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PJ Poesy Jan 2016
Worm eats through to penetrate.
Trespasses, what ***** deeds?
What ichor is this to venerate?
How dare eat, how dare have needs?

Godly viral load unbeatable,
no t-cell left to count.
Wriggling in puddle inconceivable,
**** upon this crucified mount.

Lazarus, risen from the dead,
no dog now licks your wounds.
Lepers now banshees are instead
social workers which we swoon.

And the Roman laws and judges
continue blame, hand down sentence,
as degenerative generation smudges
out from existence, ***+ penance.

Dissected and pinned against wall,
this writhing experiment oozes.
Whilst priests and politicians naw,
compassion and AIDS funding loses.
We writhe. Yet, AIDS survives. Will any of us?
LovelyBones Jan 2015
Way back when in Bible times,
Being a ***** was like a crime.

But you'd think with today's many advances,
We'd offer more people second chances.

Today we have lepers all around.
But no one helps them stand their ground.

They come in different shapes, sizes, forms.
Black, white, yellow, orange.

Homosexuals, transgender, maybe different than you.
They're all human beings, respect them too.

Don't hate because they have darker skin, being yourself is not a sin.

Don't hate because someone is in the wrong clothes.
It's not your choice, that's just how it goes.

And remember just how lucky you are, getting married at the altar.
While maybe two women or men somewhere near.
Are living together with one great fear.

You can get married, so why can't they?
Why do opinions get in the way?

Just tell me what's wrong with accepting everyone?
Do you think war, prejudice, and tragedy's fun?

Change can be hard, but change can be good.
Make the world become what it should.
I'm not naive enought to think we'll change anything anytime soon. But if not now, when?
Klauss Ritkke collector leaves and representative of Beggars, with their 76 autumn and semi-dead body of downstroke of insect. I used to walk through its narrow streets serenades as liquid pearls, as clusters of dreams omnipotent ogres and fetishes; owners of old Avignon, iridescent moist soil marshes bringing minerals liquids Gotthard massif, ancient drains into the Rhone. Owner dreams and curses weak burst administrators of the house of God.

         August 4 in the year of our Lord 1617, when it was asset Klauss cleaning the largest stained glass, heard heated dialogues between Fraile and Gentleman, who was in another time assistant clergy? You could approach Klauss and listen more clearly their conversation, until the Friar Andrew, stammering, Raymond Bragasse demanded indulgence, or one or the other.

Fray Andrés : How many times hopefully I struggled to reform you ... Raymond!
  
'O virga ac diadema diabolus thirst ...!!
  'Oh ****** the Devil smiled ...!!

Raymond  : It is to live more question if I failed something, take me to the sulfurous emanations from Averno. But my faith lies mildewed on the seabed, sacred myth ... my truth, and my beloved Marielle ... Meanwhile,

Klauss envisaged to play the window and looked her tongue to pray for them. Fray Andrés, paced back and forth wondering what to do...?
Raymond  : There are fifteen thousand demons possessing my body ... fifteen thousand demons to attack the sacred mystery of the Holy Rosary ...!                

Fray andrés : Oh great cause ... How I have to ****** your soul whose darkness of flashed light ...!?

Raymond  : Marielle was my light, my Eve Edenic, admirable land. Now, it's my I spell, my blindness or my constant bleed sharp, not knowing where to elapse...?

         ...To a memory that night, that dismal night, giving up my final vows of faith and consecration of my soul. I broke my bonds and ecclesiastical chores all by Marielle noble descendant of the Quentinnais.

            Never believe such grief in my fate I do love her, but his misfortune was to meet me. That night when I went to the edge of her house, I walked through the kitchen window. Everyone was asleep, except the albi-blue reflection of the last gasps of the deadly round of Quentinnais Mansion. I thought rescue and salvage something from those cheeks kissed by me, but their heart wiping her heart and lungs.
     It is possible to recall the last roses I took her hands.   Danced with her, next to the old hymn and lamentation of prestidigitations made by the monk, played alongside cartomancy having abolished the minute of darkness take her with her beautiful bare feet. What a pain, I could not rescue her, and snatched me death! His parents hated the mere fact of having their priest ruled by a wicked heart, so I turned to the pagans and dark gods to heal Marielle, and his heart transplant it for mine.
              
Since that day, I'm still burning in hell polisatanic to take little breath of kindness and seize transparent liquid plaguing their existence and serene Diadem metal to learn that his friend possessed by the devil fall into any infection endemic evil ...; endemic of his love, crossed himself when he saw that turned into a horrible one.

Humble as leaves in the garden became the Bible leaves torn from the bound fillings. Saints lepers shriveled down her columns. Heaven proclaimed hemorrhages and wind festering stinking gases, which in the sky sprouted in clusters clots on the Papal Household.

          Fray Andrew threw the rosary on the neck of the possessed, and asked the Demons who feared more ...?. A question answered this question Demons, which fell shrieking vertical down the aisle ... and.... fell, rose!

              
       Klauss fell to the ground in horror, and the demons not to respond, fell into tears and regret shaped so plaintive and poignant, many dark beings holed up in fixtures and embankments, they began to mourn moved by natural compassion ... and saying pained voice by the mouth of the possessed...:

...Andrés, Andrew ... ... have mercy on us!
              
Meanwhile, Klauss ran away screaming the place ... could be heard in the distance ... Marielle ... have mercy on us!

         Sparkling lights fell on the dome, covered with orange and creamy luzbels horror. Apertures fulminations betrayed contained emancipate the shackled muses leaping vacuum; discouraging reddening chinks bad ..., saturating every form, every place, and every interlocutory benign breeze.
Most animals vomited on the walls; carbonated some ****** walls and curdling the soul of the people. Other remains of vomiting sulphurous radiated papal house, initialing the firing squad diabolical image of Raymond and Fray Andrés; they are swallowed by the Cancerbero. So flayed bats were issued by the campanile, mistaking the red sunset in penitence with blood dripping thick alleged by the Buttress and reach a churchyard to embryo.
            
Got home, tightly closed the latch, feeling strangely his wife Danianne; which saw his face isolation. Then he went to his bedroom and closed the curtains, warning yellow lights in progressive outlook towards a corner of the mirror. Then he lay down on the bed and prayed for himself and others ... "Today, when I walked by my office and my prayer my clothes pilgrim incense drove away my voice ... as if Fray Andrés, still whispering my ears..."

I close my eyes listening to litanies and prayers ...
         O ****** by virtue of your rosary, directs these enemies of mankind to respond to my question...!
                
Klauss saw the exorcism using the mirror. He made a prayer, came a radiant ears, nose and mouth of the possessed flame. Fire flowed like laba of the Holy Cross, which destroyed the wicked and the most worthy wisdom worked against the satanic specter fire and hot rosary fell on the hot heads Fraile and Raymond. It was what translated his shadow in her room.

         Klauss Rittke, returning the next day moistened his clothes by the dense fog that covered the sacred place, then when picking up     leaves plucked Bible found a Diadem with an initial contained a    backwards W, whose image pointed to Marielle triumphing evil. He   tried to leave but nothing left pulled, so refugee took the   diamond and warily Diadem led her pocket.                                                          ­                          

Little bit could do that dark and rainy day, as an insurrectionary devotion that day begged her angelic singing to heaven; that enveloped the sky in order to transport to the cemetery to sleep next to their parents.  Diadem virtue to useful lives and reigns in the footsteps passerby Baal runaway spirits. All with their malodorous footsteps, they vomited and flying in higher meridians, like the giddy exorcism in the house of the universal Shepherd.
           The same day, August 5, 1617, Klauss arrived tired with the diadem cast in her hand. Thus, ceased to exist and its long sleep would walk with his white robe and crown throw with his eyes came from the Sea blankets the oceanographic serpentuous within Marielle, whose hairnets they are containing its essence. His agony lasted three days, and around Avignon no who could wear mourning. His children and wife lost their voice to utter.

Go in peace Benedict Klauss...!
KLAUSS RITTKE FROM EXORCISM -  THE ******  PURE LOVE IN BETWEEN RAYMOND  BRAGASSE  AND  MARIELLE QUENTINNAIS,

CREATED BY JOSE LUIS CARREÑO TRONCOSO - CHILE / SOUTH AMERICA
SøułSurvivør Jun 2016
God is very generous
He gives to those who seek
He resists the proud & arrogant
And undergirds the meek
He puts to shame the strong of mind
Gives wisdom to the weak

God is very merciful
He helps the poor & lowly
But He is not like Santa Claus
He will give, but slowly
He will not prosper greediness
For God is pure & holy

God is very fair & just
He protects downtrodden
He will not help the vengeful man
Who wants to **** and plots them
He will repay the evil one
For wickedness he's brought them!

God is of a lowly heart
He came to earth a slave
To His Father's every wish
To be murdered by the knave
Innocent of everything
They put Him in the grave

God is Truth & Righteousness
He won't bend to our whim
He won't wink his eyes for wickedness
Or rubber-stamp our sin
He helps those who want to change
And give them strength to win

For God is strong and mighty
He's not for the high-born
Three lepers ran off multitudes
He defeats who He has sworn
He gave David polished stones
To slay the Philistine

God  is patiently in love
With those of slower pace
He lets them fall, then picks them up
He does not turn His face
Does not regard color or creed
Adores the human race
He suffered the crown of THORNS
He came to share His Grace

God is the total Ruler
The holy angels sing
Around His throne and scepter
On their glorious wings
He's due praise & honor

For HE is our KING!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 6/24/2016
I can't say enough about our God. Father El Elyon. Son Yeshua, Jesus Christ. The Water of Life, the Holy Spirit. The Three are One!

There are many great mysteries about God. His thoughts are not our thoughts. His ways are not our ways. DO NOT JUDGE GOD! You have no way to do so with a three and a half pound fallen brain! He is so far beyond anything we can possibly imagine. And for those who love Him He will give Destiny such as never before seen, heard, or conceived by anybody on this planet. We are in a testing ground. Sides are being taken and lines are being drawn. Which side will you be on?

-
Dre G Nov 2014
she doesn't seem to have
time for a sceptic like you, the
stomach for a shot like you,
respect for anyone who dresses
acts or howls like you do at the
darkness. for her the darkness is a
hiding place, not everyone can see
down here. for her, intelligence and in
tegrity are hushed while clutching a north
face who said it was ok to do so.

but jesus said forgive her.

and we're in boston so let's face
it, everyone loves a redhead. no
body notices the shards of rotting oak
creating a biohazard near her temples,
as long as the hair stays irish and that north
face matches the free candy they're
handing out uptown.

but jesus didn't wash his hands

before he ate candy. he didn't wash them
after he caressed the lepers, he held his
***** palms up to the pharisees and said
"this is what i've touched," then they told him
he better put on a north face, and secretly they
tried to read the future in his lifeline.

first grade playground, greece: rena is getting
chased again, because on this planet fat
shaming works fine if you're trying to make some
one cry. and i hopped that fence so fast, what
would jesus do? and i got her to the other side,
and i told my classmates to go away, but her skirt was
caught in the wire and they got her to cry anyway.

plus we must be lesbian lovers (why else
would i help her?) plus i'm gonna catch her fat
ness (how else could this virus be transferred?)

and jesus was a carpenter. and jesus was a jew.
and jesus ****** mary in the books that never
made it, the ones they still keep hidden at the north
face headquarters basement. and jesus saw rena

and she was so slow, but gentle. and he said "it is not
what she puts into her mouth that defileth her." and
jesus saw us eat together, with mud under our nails. and
jesus saw iscah's red tree filigree spiraling from her blank
brainwashed eyes, and he saw the north
face covering her true form, and he warned the
pharisees that her clean hands do not sanctify her,
the poison which escapes her mouth DOES defileth her
because it was born of a cardiac poison, the coat she wears
is the mark of the elders; and we shall wear what we want.

the pharisees, of course, urged him to buy a north face.
but jesus gave me these ***** palms instead, he flung them filthy
in front of the elders' faces as he commanded me to love them
as i would love myself. and i'm afraid to

but i'll try.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
I have a friend who is a surgeon a career of his decision.
Performing tonsillectomy and frequent circumcision.
Another friend who only meets with lepers lives by prostitution.
Both taking paths in life to live by their chosen best solution.
Both very different careers by choice and so many passing ships
Both surviving and living well and both taking lots of tips.
very borrowed ideas.... no doubt I am sick
Set of cave genes If you could read... pluri freedoms of the dark light of ignorance teach understand that breathe under the Naturality Natural Nature is not necessary to have an understanding heart and store on their empty heads of knowing ancient rain where wisdom possess. If dance on every grain of chickpea for each foot plant what could a plant obey; foot, Plant, and Plantation...

Resulting in kingdoms on my animals, fungi, plants, and protists, media freedom as a seed to reach our evolutionary lack of ceased hopeness...

First  Ellipsis Angle loneliness"God felt Chained"

Chained down by dragging the last link of its multiple arcane freedom in which transfigured recent swings where he collapsed with the latter being of himself whose life lies lifeless alive but lost. The latter that child not to know and deprived of nascent freedom that will never be born and come knowledge in our genome of Independence.

When the caveman thought to be a complement to the world is enslaved by the mystery of lost in himself... The born and born, never dies, that's so naive and innocent... is still full unaware of their free will, rather it is he who must re-literate and be a living part of the ancestral genome Cavernario component. Oh Heavenly Lord of the steppes I look because more of you today without having lived what you lived, as he would have played with my gaze to succor and keep you had fallen into the fangs of an animal, or you had fallen on the glacier cliff where he has separated you from your Clan Cave.

Emancipation means to be always innocent, my blood runs through yours,
I read and understand any phenomenon of deprivation exist without you lack wisdom satiate if all your generations crushed by the ignorance of falling subject will be well, me and my being I take my precognitions as a tormented child's worst nightmare before about sleeping. Sixth Papal almost, almost kneel before the creation of memorizes creation. This prerogative Lord lives Bread’s God Minor remaining....of whose iconography will not leave this fifth fraternal dimension will not come, if not more will enter the latter end of absolute solitude... and shorter than the last thousand years of Neandertal.


Cavernary Political and Ellipsis:

On a day of gentle wind and tense rain proclaiming Clan joined, they all shouted running, the ground shook and the children slept in terror... the 10 infants who were talking about the Sign from above, but the nines they crossed his arms remaining to create solidarity roof that protects the man in your imagination...
The eighth child of the clan ran quickly into the arms of his mother and she imagined how far, how far would never come... uncharacteristically who came with his brother seventh had in their hands the word of entertainment of Being, to be a plaintiff political all of braiding them together with lines enabling the hermit may decide that creation is a mass of lines of certain fashions together, everything sings like the slightest cyclamen dew on the line pointy rough fallen fungus. All arms folded on the upper porch of the Vatican Macario in Franconia, saying that many who unite in their fevered requests large modern man ceased to be autonomous when it came out of their caves and charnel pit.

Ran all she enjoyed doing that almost without knowing whether or not they fall...
Ran because of every day the sun ahead of them a lesson for a man of the future...
They are running to be released the day of his birth chained to stars of light, to carry him to his mother and father, sneaking to his brothers.

Brother worn eleventh birth to her existence as another being evolved Eukaryotic: Surely those provided beings of cell membranes rhizomes reflected in higher liberty lives purged of ectoplasm walk without a discounted subsidiary. Shakespeare in Helsingor appeared immune to a blood brother to all that limits the Draconian feel in the pinnacles drawn 700 greened steeds. From the deepest swoon in the underworld subway Helsingor, follow the prevailing souls presided over by the great ear of the hard sandcastle, stressed hard Ghosts of Stratford upon Avon.

Freedom plague spits words of pancreatic poisoned exordium, spits verses of confusion disorders without permission, without solid bass sound without liquid sea that resists mad edges followed by solid sound...
But smaller stones give priority to conjugate final sentence and noble verses Guardian
to mission how important would Liberation:

Maybe it's a synonymy of Astral Solar...
It is not Solitude, is a free nation that has its own kind prosecutor's office for even when Euthanasia closes your eyes to the astral, will run the stones of the Sea of joy believing that neither you dare if there is no healthy grass to clarify the rainy day terror.


Reverse walk creeks aggravated birds feet, walking great playful ruse.
Reverse run my comrades preparing festivity meals with chandeliers and singing lay plenary., Singing Avenue pine port Firenze, Second run subtracting minutes and hours the minute is enough for me with your face in my arms to recognize your longevity anathema times oblique faces for lip-smacking hailstones Templars.

In 1297 in northern Italy nearby rural families migrate to chalky Venice, Perugia came the exiles walked to find their independence south of the Iberian Peninsula. They were so atoned as in the echoing flutes, harps, zithers, and harpsichords field temperate; They invited the blunting of intemperate monocordio.

Golden Chariot Carrenio

The golden carriage carrying them came without a single space rather than inheritances acquired goldsmiths of ancient noble and chaste solid shine. Carrenio; the coachman wore on his left arm bracelet thousand mobile travel without stopping to drink more water and to feed their horses. After revamping its gold pieces bartered by a slave who was getting Carrenio Christians fleeing the Romans. Well, they fled as far as the plains of great earthly squandered his memory and that end of the end should come.

How am away from my land more I learn it's back to her,
There is no ground for the first time, but that which is foreign
Carrenio of Perugia and sensed that ****** was Jewish ashes,
Luther King black paste of burnt forest,
Mandela and Biko Ogre garage from Victorian Empire,
Gandhi in his humility is always put behind the Sun
to figure out the small
Tagore trashed my heart caressing the entire universe uncorrupted
Hölderlin together in the cabin waiting for his mother at Zimmerman,
That my beloved Borker forest should shine gold teeth with black resin,
Theresa of Calcutta was eaten and swallowed all diseases lepers knowing good taste proverbial dessert psalm,
Jose Miguel Carrera was more than a trench, clay bullets in each of his temples where he received
To be doubly Lonco is to be halved, lacerated by lay his head on his land, not galloping on his back throngs of wit and hope out Nazareth trembles when an F-16 diluted ***** covering landless caravans Heritage continues to lead the people killed but the mosque wall has been Fe Erecta.
Helena plenipotentiary Kowalska at Vilnius, Faustina Divine Mercy Diadema
The agonizing deprivation of millions of people with cancer in every continent of private well-being analgesic, weighed down by increased pain, almost as strong as the Master Hammered Golgotha, so it was that Joshua has cancer always to slow it down on us. Benigno whether metastasis, malignant albeit benign finance.
The death of an innocent little angel devoured by the beast remains as a fluff hairless sardine in the jaws of a shark baron.
Khalil Gibran writes that with both hands to support the reviewer behind in Bicharri and bohemian Paris,

Salvador Allende Gossens was born since he was deceived by his parents who would heal politics, would rather dig their ancestors in their brains scattered in the currency in face seal or tail of.

Frei Montalva that today has to receive the Macro Augusto Heaven their arms, their sorrows, and regrets, although his worst military executioner.

Legion is an offshoot of liquid central gray material, which defers well done becoming but not defeated, it is the decree of the divine threshold space Living or ceases to live, that failure does not exist, it is the postponement of success - success.

The Genocide September 11 in New York was a ritual, who produced was a small wrath strength of the Rotary world, as the camshaft is upset in the history of trying to make more alphabet in schools where the flag hoisting and found scholars in West and East, so they can learn more than reading of both unlettered, lip and water to possess it to write with it. The worst disaster is read with the memory that will never happen... I write my greatest need with lipstick and my greatest need I write eagerly to participate. Yesterday I passed by a boutique and buy lipsticks that are closer to the language, written with the mouth and not the hand. !

Freedom, debauchery, libration, drawer, Bookstores..! Carrenio..: he said see I'm right! Raise and educate has a great synonymy with autonomy because the ancestors wrote everything that deprived them and made them fear, but do not have to eat the autumn gives me to dress the return of spring, bread orchid, and cineraria. Hence by that inner syllabic singing hunger sated that sought sheet to sheet rid of everything until the end of the book as the encounter between night and day without considering oblivious to anything or anyone on the track window swing wind, wind seeping.


It was old Zeus or Hera of Antique,
Cavern to house geometric polyphonic, angular seeds to create fashions kiss kissed everything that any vertical plane does not fit with the closed horizon
For hands and angels, Hebrews the inner soul of every carpenter and stonemason shrunk, wash their eyes and cheeks with songs of vibration and idyllic comfort,
Everything resembled and sounded Bethlehem 2.0 deities choirs sweeping grasslands,
The similarity of this clairvoyant child is born in a cave...
Rising motherly free Soliloquy Papini sitting to the right of ruminant cattle,
So archaic that to be born is not born in a clinic mega Cristus but hundreds of kilometers and hundreds who are born with the undergirding whispers and servitude being.
Where the multi gray impetuous born star is a healthy gauze story in the present tense... this angelic child grows by Miriam washes his feet in a belligerent abolished stone. His father must wash their hands on a stone which is where measured his ecclesiastical mystical stature, stone Madonna to heal his feet where he leaves to free himself, to free us... Marble gamete fémina vault, where he sleeps without knowing whether it is due, the ***** fell from the sky.
How wise is the Wise, it makes permissible for much more than two thousand years we stone quarry wheel and wheel, homily, and blessing to not wake at night to sleep startle middle and uphill.

Me of the referent of antiquity is not me of today is polished cobble stone,
Useful weapon quarry road there and backtrack to have blisters stone and soft thoughts under my pillow soft stone as a whole.

If you're ****** private living and have a free soul choosing coexist, then you are low in the cemetery on a tombstone of heresies.

Neolithic early 4500 after Hildegard von Bingen and his entourage and prowled full and channeled, swooning in her swoon with flowers in his hands and his followers planting forests on top of Stonehenge.

Carrenio says...: you see I'm right, we coexist, I die like the worst ****** cancer and then put a tombstone Stonehenge conspire in my honor black pain prayers of Salisbury. It blooms in vibrant red rubies that detonate in chromaticity and life. The stream itself is exceeded the aquatic plant Macarenia.

Call us and civilize us, outdated as far as my tired feet though I come not ashamed to see my new tracks.

Carrenio says...; see I'm right Joshua has traces of gold from other Caterpillar shod feet. Antique everything is prescribed according to their legacy today is Lent Pro that came before it was Lent vestige Pentecost came to be a nickname of the mystery of the passion in less than a rooster crows.

Beside it is the mystery of the disappointment of stubborn demon, which helps you all carry the cross, but not the entire load. Fire and Light at dawns where the splendor born...


Genome Freedom, even today every centimeter of my witness of each component, if the basic origin of the signs of the primitive world, is that we have lost the bark of the lexicon, which does not allow us to understand the meditations to ask for something, not You need to ask something. Today genome is requesting something because thousands of people who asked for millions of years, now it's time to cater to them. They were wrapped in cloth shroud of spiritual sacredness, today cemeteries mega dance their souls leave no sleepers both much grass on their heads not yet sullied by the puppet Azrael.


Impossible not to decorate the rocks forged empires that fall into the rubble, they bring 476 d. C., a new opening Middle age freedom of travel both in history thousands of years begins a new axis Golden Carrenio’s Chariot.

Carrenio Wagon

This great colossal ship Carrenio time is a timber that holds the sky, a beam that does not faint or distended thousands a. C, and the old age of King's large musings that were forgotten. It is astride ship millennium, their history of oppression has seen in the wheel, instrument wise rolling like a wheel before 5, 000 years ago, here  We fought and prostrated to distant lands millennium after millennium him away.

Golden Chariot is the structure that freedman us to enforce a new life on earth, even the Gods prided themselves move the stars to constellations called her noble Auriga sailing in full the Universes and Cartwheel Galaxy or cart Wheel. As if to say that when the Universe and its own mythology, were visited between them inch by inch by wherever they shine.

Carrenio mask and frame used had strength, temper, and tittle. When the first libertarian squall of antiquity came closer, Rome was already small and nobles populate what is a quote, Piccola. The executioner always frightened and starts out of his own wickedness. Markos Botsaris as did in Greece, and surrounding towns Messologhi remote, they were free more than tuned in massif Arankithos high wind. He was riding to Kanti once again with the golden rider Etrestles of Kalavrita. According to the Chronicle that came from distant millennia has envisioning promote its neighbor's heroic to free Messolonghi of ****** wars. All this I saw with his own eyes Carrenio, every thousand years styling with Etrestles, cleaned their nostrils so that new breed of horses to thrive,

Avignon, in the necropolis, witnessed as Azrael was cleaning his wings Jade antipopes, another story begins... even he seeks to candela who can read this story, and who can provide it from hand to hand cutting semicolons who disclosed.


Second  Ellipsis Angle  New Era:

Ara released the ropes throwing a big ship, History makes a man is at the center of the world. Revolutions, thinking, communication, and especially vindicate man in his right-libertarian. artists with their creations flowing all over the world, mutating classic Renaissance to abstract overlook. Family appearing welfare and needs. A ramble and so many broken laws. Mankind is distracted l film and theater artist of tradition. Art now has sound and movement, then social and political revolutions are industrial that unite everyone behind the pivot deployment of social classes.


Everything evolves until we get tired of doing so. It rests and then continues. This is modern reality, we wrote about the history of events on facts that have never been told. The world has tired all the Eras, but each pause time that has happened has been recharged, nothing finished if not started again. After so many wise lawyers, clergy plunged into great towers bound books. Is evident again can not read or understand. Our realities are missing valid without knowing I close and then open another door. human and civil rights, fair wages, so excessive autocracy monarchy. Freeman can walk along the paths, even if they were trenches.

Zephyr soft murmur which clutters in the Irises by Van Gogh, the painter is the biggest star trek, called with his feet images and colors that would make his own liberty to live naturally insane. And many others Brueghel "Triumph of Death" that roam the countryside, perhaps a medieval piece of Tarskovski; Andrei Rublev in futile painters decorating steps in the fontano chignon Androniko Monastery Moscow, extinct Rublev 70 years, Tarkovsky 54.

Early ellipsis - Campo dei Fiori in Rome to see die at the stake Giordano Bruno by order of the Holy Inquisition. The irruption of the Inquisition, but their feet are touching the flowers, the seasoned cassock continues to haunt the universe of Faith Dominica Trastevere, it is seen to lectures on how to be bold with the informers and the Whistle Blower dies without shade in spring, you resist the star on the asphalt on the magical island of holiness.

Carrenio says: Come I'm right, we can not read, because the brutality of the Cosmos is manure per ton weathered in the backyard of the aristocracy. I will continue with respect and crosed in Crete. Lila Kedrova means the fear of bunk bed tied to her bed and is free in foreign lands leg. Queen insular matriarchy, she lives more than any Greek Goddess, waiting for his Adonis, to fill out honors. Win an Oscar but lost to Zorba, he loses his house but won a Tony Awards. How many women teach us that to win you have to give everything to lose his brains, and thus count as the lost number remains to be retained. Zorba whines in her arms, she moans in the arms of her husband Zeus Steve, proof of a new era. Onyx for his tomb, plate of this great tragedy.

On the evening of December 14, 1964, attended the premiere. Soul of Carrenio was with them but was denied his attendance at the banquet, finally running out and watching the glasses lips and stoles spent his neck.

                                          
          ­                      Numbered Mysterious Death
                                                  Mané

If I have to feel floe on my feet and cold in my prayers will be the Dark Glory. What is slimming rays of the day, everything smelled of silence, maybe it was Kennedy, or better was The Mané.

Closure of my glory suffers the wind...
Flowers lying silence my soul alight,
Thick square displays the song of my voice...
When they speak Quadratils one to one order their
Spirituous voice.

And the spirit singing fiber of my heart told me:
Never you say I Exist ¡ not exist because they do not exist!
Only face daily the different reflection of your body
In front of yourself with another face and another body...

I want to talk with the thought
And this same subtract my little silhouette,
Lavishes wingless bird that flies only in their theology...
That is the duty and melt with my look,
Solid colors components
Crunching the altars of heaven retaining its pale warmth of anorexia.

Yellow Glory hair good event...
If you receive yellow lights, plus I do not sing my own game here in my empty veins,
Yellow my heart...
Yellow my heart
Yellow my collective heart.

They are run by large green and sunny meadows, children who had Mane in this major milestone in its last gasp. Now she is the mother of his children; it up and them in the last temptation of the mystery of death.

Carrenio keeps rolling, the brightness offered his Golden wagon to the ground. Gold grooves ago, and looking at where it realizes that it's landmass light mud. Since he felt whispers from the confines of time he had never felt as if you were finishing your journey or the world. It raining years and years and continues because nobody mends the mysterious death Numbered.

Heaven and Earth did not hold, the bottom fell precipitously pocket Lord and denied several times uncontained. She shivered in the World and the rooster crowed several times to never be heard or the Pentagon.

He is walking and knees bent,
we embraced by the golden chariot and oxen nor held
we bent us all lying on his knees,
up shoulders not hear from where came the bad grace of his departure,
numbered all the time of complaints of how then she would come,
It is unknown who would be but brought wine in his hand on the crispy mask
We ran from side to side and nothing was real

Everything seemed to sing in the chapel on a sad day,
But I hear loudly like Latin and watchfulness,
Those who know his mystery is no stranger to them
They all look but transgress the sin of silence.

Carrenio still absorbed in the hallway,
Angulo ellipsis she comes winged like a star burning tar,
A high speed to give us the new
No garden can deprive greet in speed visit
Dome comes, it comes on the eve of the new moon.

Numbered Widow mysterious,
Mané is a land of golden color and no celestial whoever wants in his cell,
A breath test, and feeding the Toffy and his henchmen
That sustaining more lively detail, there is no one that can not be targeted

It was modern, it was night, it was his torn life as an accomplice of his exile abandonment in his allegory of tender dismissal. Carrenio achieved so say goodbye to the beams of light that told him of the mysterious death Numbered. He sat on the roadside and drank some wine. Then dry with his handkerchief his neck, and have never wanted to experience such an event in a toast ever drunk.

Third Ellipsis Angle  of  New Era

Independence of Chile, it concerns Mapuche atingent case. Araucania pound, then 1818 central Chile. In Brief, Earth makes free an entire nation. His naive and primitive braves inhabitants emancipated themselves from all sides, they came to save a people who were just following where nobody can reach. Independence of the United States separates us for approximately 42 years, breaking up owners of nowhere. Industrial Abolitionist and South Slaver and Agraria. The biggest event that more than 640, 000 men and fallen activists planted safely from repression fields.

In Chile all rule resembled this secession in today's Araucano man prays for his fallen by almost more than 3 centuries in Chilean lands of Araucanía’s men. Lautaro genius and his supporters the heart of Pedro de Valdivia ate; Map ever made to your battle mapping Tucapel. "Initiation and final symbol occurred after 282 years of fierce war" and Mapuche land forever their independence from the Spanish Empire Captain-General important in foreign lands never subjected to foreign rule would eat.

The Machis and Loncos make supplications in native forests falling on them pollen on its back as if nothing out 10 times better...

To Libertas strengthen in the west is necessary to push the limits of the earth beneath his tongue and penance for the greedy entangled in the lines of bloodied sky, rebellions Chieftains death-defying all together at the edge of a cliff. 1769 The Pehuenches led by Lebian Cacique, joined the Mapuches razing Yumbel and Laja, the most peaceful Huilliches also joined mass alerting perhaps innocent people land blood-stained war and the Mackay Luchsinger.

No doubt portals military rebellion trigger blood, where they opened a tip and swords in the past. Here's reading concern is that the succession is timeless time, a sword without a sword, but on the tip of her blood is seen where there were herds and warriors crushed by their own footsteps. Here the phenomenon of freedom begins; Humanity runs treading his own footsteps, to save his family from a threat, but not strange forces that force you to use your defenses, because in the groves populate many helpless souls with his sword unused at the expense of being forced to use.

Freedom genome; It aims to reach where it has not come without looking back,
Chalices pour out is where the troubadours do not cuddle her close looks like time, singing while watching the changes are not of a new life


Heaven star,
Come to me,
I ask a sign to see them arrive,
Because I want to thus been dragged
Being together Eager to feel...
Those respites without being comforted
going to the mouth of the serpent.

About the Garden,
My home is to put my love,
He has to put the days imagining close...
To enjoy yourself is nonexistent...

Oh, my house tormenting me...!
Because in it I feel your smell
They are alone lights
Where I would wait for me to be in the dark...

In the coming future,
You will not see or hear my anger...
Perhaps my happiness nor peace praying
As the spear in the hands of the perpetrator.

You know a storm of whispers
I do sow your name in the wilderness,
It's because my judgments of hope
They mount up arable land deposited in my frenzy
Misled by a love which is my love.

But you never understand,
Because time has invaded my dwelling,
Invading my brain to give
It has invaded my choosing to love...

On the grass path,
Every time I move away from you,
I turn to see if you have not been...

Love came,
And I think that leaves us alone to avail ourselves
Ranging in our time...


But I can not resist his silence,
For my house want the noise of its action,
Why keys to the gates that serve my understanding.

Tramples my heart the fragmenting oddities into smaller pieces,
Your answer that call.

Tur love be like if I had created...
As if only you had appreciated your beautiful creation.

Do not destroy your work expresses in his mystery give life to your dreams!
Man aiming better earth, ask some of you to join your dreams...

! Your wife of this land does not procrastinate your misfortune,
I discover far peaceful landscapes like an echo in the spring,
As large and deep as your forgiveness for loving me more


It tells the Earth to the Sun in its perky tear benefactress of new opportunities as good and healthy smile rainbow on the back of Oviedo sheep valleys of freedom of Pietrelcina life.

To be continued…
Genoma Freedom , by Jose Luis Carreño Troncoso - Under Edition
Eowyn May 2014
We are the curvy girls.
Reubenesque, if you will.
Society calls us “fat girls”
And they treat us like a plague.
To school nurses, we may as well be lepers
The media is more tactful,
And pretends that we aren’t here at all.

Today I went walking in the woods.
I wore a dress and a flower crown
And the wind picked up my hair
And right then I knew I was beautiful.

But then I came back home
And suddenly
I didn’t know anything at all.

“We are beautiful, in every single way.
And words can’t bring us down.”
Only sometimes they can.

It hurts
When you see your grandfather for the first time in months
And he asks if you’ve lost weight.
You haven’t.
It’s just that he remembers you as the “fat grandchild”
And his vision of you is warped.

“Sticks and stones may break our bones,
But words will never hurt us.”
Only sometimes they will.

It hurts
When you’re among friends
And you pick up a size 6’ or an 8’ at a clothing store
And they ask if you’re sure it’s big enough
Like you don’t have experience with these things
Like you’re the delusional one.

“We are beautiful, in every single way.
And words can’t bring us down”
Only sometimes they can.

It hurts
When you’re eating lunch with your very own mother
And you order something that isn’t a salad
And she shakes her head disapprovingly
And hisses that you need to be more careful
As if it’s that easy

“Sticks and stones may break our bones,
But words will never hurt us.”
Only sometimes they will.

It hurts
When you’re among friends
And in a fit of mental anguish, you call yourself fat
And it takes them
just a little too long
To refute it

When I went walking in the woods
With my dress and my flower crown and the blowing wind
I knew I was beautiful
But the world tries to make me forget

“We are beautiful, in every single way.
And words can’t bring us down”

But sometimes, that’s hard to remember
Mercurychyld May 2015
Wars for so-called religion,
Children, people starving
under ****** regimes
and dying on the streets.

Tsunamis, Landslides, Hurricanes,
Tornadoes, Erupting volcanoes,
Floods, Avalanches,
Deadly storms destroying
all that stands in their path.

A world where there is a
constant barrage of evidence
of a universal acceptance of
abuse against women
and children.

Evil men, leading cities
and countries,
establishing  selfish,
convenient rules and laws,
often under the guise of
“safety” and “terrorism
deterrant”.

*******; all of it!

Men whose rich pockets
are bursting at the seams
and whose bank accounts
get bigger and fatter with each
sick, sordid war.

Cures that exist for painful,
life-degrading diseases,
afflicting the most fragile
of our human society, and
BIG BUSINESS and
the Pharmaceutical masters
blocking them from the masses.

They MUST  maintain a
bread-line of the tragically
ill to continue
creating addicts, convinced
that they will always need
their almighty drugs to
live and survive.

Rapists, pedophiles, terrorists…
all welcome,
all find a home here,
where the prey is aplenty.

Jobs and wages,
taken away from the citizens
trying to feed and clothe
their families,
being replaced by robots
and drones.

What is a man to do?
How does a single mother
feed her young?

The rich get richer on
the backs of the little people;
the poor fall by the wayside…
modern day LEPERS,
mistreated, shunned
and scorned.

Beat down to the
lowest levels of this
demented humanity.

Evil is a gluttonous
predator who never
gets its fill.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
PoetLeChatelier Nov 2019
“I have been trying to get laid
So should I try lacing up my suspenders and get my *******,
for another fifty shades of drinking a Harlem shake to the
piece of cake fairy tale of nagging paper trail just to impress a **** pony tail
at the dark alley bakery, vending her own cookie with a tight shoulder skirt to this lions in search of an empire from a leverage  point to cleavage, Torching the alley with a naked thigh just like tossing a coin into a fountain in a circus with clown with umbrella about throw some shade until when the tides go out to, you get to know who’s been swimming naked upon the pleasures that are bitter to swallow to this blood ******* roaches chasing strangers who would spread her legs to the canvas and induce seduction as a color scheme……..
She called me sadist and I called myself a dreamer,
She dreamt of pushing me off the bed and calling me a screamer
She envisioned cutting my throat and playing jazz with my vocal chords
She fantasied sarcastically caressing my cuticles just because last night I came in short of breath

Previously
She would sell her own soul to the syringe of morphine drip
for a denial shot that pain heals in the prefix of an outpatient  rehab
now in the bathtub nursing in patient withdrawal ,
She would tie a shoe string around her bicep in search of vein,
so as to squeeze the **** libido version of limbo to oblivion
humiliating the dark clouds begging for a shooting star
to the pages that frustrates the pen unto the novel that prescribes a prenuptial of black bride killing the reader’s digest and buries their heads…………..so……………………

I am becoming a book.
that will induce an ****** with sympathy veil of beggar feeding on their own horses
to the end of the caterpillar misery is **** butterfly confetti to script that syncs the readers perception
Into the ****** abuses of the needle that impregnates the ink and tells the canvas to go get paternity test throughout the history of melting medusa lips
that made a homeless robin without a hood painting a revolution in this concrete jungle
where dreams are made up from silence thought that can
ambush a hive softy through whistling that melts
a bee’s temper in the presence of a queen is a poisonous sting of a artist
dipping his own brush into his own soul with a healing dew that never bruises
the honey in the vein of the garden is the beauty of the wine  
From a vine to flower is a grape in the glass is anarchy

From what I am running from
To misery flowing from the river on
That’s why we are here
To profile the lost identity from the art of war that sun Tzu was afraid of losing his head to another thigh!
That’s why we are here
To profile the slit of the dress that curved the sword another napoleon to conquer Soviet Union
That’s why we are here
To profile a love Ballard from contortionist that melted medusa eyes from cold to flexible
Revolution will wear a mini skirt, squat and kiss the lepers hands for the Benjamin’s banking dump jokes...and still hire Johnnie Cochran for second ****** trial of O.J Simpson ……………
That’s why I still want …………………………….



our culture wore a fabric of circus clothes only dance in the arena like a puppet from the strings of the servants chasing a redemption in the den of thrones getting thrown to the game of throne for guilty pleasure as kings daughters were gambling upon gladiators death to the freedom of escaping their own Sobibor that chopped off my foot in the life of Kunta Kinte
Slavery was blushing teeth with a **** moan of a cigarette smoke
Flirting to the horrors of unshaved groins,
from the growing pains in the hands that planted olive trees
to labor and harvest their oil that has become tears of
cowards staining heaven with obscene imagery of their own likeness
holding their insights captive upon the eyes of the ******
Until our backs were a canvas of whips and brutality, we had tattoos
of pain and graffiti of blood as written the book blue skies
claiming the prepare the way the Lord, judging Esther from a supremacy attire of poverty
termed to be isolated from the world where the corner stone fell into the wrong hands and built a
Tower of babel for the Pharisee living in a glass house



Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal to pleasure
the urges out of the Garden of Eden, Adam had to seek leaves to live with eve,
From a mustard seed renouncing the deception ought to praise the womb that gave birth to the blood sweat and tears to the system planting snares pig’s ears and fears ,
with intent to subdue the cat inside the bag from the smell of the rat that has been suffering a broken rib
We used ashes as lotion to conquer the scratching pains of the unhearing wounds eying the staff that turned into a serpent in exodus to the stiff neck of the system after the death of Moses….we had to succumb to victory,


There was a story of how soldiers got hungry
in the battlefield even they started feeding on themselves
Fighting for peace in the pieces of human meat...
upon pawns that have kept chasing the salvation of in the story that was
made by rats that fought all the dogs and killed the cats is like
Judging a fish with its own abilities to climb trees from the a shadow of small boy reflecting an elephant in the room with betrayal that made Julius have a seizure after gambling with another’s man
life with few pieces of silver sealed by a Judas kiss that killed Jesus,
Mike Essig Aug 2015
for all the names on that granite wall and many others...

I  Prelude

Vietnam broke my mind.
Now it runs like a cheap watch
always leaping about in time.
It pulls me backward into
strange visions of a world gone mad.
My life is time borrowed from corpses.
It is hard to lead your life
while you are stuck in another.
Time, the great healer,
only seems to make this worse.
Self-medication, legal meditation,
nothing seems strong enough
to stop the pounding of the rotors,
the screams of the men and the monkeys.
I have never been able to **** the demons
hidden in the tree lines of my mind.
Forty-three years later I'm still hiding
nauseous and naked in the napalmed jungle.
But my high mileage body clings to life:
the quest for immortality knows no shame.
Now I am a poet drunk on words,
stumbling over the illusion of art.
The more I know of language,
the less I understand life and loss.
And still the mortars rain down
in an eternal, inescapable monsoon.


II Place

Imagine a land that smells entirely of ****.
Only 70 miles wide in some places.
I flew above the abandoned bases of a war
that had been abandoned as well.
Places given up to the jungle
where 60,000 Americans died for nothing.
An implacable enemy that had fought
the Japanese and French before us
and had no doubt they would prevail.
A very beautiful place seen from the air
if no one was trying to eradicate you.
Skinny children, old women, many ******.
A place where real tigers might well
leap from ambush and eat you alive
and snakes so deadly that once bitten
you only got two steps before death.
Breathtaking sunsets and sunrises.
And the possibility of doom everywhere.
Rice paddies, mountains, triple canopy jungle.
Gorgeous beaches and an ocean laden
with sharks and sea snakes for company.
A place where death picked his teeth and smiled.


III Action

Stark terror is the mother of combat;
the rage of Peleus son Achilles
drives the soldier into the filed teeth
of impossibly horrible situations.
Not for America or the Stars and Stripes
but for the man next to you
whom you probably didn't even know.
Never ask why one man dies
and the one beside him lives on.
I shot an NVA regular from 20 feet
with a Colt Model 1911 45 automatic.
Got him exactly in the chest.
He looked very surprised to be dead.
I was surprised I didn't miss.
At An Loc a Huey 20 yards from mine
loaded with 18 hopeful human beings
took a rocket up the *** and
disintegrated into a debris cloud
of metal fragments and pink mist.
No bodies to be bothered with,
no pieces large enough to identify.
A CIA officer executing the wounded.
A tame **** torturing his countryman.
The exquisitely horrific moment when
you know you are falling, not flying.
The partner cut in half by a machine gun
five feet from where I stood.
Do not try to make any sense of this.
Fall back on the mantra: *don't mean nothing.

Cling to that and you may stay sane.
Apparently, God was busy for ten years
and never bothered to visit Vietnam.

IV Comrades

Forget that band of brothers *******,
we were more like a desperate rabble
with no one to count on but each other.
Sometimes a brother shares the blood
in your veins; sometimes you know him
by the blood that flows from his.
You scream, you curse, you try so hard
and he dies like a huge baby in your arms.
Vietnam was a club you could only join
by being there deep in the ****.
Now we are old men but our memberships
will never expire until we do.
And who will remember us then.

V Aftermath

Treated like lepers, we slunk home,
each to do the best he could.
Many died in the denouement of
drugs, alcohol, homelessness, suicide.
When I got home I wanted to be alone,
to be with people, lots of *****,
but only with no emotion attached,
an ocean of Jack Daniels, lines of coke,
mountains of ***, electro-shock therapy,
calm sleep without nightmares
and sometimes the comfort of a quick death.
Not much different than most I think.
Saigon fell. Don't mean ******* nothing.
Only some of us remember and want you to know
so you won't be fooled again.
Forget the past and it will bite you in the ***. Some stories demand to be told and heard. Like slavery, Vietnam will haunt America until it recognizes the great evil that was done. Evil can never be wished away.
sinandpoems Nov 2011
One
Walking through crowds is an experience equivalent to suffocating

I can’t avoid them even when I’m staring down
I’ll see their conniving other halves
Black and soulless
Empty and treacherous
Crawling about near the bottom of my feet
Wrapping themselves around my ankles
Never facing a specific way
No eyes for me to look at
To determine their candor
Their abundance of humanity
A reassurance that
When I turn my back
There won’t be a cold, silver dagger
Snaking it’s way into my soft, unassuming flesh

I hate the way their faces always demand something from me
What the **** is there to give?
Whatever’s on your agenda I don’t want to be a part of it
I’m a person by nature
Seemingly capable of a variety of feelings
But I’m an empty carcass by choice
I don’t want contact or connection
Only a coffee in my hand and the knowledge that the sun will set on another day

Their boisterous laughs, loud voices, spittle projecting from their mouths
Group of ditzy girls in front of me
Impatient old man behind me
All plotting to push off of the sidewalk
Disgusting aimless animals
It’s always an internal right
To get ahead, be ahead, to yell ******* for insulting their bigotry
Their infectious god complex
Where everyone’s certain their the best
All racing towards a cliff foaming at its mouth
To taste their massive demise

And you’ll see me trotting along behind
With the sewer rats and the lepers
Overly aware and alone
Ugly and nervous
Hateful and uninspired
Humbled by the realization
That every time somebody told us we could be President
We’d laugh and opt for the flask
Instead of joining the masses
And tearing at our competitions flesh
Until we all fell apart
Blue ribbon upon us all
****** and plastic

“You’re # 1!”
Ellen Joyce Sep 2013
You ask me to enter to the tilt of your head towards the computer screen
and see, in two words my definition -
bipolar disorder.

You do not look at me, just talk at me
medication? last relapse? severity of episodes?
You count failings, the moments in which I have lost my mind
and you reproach me for them.
You, as you two-finger-type a cold clinical echo of me,
I, on command, recite the past transgressions of my sanity
and you have me – three inches tall on my knees,
in a disease that thrice almost cost me my life
and in your Jobsworth view you tell me I will get ill,
as if this weren't a fact I fight and fear daily.
You with your tunic, blue, cold as your indifference,
announce this, as if calling time -
self-important, unfeeling, with one eye on your watch.

And I smile at you apologetically,
honestly offering up my faith, prayer, medication compliance,
self awareness, begrudged reliance on those I love to wave the red flag
if the waters I get into are too deep.
You are curt with your nod - as if all this is folly between now and the inevitable.
My recovery, my striding, my passion and profession -
All folly.
You are doing the last offices on quick time
because your time is precious and short
and not to be wasted on crazy dreamers with barely a shot in hell

But even with every mental regression, psychotic expression
manic obsession and abyss of depression -
still, still, the world needs more of mes and much less of yous.
So make your disclaimer and write your reports
I'll chant, share the truth in the streets and courts
Into our rooms, we scurry
into the comforts of chairs we can spin on,
screens we stare at for hours;
there is so much we have condensed
into the slight rhythmic movement of the wrist.
Only twenty years old and where have I come to,
on a desk with a jar of money beside Derrida
(with a cartoon where Plato instructs Socrates)
and the tattered pages of
Foucault, madness and civilisation -
those sick lepers ride a boat, which reminds me:
the Leith overflowed today, gushing
rushing into the harbour. I
looked out the window, imagining
it was Styx
and the ferryman had come to get me.

There is so much
artistry to it all, sometimes
it overwhelms me and I stutter
and remain silent for days;
the swirling air encloses
around; leafs tear,
wind flurries, shuffling shoes
shuffle shoefully
marbles that drop down stairs
knock knock
tick tock, tick tock
old Clock tower ding ****
ding, these clocks, Burns, don’t you get sick of them?
it is now time to begin
the lecture. Open
the rows
for late students.  I am definitely
going to be late today. Look, someone has inscribed
“you are the yellow bird I have been waiting for”
I feel great
Can we write our stories with passion today?
Can we speak to each other properly today?
Can we see the sky rupture today?
It’ll be like walking the beach at night
at sunset.

Oh, god
when will
I ever




Forgive me, forgive me, I was distracted
for a second there
with Lear’s fool who implores
“Give me an egg and I’ll give thee two crowns”
and the funny looking cat that stares at me through
the bathroom window.
Robots?
Lifeless and nobody cares enough to make a change
If eyes are windows to your soul,
Then I guess I see broken hearts everyday

I see desperate kids, from broken homes
They are our lepers of ancient Rome
Who long to feel the sensation of love
But are rejected and cast aside, scoffed at and beat down
Passerbys turn away and won't look, show kindness or care
But instead they have nothing, because I guess no one has any love to spare

To the rejected, the down trodden, the beaten, the lonely, the depressed
To those who seek escape in the stabbing of a needle, or the inhaling of poisonous smoke
I'm sorry for the hatred and contempt you're shown.
I promise to never refuse you a smile and to always give you time.
I pray you're given that drink, your thirsting lips seek.
I feel like there are too many people who are hated and mocked because of their appearance, even though no one cares enough to find their story or give them the time of day. It hurts my soul to see this.
Jordan Frances Feb 2014
i
You stand at your alter
All repentant and holy
Praising the Lord to cleanse you white.
You will talk their ears off about being "saved"
With some melodrama of a testimony
Yet, you leave that place with a deceptive heart
Knowing you will sin again
And planning when and where to get your next fix.

ii
Hypocrisy, hypocrisy, hypocrisy.
You condemn those who are different than you are
Who transgress in other various manners.
If you have ever actually *read
the Bible
It specifically states that
No one sin is worse than another.

iii
Some churches call themselves "a family"
Well, I can honestly tell you
That members of this stated clan have
Judged me
Betrayed me
Attempted to violate my body
Succeeded in violating my mind.
And others simply did nothing to stop it.
Some big happy family.

iv
Crusty white men
Telling me what to wear
How to act
And what to believe.
It's almost as bad as the government.

v
Baptist camps, although I have always enjoyed going,
Telling me I will go to Hell if I do not do
This, this and that.
Telling me that virtually, I mean nothing.
But if God put us onto this Earth
How can mankind be responsible
For all of its problems?
Something has to give.

vi
All of the interpretations of the Holy Bible
That have been integrated into the Church.
These are human interpretations of God's word.
And I find it shameful that
Many people pick and choose which passages to follow
And which to throw to the wayside.
If a man lies with another man he goes to Hell
Oh yes, that's perfectly literal and true
But women being subservient to their husbands?
I'll just overlook that one.

Is the view of many Christians today.

vii
Force it down their throats before they get a chance to chew
Is that really the goal that God has in mind?
And if they do not follow every biblical order
They're bad?
No, this is the human error that causes many
To run away, fast
In the opposite direction.
Never even giving it a second thought.

viii
The muddled confusion of the afterlife.
When babies die, are they sentenced to an eternity
With the Evil One?
If a person has never been exposed to Christianity
Will they serve Satan?
Is there even a distinct and tangible distance
Between Heaven and Hell
Or is it all just one murky space?
And who is to answer these questions?
People need to stop trying to
Stop playing God
Stop holding themselves to that high a standard.
As you can see,
It's worked so well so far.

P.S.
I don't believe in religion
I don't believe in the politics of anything organized
It all seems too cult-like to me.
I wouldn't say I'm the cliche
"Spiritual but not religious" type that my pastor jokes about
But I don't believe in this controversy, negativity, and often times hate.

I believe in God, and I believe He meant for us to love each other
But I don't waste my time pondering this inquiry
Because I am not Him, as many people try to be.
And honestly, that is how I intend to live my life
Finding good in everyone
Loving the supposed lepers
Showing acceptance to unlikely faces, despite their disparities.
If it is not what He intends for me
Then I'd rather have no part in His plan.
Lexander J Apr 2015
The light glows off her sleek hair,
the tint of her skin,
divine and deliciously fair -

she's stood at the newsstand
paying by debit card,
her smart mini satchel clasped in her hand.

I watch cautiously from the nearest side-street,
through frosted up glass,
jumping now and then
at the occasional car that might pass.

She's beautiful - moving so effortlessly
and strangely angelic,
the chemical lag of this non-present world
makes it all seem so... psychedelic.

Oh, will she see me stood here
with those inquisitive blue eyes,
will she see through my insidious disguise?

'Cause I crave food on a daily basis,
many people stroll past me
sniggering and laughing with disgusted faces.

I lounge on the London streets,
my beds are the floors,
I curl up beside the twisted lepers
and next to the infected ******.

And so as the woman exits the shop
I feel my hand twitch, and drop
to the little surprise tucked in my belt -

after all these years
I never wanted to know how killing someone felt,

but

my stomach gripes in pain from starvation,
my bowels are always tight with constipation,

it seems everyone lives so grand
but not me, oh no -

I just want that bag clasped in her hand.
Born Jul 2017
When love is enough

When greed is vanquished

When the tears of the homeless are wept

When we can  feel the winter in there bones

when we stand by our fellow beings in there darkest hours

When we leap with lepers

When we eat with the poor

When you're frustrated, all you hear is the opposition that, the government here, and the people t h e r e

When you know that your yesterday was worse and nothing is being done to assuage your pain today

When we refuse to be ruled by heartless tyrants

When we explore more on creativity that is being drained

When  we shake the system back to its rhythm
Justine Sep 2010
All the feeling,
Wrapped and deep,
My eyes so heavy,
I can't sleep.
Wash my skin with powdered bleach,
Can't get clean,
As your ***** thoughts sink inside of me.

I've become a pathetic waste,
Of absorbent space,
I feel myself dissolving slowly.
I am what I hate,
Isn't that great?
Unconciously bashing my throbbing head for some sense of release.

Change is inevitable,
Proven by this picture,
Unreachable,
Disappearing into mist.
Forced to forget who I used to be,
Stripping any sense of a former sanity.

Yet,
You're still beautiful,
In an acutely macabre way.
In all that you do,
All that you say.
I want to touch your lepers' skin,
Watch you melt away in shame.
Laugh at the pleasure I feel,
As you slowly engulf in my pain.

All the feeling
Wrapped and deep,
My eyes so heavy,
Finally asleep,
Struck with vicarious feeling of your body suffocating under me.
Kyle Land Feb 2016
The city is dead.

A meandering guide across the sea
Of slick and slimy metallic beings,
Inching into the fire.

The house is dead.

All of the fore fathers and poor mothers
Lurking slowly like festering lepers
And melt into the walls.

The sky is dead.

Denizens of the rickety prison
Flooding toward a decaying vision
That evaporates into night.
Lexie Feb 2014
Running  from the rain hiding in the dark
Turning from responsibility
Irking those who love me most
Seeking solitude  yet speaking boast

A lonely world for the dark
Cold and quiet kept apart
Seen as lepers through bloodshot eyes
But my skin does not bear my colors

Imagine rainbows and fields of gold
Holding secrets of the bold
Keeping them in barren cold
Hiding between each earthen fold
“What a wonderful world”, so the song says
yet its ruled so unjustly by mankind’s selfish ways.
Men in boats across our wide oceans sail
for the profit of killing just another Whale
and corporations with such a money lust
turning mighty rain forests into deserts and dust.
Tigers, Rhino and Elephants roam a land filled with sun
but there numbers diminished by a man with a gun.
Gorilla’s on mountains that border Zaire
populations so low that they soon won’t be there.
People on horseback follow dogs on a trail,
the prize of this ride is a dead foxes tail.
With pollution we destroy the layer of ozone
forgetting that this world is our only home.

“What a wonderful world”, so the song goes
but for the poor and deprived full of misery and woes.
Company’s lie in wait for an oil strike to reveal
whilst many young lie in graves for the lack of a meal.
Poverty, greed, ****** and hate
another dictator lying in state.
Honoured for his military might
of keeping a nation locked up in fright.
And for the young soldier who killed twenty-four
he’s made a national hero with medals galore.
The righteous who try to speak out of this wrong
are killed or rotting in prison cells for so long
and the holy who care for the lepers and plagued
they receive little thanks for the lives they have saved.

“What a wonderful world” so the song said.
Yet into our own destruction we seem to be led.
The priority of “our leaders” is to **** and destroy
treating our world as their unbreakable toy.
Billions of pounds spent on weapons to ****
whilst so many people lie dying or ill.
Governments globally tell us all lies
as an innocent child in a civil war dies.
This climate change that we call Global warming
Is the earth giving mankind its final warning.
For this world knows that it would be a far better place
with the total extinction of the human race.
Without mankind all other life would thrive.
Without mankind this world will survive.
Another poem my wife wrote many years ago. Zaire was the former name of the Democratic Republic of Congo... I still prefer Zaire though.
This poem is copy written and has been published with her kind permission.
Meka Boyle Apr 2013
Suicide seeps loosely from your lips-
Leviticus could only carry so much
Weight before the heavy words
Laden with your December-white
Morals and twice baked ideals,
Dragged him down to live with the lepers.
Sputtering out half delusional
Laments to your ever present savior,
Your words drip over the crisp white
Lines, creating muddled phrases
That you eagerly inhale
Off the top of porcelain toilet seats and cedar pews,
Because self loathing is natural
When repeating the mantra:
Only sinners can be saved.
Your frail arms, bent and convoluted over
Your tense and righteous face, inadvertently
Form the sign of a cross,
Casting a shadow on the sharp corners
Of your thin, puckered lips.
Sacrifice and repentance chase your vulnerable mind
Right off the deep end, and into the 3am abyss in which
You are perpetually present.
As you speak, your eyes catch glow
Of the searing flames that taunt your every thought,
Like embers, alive with the hot, igniting presence of the past,
They search and scan my face,
As if begging to be understood
In a language made up of truths
That only float
When they're dead.
Saul Makabim Jun 2012
Marvel at the mystics
with bent backs
hawking wares in the courtyard
word of gods on fire
in the electric
Razorback armies of onlooking lepers
leap forth at the call of the mystics
calming martyrdom
Marvel at the mystics
who cash checks and built steps
up to the attic of mental harmony
Marvel
as they make money hand over
fist off of your faith.
Before the opening of the sky where three men sat
asking questions why,
of where the King of men would sit among the shepherds who could pit their wits against the wolves and worriers of sheep.

Asleep and yet in sleep I woke before the Oldest Magi spoke and talked to me in parables, as if I understood the riddles,being middle aged and hard of hearing.

In the clearing by the burning bush as hushed crowds looked on,with fish and bread and baptist John, a Rasta man from Birmingham, stood Salome daring me to take off veils so I could see
her nakedness and blood that dripped black off her hands,
These Holy lands,
this righteous band,these writers of a history that we delivered to the three.a triumphant trilogy that we become before the opening of another sky,another sun that burned names deeply on a cross of wood
and beggars in the hallways full of Baptist John,who with no head or eyes,could not imagine what was going on
but ripped out messages from the scriptures to paint pictures that he'd never see,while Salome intercoursed with Roman scribes and perfumed men and if to be as if she could,
When her name was carved into the wood,  as if another cross to bear would do more good and her screaming could be heard in prophecies by Galilee,as people gathered on street corners,to hear what they could never see and not believe,
and lepers grieved by river banks,their thanks and blessings washed away,their only ray of hope
hung out to dry
as three wise men sat and wondered why, the world moved on
Forgotten is The Baptist John,another prophet dead and gone and are we any better off for all of that?

I put a penny in the hat that's passed around to keep the upkeep of some distant consecrated piece of ground I'll never see
but hedging bets is what we do,
and make lamb stew
because we're all wolves with appetites to match.
I ****** another bleating sheep
and keep my thoughts
silently
stewing.
sinandpoems Nov 2011
I avoid writing poems about flowers  

I don’t need to tell you that roses
Bright, blood red, placed perfectly atop a broccoli-green vine,
Existing solely for the purpose of atheistic pleasure
Is something that is beautiful

Put a white background behind anything and it becomes beautiful

Flowers are more than a hyped-up beauty pageant queen that those old white women grow to fill their voids with

They sometimes manage to grow in my neighborhood too

Once prominent Victorian homes now squalid and neglected
Weathered wood, dirt embedded in the sea-foam green, navy blue, eggshell white paint they were once coated with

Trash thrown in front of their faces
Like their appalling forms granted validity for those who passed by to toss their gum wrappers, soda cans, and cigarettes without hesitation

It’s an age-old tale

Ugly things deserve ugly treatment

I’ll always spot a savage grove of mutt flowers
Amongst the trash cans and recycle bins
Struggling to make their way to the surface of these rejected homes
Acknowledging them, coddling them, interweaving themselves along their battered walls
Ignorant to their repugnancy
Eager to decorate and give them an evanescent glow
Sad too,
Sad they didn’t grow in front of some rich family’s home
Where they would’ve been given weekly haircuts and fertilizer containing only the best **** on the market

They wilt a little
They have no direction,
No will to live or to die

They exist and sit there until a bike runs them over
And takes them out in one swoop

Or until those stray dogs **** and **** on them until their weak
Frames fall staunchly onto the grave sidewalk

Exquisite wild lepers,

You do more for society than I ever could

You’ll sit there with a dutiful posture
Harboring old McDonald French Fry boxes
Eating the sewer-infested dirt that you laboriously grew from
Constantly breathing air swarmed with smog

Beautiful because,

Despite it all,

You don’t hate them

You’ll peek at me through your prison of trash and give me a flash of your purple and blue skin

And

My eyes feel your love and serenity

And for a moment,

The world is nothing but a kaleidoscope of warm skin and heartbeats
What is born of this land?
Nothing is born,
Nothing grows
In this desolate land.

I want to wake up the neighborhood
To hear my screams at dawn
But they do not hear anything,
Do not listen to anything that happens in the morning.
I play my music in the streets,
All my poetry and clichés
But they do not understand anything,
No one understands what happens at dawn.
I walk the streets looking windows,
***** children in their rotten rags
And I cry with those who are hungry,
I do not know who cry or love…
I embrace the poor in spirit
And hear all your stories poor,
These poor and pathetic poor souls
It is my right meeting this cold morning.
I go through the streets and alleys damp and dark
And I hear a child crying…
A repetitive and child crying wretched
What is the worst of all choruses?
I see people and their hurried footsteps
Everywhere, everywhere…
I'm afraid to follow my tracks
And I hasten my steps through this city.
I hear the sirens screaming in the streets
Mixing the sound of nightclubs crowded
And the sound of twisted metal
Creating a new contrast, another type of cry.
I sing with you almost every night
And sometimes I wonder: where are you
He left so early and left me here...
Now I’m alone! I’m alone!
God, I try and cannot understand
Reason to justify this life.
I am a pawn in the game you do not see
Every dawn until dawn.
Something touched my whole being,
Something I do not understand and do not try to understand,
Something that comes up every day when I wake up
And after me until nightfall.
Something happens,
Something moved,
Something incomprehensible,
A new friend?
They say that being is almost live
And living is the limit of what you can want.
In fact, something happens that one wants to be here,
However, not all this desire craves.
Nothing is enough
When no longer feels the aroma of flowers,
When the color no longer thrill
And they cannot be sold to look.
Gave me such rare moments
Feeding the future although at present,
But waking I do in all my steps
Get me the taste of things even in thought.
In my noble and poor land I wander
And I feed the memories of liars,
Get drunk me with joy and gladness
And insistent way in the land of lepers.
In my humble vacant land,
Time is proud, ignorant time.
Hunger is rampant around me,
The flesh is weak and soul idem.
I ask as much as the worst of sinners,
Wasting a time that no longer have,
Not differentiate right from wrong,
Share supper with my detractors.
I do not feel the taste of wine,
I do not recognize a smile,
I do not remember the hugs,
I'm finally alone!
I weigh my conscience in the balance of a butcher
And the butcher tape me with ravenous eyes,
There is no any agreement on the price of the meat,
Nor is the first or second.
God, you who are owner of the ages,
Give me the hours its final minute
And cause the whole world to know
That left miserable after all.
Grant then that desire
And finish time with this work,
Free cities this unfortunate
Who insists on knowing what nobody knows.
When there is fever, it makes no difference,
There are times the blood is poison.
Red is the color of anger and sin:
The poet knows when he is sentenced.
If there is even poetry these avenues
As equal in different cities,
To be recognized
For the sake of pursuing life.
Burial in the deepest memory
The giant concrete towers,
The grotesque glass structures
That mimics a new artery.
A new artery,
A new lifestyle,
A new company
And an early cardiac arrest.
As the cars kissing the avenues
Meeting the perfect companion
That tells me in the ear:
"Accept me as the only one"
Finally, fear runs through my veins
And feeding a forgotten feeling,
An absurd desire to see the next day
And try another outlet.
All the streets are congested.
A whole shantytown has just been set on fire
While some locals try to save
What remains of an entirely bankrupt life?
There is a twist
Around this humble heart,
A carnival,
Almost a provocation.
All veins are old and weak,
There is melancholy at all.
Even without poetry,
Without free will, there is life at all.
This city is just brick,
Metal, sweat, concrete and glass,
Cement stuck to feeling
Often beautiful and often ugly.
This city is sand,
Concrete and feeling,
Sorrows and joys,
Poetry thrown to the wind.
Some people learn early, some not -
Live life day in and day out.
Some dance to the song,
Others are lost before the chorus.
Some are always right, some not -
Many are lost in illusion.
While some running, others sleep
And all seek some direction.
Some dream rock bottom,
Others dream of the river bottom.
Some seek independence,
Others are the exception.
Some people win,
There are people who are lost,
Some people becomes the problem
And others think is the solution.
Digress weather
What about the "types" that encounters in this life.
I lose a second in this lost time
And even with so little sense, how rare is the time!
If you have no idea, nor do I know.
Maybe the hunger that consumes me consumes you too.
Perhaps the addiction that affects equal
Is something that arises only between abnormal?
I addiction with its tapas
And in each sip of his cup,
Each exaggerated affection offered
In exchange for a few bucks.
I ***** me with your lies
And assimilate water from your gutters,
I learn new shortcuts in every way
And erase the traces of my own steps.
I chase you in every church and every home
I swallow my irony,
Visit each elderly
And make friends with the hospice house.
Far reaches thy wickedness
And how many hugs another's grief?
Can evil be so inspired?
The point of the very surprised to be expected?
Life bleeds leaving the left chest
The children of the world that the world does not want,
Spread the news that sadness has hair
And more brown eyes than mine.
I notice refinements of cruelty
In this urban masochism
Where poverty has older
And the lie became just a vanity.
I transform
In all more abhor,
I emerge in the mirror
As my own killer.
I suffocate and tie in the dark of my room
Little souls endangered
And throw in the trash the dreams of those who
He believed devoutly one day be part of reality.
I still feel the skin marked by fire
The brand that hurts the brand of truth
And I pray that one day cease searches
And everything becomes futile.
The happiness of fuel
Corrode and fades away slowly
Gradually me satisfaction
With the balance that sustains me.
When I look at my own face, it hurts.
I exhale the body the rest of fear
And I try not to see how strange the line of truth -
Seeking the path that leads to freedom.
Disguise my desires
And repress my absurd,
Hug each nightmare
And hide my darker side.
I try to see something beyond the abyss,
Find something else beyond the walls,
Transcribe all longings
Hidden behind every dream.
I am eternal,
Sinister,
Land and fraternal
While the world lasts.
There is this chest a divided heart
Created almost between two worlds,
The world is inside the abyss
And what one sees behind the walls.
My corner is stumped
As well as the small voice and uncertain
From the little that is hidden on the other side,
My other side of that wall.
What have other corners?
They also have these sides
But what counts in these corners
Also rhyme in other valleys.
Bright lights bother many people.
Darkness feeds inconsequential.
High walls with brass railings gleaming
Are contrasts in painting a colorless screen?
Urban flowers are so amazing
And this depression is so exciting.
Smiles are bitter and needy
And the pain married to vows of love.
These buildings are so interesting,
Where the wet streets at night shine like diamonds,
Where transiting the fair and honest
Munching vanity and rancor.
The cars pass and illuminate so many people,
Whites, blacks and children without color.
Poets are so tucked the irreverent
Assimilating the pain and all that is.
I see lives that trace the same plane,
joy of generations by mistake ,
Marks of time that are pure desperation
Charting together a colorless future.
I see faces full of hope
Burning in public because of their color,
Those who live without even realizing it,
A cold paint drips without why.
Bodies dancing high parapets
Almost always go so early
Challenging theories and concepts
And ignoring all kinds of love.
My steps are so slow
And so intense movements,
The faces are always the same
And I hope again the sunset.
Justice who is in charge of giving clemency
The presumed innocent
Transiting the streets
Spreading hope and love.
I want to have a chance to see the birth of Venus
And the annunciation in the middle of spring,
I want to be like St. Augustine
And read the scriptures by candlelight.
I want to be like Van Gogh and paint sunflowers
Even in December the ink is red.
I want to have new flower garden in the backyard
And the kiss out of my lips is never accidental.
Just want something passionately
Even being so blind and alone?
That goodbye is worthy
And everything to return finally to dust.
The idea comes suddenly
To celebrate as an illiterate,
Prepare a table and invite
Only those who are hungry.
All this turmoil,
All this protest,
All thefts
This legion inside me...
Melancholy has always had its place,
Love, sadness and bitter returns,
Feeling alone and be like shadow in the crowd
And embrace the darkness itself.
Find it romantic suffer
For pain that recognizes pain that always sees
It is more than a disease, it is a love affair
For all that hurts and causes pain.
I let them think I was defeated
With the unexpected attacks
Of those who cry shouts of victory
And they forgot to be buried.
I leave them to play in my back
The guilt of all blame,
Let it burn my entire story,
It does not matter that much.
My lips run on search words
And my eyes run in search of beauty,
Drawing liar’s feelings
That shut all the bells around.
Words come out like blades
In hoarse voice coming out of my mouth
This other me who hates me so much
And all challenges at first.
In the spring mornings leaves dance
Rehearsing his ballets from the rising of the day,
Is this life?
It’s this they call life?
I want to find the lost word
Among the tasks of the day to day
What is so profane?
The prohibited!
I want to meet a new season
Bring me a sense of relief,
Find what they call happiness
And maybe learn what it is.
An epidemic,
Leukemia,
Rimes illustrating
An eternal melodrama.
You cannot have everything!
Not always beautiful are our days
And we keep waking up.
Roses do not speak, but are also alive.
There is hunger for love!
There is hunger and what will?
There is hunger in this home?
If there is hunger, then there.
There is time for everything!
There is time to smile,
No time to cry,
There is time to leave.
I want to run away from home without a warning,
Running between the wheat fields
And let all afflicted
Trying to understand what had happened.
I want to cause confusion,
The same kind that I bring in my heart.
I want water all around
With the storm inside me.
I want to wake up the sleeping
And those who never agreed,
I want to find out who they are
And spread about us.
Lovers of this pain,
Thirsty without knowing
Where else to enjoy,
Where else to call "home".
I shift my gaze
With all the hatred of this world
Of all the ragamuffins and vagabonds
Who recognize me in a second?
I want to break these chains,
Scratching walls,
Promote anarchy
And imprison noon.
I want rain penknives
While tear my clothes,
I cut my wrists
And count all the drops.
A day can be
Something happens
And make to cease this endless grief
And everything changes, anyway.
So lose the naivety
What remains this morning?
I envision the absurdity that all I see
Is still something to be remembered?
Maybe one day
Poetry is done singing
And the light breeze the corner
Everywhere!
I want to get a perfect world,
I want to love what is defective,
I want to explore my own room,
Make another deal.
I want to shake you violently that coffin
And show where all the mice,
Ignite old blankets
Which now they were pretty.
I want to show you I love you
And I hate you,
I can live alone,
But also not live without you.
My madness is productive
At the same time, destructive:
It satisfies the crowd inside.
I refuse to be part of the pack
Strolling in supermarkets,
Feigning patience as immoderate
The suffered.
I like debris,
I collect dust,
Make enemies,
Cultivation dreams.
I constantly change identity
And lose track of reality,
My state is ill
And I'm terminal and disposable.
I participate in this game,
This novel in decline
This disgusting theater of horrors
Where only the blind are honest.
I am thoroughly enslaved
While deprive me of the privilege of choice,
Burying our will
In the deepest pit.
The wall that separates us is low
And we walked jumping from one side to the other,
Often both exist
And others, only I exist.
We are a nun and a *****
Plotting an eternal dispute
Between the two sides of the coin
To decide who runs and who fight.


As simple as saying your name
Spell out the pieces of your body.
I want to understand what God's grace
If your body will never be only yours.
Your body exudes the morning sweat,
Clouds hid the principle of pain,
Pain discovers a new form of pleasure
And the pleasure is expensive to you.
Your blood runs nearly everywhere
And a new world opens up suddenly,
Frighten the fleeting pain
And wait with his only love the sunrise.
I wipe the sweat oozes from you,
You wipe the tears falling from me,
If you can be in the world some endless love
The only certainty is that there was never before such love.


I want to wake you up
To hear my screams at dawn,
Show you what genuine despondency is
And not left me anymore.
I want to recognize me
And take me to your bed,
Not left with nothing
In addition to beating in his chest.
I want to be part of its history
And I want to be a constant presence in my,
The world spit their prejudices
And the fire that also burns in the heat.
I want to break the mirrors
And heal our sickness,
Assaulting what kills us
Every day, forever.
Serene and calm give you what remains
With my last breath,
What's best in me now rests
And rest my mind.
My sweat is true
It is also all the pain.
Blood is final
And it goes to the last vows of love.
The entire storm inside me
Now relax my heart,
Soothes My Soul
And feeds the reason.
I walk by this peaceful land
And growing a new crop of wheat,
I do a incognita a new partner
And the fear is not definitive.
I harvest hope
Where before there was only bitterness.
I am ashamed
And regret.
I accept the entire cross
And fight against the serpent.
I heal my wounds.
And my success is violent.
Time is short
And I want to scream that entire plan,
There is still a flame inside
And only her surrender.
What was misery,
What was despair,
What was hungry,
What was fear…
What was pain,
What was love,
What it had value
And when there was time…
What is born of this land?
Nothing is born,
Nothing grows
In this desolate land.


What is born on this land?
What grows in this land?
Nothing is born on this land,
My private wasteland.
MY LAND OUR LAND is the result of years of work. Written at different times, eventually leading nineteen years in reaching the outcome that now lies in your hands.
Numerous times this poetry was abandoned and then resumed, forgotten at the bottom of a trunk or discarded due to the complexity. Not ready and may never be. The comforting passages are rare. Virtually none, to be more specific. There is no time to be afraid. We mask our feelings and weave remarks about everything.
This is just a work of poetry. Do not be afraid to consume it. Not to care be consumed by it.
My land cannot be invaded. It can be understood, compared, discussed, studied, trivialized, ridiculed or criticized by anyone. But this is my land!
Waverly Mar 2012
With a few strokes'
He drew a crazy boat
Full of perverts and lepers
In the middle of the desert. The lepers
Were picking at their skin and the perverts
Were getting drunk and pulling their *****.

Some hung over the edge
Of the boat like they spotted water. Some climbed the mast and
Hung themselves looking like ripe peaches
From the distance. A red, red moon just
Sits there in the background
At the top of a black sky
staring at the whole thing
Fall apart.

The painting stops. The painter
Coughs up some blood and his heart,
And shakes his brush like a maraca,
Making his music over blood, perverts
Lepers, and a red moon.

A girl stands behind him,
Beautiful and horrified, because she
Is witnessing a nightmare, and she wanted
To feed her head full of it, full of dreams
And demons, droughts and terror,
and wake up a
Prophet.
walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, who is that man?
You try so hard
But you dont understand
Just what youll say
When you get home

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

You raise up your head
And you ask, is this where it is?
And somebody points to you and says
Its his
And you say, whats mine?
And somebody else says, where what is?
And you say, oh my god
Am I here all alone?

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, how does it feel
To be such a freak?
And you say, impossible
As he hands you a bone

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To just give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations

Youve been with the professors
And theyve all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
Youve been through all of
F. scott fitzgeralds books
Youre very well read
Its well known

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

Now you see this one-eyed ******
Shouting the word now
And you say, for what reason?
And he says, how?
And you say, what does this mean?
And he screams back, youre a cow
Give me some milk
Or else go home

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

Well, you walk into the room
Like a camel and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law
Against you comin around
You should be made
To wear earphones

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?
Sean Aug 2012
And I feel this sludge
running down the long halls of my legs
a flood of viscous petrol jelly
slick sewage sick
patrolling artery walls

this metallic slide
so much molten lava
running down the mountains
of my thighs.

I'm a concrete machine
getting my mortar fix
tin woman hollow heart
methyl folate ******

Give me another hit
buffer my pain.  
Already I have diesel fuel juice
leeching out my tissues
lightning striking the brain.

It's hard to get your attention
with this leavening
pooling the blood in my feet
It's hard to say hello with
acid cuddled words.
I want to raise my arms
and touch you
but I'm too toxic I'll burn you.

This nausea has become me
this metabolic crash is
my stop-gap.
Short circuit pain
this neuropathy has hardened me
in the space between these synapses
I dream of nothing.

Doped up by the yellow stuff
Daddy sprays from the plane
I was a farmer's daughter but
the doctor says
You've got the mutant gene,
for heavy metal toxicity.

Another serotonin addict
with brains of saccharine and plastic
I might get a pink ribbon for surviving
if they call it disease,
but silently, inside

I feel this sludge
sick sewage slick
battening down the reflexes
backing up the pipes.

my body is the future body
I say.
because this deadly brigade
is eating up the human chain.

There were Chernobyl defects,
and the media loves lepers with lesions
but a blistered stillborn baby
is no face for nuclear policy

but we --we're the unsung mutant breed--
there are billions of us
mentally sick lazy *****,  
hypochondriacs
of pre-existing conditions
can't find work
not even at Walmart
for disability aid--

But when you check out,
please donate.

Drop another baby
in the cancer cup.
Brittany Leigh Feb 2010
i wish i could purge my heart
letter by letter
bleed my love out
through leeching keystrokes
find some kind of therapy to
release these good bad humours
or reach even further back into history
for truly archaic remedies
love is no great sin
so there’s no bread and salt
to feed the lepers, no coin to pay for the service
if only ridding myself
of this disease of devotion
to an unknowing you
were as simple as sleeping
with salted tomatoes
(love apples, as they were once known)
and pennies to press
into the palms of the loveless
who slip through the night
soaking up discarded emotion

— The End —