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Philipp K J Dec 2018
The Child on the manger drafts
A message of love in glossy smile
A sun rise of hope through gleeful eyes
Healing powers in tiny hands
travel thirst held in little legs
A Heart that flows incessant drink
And eternal food for hungry souls

A gift purely free of costs
An offer to man of any posts
Equally free to choose and use
Happy and merry Xmas feast
Let's sing and praise the high priest
Wish you all a merry Christmas and a wonderful epiphany
Enchanted by spring’s
rustling whispers
     ... whistles swirl
in the pungent springtime breeze;
steeped with a bedazzling
        cadence
   heart dancing
to a hummingbird’s
         whirs

   waves of breath,
of little wings waft,
whooshing throughout
twining honeysuckle lattice
       a
tiny manger
beset of hidden gold
precious speckled eggs, 
silver lining of smallest hopes
   fruits of fruition
   continuum beheld prize,
concealed in interwoven rootlets;
   
potently perfumed flowers
       while away
the waning dark hours;
swollen full flower moon
           waxing yellow,..
         heavenly fragrance
sweetly-scented suckled nectar
  
the one with eyes of a child,
   wonder ― hidden inside,  
   marvel in the light of grateful eyes
imbibing an unholdable moment's
    spellbinding elixir 
    ... poetry alive

air  so poignantly perfumed
       with blossom
        moonstruck
by spring’s frolicking cadency
a reverent moment's
edifying intoxication

       a sobering beauty that just is...



someone ... May 2017
onlylovepoetry May 2017
twice by god's accidental interference,
our crash vehicles, super sized shopping carts,
connect, we are manger-penalized for unnecessary roughness
and disturbing the supermarkets peace

what better way to judge character than to examine
a single persons shopping cart  contents?

hers,
all organic, milk, heirloom tomatoes, even the Chardonnay,
grown upon the farms of the island and vineyards on
the forks that shelter the isle from the ravages of the Atlantic

mine,
Hebrew National franks, yellow mustard,
very classy brioche buns, a six pack of Corona Light,
and funny colored, funny looking, rusted russet potato chips

with a tremulous smile, and an overly loud, derisive sniff,
pronounces me dead man walking sooner than later,
to which, I respond,
then, teach me, where shall we dine tonight?

later that night,
after a thousand kisses of her fluttering eyelashes,
she props herself upon an elbow and
in a tone sincere and caring,
extracts from the poet promises of
natural exclusivity

from now on, healthy, natural only, organic and pure,
from the soul soil of our shared habitat

her suntan skin, garden-digging hand, I clasp,
softly climbing on top of her,
announce with total genuine sincerity and solemnity;

I swear it, from now on, all my loving will be sourced locally

rewarded with a laugh and a gentle but hard enough,
garden to table (with her free hand), head smacking,
I noting nod, good naturedly
that both the laugh and smack,
as well,

sourced locally,
sourced lovingly,

which then seeded
this new only love jointly authored poem,
planted in our mingling blossoming crashing
bodies


5/29/17 i
12:43pm
Steve Page Nov 2016
Christmas can be a time
when families get together:
Young children scream, wine glasses gleam,
both ready for M&S dinner.

TV's in the corner
rerunning Home Alone,
Heart radio's in the kitchen,
Chris Rea's driving home,
again.

Toddlers find the wrapping
more engaging than the Duplo
Teen couples find the company
less of interest than their own.

The dog's confused and excited
with so many different sources
of scratches and pats, he can't relax,
his whining is remorseless.

Christmas can be a time
when families are missed,
the parcel made last post
winging off to little sis.

Skype will come in handy
to laugh across the miles,
the screen will mask the tears
and focus on the smiles.

Gran will talk of Christmas past
when everyone was home
'Cept in Gulf War 1 when Uncle John
went away, ....

Christmas can be a time
when budgets get stretched tight,
cash pressures get to breaking point
and prompt senseless fights.

Some focus on opportunity
to spend some gilt-free money,
the only prayers are for extra hours
and a faster tesco trolley.

For others it's simply ' Yuletide'
an excessive celebration,
a winter feast, all you can eat,
give in to all temptation.

Most focus on the family,
even more on the gifts;
there's little time for Jesus
assigned amongst the myths.

Some do remember Jesus
from half forgotten carols,
they know there's something more
than donkeys and angel heralds.

For there He is in the middle,
noticed once in a while;
it's His birthday, but all He's getting
is a half-hearted song and a smile.

He's no longer a babe in a manger,
He's now a resurrected King,
waiting for those who would worship
to stand and welcome Him in.

Whatever your experience of Christmas
you can come just as you are,
His love is unconditional
He'll accept you warts and all.

So come on!
It’s a season to celebrate!
To dance, to sing and to shout!
Your Saviour invites you to join Him,
so when you sing this Christmas,
BELT it out.
http://redeemerlondon.org/about/
Written for our Christmas Carol concert Dec 2016.
Smoke Scribe Apr 2018
Passover or Easter or Happy Any Ole Thing, Sam I Am

she
asks me good naturedly
which to wish me - a happy this or that
and a poem’s immaculate conception is instant arisen arising
hot ****

rueful smile and unruly reply
a solid out loud Ha!

neither either or he writes and so believes

for I am a god loving man,
whom we’ve -Him/It/Me have agreed
that I may call
Sam I Am
and the answer to your question is
why not

for most quests and questions can be well-answered
why not!

my genes my historical beings my ancestors and my issue
all declaiming that I am a jew who left egypt, no defaming, a slave to no man who cannot love another like his own self

but some in all that I write, this deity boss slips in quietly unseen in one of his jokes-on-us-disguises like singing ave maria

and thus whose to say
his rightful name, is not
Sam I Am

my choice and the big D
     (a self-employed informal his choice, nom-de-guerre)
has agreed via his acknowledgement in his normative style of
low volume taciturn tacit acceptance

so wish me a u happy
anything you want-to-call-it-day

don’t matter. but know this u were there
when, all on that happy day where, @ the manger,
when this Sam-Approved-Appeared
poem was born and Sam blessed it with a
hot ****!

she laughs, tosses back in my face, some schematic I
prior penned that I can’t recall the when or where or my
nom-de-guerre employed but fits this ex-slave perfectly

“there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth”
happy
Steve Page Dec 2017
Peace broke out
with a rash of shepherds
Peace broke in
while most were asleep
Peace broke out
with a choir of angels
Peace broke in
with the bleat of sheep

Peace broke out
in a backyard stable
Peace broke in
and beggared belief
Peace broke out
in the stink of a manger
Peace broke in
with a cry of release

Peace broke out
to a child breast feeding
Peace broke in
to a mothers relief
Peace broke out
in the hearts of believers
Peace broke in
to the middle east

Peace breaks out
to those who believe him
Peace breaks in
to the hearts of the meek
Peace breaks out
here in Ealing
Jesus breaks in
as the Prince of true Peace
Isaiah 9:6-7
6 For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
   Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
7 Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.
Every year this time
at the ending cycle of the sun...
hope walks again
along pathways of the heart.

An ancient dream
roots unknown...
a newborn
shall save the world.

The sun arcs south,
the bottom of the year...
a mother heavy with child
seeks her shed, a manger on high.

Three wise ones, three kings
brush the dust of long lost history off
its that time of year again...
time to rise and follow the star.

Shepherds alone on the hillside
sheep bleat, angels sing
forever witnesses to a miracle or a dream
a newborn saves the world.
Tom Spencer Mar 2018
The donkey and the ox
what a racket they must have made!
Munching on the straw
from the crib in the manger.

Such thick headed beasts!
How did our Savior survive
with all of His toes -
His swaddling free of slobber?

Imagine, if you will
their warm grassy breath forming
little clouds that were filled
with His radiance.

And pity poor Joseph
asleep, off to the side, and Mary
completely exhausted.
For, while resting, they missed

what soft brown eyes sensed -
that before shepherd or angel
or wise man arrived, a feast
had been set for the taking.


(For Sherry Smith)
Tom Spencer © 2018
ConnectHook Dec 2017
Children drugged with truthless tales . . .
Unwise men embrace their treasure;
Algorithms urge the sales
In malls devoid of merry measure.

Plastic sparkles in the air;
Automotive ads turn festive . . .
Forced good nature everywhere
Makes the shopping crowds grow restive.

Corporate greed spins altruistic
Hyping goods, suppressing Christ.
Our Yuletide is their big statistic
Oversold and underpriced.

Secular beribboned fluff:
Peace, Goodwill . . .  but don't say God !
And heaven knows you've had enough;
Just download the app—acquire the mod.

Coca-Colaed, Disneyfied
You're wrapping paper for their fire;
Eggnogged, Santa-ed, thrown aside
While Babel's flames roar ever higher.

The godlessness shines right on through
Where Christmas lyrics die, unheard.
The Yule-log and the sparks that flew
Expire in embers long unstirred.

The old usurper carting toys
And Chinese knock-offs in his sled
Sets off a lot of empty noise:
Insanity in green and red.

The lurker leers and hauls his bag
(jolly antichrist distraction)
While flying Bishop Nicholas' flag:
A winter psy-ops covert action.

Only message left: go drink!
And may your cup o'erflow with cheer
Before you risk to start to think
Yourself and God right out of here.

Hallmark haloes, bygone kitsch
enwreaths the memory of the years,
Kindling maudlin sadness which
wells up in melancholy tears

For Christian culture (rest in peace)
Long-corrupted by dollar signs;
For fa la la and fattened geese
And holly midst the ivy vines;

For Dickens' gospel of the season
Anglican angelic ghosts
Pushing us beyond unreason
Toward the future's spectral hosts;

For folklore now reduced to ash
Commercial blow-outs, ***** snow;
For Saturnalian urge to smash
the store-front windows where they show;

For useless manger figurines
Passed down from some more faithful time;
For hallowed and nostalgic scenes
No longer worth a Roman dime.
I still love Christmas but its ongoing commercial secularization by corporate globalists makes me retch (into my mulled wine).

Nonetheless, like Scrooge, I intend to keep Christmas well.
By the way, that's Merry CHRISTmas.
(No Christ, NO CHRISTMAS)

https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2017/12/19/christ-massed/
Steve Page Jun 29
Jesus didn't hand you solutions.
Jesus didn't give you your answers.
Jesus asked YOU the questions.
Jesus was and is your answer.

He is the Way the Truth the Life.
He is the River the Bread the Light.
He is the Shepherd the Gate the Vine.
He is Human. He is Divine.

He is the Lamb. He is the Lion.
He is the Word and He's not lyin'.
He is the Servant. He is the Prince.
He is Love and I am convinced

Jesus came to seek and to save.
Bigger than a manger. Stronger than the grave.
Jesus came as God made man...

He - asked - you - a - question -

"What about YOU?

Who do YOU say I am?"
Written for a music and spoken word event (Cafe Church @ St Johns) on the theme of Questions.  Luke 9.20
‘Twas many moons ago in fled days of yore,
In a distant realm of a golden shore,
When there dwelt a maiden of golden hair,
The last fairest by the name of Lenore.

The sweetness of her mellifluous voice,
Like only Angels of high heaven can make;
The beaminess of her impeccable face,
Reflections of a dawn sun-kissed lake.

Once by a golden noontide, so they say,
Perfectly salubrious was the day,
Fairly enriched by heaven's fairest ray
That Lenore chose to potter by the bay.

She marveled at so wide a limpid sea,
That was a vast luminous blue millpond,
Whispering mellifluous lullabies
Like of Angels upon heaven's compound.

“O sea, thou art lovely like a sweet dream,”
Quoth Lenore, “In thy waters I must swim.”
Hence as quick as a plummeting sunbeam,
In waters jumped the little seraphim.

Frosted in sheer elation she galloped
Upon the crest of so gentle a wave,
But every sea creature lifted its head,
Whilst doleful as marigold by a grave,

And in faint whispers didst bid her adieu,
"Farewell Lenore," till she was out of view,
Away where mortals of yore never knew,
Away where none canst ever have a clue.

In a while, the sun had shone her last ray
And solitary stars were beaming bright
Upon heaven's timelessly stonking bay,
But she still alone In the dead of night.

By luck, on yonder was a galleon
Of a sundeck decked with bright neon,
Her glossy sails as if from diamond hewn,
With words golden blazoned upon her stern:

Come thou little maiden, come thou aboard,
But little did innocent Lenore know,
At the back words in clear ruby-red read:
“To the kingdom of eternal sorrow.”

Not so long faded the night, dawn was nigh,
Heaven's molten gold began oozing by,
Whilst silvery clouds waltzed athwart the sky,
That Lenore's eyes slavered with ecstasy.

But then, there came a dog in the manger,
A hateful wave assailed the galleon
And heavens raged with roaring thunder
That echoed louder than the hungriest lion.

Tossing her where the sea kisses the skies,
Hence now but a speck on the horizons,
And there she galloped by and by downwards
Till wrecked upon shadowy blue islands

That bore words by the shores: “Little maiden,
Welcome thou to the kingdom of Nineva,
Where mortals shalt see thee never again,
For here you'll dwell forever and ever.”

This sent poor Lenore reeling far in mind
That with cinder-like eyes stumbled behind
But her galleon she could hardly find
For it had long vanished into the wind.

But hark! Yonder woods sprang a companion,
A lad whose names were Edgar Alan Poe;
Bestrode upon a snowy fair stallion
Who unto her whispered softly and low:

“If the moon be fair, then thy skin fairer,
If the stars be bright, then thine eyes brighter,
If snow be white, then thy lip’s gems whiter,
If the sun be hot, then thy hair hotter,

Then tell me, what bringeth thou to Nineva,
A realm of eternal sorrow and fear,
Where no mortal hath escaped ever,
But ever doomed in dungeons of despair?”

Despite her visage was lugubrious,
Her worries were all now but fugacious,
That yonder fair floral woods susurrous
Galloped whilst trees sang in tunes mellifluous.

For Edgar’s words of kindness had soothed her
Now doth she beam with ethereal luster
Like of night lanterns upon heavens shore
Scintillating in a wondrous cluster.

Alas! strange and covetous myriad eyes
By yon brier coveted the beauty queen
That as passes a fiend in the night skies
Did spy upon her with eyes all unseen

'Tis then when Edgar was away hunting
Whilst the beauty queen was all alone singing
When those dreamy figures came whispering
Amongst each other whilst wildly smiling.

Bestrode upon many a snowy fair horse,
Their strange faces, as pale as death her self.
Their voices, as if thousand snakes didst hiss,
Betwixt them, there lordly sprang an elf

Who unto her said, "how sweet thou dost sing,
Thy melodious voice would so please our king,
Unto thee, rubies and pearls shalt he bring,
Of banished gold shalt be thy nuptial ring."

"Nay", softly replied the little maiden,
To thy king I canst not walk down the isle,
For in violent love I'm with a swain,
Thy king's treasures outweigh not his smile.

"Wretch", why dost thou abhor our proposal?
For soon thou art to regret having done so,
So cried the elf, "opting for a mortal
Than a mighty king who is immortal"?

"Hark! Fair moon, see that morrow by noontide
Thou art by the edge of yon verdant moor,
For then thou shalt come with us yonder side
Neath the sea, and dwell with us evermore."

At this, a wild wind danced by many a leaf
And so vanished the strange troop of the elf
That she busted with a sigh of relief
Though deep within, her soul kindled with grief.

Not long, news sprinkled into the swain's ear
Who gathered a troop of a thousand men
Each bearing a bow, a hummer and spear,
All ready to guard the beauty queen.

When came morrow, they took little Lenore
And laid her beneath a lone sycamore
That stood by the edge of a lonely moor,
And then all matched towards the shingly shore.

No army led by any hostile king
Towards them could ever come any near.
There job was great that they did chant and sing
Songs of triumph of the fled days of yore.

Alas! To match towards the sycamore,
There pale and cold laid innocent Lenore
With not any single bone of poor her
Broken, but her breath taken evermore.

Mute, forlon, and motionless stood the swain
With bitter tears galloping from his eye,
With his soul 'neath a sepulchre of pain
That from yon day on, the realm he did curse.

For in Nineva, a realm dim and deep,
There not a mean ray of light canst now creep,
And there all creatures night and day dost weep
Till sweet Lenore wakes from eternal sleep.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros, Kampala, Uganda. 16th.July.2018.

#tale #adventure #fantasy #Lenore #EdgarAlanPoe #Nineva
"Nineva" is a magical kingdom in "Kikos's Legendarium"...a miscellany of tales of mystery and maccabre like you've never heard of. Tales such as: The Enchanted Gold, The Dwarf Of Nineva, Woods Have Eyes, Jazabel The Witch, The Novelty Tea ***, The Witch's Cauldron, The Lonely Hut, The Nectar Stream, among so many others.
And this tale is as well one of a grand scene in an adventurous movie script im penning.

#Each line in decasyllables
#Lenore is a name of a maiden I borrowed from Edgar Alan Poe's tales of mystery.
Julian Jul 2016
Fragile egg-shell mind on dawn’s highway bleeding the segue between times traversed only in momentary dreams or in enduring excursions

We drag our droll and quaint 60s baggage like the luggage of a safari made of concrete girding a cavernous expanse of unheralded ground

With our ears oriented to the floor, we leap out of body never to deplore….never to ignore….never to miss the blue bus of our drafted imaginations, so carefully culled from brash elitism

I trounce the intervening time between being friendless and an ironic end, and an irenic comrade becoming the dearest amazed but always aplomb friend

We simper in our glorious traversal, and though bedraggled through an ornamented cavern we linger just long enough to be celebrated

Then a blues riff emanates from a vapid bar, and finally someone heralds my exhumed memory still rusty with the pavement of encased concrete on an empty or full tomb

So I wander in my mind to that roughshod Paris glassy tincture a romanticized gild of proper sensibility crafted in the tongues of lizards emulating the tongues of serpentine Anglicans

As the power of love transcends the love of power, both are afforded serendipitously upon the stately occasion of a fitful revolt where heads literally rolled and deaths still unfurl from the slippage of a violent malevolent eternity, crafting a new creative way to expedite the smite of preventable scourge

So Jim, I see your picaresque side and your wide-eyed love for a listless ship anointed of a crystal blip just detectable long enough on RADAR to become the statistic to crack the slim WHIP

No wigs are needed at this formality, no figs grow from trees forty-five years buried and almost a full month unsung

Pitiable cretins of an invented insanity, they scoff at my ravenous and portentous heart for its excess and for aligning with an upstart verging on only a specious insanity

Why in all humanity could a month be mustered with every defense of history and yet for it to be so widely flouted as a risible exercise in futility

The irony that the artistic glamor of a past vogue becoming a revival that is often toked only to one song but never to the memorial of great cavernous and commodious imaginations, staggers with dismay where otherwise the mayday would be a disaster but still a great day

Then I look at a triggered-fingered omen of a death so ominous yet so brazenly confronted as the ambassadors of time provide plaudits to a fearless martyrdom

Why such a sad spate, why such a stringent but malevolent fate a malediction on a family whose crest is not crestfallen like rolling waves but ornamented with gravity impounding its own weight

A fugacious tomb, an eternal flame, a swan song announcing an independent authority on a prescient demise mashed and deprived

A single shot rippling through the broadened space between clasped eternity and a histrionic disgrace as a psychological confederate pays lip service to a reiterative applause

A cousin hardly American in a defected record of incendiary plumes of a hoarse hatred of waxen discs and flying discs alike,  climbs out of a bonfire mounted purely out of vindictive spite

Then upon a great white buffalo a wrapped package of Californian love before California ever alighted like something beyond an avaricious dove, saw a rocky park and a hearth of illuminated darkness the singular spark

Captain Morgan knows the jackknife applause of a botched deal morphing into a disbelieved spiel. A shibboleth of enormous mystical weight crashing down from an ethereal abode and heaven heavily saddened cannot hardly appeal

Then a loving spoonful of crystal blue persuasion led me to Ethel’s regimented keepsake and for once in my life nobility and I became a grateful waif. But temerity laughed, splintered spacecraft, and the wooden paws of a bearish applause led to resurgent clarity

Blinking stars shattered by knighted and raw applause punctured the liberated might of a sentient hortatory savior grasped by the internecine wrench of a waxen time

An indie track slides by unnoticed in an aleatory time, and the threadbare whine of centuries of lament becomes a dastardly barn set ablaze with the fury of ancients and the scurry of faineant patents

Perfidy slides in recess, and in gentle forbearance the winged angel lingers like a halo on conifer and spring above a remedial ring

I dial frisky celerity tingling the dangling claws of a raven’s screed and in plunder of all history’s pilfer secrets I eagerly weave a tapestry Indiana Jones himself would be proud to watch

Not the riotous ruin of a mystery tour of verdure crippled by genocide but overcome by the revived life of raised rain razing the moments of indelible pain

But the culmination of a proffered time taken at its word for its every careened bird, for its every brazen gird. The manger of proctored stars calls us home tonight and home forever. Life in quaked timorous stumbles suddenly no longer so fitfully absurd.

The quixotic plundered of pirates and emperors in direct emulation of some crooned pastiche of whittled integrity, surges above any encased blurb and any vain testament to a pyramid rigid in destiny and ragged in desultory and sturdy sincerity

Multiplying the ineffable by the division of arable divorced from edible is too creative to be eaten as pabulum when sparks curdle flickered moonlight crimson and that become golden only to the last laugh of ennobled ragamuffins

Frankly the desert of melliferous gorillas abetting the lark of a heavily vetted camarilla engaged in the sinecure of a rigged wall on a main street to block the tall from the lame bleat. Stocks grazed, costs engaged on a littoral beach at the end of a Bossy promenade

This prayer is a cutthroat collapse of a merry spare, a ribbed ****** waiting to plunge into the antithesis of female despair, but sincere in its restraint that vixens courted in love aren’t courted in litigation of a wagered dare

Ambulances chase Deloreans through the desolate moon-stricken skies of a time agape with fleets of phantasmagoria on a Cliffside too wise to ever mince words or excise cries

Skulking the red-teared caverns of entombed films and lampooned tinctures on a passion vetted only for certain and utter deracinated disguise, I wallop with winged men in a single soul armed to the teeth with inveterate tithes to eternal internments of poached and endangered gazettes

As growth older in wizened skin bets on epithets rather than epitaphs for rinsed peace and triumphant clefts we leap above in orbit of only the bellowing nether of blown tolls and untold souls aggregating the esoteric grasp of Alexandrian tomes

The denumeration of certainty is a carousel of wonder, a splurge of time ripped asunder with majesties of paparazzi scuttled impacts a throttled iniquity of regalia’s indicted blunder frenchified but still clean with inestimable sheens

With twenty-five dollars, a dime an assist and a nickeled reiteration of currency already so personable it is divine and sublime in crazed desist I watch the embroiled natives clash in denatured violence with the warriors of a crossed repast hearkening to an old land much of ire but too much of grandstand to ultimately last

Itching for a holy field husk of peerless ties listed as rumpus and beer, a two-packed smoked by bludgeoned blokes careless in irascible sputters of a muffled doom, a Vegan becomes the author of too many sacrosanct homilies becoming defiled witchcraft brooms dead on arrival too many lionized tombs

In plaudits and the scause of an amplified “what if?” of an olfactory nightmare of petrified fog of effluvium bogged in Wade and in heat it is always clogged, sinewy libations of toasted preemptive revenge become a powerballed hog

A castle in the sky founded on Franklin but scourged of wineskins brimming with a distilled time, a swift repartee becomes the whispered ladder of saints blather becoming not rather other than a Dan Rather spatter

A door breeched by a broached inconvenience of amphigory beyond common reach, I clamber excess and whisk the lingered love into destiny beyond any word other than a beseeched preach of nothing tired but everything inspired of noble love with abundance often to teach

Fireworks of turned tides of fallow tithes to aliens beyond any conceivable bribe the bushwhacker writhes but survives staying alive without even a hint of garbled jive a 27th floor glass elevator is quite a resplendent ride

Wellsprings knowing radical rolled tides of errant dice also themselves guilty of confessional tithes to the monolith of avarice at the nooked cranny of an evaporated time we whine as the police sting the album rained with songs too lugubrious to sing but in their elegy every lonely heart has a propinquity phone of souled resonance ring

Iterative mastery of a mathematics of love, loss decay and the dross of a dental Occidental floss, the sweep of screened queues become questions of inestimable importance to foreign dues on a horse with no name but so consumed with fumes

A fright occultist thriller prowls in a waylaying daylight, masquerading an innocent confection for a rescued triage of a dawn stabbed with knives in our last dying days of trembled plight

He resurrects only the wraiths of detest, squinted at by the putrefaction of summoned cardiac arrest and littered with bullets that somehow can penetrate even impregnable bullet proof vests the wrapped carcass of the mummified husk of ready despair offers itself a ghoulish and raspy prayer

Synchronized in a low roaring swathe of rollercoasters too immersive to ride, the terpsichorean obscurantism of deliberately shattered fragments becoming blurbs dismissed with hijacked deride the carnival of a summer sun becomes the ocean of limitless love becoming endless fun

We forget the drawl of the droll old tales that haunt like specters in the closet and beneath the bedridden valetudinarian of an effrontery of shackled fright, we sprawl the innumerable caverns of prophetic insight afforded by the pantheon of history enter stage left, depart stage right

And with their insight I write and write, I grasp the tusk of democracy and wage an insurrection against the doubt of plodding limitations in otherwise immaculate sight

*** and tyrannosaurus rex, of litigable offenses leading to pardonable arrests, the gated entryway of a poetic splurge leads to the demiurge of a demotic enlightenment and suddenly the frank becomes the frazzled retirement and that haunting hounding bunny transmogrified by a shattered eye averts the car crash that careens ponderous engines out of limitless twilight blue skies.

Diamond lightning in pristine skies escorts the telegraphic totems of riddled modems from 1967 to 2016 and suddenly all venerable personages converge on a teeming scene of a union unified by a universal dream. To become everything and yet nothing and out of light and darkness to become a beatific beam
Yenson Apr 15
They weren't born with a silver spoon
only an umbilical cord tied round their necks
alas this stopped enough oxygen getting to their brains
creating minds full of mumbo jumbo ideas and fantasies
and a bleeding wound that gives them pain without relief
reminding them all the time they are low and never good enough
cause they were born without a silver spoon on a dusty ***** track

It's a blemish that can never be erased
even with a million lucre they still feel small and stained
you can take them out of the manger not the shame out of them
they always believe and know that those others are better than them
with stunted-brains and raving-angst they never see the world right
its us and them burns the burning passions in conflicted sad minds
life long struggles for the struggle to find that silver spoon never had

Their leaders had a brilliant idea in time
mind without a silver spoon their brains always suspect
find all the silversmiths and **** them all and then nationalize silver
one called Stalin killed millions because he saw silver in their teeth
one Pol *** decided he saw silver in the educated and killed them all
this Chavez took all the silver and gave it all away now they are poor
and Fidel says we'll share equally but I and my brotha will only give

The Silver searchers in the some of the West
decided, we should just fight and talk and hold rallies and hate
all those born with the silver spoon must be punished to kingdom
but look says some, you can have silver if you only apply yourself
that's a trick says them of the befuddled minds and complexes bad
let's just be nuisances and hate and holler and torment and harass
Looking closely all their leaders had silver spoons but that's OK
Come on, don't be a sourpuss all the time, you gotta laugh while the revolution rages, We may not have silver spoons but at least we should keep our sense of humour, ain't it so, comrades.  Down with the Royals, no nookie for them, except Harry, Charles, William, Andrew, Edward, definitely NO to Philip and ehh......that black one......
Well, well, well, Dimitrious

here you are, your neck in the noose
time is up, poor cooked goose

look now who holds the rope in hand
the drop is deep and dark and
waiting

for you, Dimitrious the scourge

did you not scent the danger?
the baby in the manger
the quiet handsome stranger

look how the blade grins

it's appetite whetted

it will starve, Dimitrious

nor will it slake your blood

the fibres of the rope kiss your neck
such tenderness in that sweet embrace
well, well, well, your eyes now well
I can tell
your bulging eyes beg

forgive?

not today, Dimitrious

let us share our scars beneath the stars
of Hell
may the Devil embrace us both
our sins will not purge
nor will you scourge

again

for the drop is deep
the rope is long
your neck is strong
What is wrong, Dimitrious?

what is wrong?
Andrew Jan 26
They used to worship the Creator
Now they worship job creators
Because of their blind nature
And aggressive nomenclature
They sacrifice life and limb
Bringing all that is grim
Making the world dim
Not listening to Him

They won’t budge
While they judge
And hold a grudge
As they trudge
Behind whoever has the answers
Or can cure their cancer
Like a magic necromancer
Raising skeleton dancers

They’re sheep
They’re slaves
I’m not deep
I’m just saying
Their praying
Donkey braying
Causes slaying
Fish filleting

Christianity seems stupid
After they’ve used it
Which is *******
From a ghoul’s wit
Who can’t cool it
Becoming enslaved by anger
And afraid of strangers
Any threat of danger
Nullifies Jesus’ manger

The pious anoint them
The rich exploit them
I wish I could avoid them
Instead I just annoy them

They say the Bible is the greatest thing ever written
But I really love the song Subdivisions
Which they call derision
But Jesus said we would do greater works
Yet the mere idea of that hurts
So they act like jerks
When I tell them not to compare Hattori Hanzo swords
They formulate violent hateful hordes
Expelling anger they’ve stored
Towards me
Trying to set them free
From a more manipulative breed
Until I hate them
And underrate them
After they understated
Jesus’ compassion
I can’t see in their fashion
Building a fascist far right bastion

They scream
And yell
Their dream
A hell
I can’t tell
How they fell
Under the spell
Of a holy well

They’re lured
By a cure
And obscure
The truer
Who can make progress
But meet resistance
In holy offense
And insistence
We may need some distance
To make up this difference
Bien des gens ont mis leurs sentiments en mots pour soulager leur cœur trop lourd.
Il me semble alors utile de le faire maintenant parce que traîner mon corps est un supplice.
Je te sens m’éviter, sachant très bien ce qui s’est passé, mais refusant de prendre ta part de responsabilité.
Nous étions deux.
Tu m’as dit que c’était compliqué.
J’ai tout accepté en étant sous l’effet de l’étincelle du moment que tu m’avais offert.
Tu exprimais tes remords tout en continuant ce que nous avions commencé.
Tout est flou à présent.
Un instant tu était l’ami qui pouvait me faire sourire même lorsque le ciel me tombait sur la tête et en une fraction de seconde, tu balayais cette relation du revers de la main.
« Je n’aurais pas dû faire ça » tu m’as dit.
Et pourtant tu l’as fait.
Je ne crois pas à l’effet de l’alcool.
Étais-je simplement le fruit d’une impulsion ou juste une autre de plus?
J’ai mal.
Je t’ai donné l’occasion de m’expliquer et tu t’entêtes à éviter de me répondre clairement.
Je ne peux plus manger.
Tout me tente et me dégoûte à la fois.
Je ne regrette pas que tu aies été le premier.
C’était à la limite romantique.
Cependant, je ne peux l’oublier, la scène repasse sans cesse.
Je ne peux pas nier que je rêve d’un autre moment comme celui-là avec toi.
Je n’aurais pas pu imaginer un first kiss plus parfait.
Oui, il m’a surpris, mais je pense qu’il le fallait.
Tu es tellement attentionné, tu ne sais pas la valeur que tu as.
Tu as su me transmettre ta confiance et ta joie.
Tu as rendu mes 18 ans inoubliables.
Passer mes mains dans tes cheveux, danser avec incohérence au gré d’une musique qui faisait vibrer de l’intérieur et t’embrasser avec un peu trop de vigueur.
Je ne pourrai jamais te dire à quel point tu es une personne hors du commun.
J’ai presque honte de mes sentiments parce que je sais que pour toi, l’amitié est le seul fil qui nous relie.
Il faut que ça sorte pour que j’aille mieux.
Je me trouve si extravagante d’en faire toute une histoire pour de frivoles embrassades de bar, mais il y a de quoi se poser des questions.
Je ne sais pas si tu aura le courage de tout lire.
Dans mon fort intérieur je sens que j’éprouve quelque chose pour toi. C’est indéniable.
J’ai passé des heures à scruter à la loupe ce que j’en pensais.
Sans l’ombre d’un doute, ce n’est pas l’amitié qui me fait vivre.

P.S. La fille qui rentra un jour au bar pour en ressortir comme une femme.
S’il te plaît, dis-moi que tu m’aimes
Jack L Martin Oct 2018
He stands next to her bedside
Her eyes closed to the world
Unaware of her surroundings
Unaware of his presence

It was three weeks since the accident
Her children did not survive
The other passenger that was in the car
In the other room, barely alive

The news crews have disappeared
The lawyers and judges on hold
Our attention spans have vanished
This story has gotten old

He extends his hands loving warmth
Gently below her breast
Wishing to feel her heart once more
Beating within her chest

A smile breaks his haunted face
As memories flow within,
Of life she shared with all her kin
Each victory, every sin.

The ache in her soul, it resonates loudly
The misery and pain that would follow
too many years of aches and recovery
Haunts when she wakes up tomorrow

He knows that he can take only one;
All the burden and nothing to gain
The power that's bestowed within him
He decides to relieve her of pain

His gentle hand caresses her cheek,
The devoted servant standing by
A shock of hope, an energy bolt
jolts life and she opens her eyes!

Un-amused, bruised, dazed and confused
The patient in complete disbelief
As if surprised, looks in his eyes
This man; the sickly heart thief

Her eyes filled with tears, her heart filled with fears
Not knowing of her dear children's fate
The man reassured, they both joined the herd
Their souls rest at God's pearly gate

She wanted to scream, in horror, it seemed
Not knowing at what's coming next
The very kind stranger who laid in a manger
Now stands at the pearly gate's steps

He reached out his hand and issued command
"You're safe now, your life is now free.
"You'll surely employ, your heart filled with joy
Now, child please do come with me!"

"And what of my mate, and what of his fate?
The man in the adjoining room?"
The soul of the sky, with tear in his eye
Said that her mate's soul was scheduled for doom!

"The man that's next door, is mean to the core
His mind and his heart, black as pitch,
The hurt left beneath, forever bequeathed
His soul's path is straight to the ditch."

"His heart full of tar, he left me with scars
Forgiveness is not what you preach?
My soul will not rest as it views from afar
This man that you leave at the beach."

The holy man said that before he is dead
The darkened heart has time to heal
Forgiveness and penance is now his life's sentence
The darkened heart needs time to heal

And so they ascended, their holiness blended
All things that were wronged turned to right
The angel of death; he took her very last breath

and her essence.................... returned to the light!
Ryan O'Leary Sep 6
(˚>

Ne t'attends pas aux corbeaux
manger des limaces, juste parce que
les Français mangent des escargots.

                       @                            

Ps.

S'il n'y avait pas d'ail, le
les autoroutes seraient
encombré d'escargots.
paranoia in times of danger
    feeling for my mental manger
           I am a poor Wayfaring stranger

                           world of woe
                       yet still, yet still I go.
She was flying
The crows were flying
They were so hunger

Or they wanted to hunter
They chased her faster
Like a cat chased the fatter
Rabbit and he finally screamer

From losing hope or failure
As the man wanted to work
He was off by the manger
All west and east were narrower

He lost his aim
Until he found a plane
A sign from the heaven
Do not fill at swirl

They were chasing
One was catching
And flying with her
She was screaming

Help, help, no one was answering
She was discovering
The help was not being
Gained except by the using

Your inner force that will be the gaining
Suddenly, she was not fearing
Suddenly she was converting
As the huge monster appearing

She attacked the nearest
She was pecking
His eye was hurting
With one of her wing
She was aiming at another thing

She was aiming to his long
Tail, and going to his eye
He was downing to the land
She was doing for every one
Until she was downing fast
She was founding a land
In t, she was looking at vent
She was entering
While his owner "rabbit" was running

She was crossing
With many, many rocket, she was carrying
She was throwing at them
They thought she became a wild
They were escaped

There is no failure
Failure is gained
It is the hanger
Of our looser
the failure is bad, but the success is the best, it gained by our effort
tinhearts Jan 5
“Weren’t our hearts on fire when he spoke to us along the road and when he explained the scriptures for us?”
Luke 24:32

Isn’t this true of today. There these men were, eye witness of the ongoings in Jerusalem but with the noice of different voices and distractions going on about what happened they were confused and in despair. It’s like a woman who lost the diamond from her engagement ring while walking the darkened streets of the city.
Unnoticed by her that it was missing, yet, a weary humble soul found it laying amongst the debris and filth and saw it was of great value. Picked it up and cherished it as his heart burned in knowing he had found the truth.
Today the truth is lost, laying along a side road somewhere unnoticed and not missed because of the noice factor that clouds the minds and convinces the soul into believing whatever she hears and soaks it in as good food for thought. Coming from that tree of the KNOWLEDGE of good and evil.
It suffices Because it doesn’t cause any disturbances. Nothing alarming enough to make a change within their minds actions to SEE they are blind guides leading the blind and they will all fall in a pit.
When the truth in all its humility is heard it causes disturbance within the innermost being. It’s supposed to so that you know the other is false. The truth burns like a fire to consume anything of the false order and turn the soul to her true Light of Life the Living Jesus, sleeping in the manger because the inn is full of imposters.
   The Pharisees stick their nose up in the air because it will change everything they believe in and upset their lifestyles.
I’m telling you the truth. Didn’t Jesus insist on that constantly! For those who have ears to hear listen!
He knew they were lost yet not knowing and wallowing in their sects of unbelief and misguided preachers robbing the lambs food and leaving them hungry.

I’ve noticed by the Spirit the ones who believe what I say and the ones who leave in disgust.
Jesus said,”And you, do you wish to leave also!” Precious Peter said,”Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words to eternal Life and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.”
How did he know? The truth rises within and burns away the false. The darkness can not comprehend the Light and it DISAPPEARS.
Just like Jesus disappeared after the Light of His words penetrated the souls of the two men on the road to Emmaus. Once He broke the Bread of Truth and Life they could SEE. Amen
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