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Neal Emanuelson Apr 2015
Oh hail toothbrush, haven’t seen you since last night
I’ve returned again to cleanse an overbite
Spread the paste thick and minty across your bristled skin
Over the lips and on the culprits, 007 of oral hygiene going in

****, it feels good-

Morning scrubs do away with yesterday’s store appetizer samples
Clinging and eroding the ceramic protection of my enamels
Its poor thin concealing of my porcelain I must protect
Just a little more push and pull- haven’t even eaten breakfast yet
Foaming at the mouth, rabid plague of plaque I’m getting rid of
What extra harm for today’s meals I should have considered

But it’s alright-

My dentist smiles and offers a primary root canal adjustment
But the filling he’s drilling in won’t do too much for my budget
One hand to my jaw could cause my little car to swerve
Unbearable agony from the glass casing encasing that vital nerve

One hole’s enough for today-

Make it home, disgusted jaw line of cotton by the mirror
Spit soaked clouds are temporary relief for bearer
Grab the blender, toss it up, eggs and bacon with my juice
It’s no use- my straw’s stuck with gunk and nothing’s coming loose.

But what about this canker sore?

© 2008
Without the souls of Trouvere, will he aspire to spheres from where he can replicate himself in the ductile state of the ceremonious Energeia...? The naive action is univocal as the first practice modulated in inclinations and lexical motricities, where they die within their fears, failing to hope and convalesce their desecrated wounds congruent in concepts of Energeia, as an arbitrary neologism to move what in itself is not self- scrollable. Vernarth after witnessing Stratonice's intermission decides to run barefoot for those who banish needs on the parental scale of his range. Succeeded by the need of Energeia towards the impudent sense of being enraptured in possibilities, and supernatural substantialities that transported him in the Epistle even to his desiring hands, but in natural causes, and kinetic emotionality in the destiny of the principles of a movement that dialogues by a spinning spin; alembicated in particles of displacement time eccentricity, towards itself in the synonymous statics, providing intrinsic angles to be associated with the rotation of time and Epistolary demands so that the quantum light can relate the energetic spiritual emotionality, with the own dissociated relationship in the spaces of appearance; where it is to be believed that there is a moment of bias provided in the emotional-movement rooted in linear memories of the temporality of the Hellenic mental axis. Everything is proper in the coordinates of the speculating, which is adduced and duplicated in Poielípsis or unveiled generation of relativistic emotions. For this reason, Vernarth naughty importunates this metaphysical precognition, alluding to particles that generate dissimilar inclinations in lapses until reaching the threshold from when Stratonice partially divided its material and spiritual origin into stationary diversity, in meditated phases that will not take place nuclear, but in the polymathy of its exteriorized threshold, and of the emotional mass of its free and passionate matter that concerns its strident and impalpable Macedonian origin.

From this moment on, the intuition corresponds to the angular reinforcement of "Poielípsis", in this way the coordinate of the Souls of Trouvere becomes present, as pseudo images of the Diadochi, involving magnetized radial movements that will lie in the spheres of physical value., in the garb of the Gerakis and Petrobus, who strived in the sense of the energeia of the Epsilon neologism, not to restrict themselves as Aristotle affirms, investigating the being towards a mono-sense in this causal, of such alpha that it says the paradoxical, demonstrating the diversity of optics. Faced with this diatribe Vernarth from the naturalness decides to empower Souls that are part of both topics according to Vernarth, it is to alleviate the potentialities of the acts that apprehend the light of genius that coexists with both. What the entity justified us in unfolding will be delivered by divine intelligence, so as not to reduce the free power of the Epsilon that was extracted in the welcoming presence of Stratonice still withdrawn in the atmosphere of the Voielípsis (substitute scale of relativistic emotions of Vernarth). There are few seconds that can be extended more from a selective argument of trends in the specifications, which could be attributed to dimensions of the Trouvere period of souls, lacking stillness in simulated biological environments, as if they deliberate the naturalness of an expression of who It does not philosophize if something has to detach itself or grab hold of creation to privilege the natural, re-arguing affection when professing, if there is time to express it, so it is intuited what the virtue of muttering simultaneously in the laborious, and in what does not progress. The dynamics of this Poielípsis is to dress the Voielípsis, as an analogous addition of quantum causality and of temporal and timeless Christianity, since it supports a conjugate mix deified by Saint Thomas Aquinas, heading towards the prop in the mega absorption of Christian Aristotelian ideals. The souls of Trouvere will be residents of the indeterminate spiritual mechanics, to deposit effects of the incredulous versatility in themselves, in the sub-aquatic depths that coexist with the geological structure of the cavern of San Juan Apóstol, but in subterranean concomitance, under the same axial coordinate that is sustained sub-geological. Namely; They will coexist as long as the Mandragoron of the Duoverso and its Voielípsis are established, but three hundred and eight meters from its antipode in the underwater base of the Profitis Ilias.

The antithetical line is the verifiable germinability of those vertical events of the plinth settled by the Souls of Trouvere, containing the germinable starch of the growth of the ergonometric stirrup of the Zefian Bolt, which from zero elevation to 308 meters above the Aegean level will form a mega extra parapsychological bilocation, which will be gestated in its uniform vertical chronological numbering, with the pre-Christian Pythagorean and post-Christian representation in the coronation of Carlo Magno, mentioned in royal visions by the Apostle Santiago, in the versant apology of Pythagoras as an entity supra divine, envisioning the scenographic depository, and fragmentability of these three components of this start of the Hellenic Magna in the hydrographic, sub-terrestrial geological and residential basin of the Souls of Trouvere.
The upholstery of the Pythia of Herófila attacks the subtended of the flying buttress that supported the volcanic cavities of the Sub-Patmos, indicating its agreement with the Souls of Trouvere by its disoriented cognitive dissonance, generating paradigms that traced stones that formulated Aquarian sounds, in a dominant tonality by the minuscule machine of light, more distant from the incommensurability that escaped eclipsed in the resplendent major note that becomes monarchical by the hypotenuse of a rectangle in three subdominant angles. This brings about the thaumaturgy of Pythiais, the mother of Pythagoras who, together with Vernarth's Poielípsis, forge retentive songs given the scarce natural light that was only born from some of Trouvere's souls called Poielípsis, in stories of the oracular Delphians. The Poielípsis remains encapsulated from the thaumaturgy of the banal anti-desires that would make it mortal, for a hypotenuse that makes the gift of poetic prayer tangible, prompting the Bio axiom, by fertilizing scaled suspicions of repeated mortality in the banner of risk. Stratonice well points it out:

“The signal field has been prophesied today for the Apollo tripod. Having to reencause itself in three parts of the support of the oracles, and in clairvoyance in the pre and post Christian insemination of the gift of the word that redeems man from sin, sub-tenant of the flying buttress, from the interface of the supra trinity of sin as a blood element, and difficult to evade or avoid. Here the Hegemonic energy of Alexander the Great has been condensed in the arch of ideas, pointing out that the diseased body of Antiochus; my father…, is supplanted by that of the to happen all the trances and difficulties that are assumed after the hazardous departure in Babylon. Therefore he has to bring all the corollary prophesied in the death of my grandfather Seleucus in the hands of Ptolemy Ceraunos. Wanting to dress up the irrevocable interference that occurred in Judah by his Diadocos gangs, opting for the effect of his offspring, therefore on his spiritual stretch of energetic residual and static mass, ad libitum that will end when unleashed in his son. All will already be consumed in the pathogenic body of Antiochus, and of the love for my mother where she was abducted, and possessed she sees by retaliation from Alexander the Great for proven insubordinate ethical demands. "

Stratonice walks with the sendal that should be translucent by Santiago of Compostela. As an intra-everlasting geometric raconto, subduing fears that slide through the sendal of the dogma of the architrave, where no philosophy can look higher if it is not allowed, typical of vegetarianism or freedoms that turn green in fears that do not illuminate life. eternal, perhaps from the same Matematikoi who doubts a basis for Adfinitas, to understand limitless limits, taking Pythagoras to the soil of Crotona. Always, someone who is ignored of the linguistic power, he plans to rewind spheres that still weave crossed angles, placing himself in scores to consider as an irreplaceable past. The soul of Poielípsis adopted a Pythagorean conception, in the halters of the livid legions of Orpheus, as if it were his consecrated hypogeum where the high position was, to stir to the embankment where it will merge with the Zefian arrow. This liquefaction should purify all storage of cognitive and circumscribes of those ancestral, becoming reincarnable pre-Christians, who transmigrate in the need of osmosis of universal unity. Atonal music will transmigrate molecules to great sidereal distances, being the same replica of the other eurythmic, in multi-trigonometric periods, vivifying the fractional number residues as souls of the same numeral that finally perish of Pythagorean digits, perhaps at the angles of the Phalanxes of Vernarth or in the oblique crucial moment that slumbers in an elegy, flourishing in those beings that do not Live...! Already under-treated, they will only be souls tired of keeping themselves alive and deprived of their morbidity, in a dissociated cause of immortality that will distance itself from the forbidden abstinences, in liberating exercises of any count that ponders in the coming etymology of the Vita Pythagorae, on the divan of the joys of serving his doctrine, which saves himself, and which will save the Messiah, for those who in the soul have no sacrifice of a lamb that grazes..., nor on the pedestal that goes ahead in the centuries..., pasturing what nobody was capable of ?. The second triad of the oracle of Apollo of the Souls of Trouvere reveal Charles the Great, favored by the Apostle Santiago for the protectorate of Compostela and its spiritual regency, invited Charlemagne from Aachen, in 33 consecutive years of dispute with swords, stating that the Saxons never complied with the treaties and signed surrenders. Charlemagne placed himself at the head of his army on several occasions to fight with his sword against the Saxon danger, also entrusting the troops to the counts when other matters required his presence.

In the second segment of the concave wasteland of the straight ascendant of Trouvere, he crowned Charlemagne emperor of Rome and the Franks, predicted by the Apostle James, in defensive papal struggles and in defense of Christianity. In this paradigm it appears how they are transmitted from the dead ungraspable world, they unite here in the axon of Poielípsis for the sake of the times that occur due to the anonymity of a silence that augured to link, and to know within what the endless intrinsically organic movement is, as well as the biological cosmos in the discovery of the Jacobean route. In what better region than the Dodecanese, he will be fused by twelve apostles, and now the brother of the son of Zebedee; Santiago brother of Saint John the Apostle. Dating back to 778 AD, spreading to Hispania. In the ****** and constant fight against the Saxons, Carlo Magno, entered Hispania crossing the Pyrenees, as a preview of the aforementioned Jacobean Route, everything raged witnessing their overwhelmed squares in the fueros of the Trouveres, who were Pythagorean elite soldiers, who had been bilocated in this post was Christian, preceded by the perfidious Basque in the forests, subsisting separated right here from the progenitors of the Trouvers, who claimed to be the strongest to continue them to Pamplona with Charlemagne. All escaped from Islam, and not a few Christians resented this affront, the dynamics will be reflected in the Songs of the French Gesta, to enter the Jacobean Route on the way to Santiago de Compostela, when the Calixtino Codex, in its book IV o Historia Turpini, the apparition of the Apostle Santiago to Charlemagne is told in dreams, pointing to the Milky Way as a way to find his tomb, which must free them from the Saracens to be able to venerate their relics with the enamels and medallions that they issued in the Apostle's crypt in Compostela. The souls of Trouvere, are beings that enjoyed a short life in the Pyrenees, they enjoyed the fortune of originating a liberator of post-Christian inheritances, mechanized by the exquisite citation of Pythagorean antiquity, behind indigo faded in red blood cells, to dress the sendal of the figure of Faith, freed behind those who should have dressed her as a Codex Calixtinus.

Five sections rose along the straight line of the Trouvere pyramidal axon, the base of the liturgical appendix that honors the multidimensional space, with antiphons for the cult of Carlo Magno on the underlying Patmos. Santiago was lacerated in the Holy Land far from his Brother Apostle Saint John, but he came to meet with the Trouveres who came from the rugged Pyrenees. Santiago passed the Strait of Gibraltar and reached Padrón, which is about 20 kilometers west of Santiago de Compostela; there some angels took him to the place where he actively rests. In a boat he arrived..., and always by the Mediterranean he will now reach Patmos, still acquiring the iconography that attempts to find Charlemagne, and a codex that would unite pre-Christians like Pythagoras and Aristotle united in the relic of the taxpayers transformed into three maritime rivers, concerned with a predicted belligerent episode, to say that all roads lead to Patmos, like Locus Sanctus, of all the shepherds who heal their sheep in which they are not of others that are populated with souls white, for the good of others. Thus the souls of Trouvere from the Pyrenees revealed themselves as predecessors of the raiding of the shells 308 meters below the Profitis Ilias, in agreement with Stratonice who would be arriving in Macedonia, where the passing of the centuries would tell him about the Jacobean Route instructed in confronts, and concordances with the airones of the Trouvere, protected by a rectangle in three subdominant Pythagorean angles in the dissipated darkness of the golden indigo of Theoskepasti, in the meridian of Kímolos.
Poielipsis Souls of Trouvere
beth fwoah dream Mar 2017
i.

the grey ghosts
water to the sky,
pond to the
breaking air,

the blues are
cloudy
islands and
stars, lily pad
gold-green
dream of monet-
light.

ii.

love drifts,
scurries over
the water like
a dragonfly,
her wings the light
flowing, melting
in its breathful
streams

falling
falling
in the delicate
colours of
spring with
its tide-like
ebb and flow.

iii.

i held you
close and you
were the
aching spring,
the bright
opals of the moon,

i held you close
and all i could see
where the blues of
the pond, the
snake-silver
stream of starlight
and flower,

you were the
aching bronzes
of the rivery
pools, the still
water's paradise
of blue and white.

iv.

capture me
in the cloudy
isles of
the bright
lilies,

i am the melting
light, the frail
bloom with its
zen-like peace,
church of quiet
air, hopeful stream
of ache and light.

v.

ghost-enamels
of impression,

silently, the sun
sinks and the golds
of spring blossom
like a spell.
the book is currently 20 at barnes and noble under highly rated, e book, english poetry under 5 dollars. thank you again to all those who have purchased it.
beth fwoah dream Apr 2018
clouds without edges, white like
soft pillow cases,
the sky filled with the pale embers of dusk.

the day drifts away, striding, skirts swaying
floating in the ether, untamed and restful.

sunken like the stars, the
dark begins to ripple its black
pools, carves its statues of wood and moon.

i wait for you in this opal night,
my legs a song of longing
my breath a shiver of scattering
birds, flowers in my hair,
my kiss gold blossom
unlocked with a sigh.

i melt as you touch me
my eyes whispering silk,
blue enamels of sea,
my arms
gathering you to me,
my breast full of
dark songs.

i glow, my eyes bold shadows of night,
my lips pressing in to yours
gathering honey like a bee.

i am your girl of the wind,
a jar of stones,
your beautiful muse.

gather me to you,
hold me for ever
and i will learn to speak
of love like
a solitary red rose petal
falling to the floor.
R K Hodge Oct 2013
If it would make you love me I would lie back
And bottle the secret, concealing it underneath my rib cage like a bottled ship, the twigs and scraps of fabric decomposing like the bones of leaves, dry and crumbling into different dusts
Actually, I wouldn’t even ask you to love me, and I would still position myself in some sparse pretty purgatory for you
Sitting in silence, on cold to touch hospital like bed sheets
There is colour slicked inside my chest, thick in parts as if it were chocolate applied with a brush inside a mould but for you I would keep the light out in some dull opaque haze
Flecks of my soul are rainbow enamels but if I could I would reduce them to dull metal powders for you
I would give up all others because they have no clean sails unlike you
I would allow you all those one syllable words
daphne Feb 2021
i chew on the shards
of my broken heart
wearing out my enamels
bleeding out my gums
devouring the pain
slitting down my throat
you tower over keenly
i craned my neck beaming
doubtful eyes swept over
discoloured lips
crimson stained teeth
but a smile is flattering
so please don't fret
you can trust me
i am fine i am okay
the pain no longer fazes me
Jason May 2021

Buried in fact beneath censorious blame
Constrained intact by iniquitous chains
Surreptitiously lain in the shadows of shame

Dark honey drop-dripping down the throat
Enamels each enigma thought
Varnishing every mystery in doubt

© 05/15/21 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2016
.
Light
Enamels the naked
Trunks, cleansing
Sun strikes

The unraveled trees
Bolted to frozen ground
And the leaves
Mosaic,

As any temple
Floor, iconic,
Pray, tell stories
Of turned seasons.

In winter
Snows come merely
To raw, all unwashed
And drape purity,

White as truth
And sparse is song
From only the most
Devout birds

Who with Hymn,
In the piped choirs
Of icicles, drip
Drop to blessed waters,

Anointing the soiled
Sinner ground,
Waiting for spring
Eternal.
You would mumble that I don’t
get to appreciate all your efforts,
little or big, because I tend to just
keep myself silent, even when happy,
and keep them for myself, like a thief
hiding gold in his secret treasure chest,
no words, no thoughts for traces
that anyone can backtrack to, and forth,
but believe me, little honey, everything
you have for me is kept inside my bones,
under my skin, within the extra layers
of fats, in every fragments of myself
that I have offered to you. You have your
name etched in every single *****
sliding through the intestines
that would get upset when you kiss me,
and the taste of your surprises lingering
under my tongue, within the gums,
hardening the teeth, like enamels.
Pictures of you, of your existence,
bygone memories, of nostalgia
all carefully placed inside my skull,
like a delicate dinner meticulously
prepped, for us to feast on, on days,
and nights when we feel like no one.
You are the air inside my lungs,
like cigarette burning, exhale,
all the toxins filling the bags,
slowing down time, slowly.
You are still the good things
the good news like in masses,
you are the preach I listen to,
with everything about you,
I wear, on my arms, on my ankle,
like wooden bracelets we get,
you are laced around my neck,
like a scapular, you are my religion,
and like paint brushes, you are
painted all over my skin,
traces of forevers, images,
running down my cheeks,
down my sleeves, coating me.
You are time, with numbers,
I always try to count, unending,
with moments after moments,
like ripples in events, not through
ticks but through nights of becoming.
You are a prayer, not a hope or wish,
I mutter your name, every time,
for you are my voice, your strands
hang at every low and high note,
as if I understand one, but I know
there is you in pieces of me,
at the unmade tissues, the broken bones,
the painful limbs, burnt skin,
at the density of tears, the
intensity of laughter, the words,
I hear you, you play in my ears,
like a marching band, I always stop
to listen to your music. You are
the silhouette when I am against the sun,
a shadow, the light that embers
a corner of my brain, you ignite,
rays passing through window glasses,
you crawl not under, but through
my skin, and baby, believe me,
when you open me out,
you would find names of you
written all over my innards,
and there, you will know,
how much I have kept the love
that you have made me know.
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Tis ironic yes?
These people with all the loot in their pockets
Spend thousands of dollars on new
Pearly white enamels....

Yet its the poor tribesman
In a faraway country
With no teeth....

That hast the most beautiful of smiles..
The mountain surrounds a limpid lake
Of a calm and captive silver-green
Like the waist of the wedded, a sylph
A besotted body, light, loved by the wind like the yew
Where are you escaping to, peaceful flow
In your fertile floor above which there is plenty of lives?
To the point of triggering the blue sea’s breeze jealousy
You hold, silent, Lamartine’s soul
He described you, lake, time’s metaphor
On your shiny waters, necklace of photophore
The sun beholds you, skimming your sides
Like the poet’s quill, your white bird.

What did he see in his prophetic century
Hurt by a soft and painful romanticism?
Holding you in his arm, his altar, in love with
Your richness, your serenity that the poet
Afflicted by time couldn’t feel
Save for his apostrophe, his eternal sigh
To you then, oh lake, the whisper of a scripture
That is known only by you, enigma in literature
Story with the man with words and scars
You contain in your dome, his most beautiful enamels.


Translated on August, 24 2015
Written on the fishermen's wooden pit, next to a lake in France near Switzerland, in Aix Les Bains. The lake is called ''Bourget''
Franklyn Orode Apr 2020
Inside Life
We fry our bones in the sun
And feed them to the howling storms
We do not fear to shed  our enamels
When we have no mouth to swallow our poor deities
Chewing granites , drinking from dead streams
Boys are not smiling , how can the moon find sleep?
When our bellies make noises than a troubled ocean

Inside life
We lost our blood in every rainy days
And cry an  ocean to drench our pains
Tomorrow never stops to gift us goose bumps
Friends come and go like  bad seasons
We bury our tongue in the silence of our mouth
When Napoleon strives in this animal farm
Sweats and cowries never share a toast

Inside life
Our dreams crawl, while our shadows run
And fortune is a woman beyond our reach
Only mosquitoes and cobwebs  stayed awake
While we squeeze happiness out of our skin
We would wait till the sun turns cold like ice
And  rest our aching backs on the laps of the moon
But today before twilight,  we must bury our thin sweats

— The End —