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Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
After days of long studies comes the
days of rest. My violet dreams were
slumber-soft filled with lucent lilies
of curling flames born of ever colour
known and unknown. And I stood
in awe of them as my fears fall back
and cower in the shades of my mind.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I muse at how quickly my body
relaxed. Due to my marjoram'd
pillows and sheets of pure silk
and eiderdown? Or due to the
sips of the lavender tea in my in
my teacup decorated with a
butterfly motif?

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I remember the sips in fours as
I blew the steam from my cup;
The first sip balmed my lips.
The second soothed my throat.
The third lulled my thoughts.
The fourth stilled my soul.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though the tea, the pillow and
sheets were had a hand in my nightly
rest, the real answer is on my brow -
for it was when the night's cool air
blew, and where you placed your
sweet Morphean kiss.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a smile, I wake.
Sat on my golden summer throne
located in my marble gazebo; a
jewel in my private garden. With
thin caryatid pillars, draped in
fine doric chitons encircling me.
Their sculpted limbs hold up the
frieze carved with acanthus
that has a stained glass top of
peacocks and stargazers.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The sheer curtains billow when
the eastern winds blow. By me, a
gold side table with a mirrored top
supported by three Greek key legs.
A pewter quill pen with a steel nib
and violet feather rests by its clay
inkpot; both beside a silver sinuous
nouveau vase and a small stack of
poetry books of black leather and
gilt.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Part one of my Jasmine Pearls free verse!
(Been having issues with it so I decided to break it down
and make it a collection! ^-^)
A poem dedicated to 'Jasmine Pearl' tea. Inspired y Queen Kim's wonderful 'Golden Hour' and 'Dream Child' poems. I'm very particular about herbal teas, but Jasmine is one of the many few that never fails to relax me when needed. I'm glad I met a fellow Jasmine tea lover in Queen Kim! ^-^
It was rather challenging but I overcame it! Haven't written something
like this since my university days, but I did it!
I really hope you enjoy reading it as I enjoyed writing it!
Anyone else a tea enthusiast?
Do let me know what you think!
Queen Lyn ***
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
armon May 2014
I was a no name worker bee
Yet I had a million bees all working for me
I was a caryatid, house wife, never had the life of a queen
Stole my honey from the wasps with the wax in their wings

I was a comatose burn victim
I could hear the nurses whisper sanctum sanctorum!
They fed me nutrients and cleaned my ******
They either didn’t care or they didn’t think I could hear them

I was alive when the lightning struck
But I was dead by second, to survive my luck
I wasn’t anything special
I was a mass produced individual

They had no names worth knowing
They had no future where they were going
And I never thought twice about what I did
The quiet megalomania of a caryatid

And then my patience turned to rampage
I took a page from Genghis Khan
I wanted the roaches gone
I hatched suburban escape plans
Because my angst was delayed
A generation late & afraid

Now in the presence of the gods and goddesses
And in the confidence of infinite this is
Another power grab a singularity
Another force to fight reverse polarity

I’m all about the lust and not the wander
I am the lingering presence of a long goner
I’m here to clarify the **** of daughters
The spider stink in the breath of fire

If we could **** for utility instead of a performance to showcase our species’ ability
Then we’d be hunted by viruses
The gods and goddesses with the instinct to extinct humanity

Chaos is healthy, its part of reality, essential to symmetry, like night is to day
When life is weighed on a pendulum
Like sanctum sanctorum
The delicate faberge

There isn’t anything to bother with on top of the monolith
I’m shouting mantras from the mountain peak

There isn’t any time to practice with a modern creation myth
A lullaby in a language I don’t speak
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
My white gazebo
with thin caryatid columns
and wrought iron top
on a frieze carved with small leaves
The crown jewel of dew-kissed lands
My first Tanka poem! ^-^
Tanka is considered to be the oldest form of Japanese poems. What I love about them is that they are incredibly similar to haikus!
Haikus are 5 syllables - 7 syllables - 5 syllables while Tankas are  5 syllables - 7 syllables - 5 syllables  - 7 syllables - 7 syllables.
Tankas poems are written about nature, seasons, love, sadness,  other strong emotions and events.
Here's mine! Based on an gazebo I saw in a garden once and one I envision for my growing Kingdom. I'm a lover of Greek myth and ancient architecture so I just had fun with it.
Hope you like it!
Wishing everyone a good night!
Queen Lyn ***
A harsh wind kisses my fingers into sleeping.
Blurring the movement on the toggles of an anorak,
But my eyes dart quick, oiled and fleeting,
searching for my beloved old salt, looking back.
Funny, how in those footprints,
the piercing night that bites the ears and cries
can feel as soft as sheets
washed in the light of the moon, pulled by the tide.

this darkness which surrounds us.
it makes the world one of thrashing silhouettes
And as the earth breathes in gusts
It gives calmness to a mind, to comfortably forget
this, lulled swoon of nature pulsating hits
the windows, we can't help to be animated.
we cannot be closed to it, cannot obscure it
the call of the waves that past fishermen created.

pausing, that sun-baked, sinuous arm rose
and peering through his cigarette smoke specters.
the steam of my own breathing, softly froze
As the sky illuminated my weary lenses.
the theatre of sky before us fight light polluted filling
My mind left wandering like waking sleep.
These gladiators of light bleed ochre from shining artillery,
Their particles drifting into the night's sea, so deep.
Sparks spat by suns lie suspended above me
held like dew in nets of celestial string.
as the sunlight comes peering through these
the intensity in a pinprick, unearthly passion within.
lancing the sky too are spears of my dreaming
as neon cobras strike and churn to flee.
these heaven-borne beings carving visual song
Cutting luminescent pathways into my memory.

The soundless iron giant is now still as a caryatid.
Holding me before that blacksmith showered light.
an artist plucks flaming dewdrops from the wind
illuminating my foray into this night.
I sensed a small piece of gene pierce his yang
a black taint to his overall brightness.
In my black yin a spark from him i hang
and I'm proud of the infections we posses.
As he narrates this landscape, he narrates himself.
a new side to a shape I felt I knew.
As far into feelings as his masculine paradigm delved
like a square’s seventh face, always hidden from view.
walking the beaches at night as a child, finding my similarity to my father
Hanna Baleine Jul 2014
Eyes shine bright like streetlights against
The brisk air of October;
She is the caryatid of the night.
But the veins of the city have long been abandoned,
No more circulation to revive the stillborn pigments of her skin.
And so she cries a brittle tear immediately
Frosted by the breath of the night,
Staining her granite skin,
Can’t seem to lift her beaten anchor
And sink it into the cornucopia of being,
Lavished with daisies prepared to drain her salted rain.
From the dark side of the occipital ... galloping come my kind and jubilant comrades, they have been jumping and cutting the atmospheres of physical reality, after cooking my belly and my heart from stubborn wounds of unstoppable wars scary wounded slices.
Very close and dry from the dark side 3 and a half turns comes the cataract wart to the iniquity of its juice over the millions of Centilenials Writing Experiences.

On the white side of the occipital, 3 network crosses intersect with Playright Playwright, towards the hurried signs of the Writer beyond its spectrum. The soberest fear stained with bravery prosapia comes out.

 Metaphysical transfer, a capricious platform of insomniac spirit, walks 300 centuries with its feet dolled up and accommodating its semi-inclined crown sharp on its chipped shoulder of melted marble of Carrara ruin.

Preliminary Empty Transfer

Algorithm Cm, has been debating the hills like the chin of ***** maidens kneeling their outrageous non-eager emotions, neither brief as the fear frightened of releasing the beautiful vibra of the occipital color of the brave piano breaking the 300 imaginary ears of the emotion algorithm without piano of inharmonic skeptic cadaverous.

2nd transfer Preliminary Vacuum

Etrestles looks back at the Altamira wart caryatid cataract ... sees a serpentine hummingbird imbued with its sclera and grazes its feathers and the feathers ...

Later he leans to his ghostly cauliflower spectrum and returns to cross this threshold again, holding feathers in his hands saying: Since 300 centuries I have been navigating the aerial CO2 aerial ditches of the filthy world and now my brother Calamorous cauliflower prosaic ship in front of my eyes telling me If I had a brother like you, I would say come with me to cut wounded airs that I have to slice only in you lodged in the Cm Algorithm of the imagination, dietary anemia udder Holy atmosphere of the archbishop of Calixto and Calipsian blood.
When breaking the chalky limestone capita of its dimension, we will visit in this World Messiah Cauliflower. Brother of Picaflor, nodding his role Saveforest and Savespirit fraternal degeneration SOS.

3rd transverse transfer No Vacuum.
The mischievous eyes of cauliflower flying have to compensate for the world of the Cerebellum that betrays us,
That we have to be preset of spring countryside Tina Moldy.
Holy water in the jaws of ******* incense almost acunpunturial.
 
About living and surviving, of revenge and revenge ...
From Jutland the sour jerjel that shook the great extreme acro of the heraldic court for gathering thousands of restless spirits vitrineating with their hands as gamers, alpha play stationed of the severed but Sane Stoic Hamlet.

to be Continued
under to be a building experimental poetry.
Chapter VI
Strigoi frigate

In the spring of 331 a. C., Alexander left Egypt returning to the port of Tire, where his fleet was. From there he went to Antioch, crossing the valley of the Orontes River, and reached the Euphrates River at the height of Tapsaco, where he founded the city of Nicephorus to be a stronghold and deposit for army supplies. Here he learned that Darío was in Arbelas, so he crossed the Tigris and headed north along the eastern bank of the river. Vernarth's troops would depart from Tire where his fleet was located, which came from Sudpichi, from the Horcondising Empire. Legend has it that in the heights of the Gulf, when his army had been sailing, a mysterious tempest of hot winds from Hormuz broke out on his squads, at the heights of 665 miles from Um kasar, they had encountered a ship from present-day Romania . When spotting them and intervening inside this frigid ship, there was nothing but the creaking of their masts and their main **** spurring, they presented palisade curtains that came from Sighisoara / Transilvania; where the very like Vlad Tepes was sitting behind the captain's camera writing at his desk. Every so often he would take out a handkerchief to dry his ****** nose like drops of slimy, slimy jelly ink. He was writing a letter in the text of which said:

Vlad Tepes says to the Vernarth captain:
Mardiath,  his noble and loyal hussar of the sea. Head of his Gulf fleets, he came across the deck, as he turned around by the bowsprit, picked up and struck by some parasitic ropes that shone like lost thighs of gods in prayers they felt for the whistles of the wind. He approaches and descends the dark ladder stairs towards the water pump whose heresies this ship Vladiana was hanging.
“When I train myself to write saying who I am who I am, I only receive from the purulence of the multitudes, in centuries by centuries, not finding a basis to answer me. They say they do not know what to answer because there is no content that compares to those who have no Age, Life or compassion. That I only have to communicate with the Strigoi messenger articulated with the souls of the dead who come out of their graves at night to terrorize the neighborhood. That it is the same as me condemned to sail and swarm the World of the Nosferatu aristocracy, survivor of all human vanity, in all the empires of the World”

Now I know that no one will answer my thoughts. There is no ink that dares spread a comparable feather that resists my words of ammonia Strigoi, usurped from a Balinger ship to some Flemish pirates, seconded by a Panescalm barge, which was throwing 64 thousand massacred bodies of the Bubonic Plague.

Mardiath, graduated from the balinger and left her sword to Vlad next to a geographical table to find her destiny in some maiden who attends to her disorders more than her ganglia suppurate discouragement. He heads back to Tire to meet Vernarth. And her minions,  to finally head to the wild fields of Gaugamela.
On the gallon of the Macedonian Wine cruet Vlad left him a notice...:

“In order for Strigoi to leave their victims alone, seeds must be scattered with nails hidden inside them. These obsessive creatures cannot go their way without first counting the seeds by throwing the brides' lace to the altar. When they ***** with the hidden nails, they start counting again… ”

In the frenzy of his prophecies, Darius had recruited a new army after his defeat at Issos. From Babylon he advanced north, passed the left bank of the Tigris, and continued toward Arbelas as if guessing that he would never escape the Alexandrian shadow, where he established his supply and his harem. Then he directed the army to Gaugamela, a place that had a wide plain that would favor the movement of its numerous mounted troops but not on Hellenic horses with Homeric gales within reach. He even proceeded to level the terrain and remove obstacles as if emphasizing fearing that the moon would resemble holes in his strategies where his dreams would fall, turning Gaugamela into an immense field of maneuvers suitable and great and indigestible for his chariots equipped with scythes to move on the oppressor wheels.

Thirty-sixth Oases in Siwa:
Alexander Magnus after founding Alexandria he marches to the Siwa oasis, where he is proclaimed by the priests as "son of Ammon", god already identified with Zeus by the Greeks. With this, he consolidated his own divine ancestry, as a descendant of the Argéada dynasty, which went back to Heracles and, therefore, to Zeus himself.

The entire dynasty moved from its acropolis under the limits of each empire to what would be the final battle. This time Darío does not want surprises, so he arrives at the battle stage in advance. As always, he has his cavalry on the flanks, with the heavy infantry in the center and the rear. It also has more than 50 war chariots with sickles on the wheels and about 15 elephants.

Alexander launches the attack diagonally and the Persian left wing defends himself as best he can. Vernarth, Simultaneously harasses Strigoi's allegories by subordinating the Persian chariots that speedily launch upon the Macedonians. Many of the drivers are headless by the arrows of the draconian archers. The rest pass by as the Macedonian infantry opens. This strategy is complemented by a second line of heavy infantry called the Force of the Dead from in the Siwa Mountains, which receives the stray tanks, while the first line turns around and attacks them from the rear guard surrounding them. Opening a gap between the Persian lines, Alexander's cavalry managed to wedge themselves in search of Darius. As in Issos, the Persian king is stuck and unable to maneuverIn this onslaught, see how the prognosis moves more fluidly, after the textual support with Strigoi in his Balinger he was able to allow himself to advance the ellipsis of the ****** battle and more importantly of the defenders of the embolism of the tyrant and secular Gods, in his caves of lost and soul pains. Since this last festival of the Siwa soils, the events of Alexander Magnus and Vernarth can be seen.

He only separated the lashed rows of threads from the majestic Bumodos, before entering the back room of the great fight. It is now thirty-six times that he needs the therapeutic methods of Walekiria, to supply him through his veins with ****** essences to immortalize his stout columns that support the beams of the Hellenic world.  Caryatid that flows through the delta of the cries of all the heroes,  devoid of helmets under the limits to resign.

Ellipsis Tomb of the Patriarchs:
Vernarth says: You are not a vision ... nor an illusion, nor a lonely image, because if so, include my image to accompany you in this tragedy! He tells Walekiria, his seductive valhalica.
My little Walekiria, not the slightest disdain, will make me leave you halfway, we are in the same position to remove the terror that creeps through the spaces of the plain of the Gaugamela cemetery. Here we will scare away all the demons that betray our plans. Only you here in the Charioteer's particle crypt. Mardiath tied to the acacia and Alikanto spitting out more fiery fires that will reduce the unproductive paperwork. To improve that others optimize the sharp means to use to overcome the medium that has darkened all hopes. Now we are going to plot the plans that we have improvised in this barracks.

Walekiria says to him:
My mind together with my feeling make me closer to you Verbarth. It seems that now more than ever I will hold on to you more. Since our gross bodies lack any possibility of holding together.

Vernarth when leaving says to him:
Of the cosmic forms, yours Being has been hit in my box in Andromeda. Vitalizing and healthy part will strengthen what remains of your exploded mind and my elevated feeling to the ethereal worlds, will make rainbow emblems for your resentment.

To be continued… / under edition
STRIGOI FRIGATE
fray narte Nov 2021
1
i am the space expanding non-stop at the risk of losing history
and what remains of its stardust.
my sorrows expand with it; my vastness grows wider,
deeper by the day to accommodate
an uninvited houseguest.

2
i fear the act of going through my bones
like a bundle of endless, wistful letters;
some for burning.
some for throwing away.
some for breaking through
my ashen skin.

how can i be both limited and boundless —
it is no magic — just mundanely human.
the thought descends like poison eating at my backbone
until i am no more than a bygone, spineless caryatid.

3
yet again i take down the cosmos,
pick it apart
and in my hands, manage to turn it
into something distastefully prosaic —
turn it into a disassembled being.

all this wordless sadness has made me ancient. alien. unidentified.

4
i am the space expanding non-stop at the risk of losing history;
i have long stopped trying to make any sense to myself and
there is no greater joy
than to be a perplexity.

amid it all, i tiptoe back and forth
between the ice-thin parts of celestine silence
and the static ringing of incomprehensible poetry.

the ground where i stand on breaks;
i float with no direction.

5
i am the space expanding endlessly; i grow wider and deeper
to make room for vaster sorrows —
if only a sigh is enough to hold me
as i tear it all down. tear it all quietly. inward. once and for all.
if only a sigh is enough to hold me
as i implode in tragic,
breath-taking cosmic colors.
Challenged by the Augur's spell, Vernarth met with his Commanding General and invited him not to be separated beyond the expanses that were fringed by a docile silver lunar wind. They congregate and get close to each other.

Vernarth Says: “What rejoicing surrounds my being, having in this contiguous night our Consecrated Falangists, and the cavalry sleeping in Machiavellian dreams as they fall into their sink, even in their parishioners and in their steeds, so that they do not lose their stinging eyes in the press drain. All spend the night as if they were lying in peaceful ejidos and on the edge of the belly of Chaos, exhorting hallucinations to those who doze on the kraníon rug, with the right utopias of Erebo. Dozing like cataclysmic entities upwards and rubbing himself in Orion, with a pythonic expression and changing his unspoken. Leaving barely a space back to change from caryatid triface tackling secondary Aorion mirages, turned into a decimated captivating Muse, for a desirable delight treating them as his heirs, watching them flatter with their scarlet cape and inscribed with Lambda in your Gaugamela magazine ”. Alexander Magnus responds: “I know that the satirized arms reign by the ****** of Amun, bursting your eyes-ears and eyes-unheard folded in the glaucoma martyrdom of Anubis, re-transforming the constellation of Orion after we rise to annihilate them in this silent furrow, already besieged! Meanwhile, I have to wash your most enema phrases with a thousand storms, more than the restrained bizarre that shelters in my corrected hemisphere, unbalancing the naked Diana of the night, located in the Lambda above her, so that she can accompany me with her nurse to the temple, truncating the sovereign garments by whimpering at the leading febos. "

When Vernarth observed that the Febo slime fell repaired, he quickly he measured on his jaw drying him, smiling at him and at the same time changing his nervous gestures. Taking him and holding him, as he seemed to be held back giddy from his long parliamentary speeches with his feudalists. Then it would be prosperous to let him sit on the side of the talented escort. At that moment they separate and extend their arms towards the envious koelum, join both swords that will also accompany them with the trembling and chattering bronze, puffing their retracted navels.

Vernarth replies: “Dissolute in my childhood I had to walk with my dogs like a thunderbolt immersed in their frame when I was ahead of them, they only sniffed my scarlet halos; which were fading red super-giant and near-Earth stars. Today is the belt of Aorion next to the Great General, beating in its grooves and changing its precessional course. I will move his hallucinations, so that she remains alone in his reddish outline, but not in his component physique "

In this way, Vernarth moved the tunnel of the zephyr with the tip of his Dorus when they bowed, the final glow of the tip of it warned to reopen in the viscera of the firmament as the spear emerged. Machinelike light years passed by for much more to be described, before any exact science and before an inaccurate Dorus, in a universe that is only distant while Vernarth is making use of the governance protocol, stretching on the ground with the kettle, rattling for its dorsal in the direction of its shaft, which was held volatile by the abbreviated gadget, for a spear used as a Xiphos Sword, reaching the apex of Betelgeuse to approach the legatary space of radiosity, and of Persia united in a merely advocative statement. Vernarth appears behind the clouds coughing with cloying fever, and with a rosy ruby hypnotizing the muffins of the colossal cosmic phoenix, and illuminating Alexander Magnus upon awakening. Lastly, the Phrygian Sibyl held the cross with the raised flag, in the same way, that the risen Christ himself does in a corresponding Resurrection scene, in extensive complement to the Sibyls with their Gothic and Renaissance imagination, with the Phrygian sibyl. being the priestess who will preside over an Apollonian oracle in a historical kingdom in the western central part of the highlands of Anatolia, contrasted with Cassandra of the Iliad.

The incipient compunction sequence to redeemed reigns in which the puerperal dawn, intercedes, however, the facets and the screams of the Caucasus, of those who are chained in the coldest irons of their isolation, for whom the panic of the Diaisthisi or foreshadowing, traps him in millennia seized from a heart stuck in the thorax of the Tágmati, towards the Apollyon offered in the abyss of the consecratam and the abyssal, leaping from the unfathomable ground of the abysmal providential destruction, and from its tulle dispatching in those who will not shine after being exalted concluded in silty bottoms of the mist. Lookouts and weeds will rule in intolerable covenants and promises, precociously tinted in the heartbreaking revelations of Saint John, glimpsing Apollyon's intervening diabolos together with the Sheol of the Koumeterium of Messolonghi, redeeming them in Nineveh and ordering themselves in Arbela and Gaugamela, in the indissoluble plantations. of Apollyon's Camels Gigas.
Codex XIV- Ultramundis Primum apud Orionem finale
Demi Apr 2020
There you are my Aphrodite.
Carefully carved caryatid,
the weight over your head

flew away.
Your lightness looks like feathers,
the tiny fluffy white ones.

We glance at each other knowingly.
Turn around. My face: angel falls.
The angel ascended.

— The End —