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Chapter XXVII
Mashiach of Judah V part
Miracle VI - Gethsemane / Maasefa


Preface

In this chapter in particular I want to clarify the revelation of three fundamental phases of the outcome of this chapter of Judah.

a) The subsequent phase after the Stable in Bethelem (Kafersuseh) will lead to the neurochemical conformation of the energies subtracted from the visions in the stable, exclusively from the roof before the intervention of the Cherubs with their four wings, just like the Lepidoptera ( butterflies), incurring in an original messianic nexus provided with pheromone sensitivity and chemical activation in the pollinations of bumblebees, bees, and wasps, to regenerate the species of Olivo Barnea, to consolidate the language and perpetuate it as a dialect of Messiah.

b) From this phase itself, the phylogeny is subtracted as kinship between species or taxa in general from tree species and wild plants. Although the term also appears in historical linguistics to refer to the classification of human languages according to their common origin, the term is used mainly in its biological sense. The symbiosis of both interactions will intervene in the juxtaposition of "Joshua is born and dies in the instant" when he is born in the stable "but his analogy Gethsemane and Golgotha, the two" G ", will recreate the salvific miracle and anticipation of the Scourge that it will suffer, but that the Hexagonal Progeny (Men and animal species and insects) will intervene with the salvific action from the caverns to gather the dry bones of humanity. It also makes us the exception of Shibboleth, comparative of Gaaladitas and Efraitas, to standardize the language as a probity to recompose the intra-social scale (use of the language indicative of social or regional origin, identifying the members of a group, in a kind of password), which appeals to changes in the use of phonetics in terms of difference and to aspire to reorder social disagreements, caused by major conflicts, including the loss of concomitant civilizations and their patrimonial socio-cultural niche, therefore of the Aramaic as a thread of anticipated signal of a beginning of communicative intention and preservation of messianic language)

c) Physical, mental, geophysical and spiritual elemental energies will mutate the adherence of the Aramaic dialect with the pollen duct generated in the Barnea olive species, creating a relationship of chemical change in them deified in favor of a new "Vernarth Berne" , with the interaction of the isotope that will generate the inclusion of a proton that will mutate the chemistry of divination and connectivity with the (Heavenly Father - Abba in the Garden), in such a way that the methodological lines of anticipation will prosper on the night of the rapture by the Sayones before being taken to the Lithostroto to be scourged, to interpret the power of his gospel.

d) And for the consequent emeritus synchronization of the Maasefa dry bone conjunction caves, unleashing the awareness of the awakening of protection before, during and after the events that occurred at the culmination of his death. This will delve into the three chemical sediments interacting with each other, the Aramaic language enchanting the univocal and eternal root to always have it in Gethsemane, the revelation of the phylogeny as a determining entity for the consolidation of the geophysical-animal world and the transcendent soul that intervenes among the stars.  Of the everlasting creation on the crescent Moon eleven days before, and the Sun -Shemesh astonishingly at the degradation of the human species and all its feelings of loss of unconfessed existence.

e) Experiencing and surviving the indecisions and fears of recognition of exposing and externalizing the calls of the antro caverns that have allowed us to escape the threats, but from there towards the reverberation in the same tune of a Calvary, in the basins of a skull , taking refuge to serve and look from the optics of the shining with the gold of the ears of wheat in your dreams. Gethsemane and Golgotha are the set of the "G" that generates endo-trauma in the throat and a global skeletal bone set, that wanting to relive the call of the Messiah, from the Neck of Heaven rising roughly through your throat, forever and through the Centuries of the Centuries.

f) The poetics that led me to write this poetic essay in this chapter (it is the same depressing unconsciousness of having a body already abandoned and without Soul, but in my own without understanding anything), this tends to describe how history us teaches that there are phenomena that are difficult to capture for sure, but that from the extra mediumistic sensibilities, emerge from where our consciousness does not discover what makes the divine exponential canonically intuitive spiritual power, or the external machine of multiple serial spirit systems, that they besiege and show us their Firmament, and that few times we will actually be able to enter them from deep within from the activation date our hyper consciousness, and the level of travel that leads to the abandonment of our intro meditation.


They were all stationed on the northeast *****, Eurydice arrived with her essences full of birds surrounding her, and she could not hold them due to the invasion of these surprising birds. They were all sitting on the stones of the garden; they were all resting with their heads on the Svein Tzora stones.


Vernath says: "The stone of Gethsemane", on grains and crystals are soaked with the spheres of the stone of the Mashiach. She showed them the meekness before the hardness that could be distinguished compared to limestone or clayey, full of sedimentary grains that devastate the igneous ones from where some voices of her holocaust were left over, compared to marrying her corporeal materiality with the aramic syllable embedded in a undressed and silent bustle, of everything and little petulant organic element coexisting in his morpho figure. This graphs the consonance with the demonstrations of passion by his followers embedding themselves in a stone with multiple and sharp cuts, as if taking the grains out of a pomegranate with his law of 613 grains that are enough to stipulate them and to break the lithosphere of the messianic referendum of his sacrificed law on the lithostroto. No barrier will stop us from surpassing this lithosphere, which so coldly separates us from the rebirth of a body that takes root beyond the cracks of Gethsemane, as do olive trees growing on the same stones, pretending to be in a mansard. The will of a destiny under a stone, admits arrogant concerns to startle that “He was there, and his destiny condemned him”, but “My Father, if possible, let this cup pass from me; but that it is not as I want, but as You want ...”, equivalent to relating stones for all the cups, as long as the will is of the Abba”, thus the stones are relieved, and our pride weighs less than the subterranean immortality.

Saint John says: “That it is agony; it is nothing more than supporting in our dreams the heavy shadow of his burden. The stone does not fit through the interstices of dreams, but its image weighing on the symbolism of being part of it, more than all hailstorms, being the scene of a sin near the disciple family and their dejection that runs where a curtain runs towards the resurrection. The thick drops are thick grains of the pomegranate in the Via Dolorosa, being thick stones falling from the universe and rubbing against the Sun and the Moon, falling on Him as well. Today on this day that the tribulation of an eternal night is confessed that never clarified, it will start to rain interrupting for days running backwards, since several syllables were left without catechizing before climbing from where the wind of Elijah called him Mashiach. Venerable Mashiach, always close to you leaping from the red sea, like a pomegranate like the food of a Father among waves of his sea! We are once again celebrating Holy Week and we have thought it appropriate to write this work on the Gethsemane stone, a gifted scene of his arrest, caused by the petty betrayal of all the Judases in the world. Mashiach, lonely in his full youth of thirty-three years in verses of his Aramaic succumbing on the arms of his Abba, He takes him and wraps him with his arms to defend him from the darkness, shedding blood and tears on a cracked stone, beyond the heavens of greater grenades in his hands revealing will that exceeds the levels of being rescued more times. There is a bitter taste of fruit, of course, but it tastes like a red planting of the rock, dry red that is not emanated from anything, but that if it brings us the generous hand that ceases pain and affliction, it produces sweet sleep even with irons. Forged entering through the middle of your carpal hands and tarsal feet. With the pantomime of our morbid, we stretch our arms on your refined cross, but without the conscience of the ******* trial of not experiencing the iron in our questioned soul, without crucified skin that in the epidemic the beast gave the punishment to its skin between screams and uncouth crying that if it occurs towards him, rather under the bitterness of a hammered heartless cup and inert stone that runs westwards seeking the voices of its pious mother. The sip of the sunset was swallowed in the sadness of my life that begins to be reborn every time it was lost and lifeless without feeling it as mine. I sleep in vigil on the flames of the stand of the stones of fire, and I fall asleep because others will not wake me on the edge of the one that cuts my game in flames. What cowardly courage accumulating in a depersonalized spilled heart ... what hours will have to pass without feeling them, to date the entry into her body of burning iron towards the sacrifice and not that of the. "Let it remain here on this stone with a fruitful shape, because it will not burst with impatience, rather with tears from grains of pomegranates." What a stronger bitterness than seven days in a row turning to my usual sweet sin, to end them abandoned without savoring it. For the first time I understand, since I have returned from exile that its Aramaic smells like grains of fruit and the syllables of the hundreds that are… are whipped like mega words that smell like its ***** trunk in solitude and abandonment. Its trunk like mine, stone of tree skin, of vile whips lost in the frieze of its temple breaking its head bark, crying its groans in full reconverted hopes of a crown into a hidden thorn. They are stuck in a grain of purple pomegranate, defeating the ailment of those who dared to martyr him in the pain that runs through his frozen veins ..., which is not sifted even by the brave poor; as it is to say by voice of the wealthy spirit helping you. "Being prepared and not, because I will not be the one who falls more times than falls from a stone rendered as stone dust where I have to go and where I have to be reborn"


Maasefa
Stone dust

"You are made of stone and you will become stone", were the words of communion in Gethsemane, from the stone of the Mashiach prayer, signaling the expression of freedom and the cessation of the oligarchy of belonging to the world doctrine of dimensional physical slavery , and its penetrating solidity of the stones that the priests made in the catacombs in times of consecration of loved ones to a centile universe of the orthodox spirituality. Here are the carved stones, such as those of the Sanhedrin that were gathered in the building known as the Hall of Carved Stones (Lishkat Ha-Gazith), which for this purpose will be the conservation of the ossuaries of the high authorities and common citizens, having the Maasefa's prerogative, which must consist in gathering the bones of all the reduced ones after a year that are completely hermetic in the assigned catacombs. Through this proximity of low spaces and recondite, the vague wandering of prescribing to approach the salvific redemption grows, awaiting the projection of the expired ancestors in the source of eternal life respected for the Mashiach (Messiah), to shelter us in their illusion in beauty brotherhood before being resurrected.

The Hexagonal Primogeniture, would go for the wading of making the nucleus of the nearby stones of the oratory of the garden towards an honorable mention of elaborating concavities in the geology of the garden, so that from the leftover dust of the carved stonemason the alliance of the Aramaic verb of cloistering is manufactured and the devotion of the members in each stone cell, and the explosion of the Aramaic verb speaking infinitely of the Father-Son analogy. In such a way that the translucent particles will be spread by the rhizomes of the Olivos Barnea species; deriving to Bern for the posthumous tribute of Vernarth, considered a Champion of the conservation and cenacle of living and extinct organic bones, such as the aforementioned case of the Apostle, before gathering as elemental dust of the Maasefa of Joshua before the completion of the retreat of the Garden of Gethsemane .

Shofar, sistrum, harp, and cymbals resound through the wise night and its star sign, before scouring the nearby veins to complete the Maasefa. They all sleep together that night touching heels in matrix phases to start a day with the force of stonework from left to right for allegory of the Menorah that never strays from the magnetized night. They get up at twenty to four at the beginning of the ritual. An hour and a half before sunrise they were in the purple sunrise stratum, on the layers of divinity tinged with the conscious subtlety of the creator in our being levitating. Its consequences rise before their bodies ..., evolving towards the hegemonic process on the layer of the nascent mineralogy that was going to intervene, which was oratory of the synchronic Mashiach or Messiah. Under it, Vernarth would begin to pierce, looking for the dimensional spaces of the search for its physiognomic extension adaptable to that of everyone and the evolving memory that separated the entrance from the Sun and the Moon on glasses waiting to be filled and drunk at noon. Eleven days before the Ekadashi (full moon) began. Thus, in this way they would sculpt the catacomb fanned into twelve simultaneous rocks that were in a perfect limbic diametrical circle, the line of the garden with its physical movements in congruence with the moon and the consciousness that matches it, like that alert of that fateful night in which he was abducted. In perfection with the oscillating vibration that is expanding in front of the cold back of the stone, analogically when the Mashiach vibrated in physical magnitude and in the absence of alert, but emotionally yes, after dialoguing with his Abba. The tremulous line that it covered was widely displaced further since it was transported towards the Edicule isotope, as an element of flight, escape, detonation and resignation, being able to find in the configured nature of fuss of a great variety of different isotopes as mass.  Which to a great extent will exceed in the cumulative gasified reaction,  and in purifying events that will occur at fifteen hours on Good Friday, when the prophetic events and the mischievous changes of evidence of the cataclysm expire on the cross and in the hands. The eclipsed sun, storm with depressed losses and cataclysm for a world that will sleep more than 1,700 years to the right, creating the consciousness of being in more than two conscious places, with the minimum and childish aspect of the remaining second that is divided between the before and after the physical and physiological abandonment, beginning in a final episode and of conclusive torment that precedes a culminating beginning. All this transformation of enclave and of energetic dimension allowed them to synchronously drill the sediment rocks that were thus sustained in the timid energy, generating electromagnetism of the field of the higher will. Thus, in the tunnels, all were drilling; they would be of the same mass category as the isotopes to manifest the energy and its dynamic charge, as a mass of occlusive energy that would explode on the martyrdom day of Golgotha.

Faced with this phenomenon of energy, it underlies the symmetry of the magnetic field created synchronously with the words emitted in the Aramaic word, comparing them with the reminiscences that must be poured in the twelve caverns of the garden, such as conversions and exchanges of the exhalations of the bees , bumblebees and wasps, in the universe of curve that transits the explosiveness of lines that approach the ratio of the dislocation of vibrations and their sound frequencies. Together with pollination as a genetic element of the fresh macerated chlorophyll and as a kinetic in the elytra of the Lepidoptera  with the indications of connecting the clan with the aforementioned electromagnetic energies. The interaction of the fields within the system will be induced between Golgotha and Gethsemane, they will establish electrical charges that will produce the gases and liquids that will intervene in the entire lithosphere, which unites both portions of soils, this created the interaction of particles, establishing the undermining of the rocks with the shapes of the Calota de Calavera basins, due to the geological conformation of the radius that surrounds both predicted areas. From this pattern, the caverns in the garden will be improvised, magnetizing the areas of vibration that depend on each other.

It seeks to interrelate a magnetic and electrical phenomenon between both areas; The impulse is derived to anticipate the forebodings of the Mashiach, and from how he was going to endure such torments towards his illustrious body in such a way as to electromagnetically retransmit it between the transmission bridge of the Garden and the admission bridge to Golgotha. This will trigger all subsequent supernatural and geological phenomena during the day of his crucifixion and the delicacy that will be glimpsed by decree of an execution against humanity and orthodox fanaticism, causing a sensitive correspondence of the transmission of faith and the dogma of attending to the physical work and mystical legacy to safeguard for successive generations in the Berna Olivar species, nodding correlation with the majestic and axiomatic cultivation of preservation under the catacombs, as the unalterable progeny of the concelebrating of the eternal relationship of lineage coalition united with the feeling and consciousness of Christian Eternity. This gravitational potential energy will attach the multi-aramic effect to all attendees, to confer dialogue, assimilate and consent to a dynamic supra-lingual, organic and historical heritage channel, on the basis of a monumental act of consanguinity before all will, "Here are all the alphas, on the Omegas." Creating complex harmonic movements between the caverns of impiety,  but with a perfect and refactioning equation with the rescued Prayer in Aramaic towards the universe in quasi-presence periods, but not verifiable until the salvific prayer ritual is concluded.

The chain reaction of this divine particle will be the opposite charge of the reaction of the active work area of tension consolidation between both columns, Golgotha and Gethsemane, both are started with "G" and if you turn it in any direction around it you make a perfect skull of no more than twelve kilometers, whose distance in direct line would certainly be crossing the eternal vision through the ocular concavities, demonstrating that at the level of analogy and esoteric analysis, the extended reciprocity of the supra value of consciousness is latent divine, from where the emission of the word and the will "the shell or head skeleton" in the sense of reduced material and the antimatter particle that would become where the universes intersect in the elite of direct mercy (one has already occurred , but the other sphere of the difficult concavity still has to go ..., only a Messiah will have to cross it when it returns to us again). This Eclipse of the Messiah of the Sun, is a dark aspect of anemic light, torment and of three maries, vindicating in this superficial love token in the Orchard of antimatter rooted in the anti particle, which evades this great event by lavishing its blessed spiritual figure, charged with ambivalent theological antimatter; of egregious trust and bipartisan univocity but failing for the dark mercy on Golgotha and luminous in the garden of Gethsemane. "His body trembled and the Earth too"

Shibboleth

Incorporating the Shibboleth for distinction of members of a group, such as the tribe of Efraim, whose dialect lacked a sound (S), unlike others, such as the Gileadites, whose dialect did include it? Shibboleth is a spike and also celebrates the fertility of wheat crops and all concomitant species of the natural and endemic species of central Judah. And the Gileadites seized the fords of the Jordan River to Ephraim, and when one of the Ephraim who had fled said, Shall I pass? Those of Gilead asked him: Are you Ephraim? If he answered no, then they said to him: Well, say "shibboleth". And he said sibboleth, because he could not pronounce that luck. Then they seized him and slaughtered him.  And so forty-two thousand of the Ephraim died.

The relevance of this event is to begin the Maasefa ritual, for the reunion of the spiritual roots, bones and genealogical of the beings close to the Messiah, they will have to infuse in these franchises, to be derived to the area of the twelve caverns that are being elaborated for the closing and closing of the ring of the passionate and energetic journey of the Word of the Messiah, its renewal and interaction with the psychic spiritual world and its consciousness, in the coexistence of animal nature, indoctrinating civilizations of coexistence in a state of cyclical normality , but renovating when released by the contending magnetic forces that made the whole ring that surrounds Gethsemane and Golgotha a magnet tunnel of great mystical conversion for the purpose of adaptability and preservation of the renewed pollinations of bumblebees, bees and wasps in view of a commonwealth molding and spreading in all spheres of faith and apotheosis of the pre act of departure of the Messiah to the judgment and punishment of its truth. After defeating their scourge in a stunned journey, they will fall with the great similarity of the verb that "Betrays and Forgives", the Universe in its creation that renews everything, because that is how it has been written since the beginning of the Universe and by the one who dictated it ". Shibboleth, will congenial differences of understanding, without prejudices and differences of vertical geographical, anthropological, cultural and divine linguistic mentions. "Our informal culture is preserved within the village houses by resisting the scourge of victorious death, within the cave that protects us in its infinite goodness and compassion"
                                      

Maasefa and the Valley of Dry Bones

At the appointed time the Svein Tzora, "flint stones", collide to ignite the fire of the Messiah. The thunder was such that it made the seas pour over the rivers and thunder over the roofs of the houses and fire over the banks of each unfulfilled prayer! They all get up, each one leaving each cave of their Calvary; they go to the meeting of the Dry Bones. The tradition of gathering the bone component that has no soul, everything deviates towards the request of the flesh for its soul. Like the account of the Prophet Ezekiel five hundred years B.C. There are many outstanding remains of skeletons, this would be resumed in Gethsemane, for the descendants of the son of the Messiah caste, the Cherubim with the lepidoptera twenty meters from the Svein Tzora will donate the light and heat to start the ritual of the dim light of the moon. It is already a crescent moon, and the dim green lights are shining through the beautiful dim green branches, lighting up the dry earth of the beloved orchard on the face of the Calvary field. The advantageous meats that began to meat the bones, raised the desire to start ultra fast in the oropharyngeal area, to provide solemnity and fulfillment of prophecy of the sacred language of the Aramaic lingual set in tune with the vibrations of waves of sounds of the wind in romance With the blasts of fire towards their faces. In this way the spirit of Jehovah adhered to bring together the primary meeting words of the Bethhelem edicts with the visions of Joshua, so that the stable in their language would issue the immortal edict from the Kafarsuseh stable to Gethsemane. Now everything was holy energy in union of the lands that made fertile compost and the word was fulfilled.

The valley of the olive trees was reconverted, and they prayed for complacency, all tried in the love of clan and shadow in the accident of the event, the new consciousness will not deprive of anointing the past-present of realization of joy of bones with bones, of laughter with laughter, of father with grandparents, of children with their children, with hands bigger than the hand covered with great spirit, over a valley where only hands with candles should fit in each of them
Chapter XXVII
Mashiach of Judah V part
Miracle VI - Gethsemane / Maasefa
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2012
Troubled waters rise—
Sands march, locust lost in maize,
Harvest moon sinking.
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2014
Troubled waters rise—
Sands march, locust lost in maize,
Harvest moon sinking.
While seconds quietly and quickly elapse
under the consistent control of Time’s arrow,
the evil forebodings of Dread and vague fears
continue to lurk within Life’s long shadows.

Despite the existence of potential problems,
choose to disregard the negativity of fear.
Knowing that we are more than a conqueror,
charge forward under a Faith-filled atmosphere.

Approach the day with enthusiasm and expectation
that God continues to honor His Biblical Word.
Regardless of events, He will take care of His own;
look within to have your spiritual confidence stirred.

Speak holy words against the day’s difficulties.
Life’s worrisome ambiguities are sufficient for the day;
allow the Peace of Christ to supremely reign in your heart,
knowing that He eternally remains… the Life, Truth and Way.





Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Matt 6:25-34, 11:28-30; Prov 15:15; Rom 8:32;
Psa 23:4, 55:22; Num 23:19; Col 3:15; John 14:6

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2014
Troubled waters rise—
Sands march, locust lost in maize,
Harvest moon sinking.
Imagine a warehouse of apples with their individual conciousness.
They are labelled and categorised.
They are segregated.
The apples are gathered and put into boxes marked
by what they want to be known by,
their commonality/mentality.
If a bushel of apples are a stigma, they are put into boxes marked by what the other apples tag them by.

In a self-marked box, by the name of “surat zayifa” an apple lays at the juncture of the pyramid of analogous red,
maggots eating away at it’s heart.
The apple turned crimson hued to an evangelist blood maroon. Smouldering; festering like an open wound.
A stinging aura besieged it,
suffocating the air like sharpnel stuck in the throat.
The apple, consumed by a dark resurgence and a devilish resolve,
spoke in tongues of the serpent and supplanted seeds of pestilence in the hearts of the apples who joined his brooding virtue.
A collective conciousness was supplanted among the fruit,
imprinted with the face of death.

The world of apples, thrive on each other and face the forebodings of life together in spite of their marked differences in a state of throbbing dependancy.
The apples feed on the apples.
Another self-marked box, by the name of “khalas” were set to consume the apples from “surat zayifa” to continue finity,
unwary of their poisoned souls.

The apples fed on the apples and almost every other apple rotted and perished.
The apples that survived were the ones who consumed the apples unblemished in spirit.
All the others apples from all the other boxes blamed “surat zayifa” as a whole.
Even the apples purest, were tainted by the sins of the other apples,
the ones to take the blame for the misdeed of their creed.
The box was now marked in disgrace, a vehemence, a scourge.

The last remaining poisoned apple that was set to perish from “khalas” did something morally unhinging before it’s spirit departed;
the apple smeared it’s tan blood with words on the cardboard and dropped dead.

The singular light bulb flickered, the pulse strained.
Everything fell silent.
The words read “ We are ourselves. We **** ourselves.”
This one goes out to those falsely persecuted in the name of religion and to those who give their religion a bad name and to the ones who suffer for the sins of their brothers.
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2013
Troubled waters rise—
Sands march, locust lost in maize,
Harvest moon sinking.
Seán Mac Falls May 2015
Troubled waters rise
Sands march, locust lost in maize
Harvest moon sinking
Seán Mac Falls Nov 2013
We walked in silence,
Into a field after woods,
Suddenly— the moon.
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
Hard rain tapping head  .  .  .
Winter gales come from nowhere,
  .  .  .  What are they saying?
Seán Mac Falls May 2014
Troubled waters rise—
Sands march, locust lost in maize,
Harvest moon sinking.
Seán Mac Falls Nov 2014
Troubled waters rise—
Sands march, locust lost in maize,
Harvest moon sinking.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2014
White Tissues

a thousand years ago
I had to do the shopping,
(short story, irrelevant)

angry, she,
always angry,
the ex called me careless+...
never quite remembered to buy
the no~color tissues,
white only, on the list ordered,
to avoid decorative mismatch clash
to not offend the bathroom guests's
sensibilities and refined fleshy color palettes,
and not to match thereby,
to unduly reveal
the mismatch of
two lives incompatible

she ****** the color from my life...

still now,
buy only
whitely, precisely,
always,
for the colors
in my life, of my life,
have now been returned to me

but they are best cherished,
visible inside, looking out,
painted filter to enhance,
to reveal!
the joys inherent
in the colors of a
refunded, redounding rebounding,
re-fined happiness internal

tissues white now employed
to store the joy colored in colorful tears,
re-defying re-de-finding-fining
the contrast
from the sorry past,
tears now in living color
shed while writing
this happy colored vignette

~~

Poems of Color

just too much
colorless cold,
to decamp to,
sit upon the Adirondack throne
that is by his name,
by the cold waters,
now winter coated with
white-capped amber bluewaves
arriving jack-frosted on the lifeless beach

over this weathered sanctum,
natures supremacy reigns,
no matter the season or
his faulty human body's
weak reasoning,
it rules,
despite your frail poetic absence

but without your imposition
upon companion grey,
ensconced patiently
in that rarified atmosphere,
where and when
the sea sword
knights and inspires
the benign, benighted poet,

the human in him
frets and worries

where and when
ever again,
will nature deign to rain
poems upon him and his
winter-storaged writing organs?

the poet,
through his own
winnowy window reflection,
sees the sight of
the empty chair
between him and the sea air and
pondering more,
how shall he ever write
in the upcoming months of bleak?

through the frost-edged glass,
that old chair,
now sudden animated,
sensing his poetic human presence,
it turns toward its missing occupant,
voice aged reassuring,
speaking,
rhyming, 
it chants,
somber intoning...

"the poems writ yet still  undiscovered
but inscribed upon
my weathered slats and armrests,
have your name and no other,
therefore, there fired,
perforce,
they await your return,
come spring...come summer

now is the season of your hibernation,
we sense your fearful
winter forebodings and
speculations of consternation

know these unopened poems
are in fluid stored,
when you return
to our joint station,
we jointly will celebrate their
first day of naissance

you are charged,
you sole possess the
eye colored liquid visions
to see them
in the splinters and the breezes
through to their natural
childbirth revelation"


~~~

The Colors of Life Everlasting*

blondes, brunettes, redheads,
the goodbye colors of the
street's tree choir members
and their leafy gowned denizens,

the good stiff chill upon them,
the selfsame chill,
in my anguished mind,
now hiding

those partial unclothed trees,
to me sing,
a comfort food song
heard above the quiet terror of the
noises of a winter's wind precursors

"we green,
will be again
tho old,
spring green
is signature of our almost
life everlasting

once you wee were,
free green uncaring, youthful,
presumptuous presuming
that you too were,
in possession of
life everlasting

your colors
have changed too,
the process,
your process, different,
unlike our scheduled
rebirthing maintenance

yours a continuum slide,
with no reversal allowed,
no returning
you
to your first days of
crayon drawing youth,
unlike us,
a calculus of impossibility

we will turn young again
for many seasons more,
you,
never will

new eyes will feast upon our
glories refreshed
and love our
green visor shade cast

yet special are you,
the man-poet
who was chosen
by forces controlling,
to see and to tell,
witness-write of our annualization
during our overlapping
frames in time

when to the shade of hades
your physic sent,
our limbs, our leaves, our lives,
as-long-as-they-too-shall-last,
will cover thy remains and
give your poems back to the
sultry summer breeze from
whence they came,
and the colors
of your words
will be then
the colors
of your life everlasting"
10-26-14
mark john junor Jul 2013
the day done
she drifts in with the tide
washes up on my shore with
the tattered remains
of her girlhoods smile
in a keepsake box in the
pocket of her long grey coat
she speaks her thoughts but they are
tangled like seaweed
worn and worn like driftwood
she tells me her intents
and the lost sailor aspects of her soul
and her words linger on the air
like kestrels in the breaking of a storm
wheeling high above
wheeling high above
and the tears flow quietly
each one burning slowly into
my heart
I turn out and set sail
into the inky sea
blind to the trail
but rather than face her downfall
I attach myself to the darkness with a passion
of the task of finding my handmadien
of scorned empire
and saving her from herself
and all her internal wars
she was a shy young woman
in the years on denvers river road
a shatterproof demo for the better living
to be found just the other side of that
infamouse greener grass
that keeping up gets you in the end
a byproduct of the heart attack they give you
at no extra charge
standing naked feeling all kinds of uncomfortable
they question everything except your sanity
they are sure that's the one thing you've lost
I get her home at last
only to find she is nearly only
a chocolate bunny that's been chewed on
and her words telling me she must leave
are just forebodings of nightmares she gets
about Easter egg hunts
and viper roughness of being eaten alive
I'm a Easter bunny...I thought I was a rubber duckie!!!! LOL. :-)
A L Davies Oct 2011
shifty-eyed sundays/summer smiles.
green backyards child-full,
meat eaters meat-eating,
bellies & throats conversation/food-filled.
young families flocking fawn-eyed to communion barbeques,
sweaty raspings/of feeding minds;
living-room, reading-room, lessons & phonics
shortwinded swindlings at tables of breakfast (equal portions)
---sub-divided.

categories..elements
systems of classifying,
lessons limping/near succeeding.
trekking inglorious [tired] track laps---round laps of track,
tried feet feet-walking
sleep-talking
waking, taking rests.
@ intervals,
(splashes of time) clock/clock-time.

sleep, repose, health profits;
restless prophets. word-of-mouth.
strange tongues, th'creaking of breaths,
classical forebodings---brow beating, war breeding.
wrist flickings/blurred strokes

markings/carvings---letters/numb3rs,
communicating---language speaking.
(overhearing.)
positive consensus
> press play.

un-buttoning buttons
soirée is overfinished, overture.
shirts come up/over/off---
bath's running---taps run-running,
clippings clipped from papers,
---snip-snipping.
crashing/slicing blades of scissors,
point-on-point.
television evening sign-off/lights off.
interestingopenwindowenergy,
an elegy..
under_scored.
wrote this a few years back on the 1933 underwood, was playing around with a coupla things:
1) how much punctuation i could include in the piece without detracting from the flow and keeping the pace i desired,
and 2) trying to write a performance piece as suggested by good old Erin from the karma marketplace.

any thoughts? i'd love to hear 'em if you have a couple..
at news of her death

Not a line of her writing have I
Not a thread of her hair,
No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby
I may picture her there;
And in vain do I urge my unsight
To conceive my lost prize
At her close, whom I knew when her dreams were upbrimming with light
And with laughter her eyes.

What scenes spread around her last days,
Sad, shining, or dim?
Did her gifts and compassions enray and enarch her sweet ways
With an aureate nimb?
Or did life-light decline from her years,
And mischances control
Her full day-star; unease, or regret, or forebodings, or fears
Disennoble her soul?

Thus I do but the phantom retain
Of the maiden of yore
As my relic; yet haply the best of her—fined in my brain
It may be the more
That no line of her writing have I,
Nor a thread of her hair,
No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby
I may picture her there.
K Balachandran Oct 2011
in density of silence
brims profound meanings
that would never be spoken
in keeping with ancient forebodings,

silence is pregnant
with myriad possibilities
between two words
of a poem's progression,
I imagine, silence that contain,
emotions of generations.

silence is the seed, boundless surge
and confluence that meditates,
eternal presence
beyond time and space.
P Venugopal Jan 2016
Sometimes I am as eloquent
as a tomb in a merry park.
Revelers fall silent in my presence.
And when they walk away,
their footsteps on the gravel path,
dumb with forebodings!

At other times I am a wild lily
that had escaped the gardener’s notice,
waltzing with the roses and dahlias,
to the pitch and fall of the breeze.

It disconcerts...
to be thus
conspicuous.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
no other - a windowsill and an open window -
sitting on a folded leg and slouched
like a crow - i would be begging for it to rain -
no other music can capture rain -
safety net of all that sporadic improv. -
                      other other music - except jazz...
whether it be rain nibbling on the countryside
or the full-on cosmopolitan havoc of grey,
dust, grease, cement and rats and glass...
                 never mind: because i never thought
i'd say this...
                of the moderns... closely ruling out
wojciech kilar - for no particular reason other than
he's probably more known -
christopher young - since his hellraiser stint...
what's new - the revamped pet cemetary?
well... if christopher young was primo...
      soon to follow him... graham... plowman...
work on h. p. lovecraft adaptations...
                     horror as a genre...
                                the music wins me over...
however spectacular the visuals are...
                               if the music isn't bone grinding -
unsettling the nerves -
well... that's like pop music when it's raining...
i guess: oh i guess jazz can capture more feelz
when it comes: when it's raining...
when it's lazily sun-dazzling with the impression
of an "underneath" sizzling sensation -
or melting butter - or for that matter melting chocolate...
or adding splashes of cornflour made in water
to a sauce and watching it thicken...
this recipe i will remember by heart...
i will have to at someone point...
but this dhal was quite sublime...

   scrap book recipe...
          a man in a kitchen...
               and in hell... the devil's mastery...
almost like a chemistry experiment...

       half and half: masoor and mung dal... lentils...
kabuli chana (chickpeas)...
    a bay leaf...
              3 cloves...
  a tsp of cumin coriander turmeric
                     chilly powder and another of kashmiri
   chilly powder
                chopped tomatoes
  coconut milk...
            onion ginger garlic
                spinach
      gochugaru flakes coriander for garnish...
veg and chicken stock...
                          ghee...
butternut squash...
                    cayenne pepper (1 tsp)...
    i was looking for a pinch of asafoetida...
i knew it was in the kitchen...
    alas... also know as a substitute for those
vegan cults that don't include eating onions
and garlic... or perhaps just onions...
    cinnamon stick? no...
but three decent pinches of a homemade
garam masala...
  and yes...

   https://ministryofcurry.com/moms-garam-masala/
is the only spice blend...
   the russians can have their nukes...
the americans can have their nukes...
i have an arsenal of the following spices and...
i'm feeling... like i just had a manicure done...
the only garam masala:
asafetida, bay leaves, black peppercorns,
black cardamom, cardamom, cumin seeds,
(sorry, no black cumin seeds),
      cinnamon, cloves, cordiander seeds,
dried chillies, fennel seeds, fenugreek seeds,
(mace? no mace)...
         nutmeg, poppy seeds, star anise...
turmeric...
          again: no stone flower...
well... that's almost covered it...
                it's not the recipe asks for black
mustard seeds... those i do have...

                   cult recipe and it says: who needs...
meat?! even i'm convinced...
god i do love a good steak tartar...
    anything ****** and oozing wriggly bits
of life - as tender and gelatin grizzly as a...
even the names: bleu... ooh... saignant...
  haha... medium: demi-anglais... what else?

the butchers rolling in their graves
when someone orders a steak: fini-bien...
                          or some other frankenstein of the kitchen...

coleman hawkins - the high and mighty hawk...
some guys were putting up a fence
for me and my neighbour - it only took 15 years
but who's counting - they were told to
cut out all the bushes and foliage in my garden...
so that they could get a straight line
and so the fence would be put up...
unlucky for my rosemary bush...

r.i.p. my rosemary bush...
        today i started to salvage the poor thing...
the newer shoots i placed in water for
a drink and hopefully 2 weeks from today
i might think about planting them back in
the ground... for the rest of the bush?
i had to freeze the rosemary...
all afternoon my fingers were scented with rosemary...
which is fine... when you're working
with a raw piece of lamb...
but i'm no walking and breathing and aching
lamb of god about to be hanging
on the cross...
                even through the soap...
an afternoon of my hands being heavily scented
with rosemary...

vivaldi can have spring and the other three
faces of "god"...
holst can have his mars and the other circle of hell...
but thank the high-flying-****
that jazz can capture a rainy day better
than that song: i'm only happy when it rains
by garbage...
            
  guess i'm not letting go...
         an active rebellion against classical music...
one jazz record after another and i can gravitate
to...ward... the entire e.p. being played...
none of that new wave harakiri diat l.p. scene -
much appreciated... but i always need to move
beyond the half-an-hour mark...

         then again: i can't see how jazz could
compensate for snow - snow on the exit format -
jazz doesn't - then again...
no, categorically...
                           if there's only a sly insert of drum...
no horns - the piano and some guitar -
  
   otherwise you can't go wrong with
joshua redman - back east...
         a modern classic - notably with zarafah...

speed-conversations - none clinging
to a cameo of a date...
                 fickle minded - always changing
the course of events that... nonetheless remain
intact on binding themselves to a blind will -
        
music and all these interpretations are my own -
too bad to see and have to work with
a cipher - what's behind this image -
what's behind that image -
at least music stands stark and shivering naked...
less chances to abide by some propaganda...

unless of course mathematics is to be given
the crown - i hardly think: one shouldn't really
think about music -
                one can never really fathom
the constraints and the escapees from these
constraints... these constant revisionary scribbling
over and skimming the orthodox:
brick-on-brick intricacies of: immoveable objects
being: nonetheless moved...

- i too am waiting for my libido to die off -
anytime soon... like right now...
no harem therefore "jazz hands" and the algebra
of "magic fingers"...
idle man and all that *** that could have been...
until that magnetism is steered off a cliff
of: not another tomorrow -
                    at least no ***** or *** doll upon
the horizon -
            no point getting intimate or personal...
only a few days back i found a weakness in
this exoskeleton -
standing in a shower... pouring running water
onto the back of my head...
i almost knelt and said my prayers from
the exhaustion of succumbing to this multiple-******
of nuance...
       right on the spot where
a higher evolution of a more, protruding occipital
bone: as i've heard it once before: being noted...
i'm waiting for my libido to **** itself off...
in the meantime no harem...
imagine my luck when it comes to
the wisdom served up by men like king solomon...
even by then:
this most exhausted man had
to settle for a swan's dignity in monogamy
with the queen of Sheba...

                 but it's hard to translate wisdom
when you have all the basic forebodings
already at your disposal... the harem will discover
***-toys and you will be...
the limp **** in the whole affair...

                 such hard-on feats of fear when it comes
to... two cakes too many
when all you've been asking for is, merely a slice...
jazz... i can't find
a clint eastwood in alcatraz...
or steve mcqueen in sagan...
               or witold pilecki in auschwitz...      
but i can find myself in jazz...
hummingbird or some, other, champagne flute
and that bothersome fly...
nothing against flies: everything against
mosquitos... i would **** those buggers with
the same joy of donning wool having
just sheered a sheep or two...

jazz and: the wriggling fish...
jazz and all the fish out of water...
i'd call them constipated ***** and lobsters
but... jazz and the wriggling fish...
jazz and smoking a cigarette to appreciate
the deaf centre point of night's culminations...
living close by to central london...
"walking in" and not feeling like
anybody important: or a tourist...

       if i wasn't a billy joel: i would most certainly
not want to be a bob dylan -
hard to be living the obscure with a cross
made up of iconography...

the applauded and the: billy joels' piano man meets
neil young's old man...
they shake hands and subsequently depart
where the crossroads begin, and end...

believe me when: i'm the last to be believed...
usher in a dozen penguins attired
to be... fizzy kosher dosh...
in all their napkins and bowtie-neck strangle 'em
into a hush of a bamboozle...

such the life the music the mathematics
of living in shackles - wriggly ol' ****** with
those improv. would-be-turns and...

how many words will it take for it to be clear...
i have nothing but rejoice at clinging
to my obscurity... primo amigo:
alea iacta est: too bad for me...
or too bad for my shadow...
                       faking being a gemini
in the horoscopes of fate and superstition...
shadow: mime out of the confines...

      these is my second chance at retaining
the crown of obscurity? is it?! is it?!

   to have to burden oneself with love...
akin to... well... if i were about to spoon her...
but no... i wanted to catch the 8 hour kipper....
but every time i would fall
to sleep... i'd fall asleep with a tarantula bite...
numb all over to one side...
because i was oh too willing to fall asleep
when clinging to her...
like a bracket fungus to trunk and core...
one side of me complete in numb...
which had a rubric of recitations
should all else not be true...

but *****! that slap in the face...
                             come to think of it...
i'd like something to eat...
less **** with... that could pinch me...
i'm starting to think that
being ganged up by a group of hyennas
is not such a bad way to go...
perhaps being mistaken for a tuna
when a shark attack is being
noted...
            hard to imagine
sharks or bears or lions as having
sadistic undercurrents to their day-in-day-out
beats...
  even sharks nibble but never gorge
and feast on... this cranium solid first and only
hope when it comes to god
not making mistakes when gambling...
the ******* roulette or a black jacks' "choice"
of cards...

i can't exactly "think" this out to appease
a gravitating en masse...
                       pour me another shot and
debackle! all in the faith and hope
of un-thinking thinking...
trying out this suction tenticle of the void...
replacing descartes' res cogitans with
res vanus... what is due: is due...

no more wisdom from me aged 34
as me aged 73... there's only rain and jazz...
i'm buying time...
concerning whether it would be even
remotely likely to appreciate jazz
when it's snowing... unlikely...
very much hell-bent unlikely...

      - who would have thought that peering
into an aquarium would have to,
become more entertaining that zombie-clad
watching a t.v....
what ever happened to the watching
a klepsydra... or the tick-toe-tightening
of seconds into minutes into hours...
dying from the skeleton diet of time
whenever catching-up: unaware with
the clock in the confines of:
old people not really...
no, not really, listening to coleman hawkins'
much of anything...

                     because this doesn't tease
the affections of the young...
like a trainspotting revamp might....
because there's, clearly no new dracula...
and there's no new: new....
                     i wait patiently like a salamander....
no easy picking no low hanging fruit...
no fatty boy'oh to matter...
         no leeching off the three-quarters
of                               the better part of the engineering
cohort that were behind
the manhattan bridge... or Malbork Castle...
and hands on hands: do touch...
the event horizon of a dead star...
                    in that: pulling fabric...
basic genesis... talking fire "misanthrope": "god"...
bushes outgrowing fungus when
it came to 1970s ***** flicks:
notably in fwench and italian...
                   prune the perm hair...
                             keep that afro on a leash!

these days ***** is half of the cure's nostalgia
and more...
onomatopoeia and...
    refining the contorts with painting...
and keeping the act on a hush...
               the lazy hands speaking
dozen **** cracks being discovered but
none being experienced...
bone the hand...
it's called a ****** just because
of oysters... it's called a ******
because of the clams and of the irises...
and because the tongue:
god... ever time i wanted it to exfoliate...
it's forever that timid tulip!

         what came of a ****** became a hand
and the cusp... and what would never
become a San Francisco needle hinge epidemic...

was anyone praying that
one direction would become the next rolling stones...
cougar: meow...
that **** jagger was going to be
the "reincarnated" harry styles?

           knock-knock... who's there?
a premonition... i.e. touch-wood...
base: i will require the wood to be touched
by bone - notably a crunch of the knuckle in how
the fist is formed / fathomed...

        otherwise known as the lap-lapping-dance-off
with a tongue wriggling in imitation
closure of a worm...
or a fighter for a boxing champ. contender...
belt-up... knot and noose down....
the new news is no: good skit...
i **** myself to fickle my shadow
whenever i see a hoopla or a trance inducing
recoil of the swinging dancing spare
of a: rope that's not leftover for
the dangling first come first served...

daydreaming zeppelins...
the day the elevated english man will fall...
and bring down the bowler hat with him...
touch the philosopher's stone and turn
that attache of good taste into an umbrella...
the same day i stop daydreaming
about zepplins...
will see me think of the anglo-saxon
as whittle brother... the younger Swabian...
and all part of the infuriated minor
Germany that found inkling to behave
like the nomad Yids...
and move... and move... and...
never the sort of people to conceive of a ship...
without also being receptive of carrying
an anchor!

then again...
                   monkey man albino and...
forever the one to follow the white rabbit back home.
Rajas Nagpurkar Jan 2017
Gazing through the looking glass, and attempting to reminisce, he lets go, relieves, and perceives.Colossi of raindrops subtly fall through sky’s shadows , violently battling the grey in great amounts, failing to come anywhere near the threshold of one’s most sensitive ear. Nature’s children appear to tremble as dark forebodings of a dreary future pervade the air. The danger and annoyances of such rarities is always given priority and significance. He misunderstands it; he believes in its false infinity.

Unable to stabilize, unable to achieve a desired normality. From every pitter, he regrets; from every patter he forgets. Forcefully drudging through the thick swamp of his mind, struggling to understand what and why, diminishing his hopes of any change, any desire. Suddenly, several elements collide against his one-way mirror in his cell and revitalize his consciousness. Looking through the droplet, his face pressed against, his mentality momentarily produces quick successions of thoughts and random impulses of recovering memory.  

Every snowflake understands its place as sui generis; every raindrop understands its place as trite. The beauty of a snowflake with death, the dullness of rain with life. It’s uniformity and strict nature are necessary to sustain life, but somehow it places a bittersweet piece of an unusual feeling inside him. Its unexplainable transparency, disguising itself as invisible, but not untouchable, stimulates a sense of deep nostalgic hopelessness within him. As he discovers the profound pulchritude, and simultaneous incomprehensibility, of the paradoxical elements of natural and artificial state cooperating to achieve more of the same, he realizes more in this moment. The monotonous, repetitive beat of rain seems to harmonize in an odd manner with some contrasting presence.

A new rhythm to this sound, a new color to this sight. A particular emotion of gradually diminishing despair comes about as he observes little rain boots composing a sort of  rhythmic song with the catchy beat of the rain’s clashing, the continuous flow of the tree’s trembling, the back-up percussion of the thunder’s loud suddenness, the sight of lightning's exciting flash, and the cheerful singing from their voices.Upon this feat, he accepts the shadow’s tears; no longer must he endure the pain of the past’s ******* of the future, now he begins to savor the varied colors of newfound harmony.
Martin Bailes Feb 2017
Tiny hands hold little of substance,
... tiny fingers clench such bold lies,

tiny hands lunge at windmills,
... tiny fingers pick at fool's caps,

tiny hands grasp at follies,
... tiny fingers rifle through goodness,

tiny hands push at paper tigers,
... tiny fingers pull at dogs tails,

tiny hands read bad fortunes,
... tiny fingers get burned at dark flames,

tiny hands hold scary puppets,
... tiny fingers dabble in darkness,

tiny hands hold very few aces,
... tiny fingers roll stones up mountains,

tiny hands signal empty alarms,
... tiny fingers dig earth from fresh graves,

tiny hands hit left, right & centre,
... tiny fingers write false warnings,

tiny hands wear gloves of fool's gold,
... tiny fingers mine gems of bad fortune,

tiny hands smite the wrong enemies,
... tiny fingers bless sinners foreheads,

tiny hands just plain bewitch us,
... tiny fingers dance all devilish,

tiny hands brandish proclamations,
... tiny fingers tried to dazzle us,

tiny hands promise tricks abundant,
... tiny fingers draw forth distractions,

tiny hands may try to fool you,
... tiny fingers attempt to sooth you,

tiny hands don't grasp in friendship,
... tiny fingers signal dark forebodings,

tiny hands announce arrival,
... tiny fingers will not gain entry,

tiny hands do try our patience,
... tiny fingers do toil and trouble,

tiny hands hold no great promise,
... as tiny fingers dance before us,

while tiny hands show much misfortune,
in the teller's misty reading,
in globe's so cloudy
and all muddy,

as truth be told
on our
misfortune.
Despite countless factorial permutations
and combinations, this cyber surfer avails,
thumb thing with two alms
seeking succor asper sum er set Maugham
Mom mee **** sic cure human *******,
boot metastatic carcinoma snatched such balms
when tethered in utero umbilical connection,
etched bromide, which hankering calms
embryonic sensation this corporeal being lacks
constantly subjected to exams
                                             *         *         *       *
From the hard school of hard knocks
which I bewail sets espionage forcefully gloms
mine aim to revel in blissful contentment
but circumstances decrees otherwise
cursing this badinage collegiate chap tubby haunted
by veritable elfin grotto dwelling phantoms
hovering over sweet clove, his persiflage dials a mirage
somewhat shrouded in camouflage, and
yes...Iris sieve blurbs from gals and guys
that span the World Wide Web, and exude
                                                      *         *       *
Premature ejaculatory x2c, puzzled if fie
totally tubularly trod a tedious trek
along the boulevard of broken dreams
what happenstance oft finds thyself to flail
amidst difficulty to maximize
optimal opportunities searching for Holy Grail
or whatever constitutes such lofty
personal objective, perchance being hale
and hearty of body, mind and spirit
                                                      *         *       *
spurs the furies of fate tut test this primate
while he aims to gallop with mighty industrial
vim and vigor leaving a virtual cloud
of dust, though mindfulness helps
to pass go, and chance avoid jail
Time, then maybe monopolized feedback offered
to this toothless mwm quasi-vegetarian
enjoying poetry stone soup, yet also subsisting
on supplementary vitamin packed glue tin free
                                                      *         *       *
NON GMO fruity tall tales for a male
forty-two years shy sans Bing a centenarian,
which span of life best cut short with a nail
(possibly nine inches) hammered into
faux coffin, cuz this imp doth turn pale
At the prospect to fill up a space of land
best utilized by birds - such as quail
Mongoose, or ibis (though aye n'er saw
one), where cremated ashes sail
                                                      *         *       *
across some verdant plain under
cerulean skies putting to rest every travail
which thoughts of dem eyes spells
relief since homelessness -
the main impetus explaining this rambling spiel
the warp and woof ova gauzy veil
imperceptibly looms closer upon
turrets of my digital sea faring gun whale
and thus desperation finds pleading for salvation.
                                                      *         *       *
before mine danse macabre doppelganger draws dagger
   Punctures the skein tight as a yank key notched belt
housed within mine impenetrable hermetically sealed invisible bubble
   drapes with blackened Hades hued habiliment therein dwelt
sinister saboteur mastermind marauder of the Hubble
   piercing fiery ocular rift presence unseen but felt  
   demands sacrifice to traverse river Styx with unadulterated gelt        
which known phantasmagorical double
                                                      *         *       *
diabolical self amidst aftermath from Armageddon rubble
   astride charred global ruins entire civilization melt
planetary paroxysm prognosticated
   by Maya sages with 11th hour stubble
   birthed Darth Vader nemesis with evil upon earth he did pelt
annihilating mankind, the derelict species that fueled trouble
   hence evil twin appointed apocalyptic malevolence spelt
desiccation, humiliation, and laceration upon once verdant veldt
   With mass crematorium desecration left horrific blistering welt!
                                                      *         *       *
Countdown to **** sapiens extinction predicted millenniums in past
   to occur December 21 two thousand and twelve after common era
whereby catastrophic spark detonating inferno incinerating blast
   eradicating extant flora and fauna bereft sans hegira
with no means to interrupt the die since the dawn of civilization cast.
                                                      *         *       *
Impossible to escape ominous predetermined fate of human rat race
nor turn back hands of time with origin of species on clock face
thus ticking closer to hour of doomsday without faith to brace
allowing, enabling and providing Gaia to redeem terrestrial space
vestiges of teeming billions soon erased criminal minds without a trace
forcefully relinquishing simians planetary stranglehold amazing grace
proffering tabula rasa for another dominant species to claim the place.
                                                      *         *       *
Sirens promulgate emergency
   toward impending inescapable cataclysm
   yet no place to run or hide lest one boards a rocket light-years away
which makes suspense thrillers birthed by John Grisham
   enviable plot to keep total Earths’ destruction at bay.
                                                      *         *       *
This word maven count himself as a crowing lifetime americaonline
Meme bur hastens to convey dire
crisis sparking to offer electric nom de plume
Harris40tude a papa who did sire
deux darling daughters, yet for ages hive stung
with hurt early, whence fatherhood did fire
meow n childhoods' end fostering people
strangers even fork getting this communication,
per S0S sprinkled with auk shucks corny,
Egret - letting opportunities take flight aspire
now pleasures soft as gossamer feather bedding
down play hardened angst riddled psyche, where ire
                                             *         *         *       *
Ronny gully stubbornly thrives amidst adversity
   as father time spins gyre
row scope at greased lightening speed,
intimating with dead reckoning to hire
grim reaper, who **** patient as Job, and exemplary at ridding mire
and muck bogs down this dada robbing
existence with joie de vivre, where funeral pyre
doth flickr beckoning GoDaddy, cuz
Juno i haint gonna hear angelic choir
or equivalent enlightenment re:
   now more than ever with forebodings dire
yule lies zing pursuit of Nirvana starts with a smile, which tire
less upturn of lips panacea per stark
   awareness that zero control exists many a mile
from home sweet home, this atheist doggedly tire
so haim trying keep sea legs one step ahead of tipping point
envision self pitched into abyss - thus end of wire.
The politics after the remnants in the ragged serpents of Aerse flowed through the Cefiso, by way of a section of linking of clear and effulgence before an evident flash that enveloped him of being a cardinal priest of bucolic policies of all the nearby Athenian regions, towards vertiginous regressive parapsychology, like flashback Elusino or Anadromí sto Parelthón Eleusia, where the visualizations between Aerse and Lochnith, happen by omniscient geopolitical induction of biofeedback that re-agency the inclinations of both, for the purpose of their geomorphological foundation and for the purpose of instituting them as evocation backbones of millennia, providing feedback and settling on prophecies from the 8th century bC, stop of the ends and interprocess of eternality of the incognito mystery that began to be clarified with the reinvented personality of Aerse in amendment of Life and Expiration experienced with Lochnith in the month of Boedromión, fleeing from a federated Re-Polis that would unify dimensionality of substance and sacred space Eleusinian with Lochnith nascent warmongering for the purpose of recruiting in the Hexagonal Primogeniture, for assistance and indissoluble ephemeris of edification and hegemony of the Megaron in Patmos. This thanks to the ragged serpents, but nesting hopes of gold in the nests that give priority to the dimensionalities of peers, which will be consolidated as a reality of rite and E-cloud flashback space, for the convenience of retro-future parapsychological memory, In economy of two blocks of resignation of the Sacred Space repealed, but in geomorphological consensus, for Military command jambs towards Vernarth, as a forged pulsing ***** of the sacred cult, in the mysterious nature and territorial domesticity to come from Aerse, for the purposes of the Agoras re-nucleating the metaphysical messengers that reinstitute the re-polis; but in a field of worship of E-Cloud, in civic and cyber-organic action, for those who virtually recognize the Ablution in the multidimensional of hands calling the unknown, but with ardent passion to receive him even while guarding against further vibrational mutations with the Faskéloma or exasperation of hands that move the indigo in occasional sub-vibrations, in the tendency of a parity of the Sacred Space of Gethsemane, in disaster of passing the aqueous levels of the Cephysus, in ordinal of presumptive of unreal and sub-unreal worlds.

The parapsychology of the Space of quadrilateral teas of absorption and of erratic emotional meditation lies here enshrined in Aerse molecules, which were still received by the substances intra-exposed and extra-gates of the body, experiencing an absolutely unprecedented phenomenon, towards an immune-spiritual transit, preserving eccentric radii of concentration of refurbished chromatic rays, in a field of mental daring towards another of unprecedented and electrogenic mental force that dissipated between Aerse and Eurydice, who came near the Coasts of Patmos, coming from theoretical planes between both metaphysically flowed for unions and restraint. The ebbs of their statics jumped, for simultaneity and bilocation, endo electro-Eleusines who went exorbitant to other rollers uncrossing in body margins that concelebrated the quantum crankshaft and fiber kindness in arresting inter-women, such as teleportation and rescue of rituals in scheduling and seasonal astrological forecasts.

Lochnith says: “in the proximity of mortuary reality, there will be no repair outside of our body of geography and of our losses and harvests or of lives in sub or supra quantum transit, blinding the eyes of unknown erudition, while our contraption is self- it obstructs in our interactions and electromagnetic sensory ones, paraphrasing itself in the remote-near wired of residuals and related electros-metaphysical, which becomes the nothingness of a post-ritual pre-sense whole "

The ligation of the arteries of the Cephysus, carried the emanations of Lochnith, to love him in a medicinal act, for beings devoid of physicality, on the way to spectra of healing, in a reparative pain of extra-corporal and bi-localized pain, among which they conform polarity in androecium and gynoecium as a unit of superior physical mental gender, towards an ectoplasmic regulated nervous world, by means of Vernarth's regression, lowering their blood pressure and increasing stationary red blood cells, and with secondary effects intertwining with Eurydice and Aerse, for outcomes in Vernarth, who came in the prow of the super wet ship, and with some fabrics from the stowage of the ship directing the relaxed but autonomous cerebral advance, which already dispersed dead cells from the right pectoral, for the military and syncretic affair with Lochnith, reinstalling targets globules that arose when it was dawn on the shores of Skalá in independent, peaceful and surrounded cohorts of phalanxes that accompanied him in minutes that seemed millennia, all succumbed to mind-body pessimism and telepathic prayer, which took place by glistening in trances of self-healing parapsychology that descended on them, in pure membrane novels in acts of merciful that made them thick in the flashes of falling weightless ultraviolet rays, separating between body and opinion, joining in psychosomatic networks, as chemical messengers in undefined subsequent receptor bodies of the bachkoi chemicals, which were already deficient for a compensatory universe of genres emerging in a disintegrated emotional quantum world, with a body increasingly reintegrated into a body made of unknown subjective material, but of physical material linked in the network to each other as a real whole, transforming into the greatest passionate refectory of flashes between the their own reinstalling themselves in their Super Egos.

In the Latest Minute Dogmate according to the rictus Mortis thesis, the globules would move like a big explosion, interacting with everything, as starting everything from the beginning of nothing to the indivisible, in numbers of coincidence options for a whole, as a phenomenon of domesticity to align times, but with the probability of finding them in the vestige of real anomalous presences that occurred millions of light-years ago.

Aerse replies: "My admired one, the flash has a measure of the astral body, in the consciousness of spirit that underlies purgation in repeated souls measurable in the perfection of semblance and providential ****** questioned, re-transforming, distant and with disaffection, but contiguous healing. The smallest coherence in the fabulous Griffins that joined my imaginative component and in the ballast of his final departure, not aware of another unique being that can measure and augur him for an undivided trans-personal being. But I am already here, and I am your creation and I no longer know of other illusions of separating myself from this life, of what Eleusis is from a cosmic material that is and was in all time that speculatively passes, for the flash that you reflect if you it pales visible and not, but compact on our intertwined hearts"

As living organisms, various methods of life were postulated as an option in the right hand of Bing Bang, for the goods of those who are really close to real neuroscience puzzles, by way of resonant daring that will influence consanguinity, for volumes of blood releases, carriers of experiences and trans-evolutionary life of the emitter on the outskirts of a Parthenon, as well as in the genre of the world that associates ambiguities from anode to cathode, positive and negative for Hellenic parallelism and life adorned with roots and forage of everlasting vernacular inheritances. All electro-dermal from the Lochnith conglomerate was in total congruence with regressive Eleusian parapsychology propagating from the Vernarth portal, which was vaguely teleported by the river Cephysus, into living organisms that asserted Vernarth's native species originality and currents super life in the euphemistic underworld of mysterious protocols.

As a reaction of mind-matter, the reluctance and support of entrainment in all perceptions, precognitions, telepathies, and forebodings, between this intrepid parapsychological adventure as cloister perpetuity in sensory interferences of the reality of the body and the reality of the omnipotent world, as menthe-matter explosive. Lochnith, was already the possessor of the hypnotic mental reincarnation formula, in the form of a neuroscience ship close to the apparitions of death using the later shoes in life purely in the baggage of sleepy ethereal meats and oracular meditation.
The more we learn about the laws that explain parapsychological phenomena, the more our vision of reality and fiction of something that begins to be the laurel of a psychokinetic true world will grow. Within the curvature and scarce light that already remained in the places of the Lochtian day, normality returned to them after this long journey of the parapsychological biosphere and intriguing contemplation, and even of tenuity and the frisky idea that can die suddenly, after self incubate in the invisible passage of coexistence and rupture of mystery in the medication of art lived with alien beings, for a prototype of a character who only knows that harvesting is consuming capital from the upheaval of a loss and non-profit of the incontrovertible paranormal-normal. What is paranormal and parapsychological in the plane of the posterity of life, is an act of calm coexistence in playful spirits compensating in the seclusion in the vaults of the dramatic and involutionary psychological past, if the material or cute (spiritual) is not dissected the train cosmic perception of duality and the concept of purging the spirit of living…, he lives in his seventh heaven.

The hypnosis of death and purgation for those who require a convoy of conscience continues to be a tiny space that physically transports and reverts to minimums that are neutralized in foreign bodies and foundlings as well, from a corporal depositary aedicule that is not his or the owner that He claims it (Vg aedicule of Joseph of Arimathea). The voices of people officiating the Eleusinian ritual were heard far beyond those who could merely hear them in memorable spaced therapies and recorded in interspersed layers of electro-acoustic sounds of the complex frequency serial of alarming regenerative life, in a moving celestial body. Continuous. Everything is transfused in the meditation of curves that revive in those who promote the perfection of marigolds, like buttercups that dress the clothes of Canephore like Aerse, but of psychic and ephemeral latent of the psychoactive psychic and ******-spiritual alchemical in ethereal entities that become more alchemical in unknown molecules.
Gleam  of Lochnith  III
mark john junor Mar 2014
this days bread
not a boastful feast with veracious laughter
but the quiet sharing of bounty
between thouse gathered
the conversations saunters like a comfortable man
of evening stroll in the bordertown marketplace
stop to taste of its local cuisine
savour its exotic beauties
and subtle touch

with the world withdrawn to night
we all sit on the veranda
and our laughter and words
fill the space the small light provides
with a rich deep texture
and scents our hearts with
feelings of togetherness and comradery

one friend who young face
gives credence to his optimistic forebodings
eagerly leans into chapter and verse
of politic and its verbal knives
seeking to blame with wit
the narrow disasters of finance
we all love our friend dearly
and shush such nonsense
turn the face on conversation back
to her warmer natures

she is my woman's friend
and  she spent the night with us last night
in our bed
soon to leave for humanitarian mission
to some obscure world away
she sits in my woman's arms like they have
been with eachother all their lives
it is such beauty to see two women
in such comfortable ease as lovers
they are both a delight to me

our hours grow thin
as sleep calls us all one by one
and gives us one by one to such dreams
as may our collective loves may bring
this is the best moments of my life
and are enduring in my heart
as i too slip into slumbering
in the arms in these two women
in the arms of love
Prabhu Iyer Aug 2014
That you are compelled so to
walk amongst us:
this gives us the faith to find
meaning in our lives,
we who know not if we are to be
as beasts or spirits blessed.
We who hesitate not to ****
for loot and lucre
as much for our disbelievings.

Not to be trifled, a babe eating mud,
creations can be glimpsed in its mouth.
Impish pranks of childhood days
forebodings of pastimes sublime.
Nobody will dare spar a cherub,
for the light shines through caves and prisons.
Nor slight a woman noble.
When it rains and the river swells,
always a thirst to see miracle partings.
On fields reddened with blood, the
call of righteous battle.
And awe, at the enveloping Supreme.

And to love, is to be divine,
that when love dawns, no need
for theories and proofs otherwise.
Truly on dust-laden dusks, the westerly wind
tugs at the heart, that you may yet
return with the cattle.
Tribute to Lord Krishna, India's favourite god, and a friend and guide to her civilization, whose birth is being commemorated now!
Exosphere Jan 2021
Mercury is in Aquarius
just so you know
it does not bode well, for people like me
AND it goes retrograde later this month
then Venus... jeez don’t get me started
I may not pull through
Lizzie Larson Mar 2016
Obscurity,
romance,
manipulation of words.

Pure ideas clouded-
trapped!
In the lining of my left lung.

Synapses forfeit truth,
a metamorphosis of kosher climaxes
& solemn forebodings of oneself.

A dense combination of words,
printed nothings
meaningless on paper
& lacking sincerity.
If only I could remove my left lung.
Madhukanta Sen Mar 2016
It's been a hard winter
And now it's spring
There have been storms
And snow
And now the bare trees
Are bearing new leaves
There were forebodings
Stay indoors they said
And now everyone's stepping out.
Hope springs eternal
And now God is
Rewarding the human soul!
Ajey Pai K May 2018
The forebodings of the dark night call,
To the yearnings of my meekest soul-
To those days of yesterday that pass,
And punishments that've taken their toll.

Wherefore do these worries rile,
To the resoluteness of my will-
To those days of fulfilling deeds,
And the countless yen I let them ****.

I might tread my path without vision,
My stars to providence on a platter-
Thy words shall serve as allusions,
To breathe for as long as I need.

-Breathe.
With love, for peace.
aurora kastanias Feb 2018
Sombre footpaths dewed with vapours
of fear condensed I walked, petrified I
would lose command, my mind, my reason,
my reflection tormented by

a malfunctioning intellect never ceasing
to ponder. Myriads of thoughts I thought
would lead me to insanity until, forebodings
swiftly evanesced under beams before me,

incandescent light radiated by the closest
star, leaving me alone, in ecstasy
of a fearless journey within the immensity
encompassing, voluntarily surrendering

control only trusting, my gut in tune
with the natural volition of The All.
On fear and freeing from it
Onyx Oct 2020
Can you hear?

chimes and faint whispers of a past near forgotten
it seethes and seethes of riddles and connotations for the one who lived it

unfortunately they, cannot hear it

gracious is the hidden universe
tenderly whispering through nuanced memories warnings and forebodings
persistent and ever so temperate
I wonder how the receiver in unable to receive such love

would I have done the same
to ignore the evident chasms of repulse echoing in the head
as one dives knee deep in ruination frolicking in the pretence of esteemed achievement?

Lady Fortune is certainly strange and unfathomable in her doings
As distrustful and deceitful as humans came to be
I’d still like to have a little faith the universe had yet to be contaminated...
emily c marshman Jun 2018
this is an erasure. all words were taken from J. Hoberman's article in the New York Times titled "A Restored ‘Passion of Joan of Arc’ Still a Transcendent Masterpiece" - some modified by me. 

ripe, a year after pictures came, the market had
lost fruitfulness, only its masterpieces lasted,
validated the heroine - the teenage resistance,
the late revival respected for its spectacle
of her interior.

the sneering accused played cruelty by ear.
the trial in all senses looks unparalleled 
in melodrama, emobodied anguish worthy
of a single tear, her devil the same as her outrage.

a slow frenzy. at times hysterically so.
disorientation turning a pirouette
to reflect water, or recoil quickly.
less kinetic. contemporary admirer 

of a rival rhythm, daringly deliberate.
off-balanced angles ending in sequence, 
a miracle of documentary. never fully shot.
reinforced by images as they are stronger

when the static is pleased. in the original
institution, however, the forebodings,
more intellectually racking, called "Joan"
sanctimonious: transcendent.

even the impressed could not resist
tweaking integrity, transparent stubbornness,
extremely favorable to performance.

it took some 500 years for the roman
catholic church to declare Joan a saint.
6.11.2018
Satsih Verma Oct 2016
Like a snake
it moves.
My poem.

You are not, what you were
in the night, lightning
the grey moon.

I hear, what you
did not say or did―
not think.

Even dark
forebodings, move like red
ants, from the slit eyes.

I cover the faults
via songbird, which
was calling, desperately,
unwaitingly.
Peter Hall Jul 2017
Hiding under her blankets
The darker the better
....presses her button to drop the blinds
The darker the better.

The only light comes from the flicker of the horror movie
Where the hellovision screen is her mirror...it makes her feel at home.

Her clothes fit her well;
- Aching uncertainty
- Dark forebodings
- Tender pessimism
The mirror keeps reminding her.

The bottle of emptied Johnny Walker speaks:
"You've stopped walking",
The dropped blind says
"You've stopped seeing",
The mirror confirms:
"This is what you've become".

The arteries have hardened...her heart pumps without a beat.

With the press of a button
The blind can go up
The screen can stop its lies
The heater could fire up.

But in her caged freedom...
She has made her choice.

Her eyes narrow as she focuses harder on the screen...

The darker the better
Note: this is a description of a women in her late 20's who lodged with a friend. This was her life in her room; empty whisky bottles, watching depressing shows on her Netflix account as she curls under her blankets. She was offered help, and a new identity in Christ....but she made her choice. How many more are there like her ?.
Lorraine Colon Aug 2022
Our love came like a bolt from the blue
And rocked our hearts like a storm-tossed boat,
And to Heaven my lips gave thanks . . . but you --
You sketched a disturbing anecdote:

"As time passes, how can we be sure
That our love is as strong as today?"
O, what dire torment the mind must endure
If simple signs fail to light the way

Rest assured there is a foolproof test
Should one of us doubt the other's love,
Or if upon both hearts there come to rest
Strong forebodings, or traces thereof:

When we're in each other's company,
Should our thoughts drift to another place,
And the hours seem to drag on endlessly . . .
Love is loosening its firm embrace

When thoughts of you don't quicken my heart,
And thoughts of me don't bring you delight,
When we get the sense we're drifting apart . . .
Our love is preparing to take flight

When my eyes no longer speak to you,
And your kiss is easily denied,
When we behave as fickle friends might do . . .
It is then we'll know our love has died
At New Years Eve

This arbitrary conception,
     where mechanisms measure
elapsing time assume
inordinately significant true value
     come the last day/night

     of December with a boom
punctuated by exotic
     pyrotechnics, despite
     truth that ill of webbed,
     wide world spell doom

and fate of life (on
     planet unfitness Earth) going
     to hell in a handbasket
     (particularly for
     those deplorables)

headed toward a
     merciless fate bobbing
     along an invisible flume
analogous to ill
     fate awaiting recently

wedded bride and groom
pregnant ominous nameless
     lawless lex lucifer
     malevolent kindled
     forebodings loom

written within sacred
     ancient tracts, where room
men hating prognosticators inform
     believers that **** sapiens
     end will quickly zoom,

yet people party
     on as if humanity
     will continue
     without a hitch
for at least another millennium

     despite teetering, lumbering,
     and dragging
     Gumby Pokey
     forward ready to pitch
NO, not off to attend

     championship Quidditch
match, most likely
     rigged so that the rich
make out like Smokey
     and the Bandits, which

gamblers who bet
     on loosing team
forced to sell services for cheap
milking, their very
     gaunt looking cash cow

     faintly resembling, and for
     no rhyme nor reason
     summoning Uriah Heap
and thus ready and
     willing (desperately)

to parlay services and keep
on truck'n to accrue
     a little stash to purchase
     favorite liquor or *****
before the countdown to

     "HAPPY NEW YEAR"
finds motley crue
     dog tired and ready
     for twelve month long sleep.
Lodged squarely upon corporeal property
(i.e. necessary soft tissue)
of Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan
mine eldest sister,
when medical technician informed
aforementioned unpleasant tidings
earlier today February 25th.

Utmost grievousness grips
analogous to invisible
strong hands strangulating
"I can't breathe"
while grappling trying to process
apocalyptic forebodings
(impinging on mine corporeal
fifty plus shades of gray matter).

Impossible mission
(insync with absent impetus),
thus renders feeble attempt
crafting poem,
yet unbridled (hyperbole
employed to accentuate emotion)
regarding brotherly love
upon being informed
most unpleasant tidings.

Laughter and sunshine
eradicated in one fell swoop
absolute zero peace of mind
until fortune teller
peers into crystal ball
and invokes divine intervention

whereby life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness
buffets thee along
countless additional Earth orbits
around the sun
granted second lease on life.

Auspicious signs of
early birds taking wing
(in an effort to feast
upon diet of worms)
to celebrate advent of Spring
will be uber twittering
glad tidings of your
clean bill of health
ditto chattering squirrels
buzzfeeding unearthed

soil, mushrooms
and animal bones,
while yours truly delights
reading within partially secluded
outside triangulated nook,
(a favorite alcove of mine)
to bask under sheltering sky
feeling restoration of vitality
courtesy Herculean strength
of Mister Sun's powerful solar rays.

PostScript: my humblest apology
if word first choice constituting title
caused undue agitation,
cuz only genuine expression
courtesy unwavering optimism
insync with sixth sense intended
to trumpet Taj Mahal high hope
buoying your body,
mind, and spirit triage.

— The End —