Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
VENUS62 Jul 2014
Swaymvar- Wedding! With Translation in English

Kavi, tha khayalon me khoya
Dard-e -dil soch ke roya

Tab Apsara sundarsi hui prakat
Ahista se gayee Kavi ke nikat

Likhte kyun ** kavita hamesha udaas
Racho koi rachna jisme ** harsh-o- ulhas

Ghatne wali hai ghatna avismarniya
Reh jayega baki sub kuch asmarniya

Aney wali hai baraat aaj raat
Yahi kuch gyarah- barah baje ke baad

Chaand ke saath hogi chandni
Sitare layenge jhilmil roshni

Indra layenge varsha ko saath
Varun ayenge thamey badalon ka haath

Suraj layenge bas kiran ek
Teeno mil sajayenge indradhanush anek


Draupadi ke saath honge punch pandav
Shiv bhi karenge nritya tandav

Agni khud karenge havan
Halka sa jhonka denge Pavan

Patton se banegi chudiyan hari
Maang mein mitti hogi lal sindoori

Aasman mein cha jayega kala-neela sa rang
Krishna jab nachenge radha ke sang

Rachegi khoob ras leela wahan
Dekha na hoga kabhi ye jahan

Pakwan har ek hoga anvesh
Bhojan hoga bahut hi vishesh

Srishti banegi ati ati -sundar
Rachegi jab
Ambar aur dharti ka swayamvar!



Translation The Wedding!
The poet was lost in thought
Heartbroken and distraught

When appeared an Apsara ethereal
She touched his shoulder lightly

Why do you write poems full of sorrow
Do write some poems replete with joy

About to happen is an event memorable
Everything else will be forgettable

The bridegroom will ride on a chariot light
Around eleven-twelve tonight

The moon will swing in with his moonlight
The stars will twinkle on their own shining bright

Indra will bring along the rains
Varun will hold the clouds in rein

The sun will be present as a single ray
The trio will create a rainbow array

Draupadi will come with five pandav
Shiv will swirl to his Dance Tandav

Agni himself will do the Havan
Gentle breeze will be supplied by Pavan

The bangles will be made from leaves green
The color of the earth will be vermilon red

The sky will be decked in black and blue
When Krishna will dance with Radha his beloved true

There will be celebrations lavish
Mortals will be left in disbelief

The food will indeed be delectable
Each dish will be a creative spectacle!

Creation will be at her very best
When the earth and sky
will be in their union blessed.
vircapio gale Jul 2012
"
"nor is this a fact," nor is my syntax the 'true.'
i can't use quotations in the way i'd like to,
to allow the paradoxical to seep through
in the sly act of revising 'this' honestly--
merging truth with falsity, to silently see--
grammar become a means to shatter certitude

"i can't tell the 'truth' with these ["i can't tell the 'truth'
with these{...} very words"] very words"; i really can't...
it's somewhat unfair to communicants, this rant.
let me bolster your trust by not telling it slant:
in fact, it's not poetry, not from this angle.
maybe when you read, this 'this' will be poetic?
meh, i'm relying on telling, not showing. so...
quiet's often better than such entanglement

but this is not about value, it's about truth.
sincerely, i doubt i'll keep those two separate

perhaps... if you pretend i'm a prolix parrot,
who happened through some acosmic accident
to be the transmigrated daimon-soul of Sappho,
or Hypatia, Gertrude Stein or Plath even...
(yeah, i'm like a Cretan for going on): they weren't,
'your gobbledygoo,' or 'Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.'
stripped bare at the Caesareum, being murdered
for the crime of godlessness or female wisdom
spoken in the scapegoat-hungry rule of Rome...
this is not what they were, not the whole truth, at all
and though from winds of ****** she spoke in verse
that her vast poetic fame 'was no delusion:'
and that, 'dead, I won't be forgotten,' i fail,
painfully fail,
to trace into a verbal womb
the seeds of those that transformed all, yet now entombed...
for to remember them in me is to revise,
reduce, sadly in that poetic untruth found...

"this" is a gestalt, i guess i'll have to say,
a "figure-ground," a floating 'shape' in some context,
one that you embody too, somehow, not in text;
even through a distant sharing, it's realized
(hold onto the random metaphors you find,
they're probably better than what's in my mind)
and to share this with you now, to hypocritize,
it's lunacy. i mean, the moon, the poetic moon
is not a meme, is not a custom, is not a poetic fact,
in fact, it's not in this poem, and if it were--
being televised with some authentic ontic pixel-space--
here between the lines augmented mOOn for you
it would prove how unpoetic the poem is, and how
very true the moon is, if it were here, right quoteunquote"here"
ineffably punctuated
            -- well, let me try
and fail again to make Erasmus proud:
the quotes would hang about romantic beams
parentheses to echo adjectival spectra streams,
an underscore horizonal and asterisks for stars.
but not these * asterisks,
or those_types of underscores--
better (parentheses) and far more "quothy" "quotes"--
the punctuation would literally ^punctuate^ the sky of my text.
time would stop.                                                            ­                   and that would be poetic.
you don't need to breathe, even; not this 'you,' in this moment
(the one i've failed to capture):
'i will put you on the moon' i say,
'and sit you buoyant by the buddha-astronaut, who,
in answer to the question sprinkles moondust in slow motion,
symbol-guiding realness, my "finger" for solution,
to present to you again, what is present to me now.
the Russian names, the rest of names, the 'face' some say cries, "sweetly,"
as if we could use the moon's sympathy,
or as if we should feel it for the white rock that elliptically defines us,
dances to our rhythm, (the tides, the ****** huntress)
the one that taught us to dance,
the one that taught us to yearn darkly in surreal eclipse
more hopefully for the chance of cataclysmic doom
some Greeks thought it was a disco ball, after enough *****, that Dionysian night,
some Greeks thought it was a disc,
like a coin that flipped just right
to match it's dance about our pearoid earth
in synchrony's anachronistic mirth.
i would lick each Bacchant clean to learn the mysteries of poem
i would lick each Bacchant clean. period. no music or noema known
this 'poem' is not a "poem"
in a very real sense
i did not make this,
nor did i compose or create it.
if you're not following it's ok, i'm barely there myself -- i'm trying to refer to...
the elliptical shape that certain publishers use
to refer to fundierung
the double-founding,
reversibility,
the flesh of passive
the flesh of active
enfleshed perceiving
the common meaning we contribute
but can't attribute to any source we express!
(however distorted) after the fact, yes! --
either all that, or the meaning you get from "this" act
doubly-enfolded, with two pairs of hands kneading the same dough,
two pairs of eyes weaving the same lOOm,
another Indra's net to sew,
in meaning you give now,
the techne of your reader's mind
and the meaning i'd wish to know,
if i were still writing what you are reading,
doing my best to ignore the title
and to write something worthwhile...

i do wish i could show it to you the way i love it in your own poetry,
but you would know that, already, without my love

without my unpoetic lack of facts, my rhymes.
free of poems, free to flout the literary sea.
free to be unwordly, and let the contradictions fly
"
-a version of the Cretan's or liar's paradox ('This sentence is false.') inspired this write and took on a life of its own and isn't meant to be an argument for anything. just an exploration of the problem of representation, a universal distrust of language and my associations. hope it didn't drive you crazy like it did me :)

-i quote Sylvia Plath's "Daddy", Stein's "Susie Asado", and Sappho's very short,

"I have no complaint"

I have no complaint
prosperity that
the golden Muses
gave me was no
delusion: dead, I
won't be forgotten
Sappho

-Erasmus wrote "Praise of Folly." the title alone comforts me

-when asked 'what is truth?' by one of his disciples, the buddha is said to have picked up a flower.

-our moon rotates at the same rate as its revolution (not sure why please inform me), so one side always faces us. the greeks thought it was a disc, literally. and when the Russians got to the 'backside' first, they got to name all the craters.

-noema:
the objective aspect of or the content within an intentional experience. NL, fr. Gk noema perception, thought understanding, mind, fr. noein to perceive, think
vircapio gale Oct 2013
awakened cows chewing
a mountain pass
dawn warms their massive eyelash rows
clinging drops of dew
spark in rhythm with the cud

darkness rumbles distant now
clouds dispersed to other nights
while metaphoric bull unhinged resounds
the cosmic rut

must i hide my love for this
unweave my judgment from my sight?
what in me defies all sacred holiness forever sung?
bees will ravish even newly opened buds
who am i to battle with the lightning's surge?

presumtuous coverings
can net me willing lustful
stars i see a field i open fertile
ecstaticly unblessed enough

lost heroic i had thought to know
pretends a second thrum
i see in random eyes the breaking sky
and lightning branches over snaking crevices
a sound of faultlines folding free
tectonic sexplay deep
in lava belly
far behind the summit mount--
there i see the sun a base as well
earthen seedbeds heating heights of life

space is cracked!
vast width enwombs the narrowness i preen
in nervure's shine,
a sponge mycelial with soak of raining
carbon underground
the drumming hoofbeats shake and settle
days dehiscing spinning sun
to somber eve in active rest
dreaming pasture real
within a trailing effort's ease
based on a translation of the hymn "To Indra [primarily a deity of the thunderstorm]", x.89; from R.T.H. Griffith, "The Hymns of the Rigveda, 2 vols. (Benares: E.J. Lazarus and Co., 3rd ed., 1920-6)
Vernarth sequence

Prophecy I -  “Eighth month of sailing in systemic plenitude”

“Since they will not hunt us down in all our Itheoi cycles…
nor in other lapses from where the fine eye could have sewn the buttonholes of the shroud, where there will be life and if there will be a short time without life...
dragged by you for a long time where the sun is melted over the word, staying stored and locked in your pocket to collect it blushing,
tomorrow's jump without a yesterday declining..., without a tomorrow in the heat of a bonfire...
lamb in bait handled being the portal of those who have been slapped inside their cheeks… who will not shorten the cycle that transcends all the oblong sepulchral vaults or who abound in the nonsense of sanitizing nights of ***** despot life having to measure themselves in your flourishing duel by Aiónius of the cleanest dew of its solid stroke and announced delineation of the new one that has been retraced again being more than a brief syllable created again fertile, in the biosphere mouth so as not to see you omnipresent mist, meditating not having you and that dares to meditate on your future that will have to be reserved for yourself by professing it when you are cold in front of you and insinuating if in living followed by letters to be flooded pondering like a paralyzed sleeping part that wants not to be covered with feigned warmth and that does not fit in all the parts of me being who wants to be consul of some shelter with all those who sleep also half dreaming in the company of the lost afternoon that never ends serving Saint John in Katapausis here, perhaps Aiónius del Ibico 1 as a magnificent and net unit that sees the luminous truth when we all come out of a prophecy alive even if it's dark ".

"What a reckless job of losing value,
I am already in Katapausis in the eighth month...,
I entered as the light opened with my hand turned into the light...
being already a katapausis meaning in Sabbatarianism.
Quasi-unit method exhibiting cohesion to the rest motif
With levers in my hands and intra-sabbatism in his dissertation...
of an exegetical and theological nature that has transpired soft insomniac light, We are a people who do not have to fear or air to deposit for a future warehouse above the Sycamore or birds that guard all the Gold above my hands on the Sycamore…”

"Stay in my house, if I don't come back it will be yours
stay at home, it will belong to everyone even in the apocalypse...
that more reckless will be silent as a work of losing value,
Katapausis is the threshold where my life enters and leaves at once,
stay at my house, if I don't come back it will be yours...
Open windows by meekly closing them to that confronted obverse to you...

He comes from a den relativized on reliefs in weathered beads...
they will be soluble mineral beings convened moving away from the most distant and closest to the least distant…, from waters of underground siphons… there we will all be floating… like vertebrate invertebrate animals”

Vernarth, after not entering the grotto not having found Saint John, goes outside where he goes on a campaign for three months before he can be received by God's law. Here he meets with Reader and his pelican, as well as Eurydice.


Prophecy II -  “Seventh, Inter-synergy energy”

“Three months I have waited in the middle of this mountain,
symmetrically arranging the steps to be taken, not going backward
prana of life walking in oceans of life walking…
us and them… how much must separate us to reach us?
what I have not tried to separate…, what I have not been able to achieve…

I think I died early in the worlds that haven't risen yet,
I think I was reborn late among dense curves that overwhelm us with straight lines
soul, principle, matter, and material distinctive ontology
Ghost god of parallelisms beings and activities in affinity...
starvation body of low energy ceasing creatures in embryo
incessant firstborn to infuse other confining souls
trails demons slip where my ashes hands are sore
wounded doctrines to engender and doctrines to ulcerate...

As the prophecy uses the sea carrying messages resolved from shore to shore
close to a Virtual why in the twilight your Faith that must be glandular… matter of soul and body exposed to predisposing theological and chemical, in pursuit of the corruptible whole in vice versa if he does not burst with atheistic impatience.”

Eurydice takes a zither and sings tempting stormy actions to Vernarth, Raeder and Petrobus put their souls in line in the first linear principle, Together with the matter of corporeal fire proceeding to the definition where all the parts are confirmed without distinction dancing next to them creating the greatest bond of faith in body and soul, thus spending the three months in a few words of light of the sated fire.

"In the eighth-month katapausis, eight times your permanent peace must rest in
cited state; once it is translated into Sabbathisms and it will be the same state… When everyone finishes their dance in the cave and enters believing they have the courage to enter eight times in connection with rest…, plus eight times in connection without rest.
In some verses, the urgency of the entrance will be accentuated. The main issue “is that history will be repeating itself exactly where the Israelites were at Kadesh-Barnea. A related term either synonymous with Kadesh or referring to one of two sites, is Kadesh (or Qadesh) Barnea. Various etymologies for Barnea have been proposed, including 'wilderness of travel' but none have produced a broad consensus. What is the consensus? will we stop believing or lean on the shores of a preacher rain of Jehovah or lean on the shores of a preacher sinful waterfall or lean on the shores of a preacher confessing rain or lean on the shores of a preacher wet wind inquisitor...? where ever the aromas of its faithful winds served will go sacred to everything named before and many before the confessing rainy…, waterfalls in favor of the temperamental inquisitor wind”.

Astheneiais”, in Greek is and will be a weakness, in Hebrews a moral connotation and will mean not only physical weakness but a conscious weakness and trembling in temptation. Our Lord also understands us in this weakness because he was tempted in every way as we are. Since he himself was tempted he knows from experience what it means for us to be tempted. He was not tempted in all the particulars of our life, for example, He was not tempted as a husband or father, owner or employer or soldier, because he was none of these things. But he was tempted in all three areas of human susceptibility: body, soul, and spirit.

Prophecy III -  “Sixth, Resilience…”

“They were on the perimeter trying to keep me together at his command,
I go every day for its pantry, food, groceries, bookstore supplies and ink, oils, and other essences for the environment in continuous handwritten obedience, I have to leave for Skalá where some residents are waiting for me who have ordered to bring materials from Gricos and Psili Ammos to project your home,
If this has been written like this, it is because my pleasure in walking has written it, in the company of the one, he has written for the one who walks next to me the god Ibicus!

They always asked me why to mention why I have to do this for them… I will tell you that I used to serve leaders who consolidate the Hellenic geography,
without them, everything would have been invaded by unled foreign hands… in that rest, I have to attend to the verse that precedes it...
which says that we have already entered where I already intend to argue the following…

Resilience and exhortation that from the beginning I have taken since it began... now I will abide by and present your messages in a very predominant note, I was Hoplite Commander of the Falange and Hetairoi, now a Christian who does not dispute living a life of obedience to those who are not and are not without his martyrs...
like those people to whom God swore they will not enter my rest
whose amen will be preached in the passive voice verse!

Remain as the verb indicates with the real facts, the word
independent of the present, independent of who and when…
Saint Gabriel my Abrahamic angel will give me white strength and frolicking lilies like baskets of hermaphroditic lilies procreating only-begotten forests at the altar.

Stand tall over the Abrahamic fire without knuckles or shields,
rethink your beloved woman and take a sudden step to heal your wounds there is so much grass to cut and so much poetry to chew...
up the mountain towards Skalá at night after drinking wine
Epitrapezios Inos setting fire with innocuous saffron atmosphere
lips of fire and bread, for a good offensive fight.
Greek fire naphtha, cinnabar, and anthracite.

Wake up united with the deep disorder
Grant the color that deserves to have your day as a constellation
with the image that rests on your angular and calloused hands.
stopping spaces of loss more than all the centuries that waited for the minimum incense to a good warrior, sweet wine for open bleeding wound not his… the thunder that hides baptisms in all hearts empty of blood...

“While Vernarth was praying in the oracle he felt a thunderous supra sound As if the gates of hell had opened...
As if millions of seconds of angels were to be dispersed from the sky
To reduce more seconds of silence to the thinnest pleading eardrum

A few days ago I saw a ghost that was chopping wood...
I couldn't realize that he was really Him...,
I also saw him cutting thousands of volumes from a library...
Also, not realizing it, I saw several, like more than eighty manuscripts..., of breaths that still did not prosper in the hands of San Marcos...

A gigantic door slam is felt again...!
again it was the angels that came
at the wrong time in his return..., but now in his repatriation
they climbed through and into the Garden of Eden.”

Vernarth, evicted from the habit of the unknown, was apprehended by his craftsmanship of him, he was still attentive to be received by San Juan. The longer he waited to be arranged for an audience, he did not postpone what his memory pointed out to be more than an experience plotting capacities in the face of his own limitations. From that moment on, a gigantic gate slam is felt again! the angels who went back one after another with their polished golden-white cloaks relapsed..., but now making the Garden of Eden their own,... being theirs in what was theirs, that they would be in the house of a wise gardener of Eden perhaps being the same Katapausis manger at once!

Raeder says: hugging him profusely! time has to fly like little angels, having them by your side as companions of the time that is leftover on their wings, giving it all to your enjoyment of living and feeling it lost in you without finding it. ! khaire mi Vernarth!, I have some karidopitas with nuts and yogurt accompanied by baklava with nuts in delicious syrup from Kalymnos. Petrobus jumped for joy and fluttered like a hummingbird to steal a few pieces! Eurydice and Vernarth did the same. That night they told militia stories while they ate the morsels, so they fell asleep as if it had been the first time they had fought such a great menu. Euridice assists in the same with his fresh clean face, creating an atmosphere of conciliation to renew the dream of a day that will dawn close to his waking up far from the criminals. Vernarth takes the staff from him from then on and divides books and manuscripts into two portions so that he has time to take steps to really feel that he can walk close to Saint John.

Prophecy IV -  "Fifth, Nature, Manuscripts and Jophiel"

“Zeus wakes up trembling, full of headaches saturated with Herbs for headaches Jophiel speaking this time with the Kabbalistic language of the Torah...with golden commoner super zone of the Organikon Sorousliston Papadikon….age-old music that supplies Zeus with protein albumin, to make him more human…Zeus accepts Jophiel by placing his head about the house of Jophiel; a divine island to throw cards…brings the second ray to the Sahasrara at the crown of your head, pacifying love that is the suspicious and risky loser of everything risk in the head especially when a feeling is born!

Zeus turns his head and Jophiel twists it to the opposite side
about the ruined zeros that he did not count from the plasma of his dependency, Zeus feared having albumin at risk of human transmutation... happy to be able to cry he imagines slipping into the middle of a lake and he sees that he falls on Hera's poultry harming none, Zeus pours brimstone from his mouth and milks inelegant prose from the scythe…

Trina flame whose son bears glorious her bearer,
thousands of lives being clumsy for the wisest destitute
being what in the present you were more than past trine
when you harbor from Hanael's Blue Sodalite quarry
the imperfect perfects when you listen to your
body how it beats, how it breathes... you realize that it is perfect
as is Jophiel and discerns repairing the wisdom in the decisive punt
where gum rosin myrrh and multi urban frankincense go
towards the soul plane architecture of the human plane.
Hardened Zeus overflows glazed sallow emulsion of war
coagulated exhausting guarantor of everything is well,
books of the silent world of nails that do not sound sheets,
Hanael in massive books divides sounding with her iris gel-colored nails encrypted library manuscript of a thousand years, the voluptuous organism of a thousand years…
flapping unpredictable millennia and wiry hands,
colossal capstans…, annihilated with a thousand years…
a silly propeller that spins like a sickle rolling over a certain holistic tabernacle of the small portion of the next day when Zeus awoke to the diaphanous threatening light with sunless cloud waistband…
His face is seen with frowns and he looks at his face as well
without seeing folds…but in front of the Aiónius.

The geranium appears in the representation of the natural whole kicking the Sickle, much more here lost of our spiritual being
Zeus Jophiel's hardened shoulder heats up only to lean on Him...
light on his shoulders fires on both of them…
how long it takes to save us perhaps twenty times what supports us even tired and much more unwrapped than the treachery of him alone and without being followed without knowing
nothing more than a thousand-year-old shell through which he would drain…perhaps a tortoise-like millennial angel walked up to the omega! joy preparing to give you live hopeful,
that if it would be timely to give you more life...
Here is Aiónius reordering the world together with Zefian…
He shares everything eternal of all your life that floats in the sea,
miserable mix space where capo dastro separates the end
where all the wheres cannonade the hoarse fire...
cement that joins brick wall and plenary adobes
love without nature that castrates your beautiful woman
that hides her face without mascara looking for it...
let's go outside says Vernarth..., we still have a few seconds in his solvent... sensible, full, and arc well-being...
as if you were floating in the air floating more
also needed me to teach you before your limits limit you,
and make you angry from the miserable sense,... Don't listen to me anymore...!!”

Vernarth puts his first three fingers on the capo dastro roosters crow with his skin vibrating beyond the sleep of Raeder and Petrobus. Reader wakes up and says…; My Vernarth I will make fire and heat water. Petrobus runs with his wings to look for sacred wood. Eurydice comments…, I will prepare the praiseworthy sacred breakfast.

When they were preparing to do all this, Jophiel and Hanael appeared to him, joining in the breakfast that would feed all the days and millennia of the world. Unleavened fruit, honey, and milk multiply above all, satiating hunger with satiated satisfaction.

Prophecy V – Fourth, Limbus Necropolis

“From so far away…, so far away that I listen to your sacrosanct cries…!
from the Koumeterium of Messolonghi…, rocking my elbows and hurting myself
moving in rare pleasant crypt upon crypts disconsolate stones
not so far away..., keys held in the eighth cemetery...
Who is to open the heavy door now...?
I come from Messolonghi 555 km in linear figures to Patmos...,
narrowing concave… doubtful in extension, passion princess cloud
He must welcome me benevolently in the night nymph consort...
Limbus N cloud, Cloud Cemetery lofty lofty hypogeum
soul of Limbo, before seeing the nut that girds the face in the graceful Grim Reaper resurrecting restless…, sinning… grail sacrament without Being or being…?
Necropolis Cloud, expectant mortuary technology...
amaze me if there is a byte for me...
narrow conscience, unseemly to amaze me?

Here the lost mist of the Nothofagus God phoneme-photon vanishes with divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. The Sacrament of Limbus will provide spaces and assemblages of meters for thousands of areas of infamous wandering the Ouranos, approaching the Áullos Kósmos to host him and rescue the children of the meter that was missing in the numeral rule of the Megaron acroteria before going up to the Necropolis Cloud. Vernarth, mere body formalizing principle...
extinct delicate evocation of the shadow of Elpenor;
Achaean warrior of Ulysses grandiloquent who even has otitis
and verse where flu spreads influenza
heartbreak from far away reverberating in the elite of lexicons…
arriving equidistant ... the last one arrives threatening with his Kantabroi staying neither divided nor captured, taking refuge in outright failure twilight of megahertz, farce propaganda surrendered fear will not fall even after …

Vernarth falls from the Koumeterium Mesolonghi in the Necropolis cloud privileging his status, he falls from this gloomy digital platform with a high alcoholic degree! from the high heaven after drinking hours he came in the carriage that was from Zilos, with the passion of heaven depriving his understanding stunned on some branches of will of Ziziphus…, stunned on branches of mercy….

Vernarth in a contrite accident with Elpenor, his psyche flies to the realm of the dead, Hades was remaining prisoner in that world taking the form of a Homeric icon or shadow. Vernarth was asleep after his binge, and Elpenor asks him if he wanted to join him with some concoctions. He was with blurred vision, a headache, and still lying down. But in the passionate horror of his drunkenness, he gets up quickly, saying to Elpenor: For me, it was one less pain to drink after having fallen from such a distance without being able to request and have had the grace of my mother's lullaby. For this reason, I hug you! They went together to the Cloud Necropolis to continue in the Limbus trying to alternate their physical body to gaseous liquid. At that moment Eurídice hits her with a piece of wood on her legs so that she wakes up from the bite of that nightmare that overwhelmed her to finally be able to wake up. Raeder had gone with Petrobus to Skalá to seek inputs of gnosis and his own inspiration for accents before the welcome in Katapausis to come in the blink of an eye of San Juan, necessary redaction for licenses and to be admitted to his library.

Prophecy VI - “Third, Rethymnon City and State”

“Vernarth heard the sound of a bouzouki, spoke of a 40-day fast that Greece celebrates before Easter, at the Rethymnon carnival they come from all over Greece to attend as a family during the week with animations, evenings and concerts, dances…theatre, floats with Venetian art in the picturesque old town and modern city, in this ancient city …

Rethymnon Political Ellipsis

“Like territorial extension, past-future organized infamous scene…Vernarth imagines being with Etréstles in immediate predictions
with years and thousands…, clan hobbies, Rethymnon manuscript…
while he thus deliberated…, thus rejoicing in the immaculate extramural grotto thus being as if it were comparable to a Neolithic village; being together lost with eagerness to appear from political power... palaces, kings, pro-organized religions..., rancorous superlative temple, priestly-eucharistic, nationalized sovereign citizen... commanding Parliament of the Hellenic politai people
the competent anti-value entity of the substratum political state…
sedentary-agricultural or nomadic-livestock culture…, vertical Hoplite culture!”

In Thessaloniki street, he would meet his brother head-on...Imagining how he would be...? Well-dressed-shiny, he would be in a passing tavern usually naming himself tradition and terms of questionable validity rather than those of a retro-linguistic family, in the remarkable urban-city dialogue called seditious inns with networks of political territorial extension, reaching the colossal size of multinational ideals of a complex stratification, social meeting place, future ministries to whom to delegate?. They would arrive at the tavern in Rethymnon in Crete, they order coffee, biscuits, and Mosaikó chocolates. In an unexpected moment, he suddenly wakes up from this deep, hallucinating, and futuristic imagination! His brother appears immediately, not in Rethymnon but in Katapausis with the goddess Lepidoptera!

End Ellipsis Rethymnon

“At the moment his imagination breaks just when they were preparing to toast… Etréstles in this same interval appear in Katapausis Reader and Petrobus coming in a singular pilgrimage from Skalá…this is how the syllabic song of the arcane ***** is heard emitting from the grotto…, yellow lights and saffron…. Saint John and the Gospel celebrating the Eucharist…Vernarth would believe for the first time that the hermit would come, but No…!
his brother was to be in the intervening yellow-white light
in front of him nothing more than Etréstles visiting him”

Likewise, they would no longer be in Rethymnon,
but the carnival would already begin in the region of Patmos...
eating delicacies, and the Sousta towards the circle of the Sun in the hands…They have been two months with the sweetened Moon and the Sun posing its mass of light in her… soft palm next to her waiting for him in the proximity of a Hebrew silence

Estretles says Khaire Vernarth! from Piacenza who did not see your joyous lux! I can see now to the sound of yourself the stoic zither...
countenance light, the orbit of your eyes, pale asthenia without photon without light, expectorant suppuration of your sacred Lynothorax, Absent in front of the long and fatal transverse lapse!
Raeder makes a speech to Zeus Photon Child Lux
Fulminant spends time where it remains greater than the minimum...
Patmos is the time of the Messiah…, retrograde years…
polis Helennic city-states.

Culture-state… state time chorus in tune
Philosophical poetic-epic Olympian Aiónius global leader
Homeric poems..., Raeder I am..., a naughty Politai...
you Vernarth are Politai Hetairoi militia
candy wasted by me Raeder… sweetened in my memory
polytheistic, cultured and declined…
theocratic referendum or democratic right,
Exciting porridge of my Kourabiedes cookies
butter, icing sugar, flour, eggs from the icy cliff
vanilla or Mastica resin, ***, Ouzo, mastica liquor…
or other alcoholic beverages…, which bubble on the underside of Aiónius soaked in my mouth with water from petal buds
coated for you with sugar on the tip of my tongue…
reflective cops in a wonderful dialogue of a tasty recipe...
It's time for everyone else to snack too!!

In that second Raerder was choking on a Kourabiede biscuit,
but there was the guardian of the Petrobus who piloted the
throwing hieratic water on the inside of his mouth,
forcing him to take heart from the buttress of his speech
shooing thick crumbs from his skinny dialogue spitted...
Gerakis, ray, tabletop oak bull, scepter for those who rule with him and not...My Zeus friend I invite you to play marbles,
I invite you to tell us that we are friends...
we're both fine… only Space-separated us…?

Raeder runs towards Zeus' thunderbolt from his right hand.
he jumps up and takes it from her, in exchange for this she gives him his marbles...The entire earth tilts over the Aegean..., the earth's axis tilts eight degrees, altering the cerebrospinal fluid of the Hellenic geopolitical conception..., with Zeus poly infarcted over descending magnitudes of inter-politics, millennia and headless governments...

“Apokalypsis lightning restarted, emerged from a New World”
Prophecy VII -. “Second, Alikanto Aion, Quantum”
"Kalymnos, golden tetra steed Alikanto was grazing under the metallic moon...
transiting its quantum physics…, golden legs…, four golden domes
the super host being in Apoika Andros next to the villagers,
commemorating troupe and advent…, Heraklion next period
celebrant anniversary, progeny bearer of Kanti Cretense,
close cycles of the sacred fire, domestic environment, and private zeal...
funerary hidden cult… streets in the hieratic family dwelling
fertile women… totalized and lustful ****…
productive longevity and harvests…, family Apoika
next successor belligerence…, funerary plexus…
culty predecessor…, treatise and imprecation of law, theme and legible religion domestic scene, family civic servant ceremony

Goddess Hestia austere, head with eight sacred candles dressed
Olympus lacking without gods…, only Goddesses embargo!
Feminine Hestia Domestic Goddess, an emanation of the female oval to ovulating…Pritaneo, the central decree of the political harvests… foreign exchange grains to be minted monetary stock exchange of Athens… Pritaneo ford on the rise, ford on increase Aion... hesitant dart swoop into eternity,
Alikanto Perpetual Aion…Speaks with both hands
synchronized and tilted tongue…
stutters and swallows, in six paranasal sinuses
saturated with fiery saliva..., and an Internal voice saying say...
what makes sense to feel and what does not turn off...
sleeping waves in the poison of love igniting
intra-Vernarth love…, billing infected holy blood
methodical coupled time…, Gaugamela the bronze extremity,
of a lost leader…, won leader!

If I had to run to rewrite retro Adhoc poems and chosen trova,
With a shy Trojan verse, I would dare today if I kissed her in front of me… she!
she would jump from the hyperesthetic-Ouranos…, inhuman to the Aion world
aurora celestina, bleeds big and defiant today in your star
In herself Ella…, pestiferous condemnation sweetness and aura between her…she just be, she herself be supported be…, Oh… Goddess Hestia on your opposite leg unbraced arm, meadow and vein braid… assaulted by lost and thirsty love written everything if she tempts…, everything wields darkly if it took you to our Olympus… at night loving you whole..., emptying everything with no inappropriate hand singing don vine fissure and intimate company, may it be exterminated... passion outside with nailed stake..., iron embedding..., nails wounding...exhausted supra lips supra yours…, mid sand writing full to her…
tip of my Xiphos… blood made written with written maiden mythology,
letter sword Spatha…, cyclamen balm made whole if I had you!

“To the loves of the world I say…, cover your ears fungus of boredom, your torn ears squander ignoring more than sordid saying...my blood kills, my blood revives! I **** my blood and I **** everyone, with your blood scattered, ***** blood scattered…!
do not leave me alone until nightfall… I only ask for holy water,
emptied from your mouth goddess Hestia who flies tons over me...
I only ask for a spatha romantic blood sharp, ******, and scattered...
to write to the love wars that I have lost...
to the wars of love that I have won, slicing the jugular of the
treacherous and wicked emperor"

“… Alikantus, he remembered the Hoplite commander in Gaugamela, he remembered when he dodged arrows with his head so that they would not hit his body or his pectoral. From such a present moment falling by surrendering to the evocation of him. He goes down to a stream and confines himself to the vanity quagmire, continues on his path reaching a suspicious lagoon, drinks sacred water, drinking again manages to perceive the effigy of Vernarth in the mirror of Aion's Hydor... calling him from Patmos! Law reminded his master how he died for everyone in the world just as the world would not let him bring more than agonizing for him because there was no more space said Aionius ... "

Alikantus then clenched his jaws too hard, falling out all his molars, he asked the Gods in front of Hestia to restore them fifteen days before arriving at the Ekadashi in Patmos where his master, thus loving all the lives of the world, as well as the hidden cries behind the Dypilons hiding the power of God… or laugh at gagged iris flashes and mummified sighs with lives that subsist!

Vernarth from Patmos called to him so that his eyes looked invigorated like the swarms of green and gray vanadium fire, of mood in the predictive table and close prediction. AlIkantus bids farewell to Kalymnos spraying sorrel and hyper-odoriferous flowers of the Apoika in Kalymnos loving from above, very close, flying, loving everything so much that he forgot to fly. He sometimes fell hard but recovered retried as a baby steed in the womb of a mother new species to be born again in Apoika!


Prophecy VIII -  "First of Aionius, "Eleusis Prophecy of Hamor"
“Aiónius received news of Hamor's prophecy; cosmic orgiastic order
tyrannical snake victim throwing herself into her abyss and purpose..., banishment as an objective void to be decreed, even so ending the world from another world,
discontinuous terse march, slurred arpeggio, speech by Aiónius
there is no world left but if extermination…, undone threshold…, provoke in delicate chaos…!

As a child, I ran to the supreme world herding lions... I called them and they ran to me..., they came alone, some didn't...! Being young, one day Aionius went to the farm and counted the lions... Some came others No... Aionius..., in such a hamorio he was locking an earring from his ears, he hung them again, which happened the next day relaxed..., he saw a maiden who laughed hypnotized…, he sighed when she turned around saying with her poor gestures… Destroy it! The afflicted turned away not knowing what was coming… destroying the desolate world vilifying silky physiognomies, chipped and dandruff face slipping from yours being captive and arid…, tempts to flow libertarian imprint in foreign praxis, origin, and end,
me from the slime being born in my eighth life in nothingness ataxia…

The beloved Victim surrounded by snakes moved the stump of her arms
eaten away by the serpent that took refuge in thorns of forged steel...
she kept walking…, Aiónius pointed at her and kissed her gestures escaping frightened towards the valley in farewells... not fitting itself in valleys that were never anything she paraded with the current of her last word, the beloved again moved her arms following her in front of her the beast was on her, Aiónius buried from fleeing and coming… with fiery phenotype, abrupt vocabulary, says: “Strapping and interludes, after beings of impiety, the world of impiety, Hamor of the first wit… towards other refuges I will depart about a Yes devouring bare ring on it…”
escape curve that cuts the pelvis of my beloved
destructive be your curved world that before had to destroy me...
ultra pre-hellenic nymph Harpé passion spread on me…
Hailed libertarian praise, aristocratic vermilion accent, minority ruling? Overwhelming rigor expended, prophetic Hamor, prophetic expansive arsenal! It must come from all the supreme worlds with strokes and silhouettes conquering...true dream, confused hypothetical oscillate sweeping imploring and contracting popular decision, management and space of my Sickle…, sometimes uncontained… worse avenues in its radius and dark mourning badly wounded shadow! The vertex that finally launches opens the dawn and his Hamada flees... Leaving with the untidy serpent, about touching and causing rangers in the stuck earth.

Demeter and Persephone; based on Eleusis in ancient Greece
mystery myth of the abduction of Persephone daughter of Demeter…
by the king of the underworld of Hades, Abrahamanica's offspring
cabal, life in the descent, the search and the ascent…
Ascent of Indra lightning Vahana and lightning from her right eye,
Persephone to the reunion with her beloved daughter ascending.

Zodiac and mysteries involved, visions and sleight of hand
that of an afterlife, rain of seven trunks, long-lived Airavata
elephant, Eleusis jump psychedelic mystery, incision, and coherent rites, ceremonies and experiences of cold winters and life on earth
plants in gestation under the gift of Elitíaen and beings that
they are about to germinate and be born, beings in a chain of genes...
vegetable running on the earth, vegetable in March in its glory
September in the jaws of the purified phrase and inaccurate acropolis I…

Sacred obscenities, deadly tributes with the death penalty...,
wandering nights without clothes with obese and badly fragrant meats point and taco dances praising the harvest in honor of a dead Thracian bull, libating priestly vessels and bullfighting heads in a deliberately defined and improper triweekly ritual, revealed in Demeter and Persephone.

Only Hamor in his venerable pyx lies locked up knowing he is unable to open inside this lustful bewitching sparkles, the mystery of emancipated disenchantment that awakens from his slow consciousness without knowing how to go on passing in the sum of all happenings of Aiónius. ”

This is how he defined himself from the syncretism of Indra and the mystery of Eleusis, from Demeter and his daughter Persephone from the vile kidnapped underworld. Of the divine Goddess Elitia and the annual records of children born within a year in the germinating seed of the mystery of love that would begin with this prophecy with the initial "H" of the underworld exclaimed Hades and Greek heritage in this event. Vernarth and his companions listened to this prophecy, almost falling asleep, it seemed to them sweet pallor-bitter, love-heartbreak in the previous day before diagnosing having a presence in the hermitage of San Juan Apóstol for the superior company of a later day that was approaching as the greatest daring of all up in the mountains while disposing of Vernarth's Apologist obverse of Aiónius's.

Epilogue Prophecies - “Eleusis, Isadora Duncan to the Parthenon”

“Vernarth and Eurydice indulged in the jargon of agitated diasporas
of inhabitants fleeing the Rite of Eleusis, crossed hands and feet
They dueled on olive trunks with Theban thunder, vague Insurrection of the ancient world, and consonants of barbarian Pleiades,
acclaiming predilection of the Eremita San Juan to appear...
in a breath of peace resurfacing... but seeing that Vernarth was accompanied of Eurydice hid in front of them leaving only her aura near from the stream of a chrysalis!
In the dizzying succession of myths, good news reaches her sacred ears, waking up her trend and her high quarterly price outside the walls... being later received in the grotto of the hermitage in growing expectation and a link of longing that weaves to remind him of being a crusade piece.

The kidnapping of his reverie feared and timid frivolous crushing blizzard, he was walking surrounded by Falangists on horseback pointing at him and threatening him, scrutinizing in the distance loneliness of his past lives,
his regressive life, concerning key to origins of his illustrative Existence, stranded at this moment..., Vernarth makes a pact with himself to detach himself..., of his spirit, detach from their lives under a hypnotic and compelling law..., like a suspended index in the Sistine Chapel, homologous ship Ave Maria Messiah!

From Eleusis Vernarth vanished in aerial horse-dreaming,
he crossed through the pavilions with himself persevering some wake
riding his Alikantus ******* and standing with him to pillage the Empyrium niche Persephone's trace of herself and her ******* ******* them...
with devoted passion, milky way, and milky syrup chin howling...
Vanishing dancer, Athenian acropolis, Dionysian sanctuary of the acropolis… Stepdaughter-patron in the dance of Zeus and Themis lopsided frame of the season's wildness of all creation and defiance of Eleusis looking for her daughter and her children, priestesses safely taking off their corset and their pictures…
raging chastity, oligo blood, Itheoi music, outraged dance complaining, Possessed expressing being seductive but also a native *******... the underworld in darkness, free daughter, and iconoclastic Greek mythologist
inconvenient Victorian mania, a courtesan from Olympus, courtesan undressed! Isadora, Demeter, and Persephone… flooded with Aphrodite foam!

She “prayed songs with plexus and feet, plotting gardens around the world… full of baseboard feet where everything created in brief Apokálypsis was dying! By desolate Parthenons dancing in Muscovite ruins, maenades sweaty enclave and also throwing back his head as if possessed by ecstasy in her Bugatti and Leonidas…, enchanted by Aiónius! intoxicated and exorbitant with beautiful rosy placebo eyes... Hair with headbands vine petioles, her Nebris tight skin was wearing... in her hand's bunches of barberries to Dionysus with torches and live snakes a chaste crook naming Thirsus; rod topped with Kashmar branches wrapped in borders, vines and ivy, allusive link…, morbid ecosystem! covering her crotch in the Temple of her Kopanos dancing from the eternal fire cremated and in a romantic dimension remembering Byron's meritorious…
Hellenic passionate, and of Hölderlin poeticizing together with Aiónius.

Rudiment wound … ruinous on value exciting in those
of the imagined and creative in her perdition, Sicalipsis e impudicias
torn fire in the Metelmi and her ***** we are twisted,
epic worthy of greek tragedy dancing like waves of fire
in the forge in terrifying death of her children Deirdre and Patrick,
submerged and injured in the Seine in Paris in 1913, falling into the
water in the car that was traveling with her wet nurse… before…!
saying goodbye to them in urgent social commitments,
I Aiónius take you to the Empyrium.

What a dire tribulation in the prevailing misfortunes by not postponing it, retain the fate of whose children is quite a story with the kidnapping of theirs and merits of fulfilling commitments committed to solicitous artists... support, crestfallen inside a dresser or Bolshoi dancing statue, dancing empty with bare feet, frigid anemone, frigid Sea…

Arriving at the dawn of her last prophecy, Isadora Duncan accompanies her in full life beyond all limiting borders with the borders of her dance, the flat field of Eleusis receives her presumptuously associating in around for the dressings...
And left-handed dalliance self-indulging…, advanced barefoot to the Parthenon…!naked towards the world and the orb dug out of her before her undressed.

Reader and Petrobus jumped on this steep stone, emulating the meteorites that shone in the sky of Patmos such a party of nocturnal lights, such emery detached from a fleeting planet in the largest Hellenic scene saying: "Well-being to the Hellenic World all calm, dance and immunity to the firmament where Isidora rests in the Kantabroi of Aionius”
Prophecies of Aiónius
I believe in a universe where a sleepy eye opens existence...
a slowly drooping eyelid ushers it away.
I believe in a universe where Indra and the other Gods
churn the cosmic milk...
where Shiva does the eternal dance.
I believe in a universe where light is separate from darkness
and mankind is molded from a ball of divine ****...
a breath, Be and it is.
I believe in a universe where Gaia watches as Cronus
devours her children until she gives him a stone...
and hides Zeus away.
I believe in a universe that expands
from a singularity of infinitely dense potentiality
less than a speck,
to our cosmos immeasurable in scale.
I believe in a universe where Lao Tuz hands a guard
a little book of wisdom
before disappearing into the mountains
where the sages go.
I believe in a universe where Siddhartha contemplates emptiness
and feels the winds of eternity
whistling through his soul.
I believe in a universe where E=Mc2.
I believe in a universe where an old man lights the first holy fire
and describes the war between light and goodness
vs darkness and evil.
I believe in a universe where the earth and moon,
and all the planets go round the sun...
in a galaxy carrying us
dancing a waltz
we can only catch glimpses of.
I believe in a universe where "Know Thyself"
is revered as a deep truth.
I believe in a universe where
an unexamined life is not worth living.
I believe in a universe where the words of a carpenter
are a true path.
I believe in a universe where an illiterate man is commanded
Read!... a burning coal upon the lips.
I believe in a universe where every God and Goddess
exist, each in their own heaven...
each in their own hell.
I believe in a universe where there are no gods or goddesses
only the relentless laws of matter, energy and gravity.
I believe in a universe where everything is mathematics.
I believe in a universe where everything is holy
I believe in a universe where everything in profane.
I believe in a universe where everything is a simulation.
I believe in a universe where everything is ****** in nature.
I believe in a universe where everything is stimulation.
I believe in a universe where the hoochie *******
is what its all about.
I believe in the universe.
Daniel August Feb 2014
We are a tuning fork let
Tingle, spewing off in crests
Of interference,
Concentric circles met
Mingle, in rippled patterns; lest

We sink our pebble cupped hands,
Tiny polished eggs spackled
With inference,
And us, but mere cosmic sand
And gravity’s weak shackle

My wrist to beddings iron frame,
As the evening chirps quiet; chisel
Through indifference,
My marble block, blown by flame
Reduced to dust and grainy gristle
Joshua Soesanto Jun 2014
terlewatkan beberapa batang rokok pagi
untuk mencicipi sebuah kopi hitam lembab
di lidah basah seorang perempuan
indra pengecap bersama semesta lain

seorang pemberontak pada sebuah mata
mata dingin yang berkuasa atas semua puisi
rasa skeptis pun berkarat
lalu, bersembunyi pada tanaman yang sekarat

dia masih meredup di sebuah ranjang
bintik-bintik tumpah pada dada yang telanjang
dengan selimut dingin bintang kemarin malam
bakar sebatang melihat keluar jendela, dunia tenggelam

minggu pagi ini
terhiruplah kopi dingin dan anggur
lalu,
kapan kalian mabuk lalu lelah?
Illinois - Are You Coming With Me? #NowPlaying #Tracklist
TERRY REEVES Mar 2016
THE DOWRY WAS FOR FUTURE WIFE AND LIFE,
IT DID NOT GUARANTEE SUCCESS FOR YOU AND ME,
I COULD GIVE YOU SOME ADVICE - IT WOULD BE NICE
TO KNOW WHEN THEIR THROWING SHOES AND RICE,
GOD WILL PROVIDE AND COVER IF YOU HELP YOURSELF,
DO NOT RELY ON DESTINY OR THE BEING OF ANOTHER;
YOU MUST RE-INVENT EVERY DAY AND THEN PRAY
THAT THERE'S SOMETHING POSITIVE TO SAY,
TAKE HEED OF PLEASURE AND LEISURE FOREVER,
NOT IN PASSING BUT TO BE DONE WITHOUT ASKING,
YOU HAVE BEEN GIVEN KEYS, SO USE THEM,
NOT JUST TO KEEP THINGS IN PLACE BUT TO OPEN
HEARTS AND MINDS AND CLEVERNESS THAT BINDS,
BE AHEAD, BECAUSE FORTUNE HAS MANY KINDS.
Prophecy VIII -. "First ...," Eleusis of Hamor Prophecy "

“Aion, news received from Hamor's prophecy; cosmic orgiastic order victim tyrant snake, jumping into its abyss, purpose ..., exile as emptiness? objective to be decreed even though the world is ending from another world, discontinuous smooth march, arpeggio dragged, hamar's speech there is no world but if extermination ..., the threshold is undone..., dazzle delicate chaos ...!

As a child I ran to the supreme world herding lions ... I called them and they ran to me ..., they only came, some No ...! Being young one-day Aion went to the farm and counted the lions ... Some came others No ... Hamor ..., in such a hamoryo blocking an earring in his ears, he again hung them with Hamor who passed the other day relaxed ...
he saw a maiden who was laughing hypnotized ..., sighed when he turned around saying with his poor gestures ... Let him destroy himself! afflicted they turned not knowing what was coming ... destroying the desolate world, staining silky faces, chipped and dandruff face draining yours, being captive and arid ..., tempts to flow libertarian, imprint foreign praxis, origin and end, me from the mud being born in my eighth life into nothing ...

The Hamada Victim surrounded by snakes moved the stump of their arms eaten away by the tiller that took refuge in some forged steel thorns ... she kept walking ..., Aion pointed her and kissed her gestures, scared to the valley in farewells ... valleys that were never anything paraded with the flow of his last word, the Hamada again moved his
arms following her in front of her, fierce upon her he was, Aion buried in flight and coming ... with ardent phenotype, abrupt vocabulary, saying: "Straps and interludes, after beings of impiety, the world of impiety, Hamor of first wits ... I will depart for other refuges on a Yes, devouring a naked ring in it ... escaped curve that cuts the pelvis of my destructive Hamada be your world, curved that before had to destroy me ...? ultra prehellenic nymph Harpé spilling passion on my ...

Hailed libertarian eulogy, aristocratic blond accent, minority failure? Overwhelming rigor dispensed, prophetic Hamor, prophetic expansive armory! It must come from all the supreme worlds, traces in silhouettes conquering ... True dream, confusing hypothetical oscillating, sweeping imploring and contracting, popular decision, handling, and space of my sickle ..., sometimes unrestrained ... worst avenues in its radio and dark mourning, badly hurt shadow! Vertex that finally launches opening the dawn and her Hamada flee ...
Leaving wild tiller, over touching and raising wild beasts in the jammed earth.

Demeter and Persephone; based on Eleusis in ancient Greece
mystery myth of the abduction of Persephone daughter of Demeter ...
by the king of the underworld of Hades, Abrahamanica descent, Kabbalah, life on the descent, the search and the rise ... the rise of Indra lightning Vahana and a ray of her right eye, Persephone to the reunion with her beloved mother ascending.

Zodiac mysteries involved, visions and conjuring
those of a future life, rain of seven tubes, Airavata long-lived elephant, Eleusis jump psychedelic mystery, surgery, and coherent rites, ceremonies and experiences of cold winters life on the earth and the plants in gestation under the gift of Elitía in beings that are for to germinate and to be born, beings in a chain of waste gene ... plant running over the earth, plant in March in its glory, September in the jaws of the purified phrase and inaccurate acropolis  ...

Sacred obscenities, deadly tributes with the death penalty ...,
roaming nights without clothes with their obese and smelly meats
point and heel dances praising the harvest in honor of the dead Thracian bull, libating priestly vessels with bullheads, purposely defined and improper three-week spiritual, revelation, and secret rays of Demeter and Persephone.

Only Hamor in his sacred chest lies locked up, knowing that he is incapable of the opening inside this lustful box and spellbinding flashes, the mystery of emancipated disenchantment, which awakens from his slow consciousness without knowing, passing in the sum of all that happens. ”

Hamor self-defined the syncretism of Indra and the mystery of Eleusis, of Demeter and his daughter Persephone from the abducted underworld. From the divine Goddess Elitia and the annual records of children born within a year, a germinating seed of the mystery of love would begin with this prophecy with the initial "H" of the underworld of Hades. Greek heritage in this event. Vernarth and his companions listened almost falling asleep this prophecy, it seemed sweet pale-bitter, love-heartbreak, on the previous day before diagnosing having a presence in Katapausis with the hermit, for the superior company of a later day that approached like the shadow greatest of all up in the mountain.
Prophecy VIII
"Begin to work with the Net of Light,"* they say, "by thinking of a vast lighted fishing net spread over the earth and stretching into the distance, as far as your eyes can see. This is the great Net of Light that will support the earth and all life on this planet during the times of change that have come. The Net of Life covers the earth from above, it covers it from below, and it bisects the earth like a great grid-penetrating, holding, and touching everything. This is the Net of Light that will hold the earth while the energies of yin and yang shift. And they *will shift," the Grandmothers say; "the change has already begun.

     "Walk forward and take your place on the Net of Light. Somewhere where two of the strands come together forming an 'x' or a 't' is a place that will feel just right for you. Walk forward and take your place there. Here you can rest and allow the Net of Light to hold and support you while at the same time you support it.

     "We have many times told you that the Net of Light is lit by the jewel of the heart. This is true,"
the Grandmothers say. "Experience now as the radiant jewel of your own heart begins to open and broadcast its light along the strands of the Net. Every person who works with the Net of Light is linked in light with others who also work with it. Experience your union with people all over the glove who are now connected by the Net of Light. Some of them call it a Web of Light, some call it a lighted grid, some call it Indra's net, but whatever they call it, it is the same construct. This is the Net of Light that will hold the earth steady during these times of change that are upon you.

     "As you call on the Net and find your place on it,"
they say, "think of receiving and sending light throughout this vast network. And as you think this thought, instantly your energy will follow it, and you will feel the Net of Light working in you and through you.

     "Experience your union with us and with all those who work with us. There are thousands of you all over the earth. Also experience your union with the sacred and holy places on this planet and the sacred and holy beings that have come at this time to avert the catastrophe that looms over the earth-the great saints, sages and avatars that have come now and gladly give their lives in service. Experience your union also with those of good heart who seek the highest good for life on earth. Know and feel the power of this union and let your body experience this force of and for good.

     "Once you have strongly felt this power, begin to cast the Net of Light to those who do not know about it. Cast wherever there is suffering on earth,"
the say, "to human beings, to animals, to conditions of every kind, to all forms of life, and to Mother Earth herself. Cast also to people who are longing to serve, but have not yet found a way to access the Divine and as you cast the Net of Light, many who have until this moment been asleep to the fundamental connection we all share, will begin to awaken and feel the spark of divinity within themselves coming to life. Now ask the radiant Net of Light to hold all life in its embrace and know that each time you work like this, you are adding to the reach and power of the great Net.

     "Cast the Net to all women and men everywhere,"
they say. "Cast to the leaders of this world to remind them that they are a precious part of the Net of Light that holds and supports life. Cast to the animal kingdom, asking that every animal receive what it most needs. Cast to the plant kingdom and to the mineral kingdom as well. Cast to everything that lives," the Grandmothers say, **"and when you have done this, ask, 'May everyone in all the worlds be happy.'
An excerpt from Our Love is Our Power: Working With the Net of Light that Holds the Earth and written by Sharon McErlane
PNasarudheen Aug 2013
On  watching  Indian Polity
Such was my country twenty-one Summers ago
In a starry night I ,with my wife Prema young
Walked along the road of midnight Mysore slow
As snow veil  clad chilling  breeze rippled along.
No ****** , drunkard, rowdy, as hyenas  did draw
No clique with camera   to strip or **** did throng
An auto -driver so friendly took us  to a lodge; so
Gladly with son Sudev  we enjoyed Dassara song .
          
Now, in every city , I fancy , Sahasralinga’s attacks
From Bars with bars such barbarians may pounce
As executive dread  such law-breakers to  punish.
Political aspirants  languid sit in and pronounce
In Parliament to protect  the culprits  from barracks
Deceiving  democrats  and putting them in anguish.
======================================
Note: Prema: name of wife; Sudev: name of baby(son). Sahasralinga: nickname of Indra /Devendra.(King of Devas who live in luxury. Parliament: the legislative building. Mysore: the city in  Karnataka,India former capital of Mysore kings. Dassara:a  state festival in Karnataka,
==========================================
John Mahoney May 2012
1
we ran outside
          gathering the hailstones

before they could return
        
to rain

2
spring thunder storms
        refreshed the

runoff ponds
        
the spring peepers
        chorus chirps


3
soon, to be Indra, Lord of Heaven,
        the God of War as well as Storms and Rainfall,
starter of war

a war which shall engulf
     the planet and

        perish all

4
in solid,
ice
       which shall melt

and drown the littoral lands
lands peopled in the
        billions
and so shall follow
disease plague typhus dysentery
death
         in its many shapes and sizes

5
in drops
       flows from your eye


6
according to religion
        holy water
I fell short of matching all of the stars in space with the raindrops that made its way to Earth
Instead, I matched the stars in your eyes with the old pain's last breath and otherworldly love's first
The clouds have opened back up for business, booming thunder and zooming lightning
Somewhere there, the flash of your smile
The beat of your heart
The coolness of your waters that quench my thirst for you

It's natural to look at nature au naturale
Like Italians and Nigerians talking with hands as expressive as Deaf lovers relay romantic verses
Clear, nimble fingers that massage my soul within the cumulonimbus and nimbostratus
Fueling, flooding, fostering the gods' apparatus


You
The final form of unfinished paintings
Give birth to worthwhile wishful thinking
On my mind like taxes and teacher's lesson plans
A soft brush adjusting to the sky's new hues kissed like ones we've missed or knew
A masterpiece in pieces of Vishnu's vision for when he returns to look for Lakshmi
Hopefully time will not be Shiva to end this for me

How does it feel to be adored by Indra, when showers descend and drench the deepest ditches to force creation of drawbridges for those dire to cross your path again?

- Ifeanyi N. Okoro II © 2021
There is no forgetting.
Guy Random Oct 2010
Sometimes a pleasant shower and sometimes show her power;

Up to the expectation of someone or becoming a curse for someone;

Many feelings many reactions for the same drops by the same people;

Ask a trader whose skin pores are dry after a long time, how happy he is?

Ask a farmer who watered his young grains last night, where his smile is?




How can be you so unexpected so partial, to give joy and sorrow;

When the cold breeze blow sprinkling the droplets of water;

Lady of the house standing by the window letting her hair go;

With a dancing heart like a peacock, wishing to get dissolve in air like sugar in water;

But what about those droplets which became bullets for a Fishermans cottage;




Oh! Lord Indra are you unaware from the pain and vain of earth;

Sitting in nirvana are your blessings forgotten to be at right time;

Why there are floods and drought faces of yours;

Why can’t you be always symbol of joy and satisfaction?

Joy that a child feels in facing towards raining sky;




Rain oh! Rain don’t make us wait, is this our fate?

Questions sweated bodies looking towards the sky;

Sun overhead, shining mercilessly, extracting water of earth;

Farmer sitting with bending knees can’t even spot a single cloud;

Lands and roads are as dry as faces of people, asking the same question;




All hells and heavens reside here only;

Goods and bads, joys and sorrows, gifts and penalties;

Nothing is in hand of anyone, none can stand against divine powers;

Good and evil happens because god wanted them to happen;

It’s all written somewhere, by someone, for everyone, "MAKTUB"
(c) goyal.madhav@gmail.com
This poem is one of my favorite. please do acknowledge with your perfect comments.
http://www.blogger.com/profile/05955009719386496175
POSSIBLE Mar 2016
The paradox of eros mixed with the half-smiling
severe practice of self-discipline of avoiding all forms of indulgence...

Tandava, like the corner of the triangle is undoing the center
Rather burn it all and begin anew then save the system manifesting through this

relationship of : Form and Action
Announcing the difference between desire and duty

Kama and Dharmma,
based in Samsara,
ascension through action-based
relinquished like Karma

But Is he really an Ascetic….  
Why then does Siva enter the forest naked with a ***** *****?

Is he really an ******…..
Why then did Siva set fire to kama, indigo weapon, third eye flame?

or was it the other gods that sent him to blame...

Without problems, the contradictory roles seen as whole
in the face of the Holy howling storms, rudra, indra seen in forms

Meditative, bubbling passion sitting still

sacred Dharmma and unattached passion
relates to his skin blue, from that one time
he drank the demon poison to keep his kin coo’

Gangadhara the river was born of your thoughts
running steadily like the state of the freedom

you tantricly embody
Siva is wild and unpredictable....

like an angry, sentient banana
holding up a bank
with an exploding credit card.
Apollonian Oct 2012
Indra's wrath descended on Earth.
mighty thunder wrecked the skies
while scary lightning gave onlookers the creeps
it rained from above and chocolate ran in the streets.
Onoma Mar 2019
love woke--

and broke into

dawn.

walking barefoot

on grass, trampling the

rising stadium-distillates

of dewy beads.

sparks to her heels, many-winged

as leafs to a tree.

Indra's ****** mistress,

recalcitrant glory

hound.
Perig3e Apr 2012
Mass, weight, inertial potential
universally networking
all
into Indra's
bejeweled net.
stéphane noir Jul 2018
you could travel to india.
you could hop on a plane
and end up something like
10,000 miles away from here
in the middle of the rain forest
overlooking a beautiful waterfall,
the mist kissing your cheeks just
the perfect amount to remind you
that you're loved by Mother Earth.
you could do that. sure, you could do that.

or you could dig a really big hole,
i'm talking about a massive hole
that you could start to climb down in
and work towards reaching the center of the earth,
running into all sorts of mythical creatures:
demons and demigods, demogorgons and dugtrio.
you could get way way deep down there
and find that in the center of it all is
Indra's net, and all of a sudden
everything in the universe makes sense.
and it would make sense. and you'd be right.

or you could realize it all
right here and right now.
you could understand that
going anywhere out there
really doesn't take you anywhere.
you could see that by going anywhere
you prove that you don't quite understand
the point of what you are doing.
you're putting lipstick on a pig.
you're restating the directions
instead of just following them.
"Bake the cake at 450 for 10 minutes" becomes
"Cook the pastry one degree above 449 for 600 seconds."
the truth is that you've got every right to do that.
it's just that one way or another
you don't eat unless the cake gets baked,
and it doesn't matter how many ways you read the instructions,
you've still gotta put it in the oven and wait.
but here, let me preheat that for you...
Jordan Gee May 2022
I grew up along a gravel road
in a refitted freight house once owned by a slate mining outfit
my backyard was a rolling sprawl of giant scrap-heaps made
of spent
or unusable slate
some slabs were as big as a tool shed;
mossy promontories jabbing and jutting like dull honey- badger quills
poking out of the hills
as they sprawled in their
heaps and their heaves
and their gullies.
it was a regular shangri la for a couple young boys born in the early to mid 80s
our own private wilderness;
adolescent paradise.
sometimes I would look up from my backyard to
the tops of those slate hills and
I would see my friend Joe.
he  was older than i was and I looked up to him and
I craned my neck
looking up to him then
standing at the summit of a slate hill,
hands on his hips
perched and
hiding behind his silhouette-
the Northampton County Sun setting on behind him
blood orange scarlet and
purple gray blue were the colors of those feelings back then.
time ticked on
the way time does.
my parents got a divorce and I moved across town
there were no slate hills in that backyard
and the slate company chain linked all the hills that remained
and so there stood
a fence between me
and the wonderland I once knew.
Joe died unexpectedly some years later in  
some obscure forest of
one of the Virginias
together we nurtured some regrets suspended in between our
childhood and those
terminal woods.
together we held some memories like beads strung along a strand of silk
translucent pearls like drops of dew
condensing
out there somewhere on the
eternal web of the akasha
unknown to even Indra
unknown to all but us.
couldn’t hold on any longer
had to let it go.  

my brother gave me a pencil cactus
it seemed to flourish in my care
I had been neglecting my own needs for years
not sure I knew what my needs even were
but that cactus needed water and light
and this much i knew
and this much i provided.
it turned a red color down near the bottom of the stalk -
looked it up on google;
some kind of pencil cactus rite of passage.
after the reddening
it becomes then the stick of fire.
we were kicking up dust
over all the trails
fading on behind us
we acted like it was eyes forward only…
towns I used to know, sinking without blinking
absorbed in the horizon on behind me.
I acted like I couldn’t take my eyes off the rear view.
we pulled up and parked on
another
orange
lane
me and my stick of fire.
we landed in a
townhouse -
plenty of legroom
even had central air.
I put the cactus under a window
on the second story
didn’t think about the air vent on the floor
blowin all that dry air
and my stick of fire
withered and wrinkled up
and it shrank and shriveled
I couldn’t bring it back
and i tried
but i
had to let it go.

a giant scooped me in his hands
he was massive
40 feet tall
the war horns blew in the distance when he walked.
he
cocked back his hand and tossed me
through the air
on over the horizon
i was surfing the high skies
on thermals and the slip
streams of vultures
and peregrine falcons-
all of us then dive bombing
all the skinwalkers
like a 2 dimensional love spiral made of
peaks and valleys
and deep trenches swimming in the waters of the
mystic arts….
I held the sun in my hand for exactly one moment
but i blinked and turned
back into a clanging cymbal
a vessel of divine prophecy
going on babbling in tongues.
now a raptor eats my liver every day at noon.
I heard the sun rising in my hands for only just a moment
it was warm and held me in a present bulb of space
I breathed it in
and held it
before I had to let it go.

the architecture of
the Wyoming Valley downtowns
are like frozen songs
crumbling into puddles in a *** hole.
the steam engines and the breakers
are empty skeletons
and dry leaves.
weasels and other vermin making homes inside of holes
the soul was laid off in the vacancy
conflagrations once able to burn down entire cities
at the top of golden arche, and
now the place smells like the smothered ashes of a
single
dwindling
ember .
I yearn for a smooth good-bye
you go ahead and talk and then i’ll go-
yet i ****** up another one
open throats and
another
wire barb in the
neocortex…
I had high hopes
but I had to let it go.

I had high expectations of an early grave
“here lies such and such”
stiff in the long stillness like a possum caught inside a headlight
what a relief that would of been in the brimstone of my twenties
but the roosters kept on crowing
the morning sun kept rising
shining
death away
the big sleep was a false hope
had to let it go.

By Jordan Gee
Had to let it go
Onoma Jan 2019
her arms flew

open in a graduation

of space.

as Indra's Net of Jewels

streamed the spectrum

across her intricate surges

of henna.
Dan McGowan Jun 2015
melancholy wind
moans off the hilltop
grass responds in rhythm
clouds wheel across the landscape
leaving figment message
along the ground
bring visions to mind
which aren’t even mine
change unlike time
moves back and forward
the myth of now
shapes history past
fates arise in retrospect
regret is futures toil
chaotic blows the sand
when scene inside the storm
remove yourself
to see yourself
the patterns that are borne
the flow and ebb
that has no care
to minuscule endeavors
yet we knit and purl
at Indra's net
unconscious to
the state of grace
to which we aim
unerring
Strange occurrence when looking at the sky
Joanna Oz Jun 2015
haggard hare hopping haphazardly through the haze high off hypocrisy and hilarity - hunched hyena cackling to hit the heights of his hands
miss mary mac mac mac, all dressed in black liquid lining the white of glistening eyes that encircle pooling pupils pointed with poisonous precision at their pulsing partner.
pass me your excuses,
I've grown starving hungry and stark-raving mad.
pin the knife on my back and call me lover, you liar,
I'll lean into your dagger and sing back with laughter.
misdirected malicious intent positioned on the bull's eye of your chest,
sink another three arrows into the target and dance round the corpse in victory with shaky knees,
sprinkling suspicion onto sapling trees stunting growth in both directions,
suspended air in leaves swings over my early grave graven with images of Indra.
stave off sympathy with a tall glass of cyanide,
sinister smirk slinks onto your face through the fissure cracked at the cornered sides of the mouth.
leisurely lies are boiling over the brim spilling tar onto the floor,
curdling to mold
decompose the muffled mystery
muttered by dubbed-over lips -
can you decode the silent spaces to glimpse
the ugly truth?
Prabhu Iyer Oct 2017
Four of them thirteen times lashed this land
and three; As the skies wept over
our sullied homes, heart rending in Indra's roar,
teary eyed, wearily waited these desolate gates:
Where the cove that shelters you in rain?
Whiplash on our backs, the mid-season
Mantharas, we who sent jasmine Janaki's feet
to the thorn-laden paths of the jungles deep,
where dwell the soul-snatchers vile;
By the fires of the winter, storms raged,
when word came of her loss;
As the quarters wailed thumping their chests;
Was this why we brought forth the Sesha down,
to keep vigils under the wind's unending flutter?
Folorn with every leaf falling into the Sarayu,
shrunk now to a stream in the burning pangs
of this earth for the touch of your feet,
this holy night, when we await you
with rows of lamps, that now swells in spate:
prince of our hearts, woe begot for all times,
that we sent you to the bush on the night
of your ascension. Now the heavens hymn
bursting forth in joy, that you are with us,
withered, fatherless this Raghu realm!
another Diwali poem - greetings to all on the festival of lights!
Caro Mar 2016
The wonderful, vivid mystery of the night
Wants us to love it. The blackbird singing
In the shimmering sigh of evening
Doesn't know the prisons we built
When we set ourselves apart from the clouds
And the dew and the thundering rivers.

If she does, she sings all the same.
The earth goes on, falling in love with the sky
Day after day, over and over again,
Inviting us into the hope of each new sunrise.

The ancient trees whisper their stories
Of Brahma's great eye opening and closing,
Of Indra's jewels glittering away in some
Giant, starry web, and it's a gift, all of it,
Held together by threads of breath and light.

Even if it is all you can do
To breathe, to be, among all this:
The light will find you, dear one, and
You are the opposite of alone.
Third Eye Candy Sep 2017
i was disconnected from your umbrella,
as we strolled
like organist thumbs akimbo
over octaves of impenetrable silences
that lay as shells at our feet, unperturbed.
your free hand, bound to mine.
enslaved to the pendulum
of our quietous
tandem.

we note the long shadows swaying in the corona of emerging contrasts... we go arm in arm now...inhaling the fumes
of our unspoken truce. reveling in the sanctity of our bond
without losing a thread in our poncho
to a snag in the deluge.... or raindrop teeth.

we continue in our way.
conjoined in our congenial orbits.
disrobed from the
inside-out.
two columns of mute serenity...
stalled where the bridge
and the railing; conspire to frame the stream below
with the moment of our pregnant
pause.
as seen from ground zero in a cataract
of awe and epiphany.

the mist from stones dashing about like trout
draping our skin in flecks of Indra and glass spider eyes
laughing at all our jokes, before the punchline
finds your Abbot
to Costello.

we are drenched in a thousand specks of mirror.
with tide pools in our crows'feet... and all
the continuum of glory...

the unvarnished fathoms of our symbiosis
and the dignity of our invulnerable
Haj to the Mecca of our Peace.

II

i was disconnected from your umbrella
as you never believed in -
having one.

so i embrace precipitation
with all the ****** delight
of a pagan in the company
of His oracle.

your antlers
shedding skin
and divine.

my spirit
dwelling
in a
jar

full of fireflies.
for true.
anilkumar parat Jul 2021
I lay sleepless again last night,
listening to the silence of the falling rain.
It was a still, steady downpour
devoid of all fire or fury,
drained of every emotion,
as if the heavens cared no more
for me or my long-dead dreams.

No Zeus, no Indra
unleashed terror,
the clouds wrestled
but made no thunder
the heavy dark sky
just sobbed silently
like a poorly paid mourner.

And yet somehow,
even those false tears
seeped down deep
way below the humus,
soaking what lay interred,
long forgotten.

When the day dawned
and the sky smiled,
I saw the magic
of fresh rain lilies,
thousands of them,
dancing in the breeze.

On their pink cheeks,
I saw yesterday's tears.

— The End —