that clings to the stria of St. John the Apostle "Duoverse" The new universe of Vernarth being apologetic, Jewish and also Hellenistic, therefore skews from our creator and all creative thought theological in all its creation. Divine providence and grace are and will be their hierarchies to have a universal kinship with the Zig Zag Universe that migrated to Duoverso Zig Zag, for the providence of divine powers, who are in this range mercifully allowing and forbidding the splendid power of royalty of manifested Christian meditation.

Ibic 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns of Kafersesuh, bringing the pollinations of the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the gloom of Helleniká and Theoskepasti". The sixth medron or somatotropic nutrient, speaks of a vegetality converted into the tree of life consecutively as the cartilage of the antlers, which was Kabbalah of the random pollinations, but messianic centered in the radius of the islands of Kímolos. The female figure of the twilights was saturated with pollinations of Lepidoptera that looked like their angelic cloudscape.

Ibic 7: “It is the grave voice of the Cinnabar and the Antiphon Benedictus, together with the Lenten fast of all the aphonic lexicologies, which inquire about the true phoneme and photon of divine mass light, to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise according to the final medron of somatotrophic growth, up to the millimeter shoulder of the assembly of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera del Megaron ”the euphony of the preservation and transformation of Cinnabar will contract the vocalizations or Antiphons in hexameters, as Voices of restructured Sybilas materializing from the six books cremated by Sybilla Cumea, trying to reissue them in the circle of contemplation.

There is alchemy in  Blackbird song
an opal paean through early doors
of infant sensing
Sprung limpets of the broad leaf crowns,
Will, heliacal, from chimney spires,
A crocus bowl of canticles
unwritten in the Latin blush.
of uncorrupted eloquence.

There is prophecy in blackbird song
from red Victoriana glance
those rippled satin auguries.
Sloe philharmonic oracles
untie the mellow chords of rest,
to sing as they have always sung
in allegories of days to come
beyond the headstone houses.

Dramaturgy

  there is more to understand
  in this fire of a thing --

  hauled out of the dark is this
  lightsome body, a tumult
  of a moment shaping into something
  true and seizable.

  in the siege of this haloed hour,
  we, in the dark, ***** still
  these passing moments

  the rise of your heady perfume
  choking the smoke billowing,
  curling on our brows
  raking the tranquil in this moment
  of askance,
  wringing enigmas of their
  sublimities,
my body bettered with graciousness,
   etcetera, etcetera

  of letting you go where you ought
    to be and to take you as a useless thing
  demands to be blandly usurped,
  
  that no superfluous beauty could ever
      configure our analogue adjustments,
  and that there is more to this fire than
    just the heat of it, the drone that seeks
     with a morbid following,
   or the brutal truth that

   a pain may never be shared
    or equally felt, poised in solitariness
   and delighting with wine, lonesomely
      yet never despairingly,
   a silence that brands our souls
     with bounteous canticles of how

    love's meant to be done alone.

"Acquiescence of a Poet dips his pen in an inkwell,  
And secretes his or her fervor and soul ,
With alluring  words of  nuance,
That tell a story of emotion of,
Love sadness and more in  canticles or sonnets,
That one will never FORGET"

Part I.

The Pathways sing beneath the walk
The Stones all gibber and chatter
Even the Hills will seem to talk
But God is ever silent.

The Sun above does gladly shout
The Moon is ever laughing
Nocturnal Stars are calling out
But God is yet still silent.

The Rivers dance while they converse
The Trees cry out rejoicing
The Flow’rs and Shrubs repeat their verse
So why is God yet silent?

The warm, dark Earth sounds forth a chant
Great Waters deep are whispering
Nature declares, she won’t recant
That God is ever silent.

To hear that Voice divine I long
And yet my weeping is ignored
O God! do not reject my song
Do not remain still silent!

One syllable worth any price
“Repent ye now”,
The Angelic advice,
“Embrace God’s holy silence.”

So now, of succour sweet despairing
With girded ***** and bracèd nerves
For trials fierce and pains preparing
I wade into God’s silence.

Part II.

The roaring wheel of brass and fire which turns
Clamoring discontented mind
When hearts a break with noise would find
Rams into the sanctuary and burns.

Titan of confusion, shrieking manic
Hurling anxious darts left and right
Bitter fear of sweet, quiet night
Raises pale banners in rebel panic.

And then is swallowed by the silence of God.

And then that vicious imp, empty as smoke
With shadow flares and eye-hooks small
****** still ears with his plaintive call
Stirring bare phantoms better left unwoke.

Reveler in flight, retreating gladly
One second seen, another vanished
When from vision’s corner banished
In dawn’s clear light melts, moans, and mourns sadly.

And then is swallowed by the silence of God.

Next comes the whispering harpy snarling
With siren’s chant and feathered dance,
Star-lit promise of dire romance,
Ev’ry poison played to snare her darling.

With pitfalls, traps, and terror’s bone-deep goad
She drives the frail into her arms;
Should the pilgrim despise her charms
She falls unembraced from the narrow road.

And then is swallowed by the silence of God.

Then mem’ry’s cursèd brother, roused at last
Renews and fires old sleeping fears
Unseals fountains of ancient tears
Loosing soul-deep wolves, self-war loping fast.

He sings forgotten songs of unhealed woe
Canticles of reminding pain
Recalling weakness to the brain
Parades of shame and horrors marching slow.

And then is swallowed by the silence of God.

Now stripped and shivering the sinner lies
To vain light blind, to mean pain numb
To ****** words both deaf and dumb,
All spent, undone, to Heaven weakly sighs.

Then lo! a gentl’r sun, a fairer glow,
Voice free from the burden of clay
Sure refuge of undying day
Descends to see, to touch, to heal, to know.

And ah! to be swallowed by the silence of God!

now the coming of essence--

tassels of gold dangling

from branches.

wed wide.

the heart rate of purple

coming to a dead stop...to

present the continuum of visage.

a momento, a leaf--in a ziplock bag.

welling with permanent season.

trod earth--a settling altar comprised

of truthful faces.

staring back.

canticles of revolution fit for

four ears.

profuse with secret...unhanded.

a dervish begun.

"May the penumbra of your green eyes ogling gently,
You have left me with this secret in my soul,
May I recount to you an image of you before me?
Jollity as of a magnificent art painting of innocence,

There you were susurrated in reciting a canticle,
Acute feelings in my heart as the respite end,
As you spoke the words spiraled over your tongue,
Radiates over your lips I am laced in your rapture,

Your eyes are my guide to stay always by your side,
This love will never be replaced I’m born to love you,
I shall pirouette a tale for you of star studded loves,
I suspire for you my love for you is perpetually yours,

My love for you I have found your smile is my light,
Wreathed like a web of intensely yearning desire,
As warm as the west winds blow with sunsets heat,
Blossomed in canticles as it breaks into an eruption,

As we cling closer before a festive ligature of flames,
Inebriated with our own artistic designs of pure love,
I embark as a sail into virtuous commonage of our desires,
I shall commune to you in all silence in all passion,

Luminously bright and pure as a star lit night,
Reticence with halcyon moments of our passions”
                              By Andrew Guzaldo 05/10 2018 © HP

Descend
Like a particle of dust
…
..
.
Landing on a *****,
A steep curve sharp as a knife.
A white car, backpacks, a guitar,
Sing life to the rims of the empty canyon
The sound returns  
It echoes like circadian drums.
A chasm, a fold in your bedsheets,
The space between you and your mother.
It divulges words of a great marble book,
Dialogue in dissonance
Pages upturned, eager to be read by the sun.
We run our hands along  
Stories carved in this valley of jaggedness,
Seeking horizon lines  
Under oceans of stone.
Mist falls
Through the sleeping cusp
between two gray shale wings
of the deepest river canyon,
Weaving strings of glacial waters
Like topographic canticles.

An internal breathlessness
Guides us by maps written
In shards of glass.
Rhythms of instinct
Pull me forward
Yet the blade on her hand
Collapses me in
profound solitude.
.

I wonder do you remember

that cold September?

how you dwelled inside your castle

thinking about me,

Oh how you once seemed to love

watching me out from my bedroom window

you watch while my tears would fall

that is what you loved most of all.

they would remind you of the time

when you had all control over me

like a remembrance of murmurings

the canticles lights that spark like ashes in your eyes,

oh how memories in darken dreams come alive

what appeared to sleep suddenly awakes with time

Dark Angel, you had never truly been forgotten

You will always be remembered every September.

come tomorrow I shall try to forget

Oh how I do regrate ever knowing you

every night I do sleep and dream of you

your eyes are always on me

your touch is cold

your name is always calling me in vain

Do you remember that cold September?

When you had taken me down in silence

made my life a living Hell

Will, I will never forget you.

- Judy Emery © 1984
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery

A trembling pale girl enters a stone
fortress of faith, buttresses flying outside,
in hopes of finding a way to atone,
find an anchor in the world’s shifting tides.

This Gothic cathedral lifts her wet eyes
to its heavenward ribbed vaulted peaks.
They’re painted deep blue like starry skies
in remembrance of what Creator to old Abraham speaks.

There, where each vault’s stone arches crisscross,
shines out like a clear harvest moon
the radiant burst of a gilded boss
that gleams in the recessing gloom.

Adrift in this vast and sacred space,
thin curls of burnt incense waft by
to fill the young girl with scented grace
whilst she sits in this place with wide eyes.

The gold on the stone catches candlelight
and reflects its flickering blaze
as the quiet chanting of canticles might
let her senses be softly amazed.

While the twinkling of these numerous stars
fills her rediscovered heavens within,
the tides of her fears recede past sandbars,
leaving puddles of patience therein.

The promise made by the Father long ago —
Abraham’s children would a galaxy be —
finds fulfillment in this starry girl now aglow
since from her darkness she’s tenderly freed.

She found her anchor and cast it up to the skies.
It caught a bright star and held fast.
New dawn lit inside her in quiet reply,
telling her no tides of tempest can last.

(after E. E. Cummings)

ALPHA

time's mightiest dream
fills unspace with lowliest freedom

we
choose
NOW to act
in alabaster innocence
we
yes the day
its
magnanimous
blessing

we
skip through
greenvanishing
meadows
leap to
pale
indifferent skies
(while memory
whittles
away
the past)

we
carry little
people's
humility;clouds
drain heavens
gates
of slippery/silver
tears

languid lovers lie
in curly locked *****
their coitus
the rasping
friction
of IMmortality

BETA

onetwothreefour equations
rewrite relativity,tumble down
puddle-licious
wormholes

Euclid inhabits
an ice-oceles
triangle
draws line
A to be

pockmarked
moonrocks
pummel
Atlantis

the universe dances
to canticles
of calculus
out-Zorbaing the greek
outshining
the starz

God lurks
in
unlucky alleyways
plays dice
with
Einstein's
willowy
hair  today
de-parts tomorrow

clumsy rolls
of
snake eyes
whistle down
celestial canyons
signals bleep
f  a  r.....    a  n  d .....  w  e  e

OMEGA

present's presence
courages the future
of illusions
(the
blind
heart
bleeds)
on a magician's
rickety stage

quarters sprout
behind junior's ears
magic,tricks
cut in half
cambridgeladies
faint from vapors
peddled by the
goat-footed
good humor man

kings horses
pull the velvet
curtains
a-side

sunken sailors
saLUTE:
scribble
on the sawdust
ocean
(a
n
c
h
o
r
s
a
w
e
i
g
h)
floor

schools of
spermatozoa
break-dance
toward
a/******/****

fluids flow
freely
to hard
hoed rows

cherubs:chime
a flowerblooms

time turn
s  in its
s l e e p

freedom
kisses awake
a  N  E  W  dawn

dreams
swirl
in the
mirror

a poet pens
his epitaph
the soul's eyes
BLINK

unspace floods
with;beauty

(after E. E. Cummings)

ALPHA

time's mightiest dream
fills unspace with lowliest freedom

we
choose
NOW to act
in alabaster innocence
we
yes the day
its
magnanimous
blessing

we
skip through
greenvanishing
meadows
leap to
pale
indifferent skies
(while memory
whittles
away
the past)

we
carry little
people's
humility;clouds
drain heavens
gates
of slippery/silver
tears

languid lovers lie
in curly locked *****
their coitus
the rasping
friction
of IMmortality

BETA

onetwothreefour equations
rewrite relativity, tumble down
puddle-licious
wormholes

Euclid inhabits
an ice-oceles
triangle
draws line
A to be

pockmarked
moonrocks
pummel
Atlantis

the universe dances
to canticles
of calculus
out-Zorbaing the greek
outshining
the starz

God lurks
in
unlucky alleyways
plays dice
with
Einstein's
willowy
hair  today
de-parts tomorrow

clumsy rolls
of
snake eyes
whistle down
celestial canyons
signals bleep
f  a  r.....    a  n  d.....  w  e  e

OMEGA

present's presence
courages the future
of illusions
(the
blind
heart
bleeds)
on a magician's
rickety stage

quarters sprout
behind junior's ears
magic, tricks
cut in half
cambridgeladies
faint from vapors
peddled by the
goat-footed
good humor man

kings horses
pull the velvet
curtains
a-side

sunken sailors
saLUTE:
scribble
on the sawdust
ocean
(a
n
c
h
o
r
s
a
w
e
i
g
h)
floor

schools of
spermatozoa
break-dance
toward
a/******/****

fluids flow
freely
to hard
hoed rows

cherubs:chime
a flowerblooms

time turn
s  in its
s l e e p

freedom
kisses awake
a  N  E  W  dawn

dreams
swirl
in the
mirror

a poet pens
his epitaph
the soul's eyes
BLINK

unspace floods
with;beauty