Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
jinjahman Aug 2010
The form the moon took against a single, silver cloud;
Dog-eared and dumb as a wasteland.

A fretted combination of changing elements
Ships by majestically
Calling time to its slendered oval side

Inundating us from a height
Shepherding tom-foolery with its light
I, oh only I,
Oh lonely lunar Mee,
Looking at the sky to see
The shape of blacksmith's vision
In the night;
The caress of silver on the forehead
From the moon's fledgling smithereens.

I cast a glimpse and
Sense a stray sheet of

Creation above, like a baking tray;
Puffing, shifting, darkening.
Elements in an oven.

Congregation of thought with
Madness on the left and
Silly sickness in the middle

Conjured up-
Sense on the right!

Cajoled-
*** on the brain

Coated in-
Hard leather bush-tights

Plato polite on every oval ***** side
Evilness lurking where goodness hides;

Be a good fellow
- dont be shy
Unleash the cry
- bellow,
HOWL
Say hello-ow-ololo-ow in
- tremolo
Like you're no longer scared
- or yellow

..of instant indelibility
Impossible to remove, erase, or wash away; permanent:
Don't stare at the moon too much
Àŧùl Nov 2016
My love for you, oh my darling,
Is permanent like the sun in the sky,
No matter the distance between us,
It is here permanently with me,
A grand boon, it induces happiness,
Is so desirable for all of the humans,
Like a forever shadow of mine.
HP Poem #1260
©Atul Kaushal
Alexander K  Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)

She is an anti-thesis to Maya Angelou’s conscience
She stretches Maya’s awareness beyond rudimentary perfection
She is a public commoner with her insatiable palatability,
She eats French fries and pork like a carnivorous queen
Her instinct cannot save her from curse of pinching,
She is tall and slander with all virtues of beauteous individuality
Which the sagacious Friedrich von Schiller saw in frivolous Cassandra,
She has tattooed nose and ornamented death, not white in taint of alcohol hue
Chains of jewellery around her neck and hands, sea corals as beads around her waist,
She loves rough men like Alexander Pushkin who died in Duel, and the militant Othello
Who only woos by using the vaginal ******* of the alligator  
As his Casanova’s love voodoo bequeathed to him by his mother,
She spends money from a foreign sweat, in thrifts and thrifts,
She commands unilateral faculty of non-numerical learning
With her indelibility dominating the world of Music and painting,
She dares not to dream of true love, but her faith is in weakness of men
Hot in bed like an Italian pizza oven and cold in reason like tundra climate.

The non phenomenal woman the mother of my first born son,
I took him to Oxford University for a degree course in land law
He came back with a diploma in being a barber, good in shaving!
He is so handsome in pettiness with mighty athletic mediocrity
Vices redolent of maternal genetics in the non phenomenal woman,
Darbi Alise Howe Jun 2014
She turns her head from it;
I turn my back to it;
It faces them in their deflection, they who are ruled by planetary alignment, they who spill rogue waves from calm mouths, just as the lace crashes and pools around bare legs and lips -
Any enigma free from transcription lies within the chasm, who sleeps buried deeply between two bodies, too deeply, it has been said, though perhaps for the best, as the truths who precede intent rest there as well.
We, the sea, urge in ad hominem, convinced of indelibility, consistent in breakage and dispersment of that which is built from and upon determined chaos.
Her, I, the sea.
Our madness.
I turn towards it; she turns to face it;
The sea has drawn it's long breath
We reach for the exhale with open palms, never closed, for the retreat is inevitable.
Saturday, March 7th, 2020      

       The imagination has the capacity to ensky one’s entity, it is the Apotheosis of the Astral Flame. True ennoblement, therefore, cometh not of intellect; the left-brain, but of sentiment, of creativity; the right-side of the brain. What is humanity, what is life, bereft of Wonder?
      
      In all of Creation there exist patterns & distinctions, both are coeval happenstances. The implication? Creativity is our Highest Divine. Within phantasmagoria can be found paradigmata; therefore, divinity is the Paradigm of Creation.  
      
      My tribulations have been my masters in the Hierarchy of Sacrality. Every moment of darkness has taught me to rove within for the ethereal light. Suffering is ephemeral, gladness is ephemeral, life is ephemeral.

Counter-intuitively, all things are transcendent, fluid, yet, static, and impermeable. Truth, without spirit, is unfathomable. The constant amidst an order of the chaste unknown? Our spiritual heritage known as Love.
      
       When we allow the world around us to be fathom’d by the eyes of our hearts, we partake of the privilege of Transcendence. Our hearts burgeon ineffably. There are no words to describe the beauty, the splendor, and the indelibility of a spiritual perspective. Furthermore, if creativity is of the same canon, it produces similar fruitage.
      
       My intuition gainsays my disbelief. The warring within me shall bear Faith from its embattled womb. This sterling quality is the source of my resilience, the crux of my perseverance; my muse. I am, we are a miracle.  
      
There lies a hidden power inside each one of us. We must be willing, patient enough, to cultivate these virtues. Our souls shall wax virtuosic when we do.
        
       Until my last day on this Earth, I hope to continuously metamorphose, blossom, effloresce into the spirit I am ordained to be. Foreordinance means not exaltation, but humility.
      
        Light cannot exist apart from Stygian Shadow. The Stygian Shadow cannot exist apart from the Light. Each magnifies the cadenza of the One who formed all things.  
      
        The mentally feeble are so easily persuaded to believe in the inherent goodness of Light. Spiritual pedigree teaches us the fear of the Dark; paradoxically, every illumination casts its veil. Such cannot be the purest evil if placed within the hands of the Great Revealer.  
      
        We cannot discern the merits of virtue simply by its outward appearance. We must peer inward in order to extrapolate, assay its purest essence.  Every element: Water, Fire, Earth, Air, and Quintessence each play a role in the Hierarchy of Sacrality. Therefore, we must be grateful for the natural unfolding of things.
      
       The Tides of Time unveil the cyclic changes that the Terraqueous Mother undergoes. In like manner, life changes not just with seasons, but with the passing of the ages. Though life is an evanescent exodus upon the Gaian Expanse, we see so much transpire in its brevity. —Life itself is a season, a coming and passing, an experiential vicissitude. Moreover, if I am to understand the essence of the Experiential  Cascade, I must believe that these moments of clarity are sacrosanctities of the highest order.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dictum of Resurrection
-------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Ⅰ)

“Transcendence implies the surpassing of two things, and the consequent attainment of a third thing. But there are no ‘things’ in reality, of any kind whatever: there is only the thing-in-itself, its suchness, which is Reality, revealed when the illusory dualism of inexistent qualities is dissolved.”

∞Wei Wu Wei∞

(Ⅱ)

"Wise men don’t judge: They seek to understand."

∞Wei Wu Wei∞

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sacred Parcel:
------------------------------------------------------------------

Keep Christ
in your
Hearts,
Beloved Ones.
Without the Way,
The Truth,
And
The Life
We are without
Redemption.


“Everything is real in dream,“
Said the sage;
Therefore,
Imagine & believe.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Excelsior Forevermore,
------------------------------------------------------------



Ω



Sanders Maurice Foulke III
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------
Mary Gay Kearns Aug 2018
No trespassing, the sorrows are mine
The seeing were blinkered and blind
It’s permanent, an indelibility, by star
Shimmering in the blackness of right.


Goodnight my loved ones.
Mary ***

— The End —