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Gordi Turnbull Feb 2013
The grass is so green
Down in the meadow
Beside the glistening stream

A cowbell rings
Tolling for lovers
Beside the sparkling water.

Our fingers touch and
A shock jolts our bodies
As we tremble with passion.

The air is hot and still.
Nature's sounds are magnified
As we reach for each other.

Fumbling with our clothes
We caress one another
With hot lips and sweet kisses.

The fragrance of crushed grass
Mingles with the scent of wild roses
As the sun heats our  naked flesh.

Lying together on our blanket,
We make love with an urgency
That takes our breath away.

Afterwards, we lay side by side,
Holding hands, touching
And whispering our love.

That romantic summer's day,
Filled with joy and delight,
And so many years ago.
One day as leep by a captivating woke essence in your handscaught in your arms woke getting up after nearly having died ...you gave me your breathing air and calm your back to life, releasing the fear more gregarious, after opening my senses almost incinerated i learned that the stars trembled me to reach it

I started a new life to sharing with you,
sometimes i feel that in your hands sap this life to revive my acuity,
what to unfold my body, she quadrupled making me shiver by quakes your tenderness.

But today on the eighth day of the universe,
divided my feet walking to you for every step of light sonica,
road on it being over your carnal finesse frosted still light beams for aboriginal embracing love with your gutted threat to the end dump body, being today only light story emerged from any pythagorean indigo.

Eight feet by my raving not walk on forgetful slip hugs and achieve that without it on my feet, making you a path of kisses on a piecemeal moan  covering your pleasures in quiet regia union, sealing and my memories to mummifying the most sensitive areas disown make me when you suffer from almost feel much pleasure.

Your feet chafe my eighth willing body as your hands it to me, this is your feet eight  feet, and your finger eleven flute my way to you open your columns wet and trembling, born in the tropics decorative colors flashing your eyes when mine yours take on your innocence as a mother's dismissal, genesis as a maternal layoffs in the grotto shaggy times makes me roof for to paint with my kisses and my mouth full of oils,  full streaking manias those desires that are further under your skin, deep lining up to associate to me ...!

My seven feet is the semi - obese and language lenticular spider mine, unleavened filling the food, its highest sing syllabic, make your paint  blue and moan molecules liquid call themselves, with its concavity make the bio - live surgery last transplanted hallucinate ... vibratory column of my responsibility on your body, cutting all fear, every element of your flesh lying addict to me hanging on my conscience all descontrol physionomy, losing my light steps sonica falling into the abyss of your distances fragrances, falling in ovation interapeutica licking your body my breath, like a sixth sense.

I meditate burning between your legs, dying as i was born of a woman wild servant, fawn as an almost died for a hunter, i prefer my conscience advance day and night to your legs to die of living where one day saw in the recesses; the greatest pleasures with ambitions to break all your secrets, all your defenses to break your falling on my tyranny, allegory huge walk along the invisible to other united take that helped me your surplus usages, enter you and your being, feeling peace penetrate you, not feeling loving preact, or not to have you in the distance but hugging everytime you Drodida to moisten your words to me,  stuttering of desire.

My six feet organizing penetrates you feast on enraged cowbells,wishes with malice and early pregnat, alcamphor extreme longevity and erectile espermiosicotic, with smoothness and irradiating polish your rattling,
spitting cushion on my bones,
like a sapphire on until your clothes,
and as a inseparable attachment unit dispensable.

My bringing night of Saint John in your prayers for imaginary pain coexist
in between taking you doing it my trees by spoil collude copulate,
taking you stormy ray to the phenomenon with the masses elephantine hitting you on your shoulders, your ******* armpits challenge your beasts i want my grind with canines and incisors to create a new universe of shed your joy to laugh about our loving.

The five feet; rub your skin like a shower delicate pituitary
******* kilometers of rivers into criminal triads morbid on your face ...
as well as the sand masturbates the waves,
on the sand and wave nail with my eyes my spells dominating you,
rolling you thousand times to my love trades.

You shall be called Drodida; worship the everlasting orbit of my sight,
when i go for your absence mount your toxin grotesque gasp;
the stalk watered voluminousity  your mouth singing your sweating my
groaning  telling my cries thinking with my worst vanity,
the turn on rotation vanitatory what you just do me with your stalks and not my serous waters in my effervescent mouth in your ******* astral, arrested in any language your thinking lubrication retained me and your touching, what i always touch in you.

The five feet as a tightening necromantic porosity your skin that change shape your temples and declaims pretending aridity lovers bad; lords nomades covered them your area leafy tagled branches covered to neat legends of penalties appealed fables o mytofagic eaters; brotherhoods of the worst disease of not having small Mt. in high with it my staff rooted in resisting demolition and other eroding sorrow, reverie spoil it captive in your infinite journey of ecstasy explosional femic.

The four feet light make a gentle sonica, dry your language lenticular stalk ciliary zone, enter your supra entails, the cave unexplored wider,enter with both arms with herbs pulsating symmetrical cottoned sleeping in your walls and grotto forms  desensitized, insense redeem the pain of window pastoral bishop uniting both peni-***** areas full of gems balsamic, percusionatives full of eyes.

The three feet,
running is my hand movements on your ******* imprisoned,
they are my two hands scratched by scratching the delivery of your birth.
touch my hands that know not touch, when he was born without willing,
but my biohands touch your skin attached to transfer and progressive evil of love for the shores of cry to the center or your body centers clung to my hands over your thoughts rampant, wanting to stay in the fact to see you perisphery merge at twilight of our our sunken eyes friction and wet kisses dormitation delightful of travel and destructive of wickedness;
fulgurative but doubt of living or dying your enjoyment perpetuate.

The second feet,
you are you loving me on my feet vertically like a weak tower,
ash as rain that spread my fire for you.
i take my hands and i took a walk in the seas of ******* bellowing.
you took the scrub the eternal holy and spinal vocabulary of your mouth muted outrage both enjoy your subumbilicales areas.

The first is my feet Drodidaged,
it full landed liquid bathing you, your eyes full of ***** petals and replete, as bastions fallen with their helmets  gnawed your moans, that resound in memory of trees expectant that divert all about us practice,
only your tilt knee …will exalt   the  time for my happiness excessive.

My feet first,
it is my son music turret  ram rope breaking your every arbour grotto, asleep by the dream Drodida you commanded you do to me,
to rock for you and cutting wheel kissing my return to continue all apocalyptic dreams and your most ****** on my ways about it forever astral.
Plane  it me  come the way to sleep with me,
come see how i am able to teach Drodida
ways of sleeping next to me !!


Jose luis  / 0ctober 2003 -  Copyright 15 – all rigths reserved
Metaphysic Spirit  Erogenous Desire...
sandra bourbeau Dec 2012
We set out to honor Mary
traveling the pilgrim's path from west to east
We walked, we rode the bus
entertained and enchanted by   Cristina
applauding Ramon along the way.
Each day was one of prayer and song, sunshine and fellowship
rosaries and novena
we submitted petitions to Santiago
we laughed with San Serapio
From the grand and magnificent cathedrals
to the humblest village chapel
we grew in faith, hearing God's word in many languages.
We marveled at the dedication and stamina of the pilgrims
making their way on foot and bicycle
at the warmth, generosity, and hospitality
they receive along the way
We picknicked alongside mountain streams
enjoying good food, good wine,and good friendship
we walked down the hillsides in the hot sunshine
passing the pilgrims going the opposite way
we quenched our thirst in a quaint and rustic village tavern.
Ramon drove with skill up the mountains to Garabandal
a remote village suspended in time and beauty
there on the mountain top we sat among the pines
where Mary had appeared.
We sat in silence, in awe and reverence
the only sounds, the whisper of the breeze and the cowbells on the hillside
We  prayed the rosary
It was, for most of us, a most special memory
From our bus we looked out at the mountains
the green and rolling farmland
at the rocky Atlantic coast
at the rios and the rias.
We walked in procession at Fatima and Lourdes
by candlelight and moonlight
and again in the brilliant sunshine
The voices and the church bells
carried across the plazas
enveloping us in joy and prayer and mysticism
It was at the grotto at Lourdes
with my hands pressed on the rocky cave wall
with the holy water on my hands
that I felt Mary's presence
Mary, my mother, my sister, my friend

AVE MARIA
September, 2008
Nolia Joy Sep 2014
Home was
the sound of the djembe
As the beat of the cowbells
Joins the grooving melody
Filling the world
Black girl braids
Flying
And jiving
Feet bouncing and flouncing
Create a music of their own

Home was
the timbre of the chop saw
As the purr of the transformers
Joined by the flare of the drill
Screamo blares
Loving
And teasing
Voices filling up the room
The family dinner song

Home was
The Bumble bee tuna
As sung by tone deaf voices
And endless refrains
Fill in the void
That was never open
A harmony
And chorus
Of Wandering pitches

Home was
The aroma of a chai latte
As fresh air hit our faces
Joining the snickerdoodle scent
a lunchtime escapade
music blaring
heat blasting
laughs trilling


(Stanza Break)
Home was
The feeling of love
As you walk into your family
Join those you
love
those you
cherish
and feel
safe
Gary Jun 2014
Rhythmic beats,
Rain drops fall.
-listen to them all

Steady in pace,
Not missing a sound
Hitting my roof,
Hitting the ground.

Wind like an orchestra,
Howls from the side.
Rain crashing on my window
Like hitting a cowbells side.

Trees shaking,
As drops hit their leaves.
Making beautiful tones,
Sounds of tambourines.

Rhythmic sounds peacefully there
Painting pictures as I sleep,
All night I could stare.
Storms are my guru of meditative seduction.
kevin kilby Nov 2015
a cowboys life is honest and real nothing fake about the ride nothing fake about the feel you can tell a horseman not only by the time in the saddle but the stories he tells and the ringing of the cowbells no one knows how far a cowboy has to rome to find his home but his heart will be in the saddle and he'll tell you finding your soul is half the battle
Period homesteads line Peppercorn Road , meticulous working farms of corn , cotton and sorghum cultivars , rugged gravel drives cut into dried , red clay ditches , Charleston architecture cooling her Summer residents . Double story barns with white washed brick silos , picket fences and blue ribbon cattle .. Sturdy Pole barns shelters surrounded in shamrock clover , the clanging of cowbells as Dairy cows return from her glistening fields ... Catfish feeding frenzies over field corn and evening mayflies , gas porch lights illuminate the family garden with activity in Summer well into night , Crowder peas and Fordhook butter beans , Okra and Butter peas harvested free of Red wasp and Bumblebees as opposed to hungry mosquitos , red chiggers and Crane flies ... Silver washtubs on hot , humid nights , the instant relief of cool well water relieving the pang of harvest .. The creaky screen door and porch ceiling fans , white rockers and good books ...Mason jars filled with sweet tea , hearts filled with adventure and young eyes with sleep .. Coonhounds sing to the ever rising gold Moon .. All was well .. All was most certainly well ...
Copyright March , 6 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Sugar frosted sorghum fields , icing on divinity branch , conjures
a few borrowed phrases scrambled in a Croaker sack . At latitude with
a blue tick coonhound sneaking a peek through the brambles that twist through the hedgerows at a meek , timid mink with a playful eye on morning snow ..
Curious Crow concerned with which way the wind blows , Eastern gray's curious as to why their shadows grow , chasing one another without a care at all , relax outside their sweet gum abode ..
Milkers in the onion field led to proper pasture ..Cowbells break the chilly silence , Red rooster performs *****-nilly atop the pole barn .. Guineas spinning yarns about the other end of the farm , lively geese turning heads for miles around ..
******* jack beagles bray for the edge of the soybean field with no desire for corncake and hot cereal ..
Copyright January 10 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Meadowlarks in the canebrake
Twilight hints with fuchsia trickery
Animated waning Moon , sylvan
troubadours in perfect tune
September Season of the Witch ,
Barn Owls cry out in perfect pitch
Starlings crowd field barns , Mockingbirds
spin Ghostly yarns , brown leaves crumble
in the eerie wind , Stallions whinny sending
shivers across bare skin
Cowbells clang in the pitch black night
Coyotes howl from the hillside
Tin roofs clap under their own power
Wind chimes sparkle and call , hour after hour* ....
September 4 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Rhode Island Red rooster serenaded the mornings in lively duets with Farm tractors , cowbells , children laughing while rushing to catch the grade school bus
Lively Herefords calling from misty bottoms
Noisy , nosey Geese honking on a cool , clear Autumn
The banter of Bantam hens setting eggs
The aroma of bush- hogged fields , red Barns , Well houses and Tool sheds* ....
Copyright August 6, 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * Al Rights Reserved
The Moon was a coward on a humid , ominous , windy evening in April ! Security lights overwhelmed by pitch black night , coyote's were calling for the morning light ..
Cowbells came alive , giving anxious cattle away ! Moving erratically , calling fanatically , huddled together quite alarmed by the weather !
The roosters began to crow , fooled by constant lightning , the hens awakened a bit frightened , sought the security of their nest box's .. Inquisitive turkey's stood in the rain ! The mule's and the hound dogs began to bray !
The ducks and the geese were quite happy in their element , the guinea's and the hogs rolled over ambivalent !
The storm came and went , the tree frogs hummed , the crickets kept time and the katydids strummed ..
Spring stars returned , winds blew calm , the man on the Moon peeked out from the clouds !
Copyright November 28 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2020
I’ll tell you. You can hear it on the map.

At the window, on the terraces,
clapping, yelling, cheering,
jiggling piggy banks, blowing toy horns,
banging pots and pans, even ringing
some gone-very-far-astray cowbells.

in their cars, honking horns,
at the dinner table, inside,
families with little kids cheering,
while supper super cools, no matter.

It is the moment of our everyday,
when we thank those whose who
risk their lives to save, so we may survive
to live to see our children’s children thrive.

the EMT’s, doctors, nurses, firemen,
the police, even the subway & bus drivers,
who take them to their jobs, and honor with
extra banging and unsilenced tears for

those who have passed in performance,
their unseen courage is marked on our eyes,
their extraordinary service to us is a forever
medaled upon our skin, in our lungs, it is
their air we breathe, freely...
our living keepsake of their duty.

4/14/2020
7:30pm
Pericles exposes: "Content of enchantment I receive your gift, arts, letters where you have to visit a sacred replied that I have made here in the Empyrium, here the Republic will boast of ancient theaters by the hand of Phidias that you will have entrusted to you. Our north has been traced in this replica of the Acropolis or Parthenon, which awaits us in the long chain of Colargos. Behold, I have resumed the descendants that live behind the lion's hooks, and of your name Strategoi whom I have acclaimed to see you perceive you more than silence from those who never knew of your prowess, and your incidence of Gaugamela and Delphi, you must to know that huge Lepidoptera brought me your messages every day of unknown liturgy that I only expected after your investiture, and then to be received here together with Themistocles, that the vulnerabilities would never revert to the disadvantage of Greece because the safeguard of interest is to beat up our surrounded land, not land and sea; but of famous Hoplites who are the ones who have contained the edges of each border, but not of the Areopagus where I had to see you in your Ekklesia or assembly and classicism insult that succumbed with the interference of the Achaemenides. Nothing will I dare to be equal to when redoing or undoing what memory only has to stick to my science, but what do my hands think more than the same thing I did or shouldn't have done...? We are guarantors of our solace and mendicant stay here where you have been privileged to be brought by your Mashiach, and by me for all the declined attempts or opposite that you see in the Sun with his wealth; and all that we have been able to recover from its insignificant parts of those fleeting flashes of democracy, in the Micro Empyrean I have also duplicated the marble that does not compare to Oenidea in the Gulf of Corinth, or of resolved ideas to face in the Peloponnese. There I could see that I could never observe you if someone had recruited you because he had no advice or formats of your existence to bring you. Your storms were already propelling you over the skies of Greece, where there was never time and space that was denied to you, but who belongs to the chroniclers who did not know you until you propelled your Parapsychologies with your Corinthian helmet, and the pompous Light that expanded when they cut the flanks of the world with your Xiphos. What incompatibilities could be added to this old discernment, by tomorrow you will be back on Patmos, and I could clear you from a ministerial or skillful congressional decree to highlight the contentious bodies that want to join all of Greece, with more life than they have fallen and take advantage of its heritage. Perchance a phoro or tax, which relieves the girdling of a mandate that runs with the same vigor of your steed to take it to its bare sender.

The sacred wars have given you the approval that is sensed in the oracles of the world, more than the edicts of a sporadic Apocalypse that will be reversed in the Kassotides. And that the oracles will be invisible particles that file and distill what tends to extinguish a conservative policy and maintenance of the kingdom that survives here in the empyrean. Namely and officially, all the depths of our ocean will never be able to cover up what the owners of their appearance or betrayal will merit to cower by hitting each other's elbows. My fleet will have great limits to take beyond the imaginable with your garments and virtues, as Sóter or Strategoi that vindicates the self-revelation of crushing with politics an alliance that is managed by a will governed by the real sense of Will spread further afield than any personal interest. At the bottom of the treasury, you will find an Acropolis with its priestess canephora and basket full of delicacies, subordinated to a treasury that pours on all the roofs of Greece the profits that will spread everywhere to your new abode, far from the antagonistic factions that, although they show a toast at sunset with your glasses full of must from your servant Pericles. I am and will be a witness that I will deny or that nothing and no one can deny you, because you are part of Hellas, where it's packed rattles roar that will bring bleating and screams of Prometheus, due to such immensity of a Greece that also abounds in the Divine Heaven.
Stay away from Hetaira and Aspasia, otherwise, they could unseat you from your purged being, which can confuse hunger with the icy frenzy of your human impulses, more than the Lacedaemonian wielders who fight for your skinned serge, for new accounts to surrender to otherness with Alcibiades if you find yourself near any wasteland here in the Empyrean. Already the fertilized land of Demeter is proof of a slip of flower clusters that have become encysted in Persephone's locks, and that it is already Equinox! The winds are strongest at more than seventy centimeters from the sheaf that brushes your hands, they are more ferocious if it is that the skies that fall before your eyes when they are more dependent on land, which has an intractable dry well of fewer than seventy centimeters…!

I will donate the Parthenon to you, the harvest and the gracious gesture of it will not tire of your determination to surrender to its perfection so that it may be optimized. On the present day of 323 B.C. C. the ashes of Alexander the Great of Macedonia fall into our hands, and Vernarth his commander, together with my fleets of thousands and thousands of Syntagmas, with the allegory of Camels and cowbells, will take your sheep together to your Kafersesuh or manger that only has a promiscuous thirst for brave odors of piety, if it is from the plausible future to write everything that I have told you today of the Duoverse on a puny Ostracon, writing your obsequies of what I will have to exile to the border of the sooty Angels so they don't have to intimidate you. All the lands belong to you and plead for your guardians, who in the hour of your departure have fled farther from the entangled leaders. Today I have addressed, and I have harangued you, leaving to your possession my own pecuniary, and duty of Hegemon that I would leave no one else from the Kathartyrium, and pecuniary so that they promote you with my purging bordering on your celebrity by enlightening me in the Stars of Athens "

At the culmination of the course, when he let go of the Mashiach's hand, Vernarth dropped from a strong and fast scene of Othónes or screens, which made him fall to a vacant farmhouse called amphiprostyles; with porticoes and snowy columns that made him green at his feet and above all his will that was preparing for the Opistho that precisely protected his Energeia of rest, which was his great treasure that will carry him through all the ages, times, spaces and galaxies of the which with his gnosis could accumulate it from the God of all who goes more to the other side of the divinity, who can be contained in a mural in which the entire universe goes to embed itself of all physical and material forms, here is the philosophy of a Universal man that appeared with great similarity to the scattered spaces of Parapsychology instilled by the conspicuous Parerga and Paralipomena; of which he vindicates his versar by saying that intelligence is not capable of monopolizing more than the ego itself that cannot stand itself, for this reason that in his collection on the shelf of this space he places it next to the hybrid booklet of Messolonghi's Koumeterium, on this versed metaphysics here not degraded of the minimum parts, adorning them with the largest microparticles of what is made up in murky and intermittent beats of the unviable of the soul, and etheric body that would now sustain it. The reason for these inclusions were supplements, and quilts that will be put in the universe to rest with this work. The soul of this mission would be read by the most daring professor decipherer…, The Messiah! that lay on the slopes of the Talamí river, or paths of leaves through this river of leaves that carried all the parchments of books from the creative world, of which these will be randomly in the ascending areas that traveled on this selected *****, and later they will be read by the Messiah and Vernarth. The generalization of this celestial philosophy was summarized in booklets that were growing, whose reality surpassed the unreal, making it the most evident stratum of a posthumous theory, and discernment that promotes the paths of the Opistodomos of the Talami universe, and its leaves that bring riches of all the literary works, architectural musicals and all art that is enrolled in the science of its unmistakable reality with the same presence of all the worshipers of Liberty from where its primary sanctified origin is born, more than any treaty of a work that should go through all the static of the world being able to do what they deserve by having in their hands the same book Schopenhauer's Parerga that sustains the entire world, and Vernarth that maintains the Universe of fusion called Duoverse with the exclaimed doctrine breaking the inertia and static of what reality becomes before your Being, of what is present is of any dimension of the body and its existential relativity. Of all that it cogitates or not, it could be individualized and alternate with the freedom that the object thinks by itself. In this evanescent instant, the aerial masses of the internal warm air of the Iridescent Nimbus addressed the absorption of the sapphic limit of the Opistodomos, in such a way that the words could have verses that could be long and short as a single in the womb of everything created..., The universe has been dismantled on its own implied, however, it folds…! That from the remains of your soul wounded in occasional disasters revives because what you saw is the light of heaven. In this way, the sapphic element swirled above everything that was not holistic, which was only going to collapse on the ground of ignorance that was beginning to rebuild itself. The obvious explicitness made all the beauty in the world fleeting and ephemeral, but Vernarth recomposed it with the seeds of the Talami leaves, and the garrulousness of the tributary of flax leaves and pasted leaves of wisdom that ran through the nominal and famous matte, wide and short.
Ékthesi Pericles
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" ****** exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,

boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia

finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life

cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,

lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,

gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter

to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better

than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
**** suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,

her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter

ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
Messiah trifle

Each one speaking with their eyes, after looking at various roofs without their own rooftops, all serene, ... but half of their faces in violet iridescence, sounds and choral masteries emerged from the surface in flocks of white doves from the Azores islands, it rained growing multiplied times on its wings, before reaching the mass of the annunciation near the stable. Vernarth arrives and sees people gathered together and holding hands, others holding the cowbells of the animals to hear the sweet voice of the little boy flapping like cotton in the harvest of the braying of a colt that fell asleep in the shadow of its parents before to eat. Vernarth puts down his sword Xifos and kneels and crosses himself, with the hand that allowed him to move his fingers, unlike his right chest wounded in battle. He makes a metallic cross sign when crossing his swords with water flooding the sidewalks of his latest dazzled ideologies. One day he wandered away from the alleys of Emmaus where he had visions of Praetorians, discovering the idolatrous humors and aromas of a newly arrived child from the white clouds of an approaching stable.

Fearless and with light years he came crawling in his arms, and with his crown traveling from the smallest space that the world unburdens in a Templar, first-time and omega period, with the appearance of being born for all.Perfect and newborn with frequent blue body, blood and eyes. Covered with gummy substances and gelatinous…, anti-Herodian; seeming to save others with their little hands of divine matrix, which manage to enter the heart of God, even with fingers that do not reach the eyelashes of God. He is never seen as strange, only his ***** that never seems to come out of him. But it is spontaneous; he sparkles outside the womb of his holy mother, with immersed placenta in his prayers of the induced shepherd of the womb of the ****** Mary. That large arms shelter the orchards, to surround all those present in a birth that looked like that of a female ******, who could raise a child to be King of the consecrated animals as well, as few do wanderings to the right of the Menorah resident waking her up early.

Vernarth says: “What should we expect? ... The vigil ... with his shoulders bowed and his head pointing north of Jerusalem, this petty king bending his pre-fetal knees, after nine candles to the right of the troubled Menorah. Even though it was not premature, the midwife who helped the puerperal Maria distanced him from the halo parenthesis, which playfully changed where to put himself, near his holy interior, or that is a trigger for the powers of luminescence. Self-creating from a thick but light layer of psyche, which would make him independent from Joseph and Maria… and if there were not! His fists since he was a child had indications of a stigma, when he was just unborn and not born, blue flames came out of his hands, illuminating the eyes of his dazed parents. His golden reflections of Rabbi suckled serous when his mother slept, he did not allow him to see her consciously removing her intra lacto lymph from her entrails, in whose gothic light, she ****** the dominant magnificat of the Vulgate. He ****** in order to take his lacto and his left hand to space it out to all who wanted to enter his meta-object cooing. Thus he introduces his thumb into his mouth, pressing it on his palate, startled at the braying of the funny colt. All those present took with their hands the other hands with their own thumbs, returning to their childhood cycles just navigating in the manger. At that moment, far from feeling the lights walking close to the fields of vision, shiny noble metals ..., their eyes dazzled chandeliers as if they were twinning. Here he moves his arms copiously as if wanting to fly from there, with the vigor of his winged mother, to follow her beyond a tender left-handed Golgotha deception. That he retained the pendulum coming and going from one arm lower than the other, when turning on him embracing his lush maternal hand.”

His early nervous system that was celebrating on the back of the colt, stood out with rags in the temples that he imagines to be, sacral effluvium in waters on the flat cattle, the camel and Raeder and the Pelican Petrobus and other animals, who were on their knees and smiling with their hands glued to each other, all sweet to the right from the sweet nectar of the mangificat. All the excited animals still trembled with excitement on the ground and demure from this alpha biblical moment, they all imitate the trembling animals, but each of the adults who were, hugged the hands of each animal and child present as a sign of giving comfort to the parents, along with their children who seemed to be an adult saying goodbye to their birth. His scaly breathing, was full of anagrams of magnificat, they used to trace the analgesic source of the dream of seeing him among golden and straw fistulas of grasses breathing next to him. The voices were heard from outside, of those who could not enter the glory and breath without equal of the resentment of the world, distracted in a piece of tin and hardened hearts, now resplendent from seeing so much sleeping their gaze on them and sleepy yawning a child Golden. When they breathed his glory, they catered to the patrons of Priestess Deborah, who for some normalized his feminism and strength into a mother breathing the libertarian and midwife history of a nation that should have been born in a stable in Judah. Mary and Joseph,  every second they distracted themselves from looking at him, felt that the Messiah grew too large, worrying them about this strange unreality. They breathed more than their own son, seeing him without breathing what he had to do in the Lord's garden where he allowed him to do it today. Everything that his parents took to be distracted, the Little Messiah brought it to fruition to bring it together in the shine of his blunt nails, coercing those present with love by adoring and hugging them ..., even beyond the cobblestones that were towards his sacred back, hiding in the shadow of any gesture of a political enemy.

Saint John says: “God son and Man, priest made Pope…, the younger ones run after the older ones, the bible for more apostles so that they may enlarge and spread it, that the Gospels add more pages and favorite editions. Procoro; you who are… in some seat on Patmos prepare sacred scrolls with the thick corpulent ink…, which will reach your cell and seat. Studies ... something's wrong...? An anointed Christ needs us to write for him, because his hands are asthma in words and inspiration that move all the leaves of the world, reading them scattered and lecturing,….in every well and every step, where son and man, where king and mother and where each mother has to dry the cloying slime that dries up the mystery of having her white and emaciated. Let her sleep, perhaps when she wakes up she will find a Messiah who will never cease to be in her arms…, in the Magnificat and on a colt to take her back sitting on a blanket with stripes written in her ratio…, of two magnitudes, Mother - Son / Son- God "
Messiah trifle
Alternately titled: Get out of my head mister chatterbox!

While inside me noggin legions
of monstrous demons abhor
protest being force fed
arcane and obscure
assaying into religious dogma
hence mind chatter goes full bore
thus crafting poem quite a difficult chore,
one lightweight bag of bones
basketcase weave gotta deplore,

nevertheless mine tincup rattled
courtesy garden variety eyesore
athwart slip stream
of space/time continuum
twenty two minus
seven years and fourscore
orbitz around black hole sun
scattering cremains galore
camouflage ashes colored like ****.

Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" ****** exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,

boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia

finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life

cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,

lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,

gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter

to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better

than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
**** suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,

her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter

ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
Ransacking treasure trove
of maximum headroom.

To remedy a fate worse than death
or contracting one
of several viral diseases named pox
permeate heavy shut tight door
with numerous deadbolts
and sophisticated locks
and impossible mission to out fox
analogous to roach infestation,
who favor nesting within custom made
Roper men's shoes brand name Docks.

Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" ****** exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Das scribe's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia

finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned
in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,

now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered

into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
**** suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,

while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
I always hear them crying
think they're trying to get
back to the sea
but here's a new thing
just heard some cowbells ring,

Stratford is getting weirder.

— The End —