"ceremonies" poems - Hello Poetry

"ceremonies" poems

It was the twilight of the iguana. From the rainbow-arch of the battlements, his long tongue like a lance sank down in the green leaves, and a swarm of ants, monks with feet chanting, crawled off into the jungle, the guanaco, thin as oxygen in the wide peaks of cloud, went along, wearing his shoes of gold, while the llama opened his honest eyes on the breakable neatness of a world full of dew. The monkeys braided a ****** thread that went on and on along the shores of dawn, demolishing walls of pollen and startling the butterflies of Muzo into flying violets. It was the night of the alligators, the pure night, crawling with snouts emrging from ooze, and out the sleepy marshes the confused noise of scaly plates returned to the ground where they began. The jaguar brushed the leaves with a luminous absence, the puma runs through the branches like a forest fire, while the jungle's drunken eyes burn from inside him. The badgers scratch the river's feet, scenting the nest whost throbbing delicacy they attack with red teeth. And deep in the huge waters the enormous anaconda lies like the circle around the earth, covered with ceremonies of mud, devouring, religious.

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It was the twilight of the iguana. From the rainbow-arch of the battlements, his long tongue like a lance sank down in the green leaves, and a swarm of ants, monks with feet chanting, crawled off into the jungle, the guanaco, thin as oxygen in the wide peaks of cloud, went along, wearing his shoes of gold, while the llama opened his honest eyes on the breakable neatness of a world full of dew. The monkeys braided a ****** thread that went on and on along the shores of dawn, demolishing walls of pollen and startling the butterflies of Muzo into flying violets. It was the night of the alligators, the pure night, crawling with snouts emrging from ooze, and out the sleepy marshes the confused noise of scaly plates returned to the ground where they began. The jaguar brushed the leaves with a luminous absence, the puma runs through the branches like a forest fire, while the jungle's drunken eyes burn from inside him. The badgers scratch the river's feet, scenting the nest whost throbbing delicacy they attack with red teeth. And deep in the huge waters the enormous anaconda lies like the circle around the earth, covered with ceremonies of mud, devouring, religious.

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Yes, that is an abstraction of the landscape. Yes, you have achieved some creative control. Showcase your efforts! Open their minds! Tear the ************* roof off! Little God-man runnin' the cycles To each his own script His own prescription Little God-man running the show Master of Ceremonies The human bridge You must throw back each perch and wait for the fattening; You'll need that for the next act..... Keep your strength up.

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Feb 16, 2015

Feb 16, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC

Poem for anti-art art

Yes, that is an abstraction of the landscape. Yes, you have achieved some creative control. Showcase your efforts! Open their minds! Tear the ************* roof off! Little God-man runnin' the cycles To each his own script His own prescription Little God-man running the show Master of Ceremonies The human bridge You must throw back each perch and wait for the fattening; You'll need that for the next act..... Keep your strength up.

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Slipping into my apron, Hungry in body and soul Humming as a song played... I grab my knife and chop-board Unsure of what to cook Strange inspirations possess me Filling me with ***** My kitchen becomes a stage In my hands- a plectrum and fretboard Silver utensils- my live audience!* As I play divine recipes Strumming master acoustic chords Chopping fresh, colorful vegetables. I dash to the remote, Punch "Repeat" and dash back on stage Landing on E♭ minor, Scaling impossible notes, I slice with razor-sharp plectrum, On onions and other root chords My fret arrayed with colors, Of spinach, lettuce, tomatoes Carrots, potatoes, olives Pepper, cabbage and cucumbers. I hear a thunder of applause As I ignite the cooker Butter sizzling in the hot pan A staccato of sharp notes, *Ready to modulate innocent vegetables Through spicy aromatic crescendos!* I fight hard to suppress a sneeze, No sneezing on-stage! Unprofessional! Multitudes of seconds rush by and… Voila!!! I stand for a moment Salivating, awed at my bravura! Wishing I could hang it on my wall Tis beautiful like art But I can’t eat this cake and have it! So I dig in… Heaven and earth kiss for a moment L U S C I O U S!!! Luckily, it didn’t taste nauseating Like my last attempt. No time for ceremonies I munch from pan to mouth Pausing for what may pass for a prayer, I relish every bite! Not that I’m a foodie or something, But nothing beats this combo- Of good food and soul music. And yes, *Music is indeed food to the soul!* I devour, in view- the next meal... © Raphael Uzor

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Apr 4, 2014

Apr 4, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC

Slipping into my apron, Hungry in body and soul Humming as a song played... I grab my knife and chop-board Unsure of what to cook Strange inspirations possess me Filling me with ***** My kitchen becomes a stage In my hands- a plectrum and fretboard Silver utensils- my live audience!* As I play divine recipes Strumming master acoustic chords Chopping fresh, colorful vegetables. I dash to the remote, Punch "Repeat" and dash back on stage Landing on E♭ minor, Scaling impossible notes, I slice with razor-sharp plectrum, On onions and other root chords My fret arrayed with colors, Of spinach, lettuce, tomatoes Carrots, potatoes, olives Pepper, cabbage and cucumbers. I hear a thunder of applause As I ignite the cooker Butter sizzling in the hot pan A staccato of sharp notes, *Ready to modulate innocent vegetables Through spicy aromatic crescendos!* I fight hard to suppress a sneeze, No sneezing on-stage! Unprofessional! Multitudes of seconds rush by and… Voila!!! I stand for a moment Salivating, awed at my bravura! Wishing I could hang it on my wall Tis beautiful like art But I can’t eat this cake and have it! So I dig in… Heaven and earth kiss for a moment L U S C I O U S!!! Luckily, it didn’t taste nauseating Like my last attempt. No time for ceremonies I munch from pan to mouth Pausing for what may pass for a prayer, I relish every bite! Not that I’m a foodie or something, But nothing beats this combo- Of good food and soul music. And yes, *Music is indeed food to the soul!* I devour, in view- the next meal... © Raphael Uzor

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Africa, Oh Africa! Africa, Oh Africa! My Motherland, Why not take pride in who you are? When you converse, You use the language of the West. The offspring of the same parents, And still use the language of the West. Your own children try to distance themselves and dress and talk like Those from the West. Your airwaves are filled with music, Fast beats, foul language and heavy metal from the West. Even the food you eat All processed and purchased From the West. Your fields are dry. You laugh at traditional foods and ceremonies. You have forgotten who you are. Your heritage cries out From the depths of the tombs you're filling up with immorality and your self-destructive ways. You despise who are, You ridicule who you are, You try so hard to change Who you are Your heroes and comrades In entertainment and politics In the community, the society Have been overshadowed By those from the West. Remember them, Revere them, More so alive than after death. Resurrect Ubuntu, Show a little compassion For a fellow who needs it. Stop the hate, tribalism And racism. This path of destruction Will get you nowhere. Let peace rule in the Motherland. Respect your elders, Salute the teachers Who try to lead your youth In the right direction. Teach your children well Violence is not the way The pen is still mightier Than the sword Eradicate illiteracy End child labour and Marriages. Honour, love and protect Your women and children. They will give you respect and happiness in return. Follow the footprints Of your forebears. Live in harmony with Yourself. Africa, Oh Africa! Africa, Oh Africa! Take note Before it's too late!

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Jun 19, 2017

Jun 19, 2017 at 6:41 AM UTC

constance-van-niekerk

Africa, oh Africa

Africa, Oh Africa! Africa, Oh Africa! My Motherland, Why not take pride in who you are? When you converse, You use the language of the West. The offspring of the same parents, And still use the language of the West. Your own children try to distance themselves and dress and talk like Those from the West. Your airwaves are filled with music, Fast beats, foul language and heavy metal from the West. Even the food you eat All processed and purchased From the West. Your fields are dry. You laugh at traditional foods and ceremonies. You have forgotten who you are. Your heritage cries out From the depths of the tombs you're filling up with immorality and your self-destructive ways. You despise who are, You ridicule who you are, You try so hard to change Who you are Your heroes and comrades In entertainment and politics In the community, the society Have been overshadowed By those from the West. Remember them, Revere them, More so alive than after death. Resurrect Ubuntu, Show a little compassion For a fellow who needs it. Stop the hate, tribalism And racism. This path of destruction Will get you nowhere. Let peace rule in the Motherland. Respect your elders, Salute the teachers Who try to lead your youth In the right direction. Teach your children well Violence is not the way The pen is still mightier Than the sword Eradicate illiteracy End child labour and Marriages. Honour, love and protect Your women and children. They will give you respect and happiness in return. Follow the footprints Of your forebears. Live in harmony with Yourself. Africa, Oh Africa! Africa, Oh Africa! Take note Before it's too late!

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The pick All the stress that an orange has caused is painful. It is painful for the tree from which it came. Snatched away with promises of sweetness. A tree mostly green, engulfing Small speckles of that deceptive orange. It was such a bright colour – high hopes! Handpicked by a man only looking for the best, Choosing poorly not for the first time. The green leaves frantically try to reclaim what’s theirs. Branch after branch reaching out, trying to uproot him. Close, so close. But they are a sea apart, At least an apple has a core, a heart. The peel Now it is pilfered, the painful process begins, Never quite ending: disappointment beckons. To try and taste these orange juices You soldiers must bear the burden. Each soldier, a finger digging themselves Into the tough stressful shell. Fingernails stained with orange blood, Eyes blinded by the same tangy juices. It never slips off in one go Like a roomy balaclava, But crumbles like the remnants of a bombing. Brick by brick, orange by orange it crumbles. Now it is finally undone But neither tree nor man has won. The preparation The crust collapsed, but now It is time to untangle the web the mantle holds. First, a division – the separation of brothers Who served side by side at birth. Dissected by these soldiers Acting as a bomb squad, Searching for those hidden pips. Found, but not without casualties – Sticky fingers with no taps in sight. Once removed the web is untangled. Tired, he hopes that the stress will swiftly end Unaware that the sweetness was just pretend. The pain Finally the moment has arrived And illogical ceremonies commence. I fear the celebration is far too soon, For as white touches orange and tries So desperately to unite, The tartly taste slays the poor man’s buds: Igniting like petrol on his burning tongue. He wishes he could return that orange To the green tree to which it belongs, To return a bullet-sprayed windscreen is not an option. The orange, once bitten, enjoys its trance Latching on to those pained tingling taste buds. His orange, a disaster to undress: Bad taste – a foolish price for such a mess.

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Feb 14, 2011

Feb 14, 2011 at 12:06 PM UTC

The pick All the stress that an orange has caused is painful. It is painful for the tree from which it came. Snatched away with promises of sweetness. A tree mostly green, engulfing Small speckles of that deceptive orange. It was such a bright colour – high hopes! Handpicked by a man only looking for the best, Choosing poorly not for the first time. The green leaves frantically try to reclaim what’s theirs. Branch after branch reaching out, trying to uproot him. Close, so close. But they are a sea apart, At least an apple has a core, a heart. The peel Now it is pilfered, the painful process begins, Never quite ending: disappointment beckons. To try and taste these orange juices You soldiers must bear the burden. Each soldier, a finger digging themselves Into the tough stressful shell. Fingernails stained with orange blood, Eyes blinded by the same tangy juices. It never slips off in one go Like a roomy balaclava, But crumbles like the remnants of a bombing. Brick by brick, orange by orange it crumbles. Now it is finally undone But neither tree nor man has won. The preparation The crust collapsed, but now It is time to untangle the web the mantle holds. First, a division – the separation of brothers Who served side by side at birth. Dissected by these soldiers Acting as a bomb squad, Searching for those hidden pips. Found, but not without casualties – Sticky fingers with no taps in sight. Once removed the web is untangled. Tired, he hopes that the stress will swiftly end Unaware that the sweetness was just pretend. The pain Finally the moment has arrived And illogical ceremonies commence. I fear the celebration is far too soon, For as white touches orange and tries So desperately to unite, The tartly taste slays the poor man’s buds: Igniting like petrol on his burning tongue. He wishes he could return that orange To the green tree to which it belongs, To return a bullet-sprayed windscreen is not an option. The orange, once bitten, enjoys its trance Latching on to those pained tingling taste buds. His orange, a disaster to undress: Bad taste – a foolish price for such a mess.

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Camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains was the greatest day of my life It was my birthday I brought a suitcase and my favorite dame and hiked 2 miles UP^^^^^^^^ laughing all the way UP ^^^^^in the Ozarks Medics were shooting steroids in my **** BUT, never been more in love with a man who injects grief in my veins Dwelling in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains sensed his vibe Yes, Jesus I feel you here held en el Rio Grande con mis mejor amigos drooling in the hot springs Taos has called our names ********* the rocky sand that is below me I find a coin from New Zealand, in turn, losing my evil eye earring an offering to spirit's stream a pair of desert lizards we desire to get frisky and be alone we shine silver glitter under a moonlit glow witches cackle and curanderos hide behind coyote cries and cacti looking to each other with faces expressing, "What should do we do?" I guess allow them to do their thing humans need ceremonies too

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Feb 11, 2019

Feb 11, 2019 at 1:36 AM UTC

Mountain Memories

Camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains was the greatest day of my life It was my birthday I brought a suitcase and my favorite dame and hiked 2 miles UP^^^^^^^^ laughing all the way UP ^^^^^in the Ozarks Medics were shooting steroids in my **** BUT, never been more in love with a man who injects grief in my veins Dwelling in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains sensed his vibe Yes, Jesus I feel you here held en el Rio Grande con mis mejor amigos drooling in the hot springs Taos has called our names ********* the rocky sand that is below me I find a coin from New Zealand, in turn, losing my evil eye earring an offering to spirit's stream a pair of desert lizards we desire to get frisky and be alone we shine silver glitter under a moonlit glow witches cackle and curanderos hide behind coyote cries and cacti looking to each other with faces expressing, "What should do we do?" I guess allow them to do their thing humans need ceremonies too

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Children only grow up when adults aren't watching. Father dear- *(I learnt how to ride a bike without your hands keeping me steady. I’ll learn how to live without your name on my conscience when I’m given away at graduations, at award ceremonies, at marriage.)* -it's far too late to want me back now.

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Oct 21, 2018

Oct 21, 2018 at 6:35 PM UTC

Children only grow up when adults aren't watching. Father dear- *(I learnt how to ride a bike without your hands keeping me steady. I’ll learn how to live without your name on my conscience when I’m given away at graduations, at award ceremonies, at marriage.)* -it's far too late to want me back now.

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I've Been TRULY SURPRISED ... !!! In Fact ... " MESMERISED " ....... !!!! By The ... Volume of People ... Who Tell Themselves Lies ... !!! These Acts I Believe ... Give Liars ... " Relief " ... But Liars Are FOOLS ... Who Simply ... AREN'T Cool ... !!! And People Like These ... Know NOT What They Do ... ?!? In Fact That's NOT TRUE ... !!!! But Does Give You Some Clues ... On Why These FAKE People ... Don't Have ... SHINY Shoes ... !!! They Walk In A Mire ... of .... " Liars for Hire " .... They Claim The Good Life ... But Are NOT Richard Briers ... ?!? They DO ... Make Me Laugh ... !!! But They AIN'T Richard Pryor ... !!!! Their ... " Devilish Ways " ... Will Earn Them ... " HELLS' FIRE " ... !!!! This Thing Has NO COLOUR ... !!! A Liar's ... A LIAR ... !!!!! But That ISN'T ME ... !!! Try ... Tapping My Wire ... !!! "IT ISN'T JUST WHITES ! YES BLACKS DO IT TOO !" To Think It's One Culture ... Is Really .... " NOT COOL " .... !!! DON'T BE ... " A Fool " ... !!! You're Lying To ... YOU ... !?! To Think That ... " Your Creed " .. Has Always Been ... " True " ... It's Time To Move On ... And Give You Some Proof ... That ... Loved Ones You Have ... May Just ... TAINT Your View ... !!! Those Who You Feel ... Would NOT ... Lie To You ... Does Your Family ... ? Have A ... GENUINE Crew ... ?!? Or Do You Have Relatives ... ? Being .... UNTRUE ... ?!? ... Who ... Travel Through Time ... WITHOUT ... " Doctor Who " ... !!! Their Ship Is UNStabLE ... Their Life Is .... " A Fable " .... Kind of Like Guys ... Who Sell ... " DODGY CABLE " ... !!! Yeah ... Funny I Know ... But ... Who's At YOUR Table ... ?!? ROCKING ... Your Cradle ... !?! I'll ... Give You A Choice .... These Two ... Cain or Abel ... ??? Marriage Is Something ... To Give You ... MORE Clues ... That ... LOVE Is A Word ... That ... GOOD LIARS Use ... !!!!! DON'T ... Get It Confused ... This ... LOVE Thing's ABUSED ... By Liars Who ... USE It ... To Get Some ... NEW Shoes ... !!! It's Money ... You See ... That Gives Liars GLEE ... !!! Emotions Get Played With ... Right To ... " Pregnancy " ... !!! LOVE Is A ... GREAT THING ... !!!! When Given For FREE ... !!!!! But MANY Now USE IT ... To ... Fulfil Their Greed ... Just Look At Divorce Rates ... Or ... Watch Your TV ... I Really ... DON'T Care ... If You ... Don't Want To See ... !!!!! THE TRUTH Is This Simple ... It's .... REALITY .... !!!!! We All May ... Fall Victim ... of Those Who Proceed ... To ..."Hide Who They Are" ... Behind LIES ... That They Feed ... They're ... LYING To You ... And ... LYING To Me ... !!! Some of These People ... .... Recite Poetry .... !!! Some of These People ... Are Rappers ... BELIEVE ... !!! They Really Don't Know ... ? What It Is To ... " Emcee " ... ? This Is A MASTER ... of .... " Ceremonies " .... These Are TRUE POETS ... Like ..... " Talib Kweli " ..... or Maybe THIS NAME ... ? The Brother ... " Big V " ... ?!? Or A Guy Called ... BIG VIRGE ... !?! Okay I Mean .... ME .... !!!!! A Man Who Speaks TRUTH ... In This Here .... " Poetry " .... I DON'T Want To Be ... Above ... Humility ... !!!!!! I Just Want To See ... More ... TRUE Poetry ... That SHUNS Foolish Pride ... And Liars Who Feed ... On ... " Poetic Liars " ... These ... " Fictional Writers " ... Just Write For THEMSELVES ... To Earn A .... " FAST BUCK " .... From .... " Media Wealth " .... PLEASE OPEN Your Eyes ... Let TRUTH Be Your Guide ... Cos' It Really AIN'T Wise ... To Have A ... FAKE Guise ... !!!!! REMEMBER This Poem .... ... " Don't Tell Yourself Lies !!! " ...

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Jul 30, 2014

Jul 30, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC

"Don't Tell Yourself Lies" ... A Poem written by Big Virge 24/6/2005

I've Been TRULY SURPRISED ... !!! In Fact ... " MESMERISED " ....... !!!! By The ... Volume of People ... Who Tell Themselves Lies ... !!! These Acts I Believe ... Give Liars ... " Relief " ... But Liars Are FOOLS ... Who Simply ... AREN'T Cool ... !!! And People Like These ... Know NOT What They Do ... ?!? In Fact That's NOT TRUE ... !!!! But Does Give You Some Clues ... On Why These FAKE People ... Don't Have ... SHINY Shoes ... !!! They Walk In A Mire ... of .... " Liars for Hire " .... They Claim The Good Life ... But Are NOT Richard Briers ... ?!? They DO ... Make Me Laugh ... !!! But They AIN'T Richard Pryor ... !!!! Their ... " Devilish Ways " ... Will Earn Them ... " HELLS' FIRE " ... !!!! This Thing Has NO COLOUR ... !!! A Liar's ... A LIAR ... !!!!! But That ISN'T ME ... !!! Try ... Tapping My Wire ... !!! "IT ISN'T JUST WHITES ! YES BLACKS DO IT TOO !" To Think It's One Culture ... Is Really .... " NOT COOL " .... !!! DON'T BE ... " A Fool " ... !!! You're Lying To ... YOU ... !?! To Think That ... " Your Creed " .. Has Always Been ... " True " ... It's Time To Move On ... And Give You Some Proof ... That ... Loved Ones You Have ... May Just ... TAINT Your View ... !!! Those Who You Feel ... Would NOT ... Lie To You ... Does Your Family ... ? Have A ... GENUINE Crew ... ?!? Or Do You Have Relatives ... ? Being .... UNTRUE ... ?!? ... Who ... Travel Through Time ... WITHOUT ... " Doctor Who " ... !!! Their Ship Is UNStabLE ... Their Life Is .... " A Fable " .... Kind of Like Guys ... Who Sell ... " DODGY CABLE " ... !!! Yeah ... Funny I Know ... But ... Who's At YOUR Table ... ?!? ROCKING ... Your Cradle ... !?! I'll ... Give You A Choice .... These Two ... Cain or Abel ... ??? Marriage Is Something ... To Give You ... MORE Clues ... That ... LOVE Is A Word ... That ... GOOD LIARS Use ... !!!!! DON'T ... Get It Confused ... This ... LOVE Thing's ABUSED ... By Liars Who ... USE It ... To Get Some ... NEW Shoes ... !!! It's Money ... You See ... That Gives Liars GLEE ... !!! Emotions Get Played With ... Right To ... " Pregnancy " ... !!! LOVE Is A ... GREAT THING ... !!!! When Given For FREE ... !!!!! But MANY Now USE IT ... To ... Fulfil Their Greed ... Just Look At Divorce Rates ... Or ... Watch Your TV ... I Really ... DON'T Care ... If You ... Don't Want To See ... !!!!! THE TRUTH Is This Simple ... It's .... REALITY .... !!!!! We All May ... Fall Victim ... of Those Who Proceed ... To ..."Hide Who They Are" ... Behind LIES ... That They Feed ... They're ... LYING To You ... And ... LYING To Me ... !!! Some of These People ... .... Recite Poetry .... !!! Some of These People ... Are Rappers ... BELIEVE ... !!! They Really Don't Know ... ? What It Is To ... " Emcee " ... ? This Is A MASTER ... of .... " Ceremonies " .... These Are TRUE POETS ... Like ..... " Talib Kweli " ..... or Maybe THIS NAME ... ? The Brother ... " Big V " ... ?!? Or A Guy Called ... BIG VIRGE ... !?! Okay I Mean .... ME .... !!!!! A Man Who Speaks TRUTH ... In This Here .... " Poetry " .... I DON'T Want To Be ... Above ... Humility ... !!!!!! I Just Want To See ... More ... TRUE Poetry ... That SHUNS Foolish Pride ... And Liars Who Feed ... On ... " Poetic Liars " ... These ... " Fictional Writers " ... Just Write For THEMSELVES ... To Earn A .... " FAST BUCK " .... From .... " Media Wealth " .... PLEASE OPEN Your Eyes ... Let TRUTH Be Your Guide ... Cos' It Really AIN'T Wise ... To Have A ... FAKE Guise ... !!!!! REMEMBER This Poem .... ... " Don't Tell Yourself Lies !!! " ...

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Talk-show queen Oprah Winfrey with her entourage is going to Australia and it’s timely now for a quick Colbert Report on the state of the colony of Australia Colony? Yes, that’s right Australia is still a British colony - How else do you explain it? as the Head of Government in Australia is still the British Monarchy and her Majesty, the Queen of Great Britain, has her representative a Governor-General in Australia; and the Aussie national media faithfully reports that Prince Philip is a God in some remote island and the TV stations broadcast visions of which British Prince kissed which of their latest fancy And so, Oprah, welcome to the Colony Ah, yes, and the Chinese migrants coming in are surprised to learn of Australia’s status at citizenship ceremonies and the young man explains to his grandma: “Oh, Foreign Devil still control Australia; sad, Chairman Mao did not Liberate Australia.” And Indian migrants, much to their disappointment are heard to remark: “Oh no – does this mean we still have to go through another fight for freedom as in 1947?” But then they are consoled by the fact that a Gandhi only comes once in 200 years so we can all still get on with our lives and the nation will continue to eat burgers and enjoy barbecues and hop like kangaroos until such things may happen… Ah well, dear talk-show Queen Oprah Winfrey and her entourage this ends our report on the sovereign nation down under: Happy Stay in Her British Majesty’s Colony

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Sep 23, 2010

Sep 23, 2010 at 12:16 PM UTC

Colbert Report: Australia

Talk-show queen Oprah Winfrey with her entourage is going to Australia and it’s timely now for a quick Colbert Report on the state of the colony of Australia Colony? Yes, that’s right Australia is still a British colony - How else do you explain it? as the Head of Government in Australia is still the British Monarchy and her Majesty, the Queen of Great Britain, has her representative a Governor-General in Australia; and the Aussie national media faithfully reports that Prince Philip is a God in some remote island and the TV stations broadcast visions of which British Prince kissed which of their latest fancy And so, Oprah, welcome to the Colony Ah, yes, and the Chinese migrants coming in are surprised to learn of Australia’s status at citizenship ceremonies and the young man explains to his grandma: “Oh, Foreign Devil still control Australia; sad, Chairman Mao did not Liberate Australia.” And Indian migrants, much to their disappointment are heard to remark: “Oh no – does this mean we still have to go through another fight for freedom as in 1947?” But then they are consoled by the fact that a Gandhi only comes once in 200 years so we can all still get on with our lives and the nation will continue to eat burgers and enjoy barbecues and hop like kangaroos until such things may happen… Ah well, dear talk-show Queen Oprah Winfrey and her entourage this ends our report on the sovereign nation down under: Happy Stay in Her British Majesty’s Colony

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I provoke the rain of Hell From Heaven high to earth below There we'll float on gainful spells We're ready for this world to go And off to outer space, we're facing Endless races to the furthest reaches of our teacher, the speaker, the logos of Cosmos And beyond to distant Quasars, No phasers, no lasers, weaponry We're safe with hearts of purity And naked with our souls we'll seek The greatest cosmic mysteries I've always sought and thought unreal The spacecraft not of stone or steel but Opened hearts and focused spirits Woke by times both strange and fearful Changing basic notions of What we all say are mind and love We're through with consumers, they've doomed us We've moved on The proof is the truth that all life will soon be gone We've built and built, killed billions and still We march toward gold archways which never were real I can tell others feel it, They're real and they heal me Relations, creations, spontaneous meaning It's all building up to a climactic moment Of high expectation that we will all blow it But we were born just so we'd know when the opening Ceremonies go on for the New Age of Hope It's outrageous to think of the hate which created this Darkness and chaos, (Our God has betrayed us!) But that's why our savior said Look the other way, To meet hate with more hatred Speeds up the decay We love the villains, though they **** us by millions Because they're truly a part of this cosmic cotillion They can't see the dance while they're Crashing and sinning So they can't imagine they're actually IN IT There's a part and they fit it, Catalyst for the equipment Of Salvation: The nations of women and men Beginning again We'll cancel the debt and we'll all become friends

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Dec 7, 2012

Dec 7, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC

Galactic Companionship

I provoke the rain of Hell From Heaven high to earth below There we'll float on gainful spells We're ready for this world to go And off to outer space, we're facing Endless races to the furthest reaches of our teacher, the speaker, the logos of Cosmos And beyond to distant Quasars, No phasers, no lasers, weaponry We're safe with hearts of purity And naked with our souls we'll seek The greatest cosmic mysteries I've always sought and thought unreal The spacecraft not of stone or steel but Opened hearts and focused spirits Woke by times both strange and fearful Changing basic notions of What we all say are mind and love We're through with consumers, they've doomed us We've moved on The proof is the truth that all life will soon be gone We've built and built, killed billions and still We march toward gold archways which never were real I can tell others feel it, They're real and they heal me Relations, creations, spontaneous meaning It's all building up to a climactic moment Of high expectation that we will all blow it But we were born just so we'd know when the opening Ceremonies go on for the New Age of Hope It's outrageous to think of the hate which created this Darkness and chaos, (Our God has betrayed us!) But that's why our savior said Look the other way, To meet hate with more hatred Speeds up the decay We love the villains, though they **** us by millions Because they're truly a part of this cosmic cotillion They can't see the dance while they're Crashing and sinning So they can't imagine they're actually IN IT There's a part and they fit it, Catalyst for the equipment Of Salvation: The nations of women and men Beginning again We'll cancel the debt and we'll all become friends

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I have met Masters and OGs within joint commissions. While my dear, Granddaddy Purple’s spending my tuition. But, it was merely a Blue Dream at blunt ceremonies. While Hindus and Afghans breed in holy matrimonies. Look at all of Mary Jane's strains, I want to be like them; stuck pondering my bud's embrace and all’the broken stems. Reuniting the Skywalker's was quite like the Death Star far out, in space and burns fast like Sour Diesel’s quick car. I rode the Pineapple Express, then I hit the Train Wreck. Lights out! The conductor demands that we have our pipes checked. Look at all of Mary Jane's strains, I have plenty of them, still pondering my bud's embrace and all’the broken stems. My bud's came less often and I became less credible. I told my bud Bubba that we should switch to edibles. “But, you can't eat these sweets unless the treat's gradual high stops your bud’s from disappearing. You need me to get by!” Where are all of Mary Jane's strains? I need some more like them; losing the embrace of my bud’s and all’the broken stems. All my buds have vacated me. All that's left is Reggie and Mid, who aren't like my kind buds; they’re leaving me edgy. I’m hanging with Mid and Reggie hoping they'll come around But now, even they’re gone, and I have lost what was once found. The strains of Mary Jane are gone. I can't live without them! I dream to see my bud's once more and all’the broken stems.

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Jun 22, 2014

Jun 22, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC

The Ballad of My Best Buds

I have met Masters and OGs within joint commissions. While my dear, Granddaddy Purple’s spending my tuition. But, it was merely a Blue Dream at blunt ceremonies. While Hindus and Afghans breed in holy matrimonies. Look at all of Mary Jane's strains, I want to be like them; stuck pondering my bud's embrace and all’the broken stems. Reuniting the Skywalker's was quite like the Death Star far out, in space and burns fast like Sour Diesel’s quick car. I rode the Pineapple Express, then I hit the Train Wreck. Lights out! The conductor demands that we have our pipes checked. Look at all of Mary Jane's strains, I have plenty of them, still pondering my bud's embrace and all’the broken stems. My bud's came less often and I became less credible. I told my bud Bubba that we should switch to edibles. “But, you can't eat these sweets unless the treat's gradual high stops your bud’s from disappearing. You need me to get by!” Where are all of Mary Jane's strains? I need some more like them; losing the embrace of my bud’s and all’the broken stems. All my buds have vacated me. All that's left is Reggie and Mid, who aren't like my kind buds; they’re leaving me edgy. I’m hanging with Mid and Reggie hoping they'll come around But now, even they’re gone, and I have lost what was once found. The strains of Mary Jane are gone. I can't live without them! I dream to see my bud's once more and all’the broken stems.

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Cardinal sun rose blooming as the budding flower. Buddha chants in the chimes of birds ethereal caught in gradual hot wind, Darjeeling tea steam rises on tabletop my mind is waking over Indonesian morning. Foreign babel as hours draw even cacophony of hurricane horns the Denpasar traffic drumming chorus midst markets where radio emitting Li Zengguang dizi dizzily prancing into the assortments of spice and coiling fabrics patterns potent azure and golden royalty brass clatter caged noise boiling *** cries the Orient! Overgrowth spots the charring temples in majesty and abundance cradling the narrow Balinese streets while tropic palm and orchid spring swells the soils. Ardent sun sheaths eastern archipelagos, religious offerings canvas sidewalks incense burning in overwhelming bouquets of efflorescence smelling daedal tapestries within the paradise. Sun goes on setting the jewel easing underneath the horizon, butterflies sway in rest hearts on fire the ceremonies have finished. Thunder shrieks against the sea torrential rain firing on villa ceilings. My eyes set to sleep consciousness transitioning between two dreams.

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Mar 19, 2015

Mar 19, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC

Cardinal sun rose blooming as the budding flower. Buddha chants in the chimes of birds ethereal caught in gradual hot wind, Darjeeling tea steam rises on tabletop my mind is waking over Indonesian morning. Foreign babel as hours draw even cacophony of hurricane horns the Denpasar traffic drumming chorus midst markets where radio emitting Li Zengguang dizi dizzily prancing into the assortments of spice and coiling fabrics patterns potent azure and golden royalty brass clatter caged noise boiling *** cries the Orient! Overgrowth spots the charring temples in majesty and abundance cradling the narrow Balinese streets while tropic palm and orchid spring swells the soils. Ardent sun sheaths eastern archipelagos, religious offerings canvas sidewalks incense burning in overwhelming bouquets of efflorescence smelling daedal tapestries within the paradise. Sun goes on setting the jewel easing underneath the horizon, butterflies sway in rest hearts on fire the ceremonies have finished. Thunder shrieks against the sea torrential rain firing on villa ceilings. My eyes set to sleep consciousness transitioning between two dreams.

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Memories of my past continue to haunt me, In my dreams every night. Our spirits swore their faith for all ages. Open gates let into our lives; Loyalty, Goodwill, To Rule Solemnly, Exalted Ceremonies, Showing the Correct thing, Wisdom. Bright Light and, Justice for all. We only need to find the courage to Walk through just one, To make our dreams Come true. Copyright © Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

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Dec 2, 2014

Dec 2, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC

ronald-j-chapman

Eight Gates (Regional Korea)

Memories of my past continue to haunt me, In my dreams every night. Our spirits swore their faith for all ages. Open gates let into our lives; Loyalty, Goodwill, To Rule Solemnly, Exalted Ceremonies, Showing the Correct thing, Wisdom. Bright Light and, Justice for all. We only need to find the courage to Walk through just one, To make our dreams Come true. Copyright © Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

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Bongs,boobs, and ***** No ***** given, Dumb doobies taking a snooze Only one true love though. Touching me in heaven, Making me feel beautiful yo Society, seclusion, and ceremonies. No blessings given, Hippies hang Uno the key Typos, trends, trumps. Everything is so intertwined y woven, I gotta get outta my slump Only, one, and unto. The end a ***** For you I do The surprise of my life. My lucky # 7, For my love, my past life. My universal heaven, I would take any slated knife

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Mar 5, 2016

Mar 5, 2016 at 5:46 AM UTC

Bongs,boobs, and ***** No ***** given, Dumb doobies taking a snooze Only one true love though. Touching me in heaven, Making me feel beautiful yo Society, seclusion, and ceremonies. No blessings given, Hippies hang Uno the key Typos, trends, trumps. Everything is so intertwined y woven, I gotta get outta my slump Only, one, and unto. The end a ***** For you I do The surprise of my life. My lucky # 7, For my love, my past life. My universal heaven, I would take any slated knife

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Not all my days were white and not all the nights were black. Groggily whiteness I splashed sometimes with smiling brush in an abstract marble, and nights illuminated with a fire in the wolfish eyes. When the walls became too blunt, and the air too dry, I took mindless walks. My long legs loping tirelessly along black paths, and a friend was making me a company. While talking him, my voice still trembles and my throat scratches sharp dust of compassion. My friend was the one-armed elf. He lived in a large, abandoned, dilapidated shack near the circus tent , fed by the grace of great circus Masters of Ceremonies. When they were in good will he performed for them trinkets, collecting their garbage, all for small coins. Circus visitors avoided him or pretended not to see his pointy ears and tortured eyes. We rarely talked, this friend and me. Sometimes I went to the magicians to get some of the green, sometimes purple potion for him to sleep better. Once I bought at bartender a pack of cigarettes. We had a pact, him and me. I wasn't a fairy brother, neither circus water-bearer, nor merciful sorcerer. We had a pact, he doesn't ask, I don't ask. We wandered the city in the small hours, under the adrenaline of flaming street lights, in silence. Someday a steel dragon stumbled and with his tail swept the hut, I saw him no more, neither his pointy ears nor his tortured shoulders . Only sometimes during a quiet walk, down the path lined with quivering birch i remember the long shadows under his eyes .

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Jan 14, 2014

Jan 14, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC

Harlekins friend

Not all my days were white and not all the nights were black. Groggily whiteness I splashed sometimes with smiling brush in an abstract marble, and nights illuminated with a fire in the wolfish eyes. When the walls became too blunt, and the air too dry, I took mindless walks. My long legs loping tirelessly along black paths, and a friend was making me a company. While talking him, my voice still trembles and my throat scratches sharp dust of compassion. My friend was the one-armed elf. He lived in a large, abandoned, dilapidated shack near the circus tent , fed by the grace of great circus Masters of Ceremonies. When they were in good will he performed for them trinkets, collecting their garbage, all for small coins. Circus visitors avoided him or pretended not to see his pointy ears and tortured eyes. We rarely talked, this friend and me. Sometimes I went to the magicians to get some of the green, sometimes purple potion for him to sleep better. Once I bought at bartender a pack of cigarettes. We had a pact, him and me. I wasn't a fairy brother, neither circus water-bearer, nor merciful sorcerer. We had a pact, he doesn't ask, I don't ask. We wandered the city in the small hours, under the adrenaline of flaming street lights, in silence. Someday a steel dragon stumbled and with his tail swept the hut, I saw him no more, neither his pointy ears nor his tortured shoulders . Only sometimes during a quiet walk, down the path lined with quivering birch i remember the long shadows under his eyes .

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Let us contemplate the superiority of striking presumption, as it seeks to pontificate the order of architectural allegiance. Oh, Grand Master of Greco-Roman antiquity, I bow before the sacred volumes of legal pronouncement where unseen rituals tangibly assert their authority over those who seek to embrace the ancient pathways of knowledge. As the degrees of freedom transcend the definition of a mere mathematical concept, we must never forget the formulations of our Hellenistic forefathers who chiselled the shape of the Order into the annals of the future. As we give thanks to Set, we acknowledge the blindfolded ceremonies of sibling homicide which encourage wisdom in this circular lodge of self-binding. Harpocrates is our God of silence who gained sustenance from feminine anatomical structures – and we are like Isis who has been impregnated by Osiris. So, as we cast our gaze beyond the rites of this ****** union, let us acknowledge those ***** masonry structures of obelisk stability. Have you been born yet?

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Jun 10, 2015

Jun 10, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC

The Permission of Babylonian Prohibition

Let us contemplate the superiority of striking presumption, as it seeks to pontificate the order of architectural allegiance. Oh, Grand Master of Greco-Roman antiquity, I bow before the sacred volumes of legal pronouncement where unseen rituals tangibly assert their authority over those who seek to embrace the ancient pathways of knowledge. As the degrees of freedom transcend the definition of a mere mathematical concept, we must never forget the formulations of our Hellenistic forefathers who chiselled the shape of the Order into the annals of the future. As we give thanks to Set, we acknowledge the blindfolded ceremonies of sibling homicide which encourage wisdom in this circular lodge of self-binding. Harpocrates is our God of silence who gained sustenance from feminine anatomical structures – and we are like Isis who has been impregnated by Osiris. So, as we cast our gaze beyond the rites of this ****** union, let us acknowledge those ***** masonry structures of obelisk stability. Have you been born yet?

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Yeah, I know all about your people How they worship drunken image How they've exalted you to the status Of a hero, a legend A mythological god Bacchus best buddy You keep good company but swine follow you Different as day and night Yet they all clamor for a good seat They fight and swing fists For a place in the front row For the chance that a stream of gin-soaked spittle might splat on one of their faces a soothing balm a gob of stench and sputum They gather it up They mix it with mud Thicken it into gel and bow down to a snot green idol a pus dripping idol They'll worship it at the foot of the mountain The towering landfill where you've brought them Or they'll bring it to your ceremonies They wave your banner in the air A colorful representation of the Beefeater Proud of their devotion Proud of their status as "The Chosen" Not necessarily Sure Of the WHYS or the WHEREFORES You just seemed to be worth the trouble Worth a laugh to watch you To see you falling down To hear your words of wisdom (True wise words they are, too) Slurred into gibberish You are their man Whose oracles remain silent Lost in a deep dream that swirls through your sleep-dizzy mind Whose glory and honor Fall down From your pulpit In the center of a room full of people 99% of whom see YOU Not as a profit Not as a beatnik Not as a poet Not as a sage Not as a seeker Not as an asgst ridden agnostic No idol No god 99% know exactly What you are

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Sep 14, 2010

Sep 14, 2010 at 6:55 AM UTC

james-arthur-casey

Yeah, I know all about your people How they worship drunken image How they've exalted you to the status Of a hero, a legend A mythological god Bacchus best buddy You keep good company but swine follow you Different as day and night Yet they all clamor for a good seat They fight and swing fists For a place in the front row For the chance that a stream of gin-soaked spittle might splat on one of their faces a soothing balm a gob of stench and sputum They gather it up They mix it with mud Thicken it into gel and bow down to a snot green idol a pus dripping idol They'll worship it at the foot of the mountain The towering landfill where you've brought them Or they'll bring it to your ceremonies They wave your banner in the air A colorful representation of the Beefeater Proud of their devotion Proud of their status as "The Chosen" Not necessarily Sure Of the WHYS or the WHEREFORES You just seemed to be worth the trouble Worth a laugh to watch you To see you falling down To hear your words of wisdom (True wise words they are, too) Slurred into gibberish You are their man Whose oracles remain silent Lost in a deep dream that swirls through your sleep-dizzy mind Whose glory and honor Fall down From your pulpit In the center of a room full of people 99% of whom see YOU Not as a profit Not as a beatnik Not as a poet Not as a sage Not as a seeker Not as an asgst ridden agnostic No idol No god 99% know exactly What you are

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Civilized mankind has a unique way, To party and celebrate a most special day. Potassium and sulfur, mixed with some coal, Can reduce a mountain into the hill of a mole. Gunpowder is thought to have China as a start, Ceremonies commence, fireworks a part. I always thought, it amusing to find, Warfare and festival are two of a kind. Powerful explosions that disable and destroy, Have the ability to give the masses such joy. Here we go, let the bash begin, Guaranteed to give, your face a grin. Let's add some luminosity to this summer blast, Firecrackers and sparklers make the jubilee last. Pinwheels are nailed safely to a tree, Furiously twirls colors for all to see. An aerial assault aloft, hear them roar, Yellows and greens, in the air they will soar. Flash flaming fluorescence, blue and red, Envelop your eyes, dancing in your head. See the trail of a missile, zipping in flight, Shiny illuminations, all through the night. On the ground at the end of a fireworks show, Blazing stars and stripes, a flag created, watch it glow. The fourth of July is America's time, A birthday blowout, drinks with lemon and lime. This frolicking is filled with food, family and fun, Independence day, I wish it never was done. Please visit poemsbypaul.com

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Jun 25, 2014

Jun 25, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC

Civilized mankind has a unique way, To party and celebrate a most special day. Potassium and sulfur, mixed with some coal, Can reduce a mountain into the hill of a mole. Gunpowder is thought to have China as a start, Ceremonies commence, fireworks a part. I always thought, it amusing to find, Warfare and festival are two of a kind. Powerful explosions that disable and destroy, Have the ability to give the masses such joy. Here we go, let the bash begin, Guaranteed to give, your face a grin. Let's add some luminosity to this summer blast, Firecrackers and sparklers make the jubilee last. Pinwheels are nailed safely to a tree, Furiously twirls colors for all to see. An aerial assault aloft, hear them roar, Yellows and greens, in the air they will soar. Flash flaming fluorescence, blue and red, Envelop your eyes, dancing in your head. See the trail of a missile, zipping in flight, Shiny illuminations, all through the night. On the ground at the end of a fireworks show, Blazing stars and stripes, a flag created, watch it glow. The fourth of July is America's time, A birthday blowout, drinks with lemon and lime. This frolicking is filled with food, family and fun, Independence day, I wish it never was done. Please visit poemsbypaul.com

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To be wed ceremonies Traditionally brisk time Wintery- divine sacred rituals She elevates every success to the Sublime Inner power bells of chime Sometimes resistance Need more patience Internal flame Solstice Too many humans come with a price looking into envision unto whatever will-do Internal flame nowhere to be tamed Who is to blame no red carpet Why do they call it fame? Winter Solstice chilled wine Shared/unpaired/homebound On- our- own- time Christmas time prayer of hope Feeling land-locked on tight rope All disguises internal flame bruises Masquerade party On a deserted Island all booked But where are the people shell- shocked Dreams are dangerous internal fire Sleepwalked no life desired Some people have it all well- stocked In the apartment minds go deadlocked Looking out of a window if we can only see the same beautiful sky So many endangered species no wings to- fly Looking at the bottom the big family dish My only wish Seeing our loved ones In a starfish*

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Jul 9, 2023

Jul 9, 2023 at 11:07 AM UTC

Internal Flame Solstice

To be wed ceremonies Traditionally brisk time Wintery- divine sacred rituals She elevates every success to the Sublime Inner power bells of chime Sometimes resistance Need more patience Internal flame Solstice Too many humans come with a price looking into envision unto whatever will-do Internal flame nowhere to be tamed Who is to blame no red carpet Why do they call it fame? Winter Solstice chilled wine Shared/unpaired/homebound On- our- own- time Christmas time prayer of hope Feeling land-locked on tight rope All disguises internal flame bruises Masquerade party On a deserted Island all booked But where are the people shell- shocked Dreams are dangerous internal fire Sleepwalked no life desired Some people have it all well- stocked In the apartment minds go deadlocked Looking out of a window if we can only see the same beautiful sky So many endangered species no wings to- fly Looking at the bottom the big family dish My only wish Seeing our loved ones In a starfish*

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September 11 M.O.N.D. Modified Newtonian Dynamics ... speed on the outside of the galaxy and the centre is the same ... what about relativity? In blackfoot I can talk about 2 days backward and 2 days forward A 3 day road That's it my friends Don't go by the 12 month cycle Like 50% of 7 billion Go by the 13 moons Circular? Not quite Time is repetitious Reptilian Might be a better interpretation "Every year we perform the same ceremonies ... We sing and chant the same songs There is even repetition in the songs. Medicine Wheels ... The main axis is aligned with the solstice 0.07 degrees off because of procession of axis Possibly ... Don't go past 2 days ... September 12 Unaccountable, maybe ... September 14 Not accounted for ... maybe not

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Sep 19, 2014

Sep 19, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC

Grand Unified Theory

September 11 M.O.N.D. Modified Newtonian Dynamics ... speed on the outside of the galaxy and the centre is the same ... what about relativity? In blackfoot I can talk about 2 days backward and 2 days forward A 3 day road That's it my friends Don't go by the 12 month cycle Like 50% of 7 billion Go by the 13 moons Circular? Not quite Time is repetitious Reptilian Might be a better interpretation "Every year we perform the same ceremonies ... We sing and chant the same songs There is even repetition in the songs. Medicine Wheels ... The main axis is aligned with the solstice 0.07 degrees off because of procession of axis Possibly ... Don't go past 2 days ... September 12 Unaccountable, maybe ... September 14 Not accounted for ... maybe not

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Five simple words uttered so carelessly out of your perfect mouth just syllables and letters strewn together You had no idea that those simple, careless, beautiful words were my saving grace I can still recall the way the air felt that evening as the sun tried its hardest to stay in the sky purples, oranges, pinks, blues, and reds it looked like the bruise on my face. I can still hear the ** and the ceremonies playing loud in my ears as the car raced down the stretch of street, the marsh on either side all the windows down, my feet on the dashboard my hand out the window, splintered by the last fragments of light in the sky I can still recall you smiling so sweetly at me as you handed me that thing that not-quite-a-cigarette thing, and me taking a long pull how I got this bruise was long forgotten so was my broken home and heart i smiled right back at you as those perfect lyrics filled my head they were the only things i could focus on after that.

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Oct 12, 2013

Oct 12, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC

"Lets go for a ride"

Five simple words uttered so carelessly out of your perfect mouth just syllables and letters strewn together You had no idea that those simple, careless, beautiful words were my saving grace I can still recall the way the air felt that evening as the sun tried its hardest to stay in the sky purples, oranges, pinks, blues, and reds it looked like the bruise on my face. I can still hear the ** and the ceremonies playing loud in my ears as the car raced down the stretch of street, the marsh on either side all the windows down, my feet on the dashboard my hand out the window, splintered by the last fragments of light in the sky I can still recall you smiling so sweetly at me as you handed me that thing that not-quite-a-cigarette thing, and me taking a long pull how I got this bruise was long forgotten so was my broken home and heart i smiled right back at you as those perfect lyrics filled my head they were the only things i could focus on after that.

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The night is breathing apartment aroma and the drunks are tumbling d o w n w a r d through marina side alleys where the Jamaican trumpeter sharpens the brickwork with clamor brass rifle bullet sounds. I get my depression half price at the supermarket, that man made melancholia/ dehydrating all senses/ gunpowder to a broken barrel. Sleepless for that distant girl explosive! She's moving to the big city, yeah there she goes! To live in a place where many go to die. Mango the sky and ashclouds- autumnal daisy/ center sunshine/ opalescent ecstasy reminding one of Indonesia and Darjeeling balcony evening on the cubist block on Kuta on dreams and nightmares simultaneous (THE PARANOIA OF PARASITES) wet air vapor rain February pain in the July bone! Celebration VOICENOISE passing phantom thru paisley sheet corridor. Life is strange.. the strangeness of days receding via the mattress to time and memories and remembering the happenings of ceremonies this year past year CAVALCADE! SPECTACULAR STARLIGHT! OVERVIEW THE FIELD OF TENTS AND LOVERS! Life is an unrecognizable chameleon T R A N S M U T E to some other color iridescent (Where do I go? where do I go?) Say by December the name of my Valentine by boardwalk boreal and I recall the current Summersun pearl/red beautiful and beating (BEDAZZLED LIKE THE HEART)

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Jul 6, 2015

Jul 6, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC

The night is breathing apartment aroma and the drunks are tumbling d o w n w a r d through marina side alleys where the Jamaican trumpeter sharpens the brickwork with clamor brass rifle bullet sounds. I get my depression half price at the supermarket, that man made melancholia/ dehydrating all senses/ gunpowder to a broken barrel. Sleepless for that distant girl explosive! She's moving to the big city, yeah there she goes! To live in a place where many go to die. Mango the sky and ashclouds- autumnal daisy/ center sunshine/ opalescent ecstasy reminding one of Indonesia and Darjeeling balcony evening on the cubist block on Kuta on dreams and nightmares simultaneous (THE PARANOIA OF PARASITES) wet air vapor rain February pain in the July bone! Celebration VOICENOISE passing phantom thru paisley sheet corridor. Life is strange.. the strangeness of days receding via the mattress to time and memories and remembering the happenings of ceremonies this year past year CAVALCADE! SPECTACULAR STARLIGHT! OVERVIEW THE FIELD OF TENTS AND LOVERS! Life is an unrecognizable chameleon T R A N S M U T E to some other color iridescent (Where do I go? where do I go?) Say by December the name of my Valentine by boardwalk boreal and I recall the current Summersun pearl/red beautiful and beating (BEDAZZLED LIKE THE HEART)

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ebbing tides muted shadows sketched in sand a sculpted archive of footprints and wind crashing ocean’s hypnotic slow motion rolling onto the beach rushing white froth washing forth and back renewing the smoothness with salty scrubbing bubbles the setting full moon shines bright projecting her power’s peak reflecting horizontal streaks of crackling blue electricity rippling and running riding atop the cresting waves pounding surf as conduit completing the circuit on shore empowering the Ancients' resurrection in the rising midnight mists mirage-like vaporous images charge clearly visible beneath her sweeping silvery veil buckskin **** cloths, eagle claws and feathers indigenous people stepping rhythmically in a circle feint sounds of chanting and a drum-like heart beat a dance for the ages seeking favor and protection rituals and ceremonies keeping the wolves at bay celebrating the crows’ return or a bountiful harvest as they have for millennia when the moon falls over earth’s edge the dancers dissipate retreating like sand ***** awaiting the next full moon.

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Nov 3, 2013

Nov 3, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC

ebbing tides muted shadows sketched in sand a sculpted archive of footprints and wind crashing ocean’s hypnotic slow motion rolling onto the beach rushing white froth washing forth and back renewing the smoothness with salty scrubbing bubbles the setting full moon shines bright projecting her power’s peak reflecting horizontal streaks of crackling blue electricity rippling and running riding atop the cresting waves pounding surf as conduit completing the circuit on shore empowering the Ancients' resurrection in the rising midnight mists mirage-like vaporous images charge clearly visible beneath her sweeping silvery veil buckskin **** cloths, eagle claws and feathers indigenous people stepping rhythmically in a circle feint sounds of chanting and a drum-like heart beat a dance for the ages seeking favor and protection rituals and ceremonies keeping the wolves at bay celebrating the crows’ return or a bountiful harvest as they have for millennia when the moon falls over earth’s edge the dancers dissipate retreating like sand ***** awaiting the next full moon.

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There is power in ritual In mindfulness Can look like unminded ness But open minded ness Isn't silliness It's pragmatic

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Sep 20, 2014

Sep 20, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC

Reclaim your ceremonies

There is power in ritual In mindfulness Can look like unminded ness But open minded ness Isn't silliness It's pragmatic

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