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Nonsense Poet Nov 2017
Into all this absurdism
I find myself wondering
Why I´m trying to understand
The non-existence of everything?

Watching some clouds
Empty spaces
By the light of the moon
Writing nonsense words

Mindfuck mind
Wake up and make a peep
Drop words between the lines
Why am I still here?

Strange ideas in my head
Writing my blues
Nice ride above us
Still showing more clues

Taking a walk on my deep side
Enjoying this ride
Psychedelic intercessions
Still open my mind wide

Nothing is enough
I can´t decide
Feelings and lines rough
What I wanna write

Looking for the meaning of nothing
Tasting more wine
Am I losing my senses?
It is Braking my mind

Seeking for a spiritual meaning
Waiting for sign of divine
Seeing my mind shining
Lost and blind

Falling in the middle of words
Deeply vibrant sense
Meaning of nothing
Suspension without suspense

Height intense
Verses are meaningless
Looking for the meaning of nothing
Again it makes a little zero sense
Maya Oct 2018
Rue thy feeble fate.
Fear the day when thine own eyes
Fail to see beyond thy hand.
Requiem for the rest-easies such as Thyself shall not come as welcome
Praise, but as fire and brimstone,
Blood from the grimy grindstones of
The weary working, ready to rise
And crush all unworthy opposition
With their hilts of red-hot rage,
Raising swords of liberty to the heavens and cutting down the opression that has stilted their air.

Weep for this is thy fate:
Thy death means justice for those who Have been defeated countless times,
Under a blooming, burning sky defeats Pile up like stars, simmering, waiting to Become supernovas and take every puny Universe down in their own glorious Descent, like
Icarus to the sun, a sweeter fall could not Exist on this lonely planet,
Into the unforgiving waters of victory.

Justice for those angry folk who by merit Have earned their own place, not by Some system that hands it to them, but By grit and toil alone,
By the fierce madness that is
Existing and not completely
Giving in to the ruin of being human, Following the words that
A wiser man than I spoke, that life is Struggle, that the only constant in this Life is the pain that all of us try to ignore In the futile attempt to block out the Tragedies that haunt us daily.

Face thy fears, coward.
Thou miserable wretch can't look thyself In the mirror, but can claim that we as a Species have hope for peace on Earth and Goodwill for all.
What dost thou know of goodwill? When didst thou give a single moment of thought to the happiness of anyone but thyself and thine selfish  avaricious interests?
Thou shan't claim to know what is holy and just, yet scourge the very pious people that thou imitates; thou shan't slaughter the devout on a temple whose bricks are molded from hypocrisy and deceit.

Rue thy feeble fate,
Because thou deserveth every blow, every cry of mockery, every disgusted eye and every hideous pitiful moan that thy gravestone will inspire, and even Dante himself could not have imagined the flaming of the hellish unredeeming pyre that will be thy afterlife;
rue thy fate for no morals, no intercessions, no pleas or entreaties to be spared from the filth and maggotry that thou hast built thy very house upon canst save thee now.
please correct me if my grammar is wrong, dramatic effect called for dramatic language, and modern tongue has lost the drama that is thine, thee, thou, etc.
Reflective intercessions  
With my Rabbi teaching me lessons.
Thinking about my undeserved blessings
How at times I stumble
And is it not humble .
When I think my living  is impressive
Ponder my past push play in my perspective
How can I see a mirror and just be partially reflective.
Guess its the fact that I see my body and think I have grown.
I should look into my optics..
The windows to my soul.
There are only two options
Serve God or Sheol
Deep down I know..
Life and death.
The truth is real don't suppress it
Now check the lyrical expression..
Satan is waiting
Anxiously anticipating
For me to fall he loves corrupting Gods creation..
He wants me big headed feeling myself like *******
While he eating my soul, mastication
But to Jesus my life shows dedication
Walking with God I don't identify with procrastination..
Yet time  passes...
And how do I hold God close..
Attacked by worldly passions
Time is hand and hand with deaths approach..
Control fate like when we crush crawling a roach
Its cool to be a man's man
But if Christ was one, would there have been holes in his hands
Cause clearly it was in line with Gods plan..
Holding on to what is cool its like holding on to sand ....
Pointless ...
Nevertheless..
I am giving it my best...
Reflective moments only partial when I am looking at flesh
God is using me
Satan wants to abuse me..
Entice me with demonic opportunities
Like have *** with that chick with the big *****...
Challenges but I am not stupid
No I am not stooping
To a level below Gods standard
Reflective to see if I'm walking in Gods planning
A word.
Just one.
Repeating.
My vision blurring.
Blinking fast.
A warmth tingling across my skin.

A voice.
Not mine.
Repeating.
My head hazy.
Confusion.
But feel a clear change.

No more.
Same old.
Repeating.
Do as I say.
Speak up.
Be who I promised.
We rip through bulletproof vest
Expose meat on your chest
Curved like a crest since my adolescent
I was made for the battle snappin' rattles herd em in like cattles death to enemies who tattle?
My wordsmith be sharper than a barber blade sliced then fade this is a takeway
Like tom hanks they the get the cast away
Casket I means on display so bump the negativity
When me and Mac come through ya know how we do
Rip through vocals and spinal chords
Mortal combat bloat em like snorlax stuff em like kotex give em a klennex
Cuz they bleeding from they neck
Like an attack from Black Dracula
Rhymes spectacular connect with my vernacular
I be the rappin' consular eat em up like jentacular
braille em like macular
Once the ******* rhymes they embrace saccular
Knock amateurs yo Mac diesel we too ******* for em
Its the aeon of seclorum rhyming in foursomes me myself and I and the universe connectin' durums
Sound the drums the wars is coming techs is humming you can see the pain dumped in
Hearts exposed from sin tacklin' the uncontrollable djinn'
Huh I was made from within
A spiritual divine giving cursed inside a blessing
Flash minds like a bang from a Smith and Wesson
Hope these critics learning they lesson
Im a king with the five point stetson
Turn fakes emcees into a depression
Causing aggression make em change directions
Persona skills pursuing pressing with my intellectual weapons
Takin' souls captive addendum to my collection it was destined
I give em mercy once began intercessions
Whoaaaa!!!
Sufficient for the day is the Lord’s grace,
although the day has troubles of its own;
remain standing on the foundation of faith,
for the secret… is going before God’s throne.

Daily measures of mercies and love are available,
since Christ our advocate is making intercessions
that lift us up – for when we eventually fall down,
as the result of our sinful transgressions.

Sufficient for the day is the Lord’s joy,
although the day has troubles of its own;
God’s love for us has been made evident,
seeing the Son’s Salvation has been made known.

With a new day, stillness may certainly come;
unite your voice with eternity’s songs.
Become comfortable now for giving God praise,
in preparation of joining the heavenly throng.

Sufficient for the day is the Lord’s strength,
although the day has troubles of its own;
so lift us up after we fall again, as we realize…
that Your grace and peace has been already sown.


Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Matt 6:34

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Sufficient for the day is the Lord’s grace,
although the day has troubles of its own;
remain standing on the foundation of faith,
for the secret… is going before God’s throne.

Daily measures of mercies and love are available,
since Christ our advocate is making intercessions
that lift us up – for when we eventually fall down,
as the result of our sinful transgressions.

Sufficient for the day is the Lord’s joy,
although the day has troubles of its own;
God’s love for us has been made evident,
seeing the Son’s Salvation has been made known.

With a new day, stillness may certainly come;
unite your voice with eternity’s songs.
Become comfortable now for giving God praise,
in preparation of joining the heavenly throng.

Sufficient for the day is the Lord’s strength,
although the day has troubles of its own;
so lift us up after we fall again, as we realize…
that Your grace and peace has been already sown.



Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Matt 6:34

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
"Vernarthiano and well-wisher name leads me to you in temporary fissure and tolondro, abjuring virginity in my maiden legion delivered in barbarism, and in blood betrothed for those who more in the finesse prolactin emulsion is renewed as a teenager, opening spaces to bring depressions of inheritance, for whom or those who found hieratic parents and children here in the disputed ****** that nests their nature.

Escaping from the beast and the libido of the criminal patron of the dynasty, which continues to flow senile gold through the scattered veins of beasts that hunt spoil, falling in love with the young and their commiseration. I swiftly attracted the henchmen who bleed before the door of the corporal and fateful destiny, opening in Hellenicidal impostor blood of the Holy Land, and in contradiction by Maccabees with immobilized blindfolded eyes, intimating the extreme virginity of a quasi Sibyl maiden, grasped in the tweezers. Of Seleuco, expired in the dark chamber of Wonthelimar, and in ardent desires that sever brains in the darkness of the cavern of Chauvet bilocated in the roadstead of Skalá. Vernarth I have come to you as a double birth, moaning descendants of the helots, phrases that found no excuses that salutely leave compassionate, like Antiochus who exhorted me to go to your solemn Investiture of the Himation. Ad mostem festinamum Eurydice said that she sang to me romantic atolls from the balcony of nowhere, unrequited I was consumed with the love that flowed through the vena cava of the sufferer in Apollo. Ezpatkul looked at the koelum or demiurge sky in his epiphany, summoning your Gerakis to station themselves near Petrobus, entrenching me tightly in the clutches of the Ibic Rings to be referred to your luminary by the seat of Leros.

My parents by the name of Demetrio and Fila brought me to Roshus on the Perian coast of Macedonia, where I was given as a gift at the regent's wedding. I am Stratony of Macedonia, the daughter of Strategy of Syria, my mother. It is I when writing this epistle, which in turn had a prosperous one, but in posterity when my consent was distanced from the same tenor, my mother was solicitously delegated to Seleucus and then to my father Antiochus. Then I shunned Demetrius II, due to his extra union with Phtia, Daughter of Olympia II of Epirus. It was enough that a link in this Seleucid genealogy was lost in the open from a sick dynasty and successions, so that they appear on the henbane embankment, and go back from Lambdas and Epsilons of consanguineous matings, betting principalities and fratricidal blood, cursing themselves in campaigns since the same that is sheltered in mutes and feelings in Judah by Olympian torments, and immortal Gods shrouding fleeting perishable itineraries of life to the tempting mayor of the puppets, and of the mortal reigns without disposition rattling in Samothrace libido, of hundreds superior, and all the enlightened contents of a captive genealogical of semi-gods trying to equalize.


Beloved Vernarthiano on Venus, anxieties made me fly to the sound of the souls of Trouvere, committing crimes in my larnax, for tears that have spread one spring afternoon, which I only saw in contained affections, being able to walk through Roshus with my mother, in the discharge of essences saturated that truncate release in the Epsilon hopper. Subtending lines and diameters towards the ends of the curved arch or broken lines, being able to refer to the circumferential buttress between the sides of the angle of my asthmatic regret…! When I removed my hand from this obituary, I saw that The Hague reigned at its lowest point, which made the ink pinch that made me a princess out of her lines, and characters that were molded in such proactive and literal numbers. Beautiful and charitable is the beautiful donna that is born flowered for nuptials of the angelic white indigo "Deus Meus Captivus", in your purpose I could be Stratonice regent of wandering honoring through the palatial corridors of my mother evading intentional and reasons of victory to our good honor, and of the audited and emphasized names of "Victorious Armies" in their real meaning in our patronymic, after the victory of Ipsos. As Argeadas, the king yielded to the prince, what his subjects receive from replicated dynasties, in retreats and shallow swells of temperament, linking liras between liras of Corinth and patronizing condescension in the dominions of Persia.

Much more than an umpteenth outrage in the bands of tolerance and knowledge, I was able to discount the years to come. Passed through our unconfessed lineage, reaching our sarcophagi in the good news by raising the frame, and lifting my mother in your tragedy by three that are tripled, knowing that they allude to Saint John the Apostle, over the loafers who drool in scabs stepdaughters of party mouths, and monarchical slaps that have united us behind the scenes, and in the interlocking followed by re continued guarantees of worship, pro-Seleuchism or Antiochism vanished in buried Diadoco briefs, adjacent to the ibid in mega nuptials or Olympic descendants, and in the relatives of the Orphism-transgenerational surrogate! Vernarth give me a taste of the well, I require a new territorial ally in your quilts to new heads branded in his autumnal Hegemon.

In the attempt to take out a dagger and put it in the night watchman, I was already amazed at the reading of the fluttering of the Gerakis, who threw the tantrum of other Gerakis with the souls of Trouvere, kidnapping half of my letter that had cut for you Vernarth with chlorinated tears of solid, towards the swallowing of the airones that intimated in bastardized allegories, containing intoxication and unsheathed unison echoes of the bronze settled in the thundering law, making the Gerakis and the Trouveres fall together in some Mycenaean jars of wine. Anger provided beds of each one for manly acts in the Patmian Olympic allegory, denying the reactions of those who become the purveyor of the riches of tragedy, in immaterial environments that discuss not having it if they only run aground in logical narratives of Demosthenes' contented spoiled bozo. Smooth sites wound me with poisonous openings on the campaign pistils and on the Áspis Koilé shields, being worth confusing against the hives of the queen mother and her drone, tolerating and yielding to her heir, with foolish demeanor in caring for him and inheriting him a procreated barbarian reign.

Now we are barbarian slaves and heirs, in unresolved conflicts of parents deprived of a loving life, by progeny that ennoble crusades that stone patrimonial alliances for consanguineous alliances that should never have prospered in the bitter toast of Stratonice worried in her borne sarcophagus, avunculated in true pro lactic godmother of the son of a nascent Zeus. We are all divided as a lineage; there is nowhere to gather more dismembered successors of Macedonian polytheists, after central efforts to reign without a crown. The same of the love that reigns without meaning, imparted from the decadent effort that worsens to resurrect the aristocracy that lies of grubs,  and the sacrosanct helminth in our Alexander the Great, preceding intercessions of the Royal Marriageable Dynasties before your most illustrious, in the new kingdom of the Lord that does not he sees himself enthroned in the black trepidations of our ill-managed partitions, by humors that flow from the couplings and bandages of who is said to be the abbot of a Vernarthian preliminary.

Vernarth, culminated in the auspices of the complete conjecture and its subsequent grievances to request your office, in subsequent claims that induce to draw the irascible thunderbolts of those who only want to make us wake up from their apostasy, alone and insubstantial, covering muddy stores of grace, which establish walled up reigns in all honor and charm of hearing the true voice of the Mashiach, with all its solemn title being able to help all those freed from the Caucasus scene, and in the edicts that nullify memories as human beings of their castrated history.

Before your letter is read, I add Stratonice as my name is, and I am aware of his reading by uttering: “The signal field has been prophesied, it has condensed the Hegemonic energy of Alexander the Great, pointing out that the diseased body of Antiochus; my father…, is supplanted by that of the to happen all the trances and difficulties that are assumed after the hazardous departure in Babylon. Therefore it must carry every corollary prophesied in the death of my grandfather Seleucus in the hands of Ptolemy Ceraunos. Wanting to dress up the irrevocable interference that occurred in Judah by his Diadocos gangs, opting for the effect of his offspring, therefore on his spiritual stretch of residual and static energetic mass, ad libitum that will end when unleashed in his son. By now all will be consumed in the pathogenic body of Antiochus, and of the love for my mother where she was abducted, and possessed by retaliation from Alexander the Great for proven insubordinate ethical demands. "
Epistle of Stratonice
James Floss May 2019
Life is full of tedium
And disappointment
And sometimes failure

And rejection
And depression
And retrograde intercessions

A constant brings me joy
A time/space place of hope:
Strange new worlds; new episodes
Babatunde Raimi Sep 2019
Behind every human
Lies a story
A story of friendship
Love and regrets
Victories and near misses

This makes me wonder
Why some are rich
While others are poor
Why some are beautiful
Others not too beautiful

Life itself is not fair
Afterall HE hated some
And also loved some
Blessed some
And cursed others

Why did he harden his heart?
The King of th Egyptians
When He could have won
Without throwing a stone
Yes, He is that powerful!

Is the Porter a Partial Creator?
To some He gave AA
He sprinkled some with AS
While others were bestowed SS

He knew me from Creation
Yet he changed not my genotype
Why, i ask again why?

Ostracized and heartbroken
Like a victim of a deadly disease
In my heart i cry
Especially when my love left
For an Angel met yesterday
Just because i am SS

Severally, i considered ending it
Until i saw in the books
There is a he for every she
A she for every he
That it will end in praise
He made all beautiful
Just in His own time

But "Eledumare" cannot lie
He will do that which He Promised
If only you can find His words
The way i found John 10: 10
Invoked it and reminded Him
And suddenly it happened
SS turned to AA
Jehovah "Sabinus"

After sincere contrition
Relentless intercessions and meditation
I entreated his favour
Then He opened His hands
Poured me out blessings and healings
Including the one i lost
The bone of my bone

Don't give up on him
Regardless of your condition
By whatever name they call it
Which is not your portion
The Greatest Physician is here
Just let your eyes be single
He is never partial
He is too faithful to fail
For surely, it will end in praise
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2019
obsessions and confessions
       transgressions, soul sessions
                processions from possessions
                              intercessions?

— The End —