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Eleete j Muir Jan 2012
To Gods acre caught in the storm
Of the angels immolation harried
Like welcome strangers to the feast of
The good shepherd, the world
The flesh, the devil take the hindemost
Vigilantly stalking Earthly tears
Encrusted jewels upon Hells vestment,
The harbinger of death wearing a garland
Of skulls fashioned off of Heavens tomb
Splendiferously graven upon lonelinesses
Stoop spirited as shooting stars the
Pitched candles of sovereignties saintly hands
Resting between lives enlightening the broken
Lamp of truth purging the liasing humours of
Illuminous damnation unfrocking priests
Under colour of nothingness epitomising
Faiths elixer yonder the gate of unfoldenment
Breaking butterflies on the wheel
Of rightousness unabating delving the vale
Deciduously to show the cloven hoof woe betide
The levity of Man Friday billowing in the
Teeth of the wind.



ELEETE J MUIR.
PAGE ONE SIDE ONE

      The diffident boy’s chameleonic anguish sought to be cordial movements, only projected shaking and quivering hands while strolling along with a girl into a saunter down, down the street on a bridge hanging over a lake in a park.
      "Hold my hand" the boy said in a swoon to the girl, continuing - - "I love the shake, I love that frigid quiver, lets walk, jostle too beat, beat down the wind and jostle the street!"
       “Let us move further toward the illuminated illusions of the sun adjacent with the moon’s reflection blurred, misguiding us from shade for our eyelids, hiding,” the girl deviled, “but I know where, here,” she put out her palm, “that ****** glow is the heart of mine; take it, it is only our own warmth you will find. Let us be it. Only Be. Shade the other rays, for the other way to leave."
       She goes to hand the boy her heart, the boy abducting his hand to his side, distracted with the sun falling from the sky.
       “Oh, I must be here, here at this solemn lake, when it stills,” lightening and thunder from yonder occur, “Locomotion accompanying rain like pillars plummeting into walls capturing you and I becoming the storm’s echo. You may know where it is hiding, however, you will never go to where it is hidden.” each word pulsating from the boy’s mouth, his vision lost in the horizon of the sun burning out like a cigarette’s amber, “If I could only flick dawn into an astray and always be this high, then I would devour that glow in the palm of yours.”
       Tips of leaves sink to point to the ground, the sky begins to cry, and the boy and girl mourn.

PAGE ONE SIDE TWO

            “What the **** are we doing here, we, well I, must leave!” deep breathes in between each word as he spoke, “the air is dry, I can tear off the skin of an idol, spit up a song verbatim, ***** visceral vanity all over your tired hand.” The boy softly said, “To say that I care my dear.” Before the boy could finish all noise in the park inverted, causing sparkling wormholes splashed across the fields and meadows, slices of the moon shimmer on the rounded puddles. “I feel rested, well,” the boy paused, “the surroundings are spoken easy, calmed,” resonating, “calm, only small, smaller than the other."
          "Once… no only once I was told I was cold!  Consummate partner in your parallax! Whirlpool mirage, muddy pupils in the pits of hell, where at least? Is it scene that they are truthful devils?" The girl asked, “You must know, **** it!”

PAGE TWO SIDE ONE

The boy cried, he bellowed out killing, the sound killed,
whistles of felicity disguised in
a distant tree planted far, far over
on sides of mountains, where birds play a poet, creating, projecting the outcome of  this universe evolving, stepping-up the eardrums to shake… vibrate… create...
       "Noo…" the girl held herself under a tree with leaves stealing her. Roots absorbing her warmth, using it to darken the amassing shade, she’s dead, she’s a ghost now.
Killed while the sound killed, she's alone, holding herself, chancing upon her own to keep her memory alive.
       “Heed her advice, heed her owns. Draw pictures of her, with her face clear, photograph her face filled with tears.” The boy facetiously said.

PAGE TWO SIDE TWO

       "Oh, oh, I was a ****** fool, ******. It's graying out, the skies are dispersing, splitting into bluffs, let's go inside, forget about all of this.” The boy diverted.
    “Boy drops dead! Boy is dead!" the girl sedately said, "BOY IS DEAD BOY DROPS DEAD." She said, "lie down, grab hold of your chain, I will hold you no more, I hold only till I warm."
      "Chained? The links I combined on my own, with only you dragging me along. I'll speak easy, hang from this chain where I belong, and carve my epitaph into withering bark. I’ll starve until you deciduously leave this bright park." The boy’s eyes shutting as he fawns his final plight.
Boy dies changing his shoes.
Girl dies draped across roots.
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
Hiking in a musty wood,
A path is laid in mulch and fern,
Dark and canopied, rung evergreen
And deciduously rooted.  My one goal
Set to plateau, reach of hilltop meadow,
Others had told me, lay a pond in the sky,
Was there to experience a peek, where tall
Grasses and dry luster of flowers wild, sang
In highland clearings of golden lace and tarn,
Set with sun to fly and by sharing the long ocean
Straights, beyond the wildest, white horned mountains
Of the moody pacific and with eyes casted once more of
Youth, after sanded sleep and then to steep in wandering
Cloud, as eagles, robed in light and gleems of night, drift,
Careening wistful and free as running dream or simply roam
A foot as the wise, bearded, mountain goats sure and snowy
As they ruminate and forage.  
                                                 At elevated breaking point,
Of storied, pristine clearing, a smoking, lone marmot knotted
His voice in plead and alarm as I was about to breach,
As brigand, the sun clad forbidden, citadel unbidden,
Home of pious souls, of cerulean still waters, intact
Peace, untrampled sanctuary.  As made, that day,
Unwashed interloper, I gazed through threshold
Ends of trees and respectfully circled,
Reverent in spectacle and joy,
Back, down, earthwards.
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
.
Hiking in a musty wood,
A path is laid in mulch and fern,
Dark and canopied, rung evergreen
And deciduously rooted.  My one goal
Set to plateau, reach of hilltop meadow,
Others had told me, lay a pond in the sky,
Was there to experience a peek, where tall
Grasses and dry luster of flowers wild, sang
In highland clearings of golden lace and tarn,
Set with sun to fly and by sharing the long ocean
Straights, beyond the wildest, white horned mountains
Of the moody pacific and with eyes casted once more of
Youth, after sanded sleep and then to steep in wandering
Cloud, as eagles, robed in light and gleems of night, drift,
Careening wistful and free as running dream or simply roam
A foot as the wise, bearded, mountain goats sure and snowy
As they ruminate and forage.  
                                                 At elevated breaking point,
Of storied, pristine clearing, a smoking, lone marmot knotted                          
His voice in plead and alarm as I was about to breach,
As brigand, the sun clad forbidden, citadel unbidden,
Home of pious souls, of cerulean still waters, intact
Peace, untrampled sanctuary.  As made, that day,
Unwashed interloper, I gazed through threshold
Ends of trees and respectfully circled,
Reverent in spectacle and joy,
Back, down, earthwards.
Eleete j Muir Dec 2017
Gods expectorant unfrocking priests
Heavens elixir epitomising the broken lamp of truth
Purging the liasing humours of bane angels
Enlightening deaths harbinger conjuring berevity
Under colour of nothingness as shadows birth
Unabated yonder the gate of unfoldenment
Billowing illuminous damnation as
Black as thunder unforetold expelling
Transgressions red-letter day, conquested
Deciduously in the teeth of the wind
Extinguishing hand over fist corrupt valedictorianism
Delving hell for levity eluding the copious
Breaking butterflies on the wheel
Of righteousness conspiring as sure as
God made little apples to show
The vale cloven hoof woe betide
The tope of man friday
Ryan O'Leary May 2019
Forest Foliage Deciduously
Rustled By Autumnal Thieves.
Ryan O'Leary Jul 2018
Only recently have I
noticed an O zone

depletion on my upper
stratosphere,

I am fully expecting
to die deciduously.
Ryan O'Leary Feb 9
A for sale sign had a tilt on it

and glue of the “ SOLD" chevron

had long given up the ghost,

permitting it to take off in the wind.


It might have made it to the stream

near-by, could be attached to the side

of a boat in Audley Cove by now or

floating face down, under, under offer.


Grass had grown up to the window

sills, the flap of the letterbox was open,

it looked as though it was about to

throw-up its un-masticated missives.


The thumb button of the door bell

was removed and a sock wrapped

round the knocker was worse for

wear, toe holes needing darning.


Lace curtains, supposedly the

sign of mad women may have

been already there when he

bought the house 10 years, it were.


Crows had taken advantage of the

two *** house and no doubt the well

fertilised gutters could be attributed

to their droppings, on both sides.


Redundant down pipes invited ivy

which encroached, and like a pair

of alter boys doing the rounds up the

gable it went meeting at the apex.


Last seasons apples had regular

visits from Thrushes Blackbirds and

Magpies, the Squirrels looked on

curiously at my observation in still.


Massey red Fergusson had a

Robin on the bonnet where flying

ladies pose, the + & — battery

cables were dangling deciduously.


Attempts to slip my envelope under the

door was blocked by a home made snake

but the top pane of a 9 x 9 sash was a

convenient cat flap, so I air mailed.


One last attempt availed of nothing, hello

hello is anybody home must have been a

common occurrence or why else would a

sign inside of the glass read  FFO KCUF.
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2
Migrants

Overcrowding, would ya
look at it, the Milky Way,
far too many stars, bet
ya half of them are from
some other galaxy just
milking our solar system.

Take the moon, now that’s
a one, come day go day, now
you see it now you don’t.

Where does our light go, when
the darkness comes, tell me!

The sea is another skiver offer
high tide low tide Spring tide,
no tide, but that will be a lake.

And the earth does day trips
around it’s axis and once a
year a trip to the back of the sun.

The seasons seem to come
and go as they please but
they deciduously dump their
foliage all over the place.

Birds are economic migrants
pure and simple, especially
those ******* Swallows, did
you know that they have more
nests than one and they leave
their dropping’s everywhere.

Fortunately we’re on an island
or we’d be inundated with the
Transhumances every year
coming here for easy pickings.

****** excursionists the lot of
them, I think there should be a
wall constructed at the equator.

PETA are like all those government
agencies finding accommodation
for these strays when we should
be constructing kennels for our own.

Pest control I say, not passport
control and God knows what diseases
they’ve bringing into the country, is
there anyone checking, we are rabies
free, or should I say, we were!

These animals could have anything,
but what’s more concerning, is that
they’re mating with the native species.
Ryan O'Leary Jul 31
Mixed Metaphor suitable
for Irish racists.


Overcrowding, would ya
look at it, the constellation,
far too many stars, bet
ya half of them are from
some other galaxy just
milking our solar system.

Take the moon, now that’s
a one, come day go day, now
you see it now you don’t.

Where does our light go, when
the darkness comes, tell me!

The sea is another skiver offer
high tide low tide Spring tide,
no tide, but that will be a lake.

The earth does day trips
around it’s axis and once a
year a trip to the back of the sun.

The seasons seem to come
and go as they please but
they deciduously dump their
foliage all over the place.

Birds are economic migrants
pure and simple, especially
those ******* Swallows, did
you know that they have more
nests than one and they leave
their dropping’s everywhere.

Fortunately we’re on an island
or we’d be inundated with the
Transhumances every year
coming here for easy pickings.

****** excursionists the lot of
them, I think there should be a
wall constructed at the equator.

PETA are like all those government
agencies finding accommodation
for these strays when we should
be constructing kennels for our own.

Pest control I say, not passport
control and God knows what diseases
they’re bringing into the country, is
there anyone checking, we are rabies
free, or should I say, we were!

These animals could have anything,
but what’s more concerning, is that
they’re mating with the native species.
Ryan O'Leary Oct 19
.  If Braille could squint out

      through this mornings

   window, he’d be surprised

    to see water buds dotting

the rear side of a pellucid page.


   Our deciduously decorated

  forecourt is a coded jigsaw, of

which we are unable to decipher.

Foliage on the foolscap, dunce'd

   by a lifetime of urbanisation.


Sheared sheep stand sentinel,

horses New Zealand'ly rugged

in Romney Marsh and Merino,

nickering amongst themselves,

downwind of an unuttered Ha Ha.


Hen is on her own, **** of the

walk and doodling as one does

in retirement, clocks going back

soon, roost earlier, longer nights,

  always the up side of winter.


Bluebell hob nobs on the AGA,

whilst, both Arthur and Henry  

Labradoriously share a settee,

attentively listening for the belfry

and the clamour of food bowls.




Staverton Hall is in Nottinghamshire
near the town of Daventry, where we
are currently minding a menagerie of
sheep horses two dogs a cat and 1 hen.

Google Staverton Hall,
Ryan O'Leary Sep 9
Season of empire is
        on us again, trees are
      deciduously waiting for
         a drooping of colour.

— The End —