"deific" poems
“A real man,”
She said,
“Must not be afraid to show his sensitive side,
But he better swing his *****
When he needs to.
He must be strong
But his strength must not make him weak.
He must be smooth,
But he must not slip or slide away.
He must be refined
Not ground thin.
He must be proud
But not haughty.
And then she smiled
Her cavalier smile.
And I said
“Let me show you.
Let me show you what a real man looks like.”
So I showed her.
I showed her my death
And rebirth,
I showed her my missing rib
And broken teeth,
I showed her my lying mouth
And my truthful eyes,
I showed her my deific wrath
And I showed her
The book I wrote
In ancient tongues
A thousand years ago
I showed her that holy book,
My seditious tyrannical spirit,
My unconquerable will to dominate
Then I showed her my hand,
Its fine lines,
And the diacritic print of each finger.
Then she showed me,
Purpose.
Jun 10, 2011
Jun 10, 2011 at 7:50 PM UTC
A newborn father
wears a path to heaven
in polished holy marble
'neath the pedestal
of stoney saints.
Deific overseers
cast artificial glory
incandescently.
A slice of dimly lit
hospital heaven
is framed with two candles
and the incense of Betadine.
Saint John's shadow
shares confessions
and supplications
over a once-immortal man
now unashamedly broken,
bartering trade with God -
his life for his son's.
This shoebox chapel
is starking cold.
Cold enough to preserve meat,
and doubts
which mock peace
against nun-hardened walls
echoing Satan's laugh.
Hope drowns in the ripples
of a basin filled with water
to wash our sins
but not our fear.
In the air hangs
the promise of eternity
(which is spiritual code for "death", but no one says "death" outloud. The more they don't say it, the more it sounds like "WE AREN'T GOING TO SAY "DEATH", WE CAN'T POSSIBLY SAY "DEATH", UNTIL IT IS SO UNCOMFORTABLE THAT WE MIGHT AS WELL BE SAYING "DEATH, DEAD, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DEATH AND TO TOP IT OFF...ON YOUR MOTHER'S GRAVE").
Yet piercing through
the promise of eternity
is the frail wail
of his baby's voice.
Legacy lingers in a
plastic manger down the hall.
Resurrection is more
than a prayer, it is his spirit
rising for one more miracle.
Faith is summoned
like a woozy fighter
demanding his will
to go on,
beaten,
half-concious
on the mat
refusing to lay down
for the count.
"God, I believe.
Help my unbelief."
The weeping man
stares into a statue's eyes
for salvation.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
Build this structure block by block
He was intriguing, infinitely appealing,
Building his way to the quiet peace of the top.
Build this city block by block
He was outspokenly subdued, a mystery to grip to
A tower, a steady force, a rock.
Build this utopia block by block
He was terrific, immaculately deific,
Captivating in the only way humans are not.
Build this Elysium block by block
Oh, I think you know him not, I think you may be all talk,
These palace gates will ever remain locked.
Build this friendship block by block
Oh, I think I know him not, oh I know I can't run nor walk,
But I am certain I want to be caught.
That one decision could inspire hope,
I never thought, I never knew; I hadn't the slightest clue,
This is what saved me; how I cope.
I'll build this life block by block
Thank you, I was on the edge, I was through,
Block by simple block until time finally stops.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
The blue sky, dotted with white clouds
The sun, in its last lap of race
The slanting rays gleam in crystal glow
Their beauty to the earth they bestow
As I stand and watch this lovely evening
I experience an inner glow of a deific kind
Elegant colors flow and fade
As the sun paints a paradise before me
The river lies arched like a lunar crescent
In my ears falls the sound of lapping waves
As she winds her course through verdant banks,
She speaks a language I can hardly understand
Without pause, she moves on relentless
Eager to join the ocean’s devouring embrace
Scripting the songs of her arduous journey
And chiming her anklets in soundless rhythm
There is a divine sweetness in the air
My exhalation blends with the cool wind
That whirs softly humming a mild tune
Birds get ready for their evening symphony
The twilight smiles and sends the sun away,
Obscuring manifold vistas near and far
Night quickly spreads its dark wings
It's time to make a move, homeward....!
Jan 4, 2021
Jan 4, 2021 at 5:59 AM UTC
Lo! The holiest saint, arises underneath the sun /
Whose august, resplendent rays fulminate /
Auric with excellency; golden in his eyes; /
Therefore, my pilgrimage upon this world /
Is but an ephemeral speck, an exhalation, transitory, /
For all is a preparation, a quickening /
Unto Greater Eden! /
Lo! A Land where dreaming is fallacy for /
Arcadia awakens anew with each morn: /
Love & Light brim in every living soul; /
There in my heart, I fathom The Transcendent hears my /
Beckoning cries beneath /
The adamantine moon, & /
My wishes shall be ordained at twilight. /
Lo! "Know thyself," said the sage; /
Yet, every man, /
Every woman, /
Every child, /
Falters should they fathom themselves fully. /
Ye, ignorance is not only ephemeral bliss, but existential.
(Voracious self-knowing is moored in a sea of vanity) /
Lo! Understand that meant to be understood /
By mortal eyes, yet, mind /
That there are deific forces whom devise, /
Transcending the veiled realm of our Mind's Sky; /
Therefore, we must allow ourselves /
The privilege of unknowing: /
By virtue of this advent, enlightenment is borne. /
(—Se' lah)
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 6:33 PM UTC
Rays of Sun baptismal,/
Glisten upon my /
Sol- Dazed epidermis /
As I /
Waft in throes /
Of Beauteous romance & /
Wax hypnotized by /
The sweet nothings of my/
Desiderata Materialista Transcendentalista. /
Resting in the algid embrace of /
The Hiemal Winds /
Atop my /
Voluptuary Ivory Tower, /
In this cup I, I savor the flavor, /
Of ambrosia stimulanté: /
—Rousing me with each sip, /
Of sweet deific nectar, /
Starbucks Pike Place with White Chocolate Mocha Creamer. /
The former barista in me, /
Waxes & wanes in waves; moreover /
The past is derelict, /
The future is nigh, /
The present is luminous /
As I /
Wonder Upon /
The seasons, the distance, the space, and the time,/
That separates me from mi amour, ~ a moment in time. /
(—Se’ lah)
Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 10:23 PM UTC
***Monday, November 11th, 2019
The pain in loss can be a deleterious scourge, undoing all the threads of light embedded in the heart. Who am I to contend with the ethereal tides of the cosmos? A juvenescent soul enrapt mine entity for but a moment, yet, soon thereafter, he was gone. Vanquished by the Winds of Undoing, he may never re-alight upon my soulscape; however, I must go on. Let dreams illumine the fulgent irides you are starry-eyed to see.
I must trust that all things are working out for their highest good. In me are all the answers that I seek; we are our own nexus to transcendence. Will I ever see him again? I am without certainty, but I shall arise triumphantly. Tears may yearn to cascade my countenance, but I will waxeth impregnable apropos of the deluge of sadness.
Who am I? I am the emblematization, the insignia of love. Christ truly abides within each one of us. If I am to truly attain my Apex Monumental, I must undergo tremendous sufferings; therefore, ne’er fathom that suffering is thine undoing, ―tis your making.
Press onward valiant warrior, love shall open every doorway. One day, thine Ultima Thule shall manifest itself before your eyes; moreover, the patriarch you never had shall be found in the Arbiter of Fates above. Never give up young one, for you are aeonically loved. Wisdom, Love, Justice, Power and all the virtues vested in this cosmos shall teem within thine vessel.
Sanctity is perhaps a notion, a theistic & ratiocinatively deific dogma. I fathom it an inordinately exclusive fallacy that maketh one feel holier than his brethren. Was any man or woman foreordained above any other? And if so, were they given not a privilege, but a duty? An anointing means one is set apart for a higher purpose, not a lionizing gasconade.
“He who dares to teach must never cease to learn.” It is true that the erudite has immense gift, but they likewise carry profundity of mandated travail. In each one of us, lie the answers we seek; therefore, we must introspect & retrospect in order to circumspect. We must search and seek, in order to find. Let the one who knocketh, have it revealed unto them, have it opened.
∞(Se’ Lah)∞
Excelsior Forevermore,
Sanders Maurice Foulke III**
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 6:43 PM UTC
The mantra of Hiroshima incarnate
The map of every star in a torn fishnet
Loss of life among other consequences
Images of words as the devil slowly dances
The apple of Eden's been bitten before
Only now does it have some of Pandora in store
A weakened mind in a deific shell
The new tree of life unleashes true hell
Broken, torn, shattered eternal face
The petite, pure angel has fallen from grace
Inconsistency in post-modern apocalypse
Collapsing under the hound's charred up lips
Burning new wings in a sea of the womb
Blossoming inadequacy, eternal tomb
Callous, joyless orange ocean abound
The true retaliation, a hurricane of sound
Lazy eyes and a dysfunctional throat
Untrue might, a choiceless faux-goat
Green, emerald, grass, truly loveless
Alight the need to never again fess
Drowned a nobody, a weakened coward
Behind a true god's skirt he always cowered
No more colors, a blackened white sand
A recall of choices this boy doth demand
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
Spirit descends
Taking shape
From
Nirvanic infinitude
And is carnally crystallized
In an incarnadine
Shrine of flesh,
Bone and marrow.
Let the anima of wisdom
Hear the unuttered reverberations
That ripple as a shockwave
Through this
Vast, multidimensional
Cosmos
And utter
The esoteric secrets of existence.
A verisimilitude of life
Loometh in the irides
Of the
Gasconading celestial
And we
Must wax lowly
To
Wax lofty.
Trust that something
Interstellar, intergalactic, macrocosmic, multiversal;
Fatidic, fathoms all
With
Omnibenevolence.
Ye, this
Visage of Creation keeps vigil
In the corporeal pulse of plight.
Fulgurant perdition is for
But an
Ephemeral exhalation, Elysium is for eternity;
(Therefore)
Gaze heavensward
Knowing the Holy Dove
Shall always
Rise and fall.
Promises await:
A deific covenant
Etched in the
Slabs of our hearts,
(I Hear)
The Requiem of Lovelit Life resolved
In the
Key of the Archean.
Spirit rises,
Dismantling form
And intertwines infinitely
All that is, was, and will be;
Circular & cycling
Forevermore
The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love
Sees all.
(Se' lah)
Nov 19, 2019
Nov 19, 2019 at 10:13 PM UTC
i am powerless in your presence,
you’re the evidence of things not seen,
a beauty i can’t un-see,
see, you’re everything i’ve been praying for
my mind stays on you, my lips can’t say much more
your essence is the evidence of
prophesies; your presence is deific
magnificent is your image as you
baptize me in this new religion
you got me prostrating, your heavenly body is so amazing,
you make *** feel like divine revelations
i run my hands down the small of your back and it
is smooth as the ponderosa of a harpsichord,
spine subtly dimpled like the pebble-grain of a hymnal
this union we’ve made is not holy,
dulcet notes hit my ear the second you spoke to me,
you must be a goddess, baby
you radiate with the same intensity as the countenance of the sun
i get between your knees and
bless you with a thousand tongues
you’re dripping a lovely tincture;
it runs down my lips like holy scriptures
concupiscence is slowly
evolving into firm convictions,
throw away all inhibitions and
give into our carnal rhythms
i know our spirits intertwining,
for the first time, i feel christened
though we broke free of tradition…
you may be the goddess, but in the end,
i’ll be giving the commands
you’ll try to get a grip on reality
while you’re gripping the bed
you’ll feel a “hallelujah” deep down
without you clasping your hands
i’ll have you calling on a higher power just for you to call on him again
we are birds of a feather,
our souls merge perfectly together
our bodies intercede, while your hips reply to me,
it’s always sweet communion when i’m looking in your eyes
your smile is bright white ivory, something unrivaled
i could die in between your thighs and experience revival
{j.c.c.}
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
How can a thing, so divine like you
can fall on this land of sins
and make it a bit more peaceful,
purify the sinister plans and kins?
Your sound is such music to ears,
I don't ever want it to be misheard.
You sing a lot of lyrics on your silence,
washing off a tree so withered.
Your cool little lads make the green fields shine,
and such beautiful story the tell .
And your deific resource of Adam's ale,
assuage and cleans nature's throat so well.
You're the only pure thing in this impure world
or I should say you were.
'Cause not a thing, even sacred like you,
can make the greedy human beware.
Forgets your purity, calmness and love
and he treats you like an entity.
But he shall pay for this cruelest crime,
for he had polluted a thing so holy!
Till this day I feel your form so pure,
'cause there are only a thing or two like you.
You remind of love, peace and control,
and yes they are not evil but pure like you.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
Dear, Arabia Ohana,
This brief but edenic stint shared en masse and peripherally has, a fortiori, made me brimfully ecstatic to have become apart of this ohana. This parcel is to impart my incredulously revered kismeted perspective on this pleasant billet symbiosis that I accredit to the deific clairvoyant who fondly granted our correspondence with utmost prudence. I cannot convince myself some lackadaisical serendipity materialized this perfectly pertinent vista. With profound sentiment I personally express how this considerably blessed boon has merited profuse gratitude, absolute admiration and the reverent affection from my entire family as of quandam, contempto and nigh.
With genuine gratitudinous laud
Jesse Revollar
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 11:17 PM UTC
I must trust that
Every flaw is a blessing
And with each set of imperfections
There will also be a set of advantages,
It’s the process of efflorescence
That creates such a painful dichotomy;
Blossoming is like an upward spiral of refinement
Extricating iniquity, thereby, heralding excellency.
The ego is a feeble sense of self-identification;
Therefore, I must aim higher,
Or aim to fail instead.
If forsooth, I fail to aim,
I will
Inherit
Defeat by default
(Witherance in its wake).
Words become a lost art
In my odyssey; Without integrity,
The highest divine is futility.
Of Truth in this heart of mine
Acquisition always lies in action,
Motion creates energy
And energy is limitlessness
In what it creates & magnetizes.
When the static rises
I will relinquish my fears
Unto the Deific Divine,
All that quakes my heart,
All that thunders,
What Makes this Mind’s Sky tremulous
Shall be purged & undone
By the Holy Dove.
We all become deluged by darkness
& vexation, at these exhalations
Oblivion seems legion,
We lose our ability to hear
The voice within;
Yet, these oracular undulations,
Are our beckoning The Empyrean
For salvation.
Believe in The Arbiter Of Fates,
Fathom that His fatidic waves
Augur redemption to those
Iniquitously ordained; enclaved,
In the Visage of Shadows
You will come to know
The inviolable promise, that sacrosanct oath
Of aeonic, sempiternal, everlasting love.
(Se' lah)
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 7:11 PM UTC
he said to you on a friday afternoon,
a cup of coffee
held by hands
which dilapidated
on top of
deific disasters;
“promises are meant to be broken,” whispering,
like he did not want you
to hear the inner war cry
he kept on using
at nights he stayed awake,
only his thoughts as a perfect company
as he keeps a conversation
only the moon and him
know the existence of.
when you reached out to hold his hands
that were painted in shades of blue and grey,
it felt like forever
since your hands brushed
something so eloquent
even after the ungodly hours
he still called his decisions as mistakes,
or when he promised you
that the grandeurs of life
are crushed into smithereens
on his sturdy palms,
not telling you about the stubborn apparitions
refusing to let go
of everything it once held dear;
when he flipped through the pages
of a worn-out scrapbook
like it was your
place of solitude,
staring at each snapshot longingly;
when he promised you that
he, too, would not let go
even after the nights
he calculated the
possibility of you leaving him;
when he told you
that he was a troubled painter,
sketching the familiar taste of dysphoria
dawning over him every time
he was told he was onerous;
when he promised you that
he would finish every painting
but he kept each canvas hidden
under the floor boards.
you told him on a saturday morning,
a cup of tea
held by puckish hands
which built walls
around everything
your little heart desired,
“then, why make them?”
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 6:22 AM UTC
“I dream; therefore, I am,” said the sage. \
Will my dreams come to fruition? \
I beseech Jah, The Transcendent One \
That I might attain the fulfillment of the promise. \
When Jah & Jesus sought \
To consecrate me \
I resisted them, \
I did not fathom myself worthy. \
I was enfettered by my Sea of Iniquities \
& unable to disentangle, liberate myself \
From the onerous & lethal wages \
Of Sin & Death. \
But now I have been emancipated, —experienced manumission \
By the Hand of The Deific Divine: \
My dreamcatcher, \
My salvific benison. \
To The Transcendent Dreamcatchers: \
Thank you for life, love, liberty, & your embrace. \
—You are Freedom, you are The Emblematization of Emancipation, you are The Insignia of Liberty; \
Therefore, you grant me the wings to soar. \
Please continue to be my aegis \
Your name being a bulwark against The Nightmarish Wraith of Tremulousness. \
Apropos of your Holy Spirit \
I wield a Bastion Heart. \
(—Se’ lah)
09-26-2025
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 10:11 AM UTC
you are more than
just dusted "i love you's"
you are the sun,
setting down,
assuring me
of the little questions
i have within me.
you cradle the zephyr
that i carry
on my burdened shoulders
and i watch
as you let it crumble
on your deific palms
as every modicum of doubt
disappears.
Jan 15, 2020
Jan 15, 2020 at 1:55 PM UTC
092822
You become like the Sun —
Everyone stirs up to the heartfelt rays
And the sparkling light that It conveys.
They are indebted for Its existence.
But the sun doesn't try to draw attention to Itself.
It just appears in the morning —
Giving Its warmth and light inaudibly but graciously,
And sets Its time bomb by the evening.
Then It appears the succeeding day.
Everyone goes to bed –
Always looking forward to Its reappearance.
And they are frantic every single day.
You are a light in Christ Jesus –
You have been placed in the center of the room
And on top of the hill.
Don't you use that divine position
To show off your sheen,
Or entice any attention to yourself
So people can see how bright a light you are,
Or so you can intimidate them with your glow.
Instead, let ALL your vigor appears naturally
As you come back tomorrow with no other agenda –
Except to luster for someone’s road.
Giving off that deific balminess
And sunlit to the whole world – and all creations.
Be their warmth, then call it a day.
And you’ll be glad to rest in your sleep.
As long as you remain God-centred –
Allowing Him to spring His Nature through you
Without any selfish interest as the Sun does,
Then your life is full, firm, and accomplished each day.
Nov 24, 2022
Nov 24, 2022 at 8:11 PM UTC