Prelude  PART I


"Today when the threat is looming, as close apocalyptic years approach, it will be by cohabiting itself and the ruining valley of debris, which will make this world corrupted the next issue of the numeral scale of the new count, a rising hyperspace , concerning the parts of the kingdom of God ... "

Then on the Lord's day, John saw the glory of the risen Christ, and she understood from the point of view of God, he saw that the fate of the Church and threatened in the first persecutions took the appearance of a dark beginning.
And the time John wrote the Evangelist, including books were Jews called Revelation, that is, "Revelations". With fantastic images of monsters, angels and cataclysms, evidence of the Jewish people are stressed and are invited to await the judgment of God who intervenes from heaven with all his power.  So my beloved world is harsh and does not represent an apocalypse, but it is the true reality is when I will bear its overwhelming slaughter.

" Today when I walked with my winged feet near my friend Victor, I confided down the road crushed by afflictive legs; how difficult the taste of laughter when the decadent surrounds you, the human, the vile, the loose ...
Even though the celestial charisma invoke his memory and help nourish the weakness of Robert in hyperspace, with clean clothes, I can see his beloved mother consumed as automaton can take care of him. She is also her father, because it carries rooted in its members and manners, infinitely sharp look; in their arms they will gather wherever his soul is under his patronage that lives there ..."
I am  who  say that Roberto is a dog, who bears all the faces of dogs humble and serene. Perhaps tired of hearing young people, it is flush adults who do not accept, and who do not share as young faces were watching them, getting them to receive them what they should disclose them.
This is how we are numbed and distraction is fleeting, and he looking aside in his astrayed, he would be saying ...:
"Among the cradle and the grave I have a feeble scaffolding, and then complains, though his other I demolishes; unsconcient defends his executioner ... that the threat of death is its widespread depravity, which dominates it and want to go on like mortifiying.

      I want to talk about life ..., he said in his short years of life, which is more of it; possibly coming to complex, what our Somatic territory responds in normal or involuntarily. Comparative anatomy, and its innermost portion, the link body and mind, as a pure white as Samadhis and nature.
Homeostatic factors regulating our vitality, making its experimental modification, increasing to evolution, or maturation as a criterion of personal psychology go with the passage of time into in the depths of our mind.
Thus in a known threshold of Vedic architecture, its sensitivity is excited by regulating the effectiveness of the response to be made ... and everything related to the world of Ludwig Garroch; brother Robert in his strange Emigrate.
Yesterday when my arms away from hers, my fingers pounding away and recording what the heart more than a song, was a symphony sonata with a single end, long and sustained movement; It was the adage inner melancholy with an eye romanticism, which dominates the
passions of the visible world, which inhabits Antonieta, causing me, unbalanced living.


                                       CHAPTER I


In the beginning years of his childhood, little Ludwig sitting at home, in the gallery. Ask her aunt who was ironing ... Madelain, how I would always be a child of five ...?, And being as such, a privileged to receive toys for many years. Attentive aunt, maybe go to hear with little complacency as his hands only want unroll clothes.
After two years at the age of seven, when her aunt arranging his coat to go to Mass, she teaches a carol that had been taught in childhood. When many wondered whether there is a Santa Claus ...?, And among his friends they looked to unravel the mystery. One year later, when he enjoyed his unicycle, who just dominated him, called him a cousin telling her it was her birthday. He did not hesitate to go to find out what was behind the call, so he found the means by which we celebrate, we live and cooperate towards happiness and delight to have us at each other.
Not long after a friend told him .. "You do not have ten years are too big And Ludwig thought he was well endowed and well stopped, so not your friend was wrong in the above. It is my label and my stance has put the world on me.
Every passing day came the stamp of manly character, a woman or girl who made change her hairstyle, and he did dress more attractive every day.
Later, in his teens, his gaze was well received and their voices radiated security screening. Where He must continue the line of men. Even when I was living as smoothly, looks out strong destination with which calls us to live with skin clean or *****, because it is inside the feeling and the pain does not come out, it is enclosed by the overflowing affection. Here is the portion of good or evil haunting things casual and destroys the healthy, it fertile.

                                        
              ­                           CHAPTER II


Then was a year with a sports compensate pleasant summer sated outdoors, almost fugitive ... will not wonder that life smiled on him serfdom, and very willing opened his prudence.
Every time I decided to go to his favorite places, he went with his burly comrades in the best mood to conquer optimistically. Thus, no wonder he wanted when he was alone and put your reasoning judiciously, because nothing is distant, nothing is impossible.

After unite desires and forces, to clean your bike, piece by piece, in full sun know much security would not allow the mother of vices ruin their fun, that scarce alive to possess the desire to move and go on compliance instinct. Casts on itself, the vigor of the inner, its desolate world full of free enthusiasms who obey no doubt the vital complex activity.
Ludwig and entering the maelstrom of men love hate Godson, you can glimpse the friction with the air, with people ... I wore. That their voices heard their soul contracts, and thus puts light feet towards an acceleration which does not afflict his troubled stomach, nor regret his decision and put fearful, but, bring himself retained encouragement of his mind to remember the maternal cooing, comfort and timely relief to protect forever the suffering, the suffering of torment without end, not he shut the inspiration of the good man that no harm will result, and not for nothing the valence of living and not quarrel prancing. No existing could shed some light on what role, and that little thought is not complicated, and thus shown kneeling and unable to distressing oppressors and agents tangled conduct to chaos, those characters of ambition and discrimination.
Ludwig, who lives in the Ecologist City, where large forest ... budded, is home jungle floral site, whose relations are flowers, trees ..., next to Strange birds migrate flower in her intra nature reproduced, and pods evacuated by butterflies.
His close friend, is the watery and salty sea, which is beloved because he falls in love, puts on alert and curses him by his surroundings and invoking him. Anyway, it dwells wherever it is, and is accepted as a basic element of the universe.

                                    
                                         CHAPTER III

The act of tender love would be fulfilled later ..., what his voice fell silent and had his eyes and heart fortify, which will be linked from far inside.
At night, with Roderick going to a festive night, they climbed the rungs center alone, with heat in his shirt skin later. And in a deliberate action, someone asks you a sign that taking care tired and distinguishing see that John was his friend, school mate. He did not hesitate, he approached, greeted him and his sister and a cousin when she noticed well, he saw that he wore perfect for your night.
Debra wore elegant, dark clothes and sang with her dark brown wavy hair; his white brunette and harmonious ****** complexion line, gave her constant reflection. Fate was present, as it would not go around the world to be looked at by someone, he would watch his choice. Little was said, he only realized he was not passing and North America came eleven years ago.


They roasted the hours and the party ended, Ludwig remained with her new friend and his old friend John. They went downstairs, thinking about committing his new friendship, as I had noticed a slight interest in it. This happened and the meeting lasted for several hours.
The next day, he went to see her lawns roads where she lived, always with its mystique and kneeling the beast that wanted to impose upon him, that gives it excessive materialism unloved peace.
She arrives at her house, which was to John, though not very comfortable, but sure to please and attentive to host it.
And that night said much that was the tender feeling and liking her, but as his policy was rigid and concerning celibacy, only mattered to him, the unknown world of madness in his brawling to survive.
Time passed and deepened love, Ludwig went to say goodbye to his beloved, especially that he had faith, but that day would betray him. And so I wanted to put his heart and iron sleep peacefully, but Debra no secret  to tell ...:

"Ludwig, do not abandon our own, we must have faith, and I understand what it is. Ludwig rested and then brought her hands to her, hugged her and kissed all over her face, covering her eyebrows, nose, forehead, mouth; his lips positions in the middle of it, wanted to feel her warmth and tell her he loved her and would miss a lot of pain. But there was no show weakness, he must be strong and not to complicate the farewell from North America. Mourn scared him, because he had forged the feeling, because his aching grief was deep and it was at an undetermined point, with great desire to hold her and kiss over his face.
So ever, it was unbearable, she would like to die in his memory and had to remember in the collective thinking of his family circle. Which it fits the feel shivers ideas with sensations, such as the best in its inherent upstart point.

It was hard, as if more than man Ludwig out the feminine side of himself. But irremediable was the end, eager poisonous reaper approached. Ludwig hugged her, kissed her and stroked her right breast ... saying: "Do not forget me ..." and so left. Then he wrote her, that madness had transformed her away, but the distance was prevented against carcinoma being all postponed.
To know he could not boil your blood heavy thinking, they were contracted muscles. When he relaxed, he saw back through the hatch of his head, the soul that was in an ****** tragic holocaust, where Eros tenaciously and rebellion dictated its laws. Ludwig slept, and consciousness became natural color, as if it were safer, eternally fresh and manufactured this dream a poem ...:  

" That one corresponding to the celebration,
I wish to reunite with enthusiasm and strength ...
touching eyes closed
the sad sky, the dry ground, dried flowers
and people backward habits.

As meaning if it takes itself ...,
is the meaning
although they are scattered
in flows oppressions ...
the animosity of delight just widow and desultory,
losses and more losses at the time of aging ...
and profits to appease others.

For more like,
there seems to be a big drop ...
the same credibility ...?
and setting as a feeling
remain imagination stationary.

As hard it corresponds to the body,
It is destroyed inside ...
and hardened thoughts
tears falling to the esophagus,
without recognizing either way.

Who the pace of living is customizable,
and no opportunity is lost ...
but growing and creative
rears its profile,
as an unforgiven mirage. "


    Have been and unrestless forms of peremptory perceive, and when it starts to wander in my solitude, transporting my sorrow with grief, wherever I go I will take silent and vivifying separation completes the probable brain, which lives and endures in avidity stamped man with his need to want the Lord's command that made me forge this creation .--- he told himself, as a witness epilogue of his poem, albeit as the cry to its essence it was about. Originally from the Ecologist City, where reigned the wise and calm, where he healed their diseases, which has dodged the putrefaction of their wounds, where you inhale the aroms most want and cordoned off its without a grave lack of soft and flowering odour.
To believe missing, do not be afraid and trust that will grab everything, that not a drop of air was not lost on her fingers, which will not fail to display their imaginative stuff Alma Mater.
With all their eating, you want to cure your bad like venereum, and would go into the hands of a counselor or a warlock who extirpated the curse. Heal her feet and hands to despair, to heal the memory of his thought that I seasoned and voluptuous breaks the veins of his caleter, which seems not of it like a dwarf be provided with a dagger will break their venal, and this to commit such surgery, he laughs loudly with garnets eyes, full of the worst evil.

And this way Ludwig Garroch, vague without fear of rags, without fear of hunger or the messiness, only idles so that someday I can walk on the water surface, leaving their hydrocentric footprints where plankton reverence their sense of pain, his infarcted heart , her long fingernails of violence.


TO  BE CONTINUED….

Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently,
And though thy birth-hour beckons thee,
Sleep the long sleep:
The Doomsters heap
Travails and teens around us here,
And Time-Wraiths turn our songsingings to fear.

Hark, how the peoples surge and sigh,
And laughters fail, and greetings die;
Hopes dwindle; yea,
Faiths waste away,
Affections and enthusiasms numb:
Thou canst not mend these things if thou dost come.

Had I the ear of wombed souls
Ere their terrestrial chart unrolls,
And thou wert free
To cease, or be,
Then would I tell thee all I know,
And put it to thee: Wilt thou take Life so?

Vain vow! No hint of mine may hence
To theeward fly: to thy locked sense
Explain none can
Life’s pending plan:
Thou wilt thy ignorant entry make
Though skies spout fire and blood and nations quake.

Fain would I, dear, find some shut plot
Of earth’s wide wold for thee, where not
One tear, one qualm,
Should break the calm.
But I am weak as thou and bare;
No man can change the common lot to rare.

Must come and bide. And such are we—
Unreasoning, sanguine, visionary—
That I can hope
Health, love, friends, scope
In full for thee; can dream thou’lt find
Joys seldom yet attained by humankind!

Straight lines bound the edges,
while it became necessary to spend
the anchor of time lost in the twisting
patterns slowly darkening to supply
the molecules which provided scenery.

The character was divided
between a wolf and the hiker towering
at the pinnacle of the hill to gaze above

the head of the beast across to the vista
of the trail.  Roses bloomed, and the ink
was done, to dry while color trickled
in a world comprised through streams
of shivering light reflected from

the mountain, a flower raised by
the frivolous event of cataclysmic times;
the hatchet carved its cliffs to make

a face of empty granite and the soul of
the rock.  The delay created a great offer,
considered by erosion, but the hesitation
defied the smoothing influence of climates
and their ages.  The rise killed the
enthusiasms of the hiking spirit,
reconstituting the problem, and
the messenger of hilarity was never less
welcome than when enthusiastic about the
confusion of lost victims.  Always a few
of these were

in the scenes along the shimmering trails
with their names that changed at inconvenient
turning points until travelers were anxious
to go through the door into the chalet with its
green carpet of moss.  The discount welcomed

them, inside, yet there was no great pile
of money and nothing was purchased.  Instead,
after the warmth set in, showing determination,
the man with the pack returned to life on
the wild edge of the land.  After a command to

the sharp creature that had been pacified by the
impressive displays of civilization, the walker
began to trek, and the wandering dog felt self
respect, the beginning of membership.  So, they

belonged to the range, and the traders had plans
to provision them by means of a system of values
arrived to demonstrate available necessities and
equities conceived in the course of bargaining.

This general aspiration was accompanied by the
taciturn response thought to be more pleasant
than the argument and ill will.  Prosperity had
been created by serving fate and nature rather
than by transferring property to a singular pit.
The result was an expectation of good deals and
reliable assistance.

I feel as though i had a soul mate
and i forgot them

Whoever it is, i miss our fun times; adventures, games, autumn leaves and hidey holes out of the wind, projects, enthusiasms, unexpected visits, your wacky plans, a sense of possibility in every moment, as though we could cross oceans

The days before i feared my own freedom,
before my clothes stopped making sense.

She came down from Mt. Rainier
wearing khaki park ranger's garb,
a female Moses descending Sinai,
clutching a leather chapbook,
survival notes for a “Dangerous Life”.
Nightingales were songbirds for the grief,
as MS stole in like 'Frisco fog,
unnoticed by a comet-blinded public.
And when the awards came,
strokes of jackpot luck,
acquired enthusiasms soon were
dropped in excruciating back spasms.
She touted poetry as civic-glue,
paste for a populist purpose.
Olympia’s oracle rarely leaves the house,
curtains drawn, newspapers unread,
writing feverishly, as “The Body Mutinies”.

[I appreciate all of the people who have recently taken an interest in my writing since my poem was featured on the front page!]

"It is not the critic who counts;
not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles,
or where the doer of deeds could have done better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,
whose face is marred
by dust and sweat and blood;
who strives valiantly;
who errs,
who comes short again and again,
because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;
but who does actually strive to do the deeds;

who knows great enthusiasms,
the great devotions;
who spends himself in a worthy cause;

who at best knows in the end
the triumph of high achievement,
and who at worst,
if he fails,
at least fails while daring greatly,

so that his place shall never be
with those cold and timid souls
who neither know victory or defeat."
-Roosevelt

Echoes, not retorts;
sound reverberates from walls
that constrain the singular,
curtailing the enthusiasms
gained from conversation;
increasingly concerns
remain unrequited
yet laughter repeats
reflecting mocking repetitions

The vision :
(dreams torn, torn)

A picture came to me in the darkness of night,
Of myself in ten, twenty years time;
Worn out with the struggle, weak, and no longer able to fight,
Finally giving way to the forces ranged against me,
Sad and grey and defeated.

The sketch :
(in harsh charcoals)

This dream that came to me,
Was as though I had finally and sadly, late in the day,
Lost my innocence.

The Canvas :
(Life, existence)

I had been high-minded and apologetic,
Full of enthusiasms I didn’t quite mean,
And guilt’s I didn’t understand.
And now I stand looking at the man I could’ve been.

In Oils :
(violent colours)

I had spent years thrashing around in confusion
As drowning men pull each other under,
As wave after wave we are swept away;
Our cries obscured by the thunder.

My signature :
(...)

See my writing on the wall,
There’s no one to catch me when I fall;
But Death was on my side:
Suicide.

I've learned
how to be a child of divorce

not through the quarrels
of mother and father
because mine still haunt each other.

But through my own
struggles of living
two separate lives.

One of a student
bound to study
being a socialite of aristocrats  
through my informality of university.

The other a family man
or a family boy
one that wants to soliloquy
and urge the importance
of unity with my brothers and sisters.

Spread between
two homes that don't quite
fill my needs or
meet my enthusiasms.

They are lost to me
equally lost to each other--
these two homes
used to be equal
but now they demand to be separate.

I am sitting with some of my possessions
by the steps and stone shadowed lions
outside the New York Public Library
there is a fellow there selling his poetry
in bound books
he has a table small with a sign:

Meet the Author

he is warm and personable
offering his hand with a wink and a smile
to strangers of the great city
and sharing lines of his verse with zeal
he appears to be a perfect match
of my dear departed friend
Jack Nuthall
mannerisms
enthusiasms
and I wonder
now that I reside in this poem
how many Jacks are still in this world roaming ?
I mean the exact person
how many of myself are brooding in the shadows  
believing that we live individual lives
when we exist beyond count

A dusty box full of paperbacks,
a cheap auction haul, an archive
of someone's memories,
old enthusiasms, enchanting
stories, exciting action yarns.

Time was too short to read them again,
more recent ones waiting attention,
unread juniors ambitious for
promotion, leaning out of bending shelves.

These dog-eared browning pages, acid etched
in someone's memory, ready to serve
again, resisting pulping or
landfilling illiterate soil.

Show me yours
The Energy
Behind your ideas
Your love of what is
With that sprightly mind
Boost our hopes
Of importance
In something that isn't
Create it within
Your cells
Show me yours
How we can be
More
Than what is without
The mark of your
Enthusiasms

Fourteen years old,
Story untold
I fell in love with Charlie,
And he nerded
As never before

I still make coffee
For two,
Watching quietly
From every door frame
Grumpy olf soundman---
Needs to love too,
Strange namr,
Transparent shame,
Instant fame

Sold belongings
Become Itinerant
Poetry librarian,
Semi colons;
I use them to excess
Supported the sublime
With uncurbed---
Enthusiasms

Changing mind postponed
Demise by decades,
Later-life serendipity
Led to Authorland

I was born some assembly
Required,
Anything's possible with---
An extension cord
Cried,
Defied, denied,
Sighed,
Died,
Reapplied,
Mistakenly kills kitten,
Fears anything delicate

{Comets and things inflamed,
Descended to Earth and
Became estranged..}

Infallible summer enthusiasms
Proceed to weary winter woes that
Soothe you like an infection,
Rising from your toes.
Your heart has been beaten, stretched, mauled
Then finally broken but you persevered
With few words spoken;
A hopeless wish that stripped
You bear...
That lit you on fire,
A gentle switch called "desire" diagnosed to
Align your chakras.
An empty room other-side a tightly closed door
May feel safe, but you want more:
To dazzle a viewer with a kind of wink!
How'd you do It....
Make him grow!
Make him shrink!
Blazing through a deep dark blanket
That is sublimely wrapped
(And one can sense it)
A blissful abandon akin to
Sliding down frosty mountains; laughing!
Iron maiden sickly motions;
Something harbored is most times stolen while
They turn the other cheek
And they still have a mind to speak!
Taken into themselves
Wine and bread
Still alive-
(But mostly dead)
What remains rusts;
Colliding as we do, the world and us.

Crouched before the electrical lord
A terminal of many, unity of one
Touched by multitudes and harbored
Estranged not by origin, but by future
Quantum in hopes and observations
Pulses of twin opposites
Required to speak

To hear

To tap

To click

To adhere, code, and program
A world unbound to restrictions
Of moral and legalities of fleshy desires
But is bound to cages of silicon and metals
Ropes of data and temperatures of stress
Spider’d to wiles and enthusiasms of minds
Accustomed to fear and paranoia of the untaught

It seeks

It learns

It grows

An amalgamation of past, present and future
Collected, assembled, forgotten and recycled
Corrupted without a trace of restoration
But trusted and believed without concern
Lest we forget, the mistakes of the system
Are compounded and blamed, but-
The computer only does what an idiot commands.

© 2014

I fear at times that I don’t know if my true self is still within me
Sometimes I fear she’s gone away
Sometimes I catch glimpses of her
In poetry I have saved, yet no one cares to read it, at least not fully through
I understand what Kurt said in his last note
Needing to be unfeeling, in desperate attempts to regain enthusiasms that were once had in years of early childhood
I feel utterly alone most days
Many years I have yearned for something I do not even know what is
What am I without my writing? What am I with it?
I can never write consistently, I can never predict what I will feel from one day to the next, yet many days feel the same
And there lingers the same utter pain
Writers block is an unintentional passion of mine
Fear is my best friend
Sadness is one of my greatest companions
Nostalgia appears several times a week
Anger eats me alive
Am I anything but a mere tragedy? A copy of other poets who have lost their minds? Am I original enough? Why must I feel the need to be so unique, to over explain everything I have ever felt?

Go, small song. Make yourself
known. Stretch your arms as sunlight,
glow. We humans’ leaves’ greens need you,
so, will you love us as our ears do you?
Wonder with me, throat, as you say
your notes and lengthen their dull to
soft nevers. The crowd still hears you
tomorrow, the last song before the final
closing of the eyes before godless sleep.
Coffins vibrate with your enthusiasms,
corpses know remorse, finally, like a
cracked ancient bell with some something
left. String me as *******
screaming in pillow fields. String me
as hazardous Lazarus sinewed neck-string
plucked as flowers, as slave-ships docked
upon the shore with gentle endless thud. We’ll
keep singing spirituals forever, we’ll keep
saying things about skin. We will win. Win
like mirrors lastly seeing smiles. Come with me
as stars die and are still witnessed. Inscribed
as pride in a mother’s voice with small
black boy joy, with tears, first cries, blood,
water
and the mother’s song mountain-heavy
and living.

I wasn’t meant to be like this.
I wasn’t born this way.
I started out an optimist,
Not one draped in shades of grey.
But Cynicism settled in
as I reached middle age.
My youthful enthusiasms dimmed
And I sadly turned the page.
I became the man Wilde once described
In “Lady Windermere’s fan”
I didn’t want to be like this,
I trust you understand.
I lost the simple joy of youth;
The innocence and longing.
I know the price of everything
But of their Value, nothing