"delphic" poems
THERE all the golden codgers lay,
There the silver dew,
And the great water sighed for love,
And the wind sighed too.
Man-picker Niamh leant and sighed
By Oisin on the grass;
There sighed amid his choir of love
Tall pythagoras.
plotinus came and looked about,
The salt-flakes on his breast,
And having stretched and yawned awhile
Lay sighing like the rest.
Straddling each a dolphin's back
And steadied by a fin,
Those Innocents re-live their death,
Their wounds open again.
The ecstatic waters laugh because
Their cries are sweet and strange,
Through their ancestral patterns dance,
And the brute dolphins plunge
Until, in some cliff-sheltered bay
Where wades the choir of love
Proffering its sacred laurel crowns,
They pitch their burdens off.
4.4k
Nero was not worried when he heard
the prophecy of the Delphic Oracle.
"Let him fear the seventy three years."
He still had ample time to enjoy himself.
He is thirty. More than sufficient
is the term the god allots him
to prepare for future perils.
Now he will return to Rome slightly tired,
but delightfully tired from this journey,
full of days of enjoyment --
at the theaters, the gardens, the gymnasia...
evenings at cities of Achaia...
Ah the delight of **** bodies, above all...
Thus fared Nero. And in Spain Galba
secretly assembles and drills his army,
the old man of seventy three.
4.4k
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Sometimes the rain doesn't tell a story,
or maybe it does.
It just cries out loud from nothingness,
yet it always was .
I think it yearns a friend or something,
but I never endure.
It plays a theme from a Beethoven's key,
melancholy to feel.
Cynical for ones who betrayed its trust,
surging ire it last.
Then tranquility had ended its rhapsody,
gone is her misery.
Iridescent hues formed the aurora sky,
rain bids goodbye.
Neither You and I can't even fathom,
the rains Delphic reasons.
For the rain only comes once a season.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
God of the golden bow,
And of the golden lyre,
And of the golden hair,
And of the golden fire,
Charioteer
Of the patient year,
Where---where slept thine ire,
When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,
Thy laurel, thy glory,
The light of thy story,
Or was I a worm---too low crawling for death?
O Delphic Apollo!
The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,
The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;
The eagle's feathery mane
For wrath became stiffen'd---the sound
Of breeding thunder
Went drowsily under,
Muttering to be unbound.
O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm?
Why touch thy soft lute
Till the thunder was mute,
Why was I not crush'd---such a pitiful germ?
O Delphic Apollo!
The Pleiades were up,
Watching the silent air;
The seeds and roots in Earth
Were swelling for summer fare;
The Ocean, its neighbour,
Was at his old labour,
When, who---who did dare
To tie for a moment, thy plant round his brow,
And grin and look proudly,
And blaspheme so loudly,
And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?
O Delphic Apollo!
3k
Behold that great Plotinus swim,
Buffeted by such seas;
Bland Rhadamanthus beckons him,
But the Golden Race looks dim,
Salt blood blocks his eyes.
Scattered on the level grass
Or winding through the grove
plato there and Minos pass,
There stately Pythagoras
And all the choir of Love.
2.8k
As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
When lulled Argus, baffled, swooned and slept,
So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
So played, so charmed, so conquered, so bereft
The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes;
And seeing it asleep, so fled away,
Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,
Nor unto Tempe, where Jove grieved a day;
But to that second circle of sad Hell,
Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw
Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kissed, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.
1.6k
She was 25 years young.
and beautiful
beautifulˈbjuːtɪfʊl,ˈbjuːtɪf(ə)l/
adjective
pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically.“beautiful poetry" synonyms: attractive, pretty, handsome, good-looking, nice-looking, pleasing, alluring, prepossessing, as pretty as a picture; More of a very high standard; excellent." he spoke in beautiful English”
She made everything feel temporary
my problems
my fears
my thoughts
my love
She was just amazing, wonderful even
She had dark, tousled hair, and the most beautiful eyes; I got lost in them every chance I got
They were brown eyes, but **** they were mesmerizing
They would glow in the light and I couldn’t help but fall into them
She had the most Delphic and inimitable tattoos that I’ve ever seen on one single person, they decorated her porcelain skin perfectly and poetically.
I liked times where we would just lay, with our feet tangled together and I would trace one of the tattoos and she would reminisce about it and the experiences she had during that time in her life.
Her knowledge amazed me, she always kept me on the edge of my seat with her stories
Her voice was one of the things that captured me, her melodies and her lyrics. She knew I loved jazz, we would go to record shops and we would scope for the good ones and at times I would stop to look over at her and she’ll be staring at me. I complained but god knows I loved it. I loved her.
I loved the times when she would walk over to the single window in the cheap motel that we stayed the night or two at, and she would light a cigarette and scold me for being around the smoke; but she would cave and hold it up to my lips and she would look me in the eye as I cough the smoke up.
Those were the time I loved
They were the times I lived for
She would always tell me to not love her
That she wasn’t worth my innocent and tender love
But I disagreed
Time and time again
She was everything I wanted but didn’t ******* deserve
But what significance are all these words coming from a sixteen-year-old, who is now learning and experiencing life?
It was bound to end.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
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0 0 0 G A T H E R 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
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in the silence between finale and applause.
I/H/I/D/E/I/N/B/L/A/N/K/C/A/SS/E/TT/ES
spouting my lore until you break; hats tipped to
˙ʇsᴉsǝɹ oʇ pǝƃɐuɐɯ oɥʍ sǝuo ǝɥʇ
1.) I left your brother a fake key to my front door underneath the concrete block at the foot of my driveway. Tell him it's real; feign disbelief when he discovers it's not. Do not break to his powerful will, keep up the lie. (Don't worry about the cat, she'll be fine.)
2.) I've provided you with the supplies to harvest the memory worm and I expect it in good condition upon my return. Do not disappoint me again.
3.) The moon cycle is about to restart. Remember to water the stones, chart their growth, and make sure to keep up with your calisthenics; we don't want a repeat of last month's escape.
3-II.) Break the orange stone if it darkens any further. Malevolence is always in poor taste when inflicted upon people such as us and I do not want some rock probing around in my head again.
4.) Pawn your step-father's television, give his eyes a break. We need the cash, quick, to help pay off my polonium dealer. The man is patient, but we need to show that we're making progress; money will help. The synchrones haven't quite flourished yet, or matured for that matter, so gold is a little out of our reach, but we've at least progressed to clouds and static.
=__--
===___-
=====____-
The vessels will soon flood over with the milk of bounty,
and the time shall come when the palaver begins to cease;
a time when words are indeed obsolete to the new being.
The vessels will soon flow with the true, fourth color.
Trichromacy be ****** we shall see things as they truly are!
=====____-
===___-
=__--
n̷̢̬̯͙̮̤̫̪̟͂ͨ͋̅̏͒͒͆̅͌̚͢͢͜ơ̶̷̶̹̱̱̭̝͈̤͍͙̟̬͕͈̤͈͇̩̠̈̈́ͦͣ̆͆͒̄͑ͤ͗ͪ̈́͝ ̛͖̪͉̯̼̤̦̹͎́ͬͤͧ͂̏͐̀m̶̡̰̖̺̼̠̺̠̻͖̮̘̻͙̑̓͋̒̾̏̀ͬ̔ͦ̉͑̓͝õͩ̑ͭ͋̈́ͬ̈̈ͫ̓̂͗̎͆̒͛҉̵͏̛̥̭͉͙r̶̗̗͓̻̪͑̃ͩ͂͗͌͛̂̽̈́̀̒̃́̕͡ͅe̢̛͙͕͍̹̲͐̍͐̎̄ͦ͒̈͂ͣ̾̽ͨ̇ͦ͋̀͟͡ ̸̨̺̣̬̩̩͚̹̰̖̻̜ͩͭ̔͒̔̄ͭ̓͂̚͜s̵̪̦̺̜̤͔̥̦̖͙̝̯̺͎̘̎ͫ̈́̔̎ͦͦ̿ͤ̏ͩ̌̕͞ͅm̭̦̮̜̱̫̻͖̑ͥ̾̈́ͮ̔ͪ̔̎̐̆̀ͥ̈́̐́͝ā̷̶͓͉̼͚͕̤̘͕̰̣̩̲͍̭͓͎͉ͥ̆ͬ̎ͣ̍̏̑̂ͧͯ̆̄̓̑͗ͬ̀͞l̰̥̭͇͍̰̂̿ͨ̑̾́ͬ͗̓̍̇͆̔̋͜͟l̶̉ͮ̃͆̉ͬ̾ͤ͑͆̓ͤ̆ͫ̉̓̾͜͞҉̝̣̙̯̺̳͕̫͍͕̮̹̝͖̹̠̼̼͈͝ ̸̨̮͓̗̝̤̬͖͖̬̪ͭ͆͛̒̎ͩ̍͐ͮ̈̿̂̓ͬ̆̄̃ͮt̆͗̿͋ͦ̇ͧ̓̉̌ͯ̆̄̚͡͝҉̢̢̱̮̺ͅa̸̸̴̡̻̝͕͇̖̯̝ͬͣͧ̓̈́ͨͥ̓͒̿͆̆ͬ̚̚͠l͈̬̫̰̺̥͙͍͇̭̣͇͙̰͚̠̦̻̜ͧͫ̒͋̊́̃ͪ̈́̀͘͡͞͞k̸̛̤̠͖̖͈̤̠̝̬̩̩̖̩͙̲̭̭̎ͯ͒͌̀̾̒̈́ͩ͋̓ͩͮͮ́̚͝ͅ
̷̴̧̢͇͕͙͓̤̜͓̖̦͉̠̭̥̭̪̙͔̖ͬͩ̐͆ͩͨ̏̽ͫ͒ͩͪ͂ͦͬ̿̈̆̈́͝iͤ̉̍̋ͩͬ͛̆͛̒͑ͥ̎ͥͧ͗҉̷̟͉̩͟ͅţ͉͚̹͚̑̂͛̉ͬͧ̕̕͜͡'̘̻̭͈̞̫̯͓̮̥̝̩̖͓͈̏̿ͩ͋̔̏̄̑ͤ̂̊͒ͩͯ̀̚͟sͨ̑́̽҉̸̟̘̭̬́͢ ̉ͫ̊̒ͮ̓͘҉̯̘̲̖̹͍͝t̛͚͇͈̽͐̎̑͒̎ͬ̇̒̑̈́͠i̛̿ͭ͊ͮ͐ͪ̏͋͊͐̃̏ͪ̐͒ͧ͆͛ͪ͏̸̼͉̺̦̲̲̠͢͞mͦ̑̋ͦͫͭ͌̽ͯ͐̚͏͇̰̪̟̣̠̲͔͢͟e̷̛̥̻̟̲̰͕̤͎̭̖ͥͩ̄̊̇ͥ͋ͮ̓ͮ̑̎͒ͣ̾̋͡ ̶̴̷͔̟̦͍͕̦̞̖̬̖͛ͫͧ̀ͪ̌̓̊̉̐ͭ̐ͦ͊̕t̛̙̣̯̗̫͔̠̝̥̞͚̏̄͋͌ͩ̈ͪ̏͝ͅo̸̝̣͎͖̲̟̗͇̰̯̓ͬ̈̏̇̊̌͛ͦ̌ͤ͐̆̇̍̈͊̕͜ ̴̡̘̥̲̙̫̞͎͔̘̦͔̎ͧ͐̒̈́̆͂͆̇͒̈́̓̊ͫ̾̚͞ã̇̏̀ͮͫ̇ͧ́ͭ̇̏ͣͥ҉͜҉̗̦͓̦͓͙͍̱̝̗̲̗͘c̨̐̾͊͑̊́ͯ̈̔̃̂ͥ̆̊̽͢҉̶̙͙̣̝̭͕̺̰̞̰̮̤̱͔t̯̬̝̹̜̤̲̞̦͕̺̝̳̙̯̳̼́͋ͭͬͫ̋̽͂̾̌̃̂̏̌͠,̢̡̧̣̲̩̤̖̭̹̬̜̗̞̭̰͓̇̂ͨ̐̀̄͐ͩ͂̀͗̓̽ͬ͋ͤ̒́̚͡ ̶̨̛̟͙͕͕̬̠͔̭̽ͨͫ͒͢m̧̘͈̝̟̹̺̬̬͎̳̹͙͕̜̭̙ͪ̾̒̐̉̾̅ͫ̚y̝͍̭̠̳̥̭͍͕̳̻͔̣̙͒͊̎́͋͋ͨ̐̽̋͗̏ͪ̈̕͟͢͝ ̴͑͑ͫ̃ͮ͋ͭ̈̃͟҉̢̺̠̮̫͎͕̯̪͉̮̹̞̕c̸͍͉̝̦͎͇̳̥͙̋̆̀ͯ̎͗͌̈̍̽ͮ̌̏̈́͐̚͘ḩ̸̱̻̥͙̳͈̙͚̫ͥͦ̈́̀ͩ͆͐̿́̀i̡̛̤̦͉͕͕̖̝̟̘̦͉͖̲̟̲͊̆͊͆͠ͅļ̶̳̮̦̗̳̂̓͛͂̋́d̨͒ͣ̂̐͑͛̈̏́͏̜͉̯͉̣̭̻̥̻̮͎̰̦͖͖̟ͅr̴̸̰͍̤͉̦͙͎͙̩̞͕͉͈͙̻̣ͦͮ̅͂̒ͪ̏ͫ̓̋͆͐̀͢ͅḙ̸̸̡̡̖̥̯̬̪̮͎̳͚̀̾ͫͬ̋̽͊̂̓̾͆̅̅ͫ̎̓ͩ̚n̶̵̵̯̘͓͎̳ͥͪͫ̆̆ͯ̾̒͑͛̉͊ͩ̍̈́͌̓̈̕͟ͅ
̵̧̫̣̩͙̱̺̞̤͙̰̬͖̐̽̓͒̓ͤͫ̒̉̇̔̏ͧ͌̕͡ͅ
-
߇ᆃ↿⊬❝ᆄ༺ᒦᅣ↑
Remember, you are not at fault here. This is all my doing.
Sincerely,
Mr. Cuttlefish
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 7:54 AM UTC
the ancients would be offended
at being called ancient; so ahead
of anything that came after that
modern technology hasn't caught
up to them yet & won't;
it's specialty
pure destruction,
digging holes, fiery
explosions & deadly gas
clouds that will malignantly affect
generations to come on the cellular
& chromosomal level
[besides polluting the water
supply w/ psychoactive chemicals];
certain things the ancients
built are still standing & other thing
so grand although gone,
we still know about them [Palla
Athena, Colossus of Rhodes,
Delphic Oracle; &c., &c.;
Stonehenge, Easter Island,
pyramids, to whole lost cities;
my buddy posted a Polaroid
online of our old neighborhood
c.1974; everything in the
picture is gone
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
The first time you turned up,
Like a moonlit star behind me,
This bankrupt man felt all the love,
That was missing in this forlorn fee.
That sound of your shoes coming up,
Leaves me in this delphic hold,
Like a fire burning rough,
Like the warm coffee on the cold.
The air is lingering for your touch,
To smell your cold loving skin,
You're the math of this nerd heart,
You're the Queen of the scene.
This secret side is breathing love,
While you keep sinking ships at sea,
The way you smile is ever enough,
To keep me stuck at this daydream.
A song of young hearts and strawberry crush,
All it could ever be,
Through smiles and a hungry soul,
I' would live a lifetime on the lips I'd see.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
You are
blood in Eve's burrow, where
shells of Venus could not
bite through,
could not dry
the paps of pretty words
of pretty babies, or pretty girls.
This is rising.
The Delphic eyes, the
black, black crow biting
my lips. To spread, to envelope
these legs; my Winter,
lurking in his white cape
not ever knowing, admitting
he swallows rain
as my tongue curls.
And in time, a
mouth will be hollowed
for swollen lilies;
dead fathers-- who
like ordinary men,
beat their wives and kiss
their daughters as if
nothing
has passed the murmurs, the cherry bombs,
a whimper, emptiness.
Not even my cold, black
stare:
Mother, willing, will I die
parched or sharp
with this needle nonsense of
words, words, words?
Pining for another sip
her fingers lace with them,
red-rose ******* no
Father, no, no
not even the shrewd cloak
of my black,
black hair.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC
1.
My mother hates me!
My father hates me!
Oedipus screams to the
stealthily silent Sphinx.
He scatters riddles like laurel leaves
waiting to be braided into
a playwright's crown. It is too
grandiose to fit his cracked. cramped cranium.
His unconscious mind flies open
like the Sphinx rocketing to the sky.
Sacred haunches soar. Wings beat
steadily to reach titanic heights.
Blind to his murderous fate, Oedipus
cannot know himself. Before the
Delphic Oracle, his life shrivels,
unexamined by his bleeding eyes.
2.
Freud exults in triumph.
Maternal love births eternal love:
endless comfort and affection
for the newly bloomed beloved.
Soon, comfort metamorphoses
into feral eros, unspeakable, unthinkable,
beyond the bounds of catastrophic evil.
Submerged desire sullies the chastest kiss.
Jacosta embraces her son
as her new living king, her husband's
royal blood bubbling brazenly
on the bitter road to Thebes.
His hands stained, Oedipus strives
to transmute his trauma as our own.
We become him when Freud deigns
to interpret our darkest, direst dreams.
Blindly, we mimic him: carnal union
with the mother, lethal rage against
the father. Mourning Becomes Electra
beckons to the wary second ***
3.
The Sphinx belies its own riddle:
How can prophecy spring from
the sculpted, smooth stone
of these perfect *******
Only blind Teiresias plumbs the depths
of Oedipus' fate: Judgement lies blinded,
action lies blinded by the ventricles of
violence, the twisted telos of the mind.
Humans sin against the world, against
nature, siphoned of joy. They sin without
a sacred perch to rise from. Blood and *****
mud and blindness fashion their Oedipal souls.
Feb 21, 2020
Feb 21, 2020 at 3:21 PM UTC
In the shadows of a
darkly relinquished night,
an unrelenting musing beast struck
presenting a proposition,
as he pranced about
viscous vision's intentions,
promised a copious poesy garden
'tween early morn's
buttercup metaphors
& dusk's poppy delusions,
danced 'til lavishly penned spirits
were indubitably unleashed
exploding 'neath elliptical eclipses;
whence the sun it did bounteously appear
midst all its magnificent splendor,
whilst Delphic inky nectar dripped
deliberately ascending beyond
hellbent scripted passages,
midst vaporous voids of creation
'pon paradisaical prolific poetry
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
A Delphic phosphorescence nests
Kindled was the yellow flame
Exclusive ulterior vibes rest
A Delphic phosphorescence nests
Sensibility shan’t ever subside
Upon sojourning the grain
A Delphic phosphorescence nests
Exclusive ulterior vibes rest
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 2:58 PM UTC
And it weaves, and breathes
you can’t see it
Capitulates and oscillates
you can’t control it
Floats as subdued whispers
you can’t mute it
Gently brushes, supple touches
it’s not textile
Fluctuating ever pulsating
it won’t be stilled
As a reticent billow
it cannot wither
Surging, swelling, never telling
the Delphic poetic
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
She’s a book.
No not a paperback, but a hardcover.
An inviting sight,
yet cold to the touch.
The scent of woody pages lingers,
the edges never ceasing
to cut your grazing finger
when you least expect it.
Her intricate words, unnecessarily bewildering
Her methaphorical phrases will have your head throbbing
as you so desperately search for their
meanings.
“Daedalian”, she would say,
“As in ingenious, intricate, and confusing”
You spend hours
figuring how to unravel her Delphic words.
The more you read the more complex she gets.
A thin line appears in the middle of her spine,
a crack,
from being opened and closed too much.
Her exhausted pages tattered and dog eared.
Your determination to solve her
was no match for her ambiguity.
She’s a hardcover
you’ll never finish reading.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 12:20 PM UTC
Her hair
Like the silk bought from princes,
Delivered on ancient caravans
Sent to bring unknown wonders.
Her eyes
Like the jewels of a queen,
Preserved unblemished for the royals
Envied by the common man.
Her skin
Like velvet robes upon kings,
Worn as complete comfort and softness
Untouchably delicate.
Her lips
Like perfect quartz and ruby,
Crystalline sparkling of pink and red
Kissing with rare perfection.
Her *******
Like orbs of Delphic temples,
Firm and pure power of seduction
Giving source of life and love.
Her
Like the finest of fine art,
Generations’ legends of beauty,
Unfit for her description.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
My first cup of coffee won't compare to you.
The second look I knew, I have you to woo.
Third hour, I think I'm turning to goo.
On this fourth thought darling, you have me pinned against you.
No hour shall pass without reverie.
No minute will I belie.
No second to consider.
That I am yours, and presumably, your are mine.
Halcyon moments,
Delphic oneness,
Inchoate fascination,
Wabi-sabi, without fail.
I am most vulnerable when I'm with you.
You must be something 'cause I sing around you.
Keep me imprisoned,
You and me and forever, I envisioned.
The day turns its light; I am yours again.
Can't wait for the moon.
You welcome me,
But bid me, "Bonne nuit."
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
Come, discern, focus,
conceive the two degree wide,
two said sounds wide, two words wide
agon, we call the mindspace, now, in time
agged into efforting conception, we hold each
a seed within ourselves, and we have been lead
to believe we learn in real time, while we digest
suggestions from the environs, while we why away
another reason war has used to make hate, articles
of faith, he who does not hate is father and his mother,
brother, did you take the oath,
the one at a four square baptism, didja?
So, you are pretty sure there is a hell to shun,
and one unrepented will to ill treat a living liar,
such as all men just happened to be, because,
and you know its true, because
the bible says Paul read in on a…
Ode to Zeus, factcheck me, I'm good.
no liar shall enter truths spirit will
to make up minds used to making peace
in terms of loving push and pull adverarial
wonderous chaotic beautiful rushes,
or thunderous clouds of sunset joy,
during latter rains, each year.
There it was on the way into the Agon,
where mottos enforce mental engagement,
- a royal society motto,
- take no man at his word, science proves
- true the admonition.
citizens must be readers ready to read the omens,
and the letters all spelled out in Delphic chance,
to those initiates in service as translators.
As your scribe, dear patron saint, what
would your holy other than usness say to us,
as we inquire in spirit form, mere thoughts,
from words another feeds us as we think?
It is the symbol of the curious, the wise serpent,
most honed first guess, right, answers sworn
do tell, as ever before becomes thinkable,
we can imagine humans building Machu Pichu,
crow-lee squacks, waddayathankftat.
Oct 24, 2024
Oct 24, 2024 at 8:16 PM UTC
Ultrasonic sensual
Bare skin ritual
Crown connected
Spirit injected
Kundalini erected
Guided limbs
Perception swims
Devine feminine
Carnal halls
Angelic walls
Cosmic gifts
Earthly rifts
Highest union
Ethereal fusion
Delphic fruition
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
accursed creepily haunting
phantasmagoria wraiths
vandalize residents psyches
within their sleep induced state
sublimation shunts
slumbering souls
unknowingly held hostage
successfully sacrificing
semi-smothered silent species
snoring simians steadfastly succumb
subsequent sibilant sounds
woo woebegone wicked transmogrification
dilapidated divested bodies deposited
wizard waves wand
watching whirling wretched lovely bones
whipsawing (in toto) within abyss
whooshing whistling wheezing
whets warlocks appetite wakening
brutish nasty nightmare
sinister hulking spirits
steal assorted corporeal essence
monstrous mashing somnambulant
mephistophelian shadowy satanic satyrs
supremely swallow senior citizen bankers
deep within catacombs
of Highland Manor,
deadened defeated Delphic Oracle
relegates human husks,
viz spent embodiments
to the under world lay siege
sinisterly seeding, via sinister spirits
one pure evil particularly wicked
witch thy capering
sickening ghastly plot against
unsuspecting spouse snatched
parch trey gnarled warty claws.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
If I may be allowed to be rhetorical
In matters spiritual or metaphorical,
I have a little parable to tell.
And if permitted to wax somewhat lyrical
I’d count it no less than a flaming miracle
If my words chanced to cast a magic spell.
You make the sunshine
When clouds fill the sky;
You make the flowers bloom
Where deserts are dry;
You expand my mind
With thoughts dear and clear;
And fill up my heart
Whenever you’re near.
And now if I may choose to be empirical
And build a dream that’s simply atmospherical,
To emphasise the points you’ve overheard.
They’re really not the least bit evangelical
Or even meant to drive someone hysterical,
As long as you’re both shaken up and stirred.
You light up my face
Whenever you smile;
To see it I’d walk
Full many a mile.
I’d go anywhere
For beauty so fair;
Honesty so true,
Fidelity rare.
So, summing up a treatise categorical,
And drawing to a close this tale historical
I’ll add one chorus to this final word.
In case for you it has been too intense, I call
Attention to much other verse nonsensical
And lyrics that are equally absurd.
My verses avoid
June rhyming with moon;
Search much as you will
You’ll not find a “spoon”.
And hard as you try
You simply won’t swoon
Over a songster
Whose style is to croon.
My task completed has not been incandescent
But is rather now revealed as evanescent.
And certainly it was not made of chrome.
So set aside these verses allegorical;
I hope you didn’t seek the Delphic oracle;
It’s time to pack up and to just go home.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC