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Thus, then, did the Achaeans arm by their ships round you, O son
of Peleus, who were hungering for battle; while the Trojans over
against them armed upon the rise of the plain.
  Meanwhile Jove from the top of many-delled Olympus, bade Themis
gather the gods in council, whereon she went about and called them
to the house of Jove. There was not a river absent except Oceanus, nor
a single one of the nymphs that haunt fair groves, or springs of
rivers and meadows of green grass. When they reached the house of
cloud-compelling Jove, they took their seats in the arcades of
polished marble which Vulcan with his consummate skill had made for
father Jove.
  In such wise, therefore, did they gather in the house of Jove.
Neptune also, lord of the earthquake, obeyed the call of the
goddess, and came up out of the sea to join them. There, sitting in
the midst of them, he asked what Jove’s purpose might be. “Why,”
said he, “wielder of the lightning, have you called the gods in
council? Are you considering some matter that concerns the Trojans and
Achaeans—for the blaze of battle is on the point of being kindled
between them?”
  And Jove answered, “You know my purpose, shaker of earth, and
wherefore I have called you hither. I take thought for them even in
their destruction. For my own part I shall stay here seated on Mt.
Olympus and look on in peace, but do you others go about among Trojans
and Achaeans, and help either side as you may be severally disposed.
If Achilles fights the Trojans without hindrance they will make no
stand against him; they have ever trembled at the sight of him, and
now that he is roused to such fury about his comrade, he will override
fate itself and storm their city.”
  Thus spoke Jove and gave the word for war, whereon the gods took
their several sides and went into battle. Juno, Pallas Minerva,
earth-encircling Neptune, Mercury bringer of good luck and excellent
in all cunning—all these joined the host that came from the ships;
with them also came Vulcan in all his glory, limping, but yet with his
thin legs plying lustily under him. Mars of gleaming helmet joined the
Trojans, and with him Apollo of locks unshorn, and the archer
goddess Diana, Leto, Xanthus, and laughter-loving Venus.
  So long as the gods held themselves aloof from mortal warriors the
Achaeans were triumphant, for Achilles who had long refused to fight
was now with them. There was not a Trojan but his limbs failed him for
fear as he beheld the fleet son of Peleus all glorious in his
armour, and looking like Mars himself. When, however, the Olympians
came to take their part among men, forthwith uprose strong Strife,
rouser of hosts, and Minerva raised her loud voice, now standing by
the deep trench that ran outside the wall, and now shouting with all
her might upon the shore of the sounding sea. Mars also bellowed out
upon the other side, dark as some black thunder-cloud, and called on
the Trojans at the top of his voice, now from the acropolis, and now
speeding up the side of the river Simois till he came to the hill
Callicolone.
  Thus did the gods spur on both hosts to fight, and rouse fierce
contention also among themselves. The sire of gods and men thundered
from heaven above, while from beneath Neptune shook the vast earth,
and bade the high hills tremble. The spurs and crests of
many-fountained Ida quaked, as also the city of the Trojans and the
ships of the Achaeans. Hades, king of the realms below, was struck
with fear; he sprang panic-stricken from his throne and cried aloud in
terror lest Neptune, lord of the earthquake, should crack the ground
over his head, and lay bare his mouldy mansions to the sight of
mortals and immortals—mansions so ghastly grim that even the gods
shudder to think of them. Such was the uproar as the gods came
together in battle. Apollo with his arrows took his stand to face King
Neptune, while Minerva took hers against the god of war; the
archer-goddess Diana with her golden arrows, sister of far-darting
Apollo, stood to face Juno; Mercury the ***** bringer of good luck
faced Leto, while the mighty eddying river whom men can Scamander, but
gods Xanthus, matched himself against Vulcan.
  The gods, then, were thus ranged against one another. But the
heart of Achilles was set on meeting Hector son of Priam, for it was
with his blood that he longed above all things else to glut the
stubborn lord of battle. Meanwhile Apollo set Aeneas on to attack
the son of Peleus, and put courage into his heart, speaking with the
voice of Lycaon son of Priam. In his likeness therefore, he said to
Aeneas, “Aeneas, counsellor of the Trojans, where are now the brave
words with which you vaunted over your wine before the Trojan princes,
saying that you would fight Achilles son of Peleus in single combat?”
  And Aeneas answered, “Why do you thus bid me fight the proud son
of Peleus, when I am in no mind to do so? Were I to face him now, it
would not be for the first time. His spear has already put me to Right
from Ida, when he attacked our cattle and sacked Lyrnessus and
Pedasus; Jove indeed saved me in that he vouchsafed me strength to
fly, else had the fallen by the hands of Achilles and Minerva, who
went before him to protect him and urged him to fall upon the
Lelegae and Trojans. No man may fight Achilles, for one of the gods is
always with him as his guardian angel, and even were it not so, his
weapon flies ever straight, and fails not to pierce the flesh of him
who is against him; if heaven would let me fight him on even terms
he should not soon overcome me, though he boasts that he is made of
bronze.”
  Then said King Apollo, son to Jove, “Nay, hero, pray to the
ever-living gods, for men say that you were born of Jove’s daughter
Venus, whereas Achilles is son to a goddess of inferior rank. Venus is
child to Jove, while Thetis is but daughter to the old man of the sea.
Bring, therefore, your spear to bear upon him, and let him not scare
you with his taunts and menaces.”
  As he spoke he put courage into the heart of the shepherd of his
people, and he strode in full armour among the ranks of the foremost
fighters. Nor did the son of Anchises escape the notice of white-armed
Juno, as he went forth into the throng to meet Achilles. She called
the gods about her, and said, “Look to it, you two, Neptune and
Minerva, and consider how this shall be; Phoebus Apollo has been
sending Aeneas clad in full armour to fight Achilles. Shall we turn
him back at once, or shall one of us stand by Achilles and endow him
with strength so that his heart fail not, and he may learn that the
chiefs of the immortals are on his side, while the others who have all
along been defending the Trojans are but vain helpers? Let us all come
down from Olympus and join in the fight, that this day he may take
no hurt at the hands of the Trojans. Hereafter let him suffer whatever
fate may have spun out for him when he was begotten and his mother
bore him. If Achilles be not thus assured by the voice of a god, he
may come to fear presently when one of us meets him in battle, for the
gods are terrible if they are seen face to face.”
  Neptune lord of the earthquake answered her saying, “Juno,
restrain your fury; it is not well; I am not in favour of forcing
the other gods to fight us, for the advantage is too greatly on our
own side; let us take our places on some hill out of the beaten track,
and let mortals fight it out among themselves. If Mars or Phoebus
Apollo begin fighting, or keep Achilles in check so that he cannot
fight, we too, will at once raise the cry of battle, and in that
case they will soon leave the field and go back vanquished to
Olympus among the other gods.”
  With these words the dark-haired god led the way to the high
earth-barrow of Hercules, built round solid masonry, and made by the
Trojans and Pallas Minerva for him fly to when the sea-monster was
chasing him from the shore on to the plain. Here Neptune and those
that were with him took their seats, wrapped in a thick cloud of
darkness; but the other gods seated themselves on the brow of
Callicolone round you, O Phoebus, and Mars the waster of cities.
  Thus did the gods sit apart and form their plans, but neither side
was willing to begin battle with the other, and Jove from his seat
on high was in command over them all. Meanwhile the whole plain was
alive with men and horses, and blazing with the gleam of armour. The
earth rang again under the ***** of their feet as they rushed
towards each other, and two champions, by far the foremost of them
all, met between the hosts to fight—to wit, Aeneas son of Anchises,
and noble Achilles.
  Aeneas was first to stride forward in attack, his doughty helmet
tossing defiance as he came on. He held his strong shield before his
breast, and brandished his bronze spear. The son of Peleus from the
other side sprang forth to meet him, fike some fierce lion that the
whole country-side has met to hunt and ****—at first he bodes no ill,
but when some daring youth has struck him with a spear, he crouches
openmouthed, his jaws foam, he roars with fury, he lashes his tail
from side to side about his ribs and *****, and glares as he springs
straight before him, to find out whether he is to slay, or be slain
among the foremost of his foes—even with such fury did Achilles
burn to spring upon Aeneas.
  When they were now close up with one another Achilles was first to
speak. “Aeneas,” said he, “why do you stand thus out before the host
to fight me? Is it that you hope to reign over the Trojans in the seat
of Priam? Nay, though you **** me Priam will not hand his kingdom over
to you. He is a man of sound judgement, and he has sons of his own. Or
have the Trojans been allotting you a demesne of passing richness,
fair with orchard lawns and corn lands, if you should slay me? This
you shall hardly do. I have discomfited you once already. Have you
forgotten how when you were alone I chased you from your herds
helter-skelter down the slopes of Ida? You did not turn round to
look behind you; you took refuge in Lyrnessus, but I attacked the
city, and with the help of Minerva and father Jove I sacked it and
carried its women into captivity, though Jove and the other gods
rescued you. You think they will protect you now, but they will not do
so; therefore I say go back into the host, and do not face me, or
you will rue it. Even a fool may be wise after the event.”
  Then Aeneas answered, “Son of Peleus, think not that your words
can scare me as though I were a child. I too, if I will, can brag
and talk unseemly. We know one another’s race and parentage as matters
of common fame, though neither have you ever seen my parents nor I
yours. Men say that you are son to noble Peleus, and that your
mother is Thetis, fair-haired daughter of the sea. I have noble
Anchises for my father, and Venus for my mother; the parents of one or
other of us shall this day mourn a son, for it will be more than silly
talk that shall part us when the fight is over. Learn, then, my
lineage if you will—and it is known to many.
  “In the beginning Dardanus was the son of Jove, and founded
Dardania, for Ilius was not yet stablished on the plain for men to
dwell in, and her people still abode on the spurs of many-fountained
Ida. Dardanus had a son, king Erichthonius, who was wealthiest of
all men living; he had three thousand mares that fed by the
water-meadows, they and their foals with them. Boreas was enamoured of
them as they were feeding, and covered them in the semblance of a
dark-maned stallion. Twelve filly foals did they conceive and bear
him, and these, as they sped over the rich plain, would go bounding on
over the ripe ears of corn and not break them; or again when they
would disport themselves on the broad back of Ocean they could
gallop on the crest of a breaker. Erichthonius begat Tros, king of the
Trojans, and Tros had three noble sons, Ilus, Assaracus, and
Ganymede who was comeliest of mortal men; wherefore the gods carried
him off to be Jove’s cupbearer, for his beauty’s sake, that he might
dwell among the immortals. Ilus begat Laomedon, and Laomedon begat
Tithonus, Priam, Lampus, Clytius, and Hiketaon of the stock of Mars.
But Assaracus was father to Capys, and Capys to Anchises, who was my
father, while Hector is son to Priam.
  “Such do I declare my blood and lineage, but as for valour, Jove
gives it or takes it as he will, for he is lord of all. And now let
there be no more of this prating in mid-battle as though we were
children. We could fling taunts without end at one another; a
hundred-oared galley would not hold them. The tongue can run all
whithers and talk all wise; it can go here and there, and as a man
says, so shall he be gainsaid. What is the use of our bandying hard
like women who when they fall foul of one another go out and wrangle
in the streets, one half true and the other lies, as rage inspires
them? No words of yours shall turn me now that I am fain to fight-
therefore let us make trial of one another with our spears.”
  As he spoke he drove his spear at the great and terrible shield of
Achilles, which rang out as the point struck it. The son of Peleus
held the shield before him with his strong hand, and he was afraid,
for he deemed that Aeneas’s spear would go through it quite easily,
not reflecting that the god’s glorious gifts were little likely to
yield before the blows of mortal men; and indeed Aeneas’s spear did
not pierce the shield, for the layer of gold, gift of the god,
stayed the point. It went through two layers, but the god had made the
shield in five, two of bronze, the two innermost ones of tin, and
one of gold; it was in this that the spear was stayed.
  Achilles in his turn threw, and struck the round shield of Aeneas at
the very edge, where the bronze was thinnest; the spear of Pelian
ash went clean through, and the shield rang under the blow; Aeneas was
afraid, and crouched backwards, holding the shield away from him;
the spear, however, flew over his back, and stuck quivering in the
ground, after having gone through both circles of the sheltering
shield. Aeneas though he had avoided the spear, stood still, blinded
with fear and grief because the weapon had gone so near him; then
Achilles sprang furiously upon him, with a cry as of death and with
his keen blade drawn, and Aeneas seized a great stone, so huge that
two men, as men now are, would be unable to lift it, but Aeneas
wielded it quite easily.
  Aeneas would then have struck Achilles as he was springing towards
him, either on the helmet, or on the shield that covered him, and
Achilles would have closed with him and despatched him with his sword,
had not Neptune lord of the earthquake been quick to mark, and said
forthwith to the immortals, “Alas, I am sorry for great Aeneas, who
will now go down to the house of Hades, vanquished by the son of
Peleus. Fool that he was to give ear to the counsel of Apollo.
Apollo will never save him from destruction. Why should this man
suffer when he is guiltless, to no purpose, and in another’s
quarrel? Has he not at all times offered acceptable sacrifice to the
gods that dwell in heaven? Let us then ****** him from death’s jaws,
lest the son of Saturn be angry should Achilles slay him. It is fated,
moreover, that he should escape, and that the race of Dardanus, whom
Jove loved above all the sons born to him of mortal women, shall not
perish utterly without seed or sign. For now indeed has Jove hated the
blood of Priam, while Aeneas shall reign over the Trojans, he and
his children’s children that shall be born hereafter.”
  Then answered Juno, “Earth-shaker, look to this matter yourself, and
consider concerning Aeneas, whether you will save him, or suffer
him, brave though he be, to fall by the hand of Achilles son of
Peleus. For of a truth we two, I and Pallas Minerva, have sworn full
many a time before all the immortals, that never would we shield
Trojans from destruction, not even when all Troy is burning in the
flames that the Achaeans shall kindle.”
  When earth-encircling Neptune heard this he went into the battle
amid the clash of spears, and came to the place where Ac
Raven Feels Jun 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, sunset west moon flies east? ;]


air planes soar
beyond the limits they roar
in a longing stare they long
disappearing through the clouds and gone
arise arose arisen
and in my place still frozen wizen
they venture the winds purple skied time
to blend and wing the moon menaces racing in line
glistening afar
from the back of a wounded scar
archer to the future
claiming a bleach
where does it go?
where does it reach?
maybe Saturn not here
but the return is there
to the node of the belong flying up no fear
seems my flight gonna wait for years
the waxing gibbous flies
and I hope for dreams in the close of eyes


                                                                          ------ravenfeels
Paul d'Aubin Dec 2016
Ce Matin-là !

(Il est encore Minuit dans notre nouveau siècle)

Ce Matin-là, six heures,
Le ciel est couleur plomb fondu
Et **** de nos lits chauds de France,
Là-bas, dans ce croissant qui fut autrefois fertile,
La loi de l'humiliation maximale
Et de l’épuisement de nos réflexes
Vitaux de dignité et d'honneur
Vient encore d'abaisser le niveau d’où l'être devra
encore plus plier l'échine et user de la reptation
pour faire admettre et tolérer
Ses petites et grandes lâchetés.
Et ces nouveaux « grands cimetières sous la lune »
Ou sont enfouis leur monceaux de victimes
données en sacrifice à ce nouveau Dieux Moloch
de l'indifférence et de la mort, des guerres de religion.
des ingérences internationales, des haines et rivalités régionales.
Nous n'avons plus, pour fonder ce grand vide,
Que certains flamboiements du passe,
Qui ont perdu leur valeur d'exemple et leur force propulsive.
Et ce nouveau Tsar, aussi prodige en Oukases et en menaces
qu'il l'est de myriades de « Guernica renouvelés ».
Il est aujourd'hui, de nouveau, « Minuit dans notre nouveau siècle »
Sans que l'on sache discerner quels sont les acteurs réels et les responsables majeurs
De ce désastre humain,
Dans son entre lac de rivalité et de tumultes
Pressant la gorge d'une nation agonisante dépecée aux quatre horizons de ses points cardinaux.
Les simplificateurs de nos raisons de mourir et leurs distributeurs d'indulgences plénières
et de permis de tuer,
Ont du mal à convaincre leurs habituels condottiere de l'idéal.
Et jamais l'odeur de mort ne fut moins masquée que dans ce combat de désespérés et de furieux,
Nos présentes guerres ont bien du mal à se la jouer chevaleresques et « justes causes »
Ce qui n'empêche pas les enfants de souffrir et de mourir,
dans cette « Terre de Cham » de tous les cauchemars et de toutes les souffrances,
pas si **** des hauteurs béantes où la citadelle d'Alamut reste fidèle à son sombre et meurtrier prestige.
Tu n'as vu jusqu'ici naître aucun message de vie, neuf, pour les êtres,
Et ton chaudron de haine et de vengeances engendre sa part nouvelle de serpents et de dragons,
Qui viennent répandre l'épouvante dans les endroits et les lieux de notre douce France
et mêmes dans ce Molenbeeck Belge.
Méfions-nous de la haute nuit ou se déroulent ces sabbat de tueurs.
Car il est de ces nuits noires qui glacent le sang et exportent de sombres guerriers.
Il est aussi de nouveaux « vieux de la Montagne » qui nous envoient leurs nouveaux « haschischins » et leurs messagers porteurs de meurtres cruels.
Là où il faudrait des paroles d'amour et des impositions de mains.
La guerre ne sait nourrir que la guerre !
Et toute diplomatie n' est que trop souvent l'antichambre de l'art de tuer et de terroriser
en brouillant les cartes.
Il est comme aujourd'hui des périodes,
Ou dans le creux des lits et du val de France surgissent des tueurs blêmes,
Et des menaces à prendre au sérieux.
Mais hélas, l'on ne peut impunément demander à vivre en Paix
si près des brasiers rallumés et des guerres de cent années rouvertes.

Paul Arrighi

(Ce texte crépusculaire a été écrit à Toulouse le 22 décembre 2016, date ultime de la « chute » d ' Alep)
(Ce texte crépusculaire a été écrit à Toulouse le 22 décembre 2016, date ultime de la « chute » d ' Alep)
1609

Sunset that screens, reveals—
Enhancing what we see
By menaces of Amethyst
And Moats of Mystery.
Matthew Rowe Aug 2010
The Elephant of Everyday comes stomping through my door
roaring and tromping and crashing about
blowing his trumpety horn

the prowling Panther of Performance
from the closet slides into the room
and circles my bed, growling, as he passes my head
hideous goals he lets loose

the Snake of Selfishness and Self-Centered Living
slithers from under my bed
he slides up the frame and under my sheets
as he curls up and warms my feets

the Black Lion of Pride struts into the room
strong and boasting and loud
living with no help, providing, perfect
telling me how I'm not him

the Otter of Overwhelming Panic
slaps into my room, jabbering and fretting about
running into my desk and my chair and my walls
worrying and biting his ever shortening nails
trying to find his way out

the Shadow Lady strides into my room
eye contact trying to make
the envelope pushes, seduction gushes
objectification she offers me to take

first I try to kick and pry
the snake off of my legs
but he tighter clings and up my torso climbs
his scales piercing my sides

with a snake on my neck
I sit on my bed, my feet touching the ground
and kick and shout at the panther as he
around me continues to prowl

he slashes and bites at my feet and legs
cutting and gouging my flesh
the panther still fighting, I manage to rise
and focus on the Black Lion of Pride

he sees me coming a mile away
and talks me to my knees
I yell and scream 'till I am hoarse
and shake as I weep bitterly

as I kneel, below me runs
the otter, stammering anxiously
I chuckle with malice as he bumbles away
misery loves company

quickly I jump up, out of the way
of the Elephant of Everyday
I kick his foot as he continues to thrash
he does not notice, or even sway

I turn around and face to face
the Shadow Lady's eyes
back me into a corner as I
fail to look away, but feebly try

so on my knees I whimper and cry
as the Gorilla of Guilt comes in
his padded feet near, his thick body looms
as he raises his huge tight fist, to close the tomb

I deserve this I've fallen
I'm no use at all
I can't uphold myself
on whom can I call?

I'm ****** and broken
inside and out
I fight and lose
then I cry and shout

"Stag of Solace, come near to me
I fail at fighting, this is my plea
thrash these menaces, clean my heart
I want to feel near you, never to part"

immediately, a rumbling sound
came from the hall, increasingly loud
they looked at each other, anxiously
then watched the door, slowly backing away

the Stag of Solace smashed through the door
splintering, crushing, a wood shrapnel shower
through the door and into the roaring
Black Lion as, through the window he's rammed,
slashing and crying

strong, poised, graceful he stood
his sharp eyes narrowed, eyeing this zoo
slowly the animals backed away
into the darkness, for now, to stay

his fur was short and sleek and brown
he wore compassion, ivory peace his crown
he came to me, I could not look
he lifted my eyes, bade me come
his shadow, protection, I took

To me he whispered:
my child you strive, you fight on your own
you think you can do this, you can not alone
your sin will never separate you from me
I save you, I purify, I set you free

he nuzzled my forehead
my wounds went away
he spoke once again
this time to me and the fray

the day is coming when I will return
to get rid of the zoo, it will surely burn
for you no more wounds or tears or fear
those things that burden you, never again, will be near

look and wait, for when I come
I come to save and restore
it will be done

until then you will have
trouble when you run
but take heart, for I am near
I hear you, I answer, I have overcome

he nuzzled again and strolled to the door
turned and looked, and let loose a fierce roar
charging away, he powerfully ran
his echo in my head, "I will help you be a man"

and slowly I got up and began to dress
thinking upon the Stag and me
his sin filled, ugly, made beautiful mess

I will still, to my dismay
entertain this masquerading zoo
but the Stag is in and with me
all things he makes new

and I fight and lose and strive to this day
but because the Stag of Solace helps me
I shall never, not ever, be put to shame
1 Corinthians 1:30
Psalm 91:1
Psalm 130
Isaiah 50:7
Hebrews 9:27,28
Galatians 2:20
2 Corinthians 5:17
John 16:33
Isaiah 30:19
2 Peter 3:10-13
Amanda Dec 2013
I have precisely not one but two stalkers, two malaise menaces in my hands. Well, not quite literally.

Its all in my head, you see.

They pervade my robust, iron clad, sheer willpower.

Hmph, not really.

The two little rascals, attractive ones at that, present themselves during frenzied times of scattered notes, inked fingers with frustration crashing in the air.

Frustration grows ever-so-slightly when they efficaciously whisper to you, it will only be five minutes.

They leech time off my circadian clock, inevitably painting black under my eyes.

A pair of smooth-talking liars, the scourge of the Student Underworld.

Their flamboyant, beguiling gestures of distractions, alas, it is far too much even for
my  
mind.

Even doctors cannot prescribe a medical concoction to rid me of these pests!

Beware these criminals!

They need to be obliterated, removed, pruned away from us, young innocent seedlings.

I introduce you to... ughh...

*Mr & Mrs Procrastination.
Yes, this is completely and utterly different feel from my other poems.
But I figured a few light-hearted giggles won't hurt! ;)
(This poem was originally posted on http://over-written.blogspot.com.au/2013/03/mr-mrs-procrastination.html)
Thomas Sep 2013
This is the Genesis.
Incentives to diminish menaces.
Endlessness.
Will I finish this?
Infinite questions of aggression, are expressed when the deception of obsessions are a progression.
Infinite diligent stimulant from an incident, but im innocent.
And still I vent...
Out of the night that covers me,
     Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank my God, King Christ, for He
     Has come and conquered, O, my soul.

Clutched by a fate that's felt like chance,
     I've winced and wept and cried aloud.
Under the gaze of God, my stance
     Is on my knees.  My head is bowed.

Beyond the place of wrath and tears,
     Where Death casts shadows, shade on shade,
The menaces of bygone years
     Are disappeared.  My debts are paid.

My gait's as strait as heaven's gate,
     My way as narrow as a scroll.
Christ is the master of my fate.
     Christ is the captain of my soul.
Compare 'Invictus' by Ernest Henley
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, funny how a book can be translated by everyone's Mercury differently--edited;}


on a beauty so mystical on a plastered smile an essence so beam

yet not everlasting not in a bare nor a second tormenting blurt

such stars she begged them Gods for she tormented in a skeptic hurt

she trails her menaces to **** in a drip

of a bordeaux in a wine in a mindless sip

yearning erased letters from people from faces

a charm of a devil monster selfished her feels down her laces

a bound to the intimate

flushed upon the ultimate

of the hate of the ends

an evermore of upcoming pained centuries

moments the gods abide to hide to conceal

from human memory to blank and come across a past life to steal

then to the unconscious to plant on dreams and make souls heal

speechless left

one on the fictional

two on the cure in the weeks my delusional

believed seven constellated freckles pure by the character been held

mooned self-expressionism in sick mind delves I label mine

forever fallen saint on the line


                                                                                  --------ravenfeels
jalalium Jan 2013

Yo, I am the best this dude can do
You know, I am what's up
You better get to know me asap
I am what all chicks try to woo

I play soccer so well i don't pass
look at me, I'm world class
just follow me, I am the compass
Yeah, I was born to be bad-***

Worries, I ain't got any
Always in good company
*
                                                      ­          Salutations, I really do not know much
                                                          **­wever, I wish the situation won't stay as such
                                                            ­     This existence drowns me in confusion
                                                       ­            A sentence to loneliness and delusion

                                                       ­   I consigned happiness to oblivion premeditatively
                                                 ­        After sadness and sorrow haunted me prematurely
                                                     ­    I then had to ignore all emotions to survive decently  
                                                      ­If happiness does not exist neither does sadness logically        

                                              ­          Emptiness is lethal, death is certain if empty is the inside
                                                        Se­eking knowledge can remorse the process, the last ride
                                                  Ride from stars to "who am i?" to "are they real?" with no guide
                                           Captivity to knowledge requires evasion, evasion with no heart is suicide                                                             


                                                             ­                                                                 ­        hello, I am always hiding
                                                          ­                                                            becau­se this body to me is binding
                                                         ­                                                             ever­yday, my hope in life is fading
                                                          ­                                                                 ­         will I ever end up deciding

                                                       ­                                                                 ­         I surely do not sound logical
                                                         ­                                                                 ­                 but I too have feelings
                                                        ­                                                                 I wish I could do so many things
                                                                ­                                                    24 hours of being would be magical
  
                                                      ­                                                                 ­      beauty can hide in ugly places
                                                          ­                                                             and a diamond has so many faces
                                                           ­                                                          in this body I am leaving my traces
                                                          ­                                                      I might be hiding but fear no menaces
*


Sharing a body is quite complex
Living every second in a multiplex
With a brain leaving you perplex
A primitive instinct and its reflex
A soul that has fortitude  to flex.
Kristin Savage Feb 2010
Wondering souls
All feeling so numb
Somehow my soul escapes from this destined hell

Lies and deceit
While far away menaces find a way to pry
All tempting fate
All the secrets are lies

Subsiding Pain
It throbs while it all slips away
Flowing blood drifts
Along with any of my self-consciousness

Looking away
While turning to hide
The sounds of sorrow
Theres a terrifying cry
Screech and scream;
a door of escape
Because once again you are tempting fate.
Tandis qu'au **** des nuées,
Qui semblent des paradis,
Dans le bleu sont remuées,
Je t'écoute, et tu me dis :

« Quelle idée as-tu de l'homme,
« De croire qu'il aide Dieu ?
« L'homme est-il donc l'économe
« De l'eau, de l'air et du feu ?

« Est-ce que, dans son armoire,
« Tu l'aurais vu de tes yeux
« Serrer les rouleaux de moire
« Que l'aube déploie aux cieux ?

« Est-ce lui qui gonfle et ride
« La vague, et lui dit : Assez !
« Est-ce lui qui tient la bride
« Des éléments hérissés ?

« Sait-il le secret de l'herbe ?
« Parle-t-il au nid vivant ?
« Met-il sa note superbe
« Dans le noir clairon du vent ?

« La marée âpre et sonore
« Craint-elle son éperon ?
« Connaît-il le météore ?
« Comprend-il le moucheron ?

« L'homme aider Dieu ! lui, ce songe,
« Ce spectre en fuite et tremblant !
« Est-ce grâce à son éponge
« Que le cygne reste blanc ?

« Le fait veut, l'homme acquiesce.
« Je ne vois pas que sa main
« Découpe à l'emporte-pièce
« Les pétales du jasmin.

« Donne-t-il l'odeur aux sauges,
« Parce qu'il sait faire un trou
« Pour mêler le grès des Vosges
« Au salpêtre du Pérou ?

« Règle-t-il l'onde et la brise,
« Parce qu'il disséquera
« De l'argile qu'il a prise
« Près de Rio-Madera ?

« Ôte Dieu ; puis imagine,
« Essaie, invente ; épaissis
« L'idéal subtil d'Égine
« Par les dogmes d'Éleusis ;

« Soude Orphée à Lamettrie ;
« Joins, pour ne pas être à court,
« L'école d'Alexandrie
« À l'école d'Edimbourg ;

« Va du conclave au concile,
« D'Anaximandre à Destutt ;
« Dans quelque cuve fossile
« Exprime tout l'institut ;

« Démaillote la momie ;
« Presse Œdipe et Montyon ;
« Mets en pleine académie
« Le sphinx à la question ;

« Fouille le doute et la grâce ;
« Amalgame en ton guano
« À la Sybaris d'Horace
« Les Chartreux de saint Bruno ;

« Combine Genève et Rome ;
« Fais mettre par ton fermier
« Toutes les vertus de l'homme
« Dans une fosse à fumier ;

« Travaille avec patience
« En puisant au monde entier ;
« Prends pour pilon la science
« Et l'abîme pour mortier ;

« Va, forge ! je te défie
« De faire de ton savoir
« Et de ta philosophie
« Sortir un grain de blé noir !

« Dieu, de sa droite, étreint, fauche,
« Sème, et tout est rajeuni ;
« L'homme n'est qu'une main gauche
« Tâtonnant dans l'infini.

« Aux heures mystérieuses,
« Quand l'eau se change en miroir,
« Rôdes-tu sous les yeuses,
« L'esprit plongé dans le soir ?

« Te dis-tu : - Qu'est-ce que l'homme ? -
« Sonde, ami, sa nullité ;
« Cherche, de quel chiffre, en somme,
« Il accroît l'éternité !

« L'homme est vain. Pourquoi, poète,
« Ne pas le voir tel qu'il est,
« Dans le sépulcre squelette,
« Et sur la terre valet !

« L'homme est nu, stérile, blême,
« Plus frêle qu'un passereau ;
« C'est le puits du néant même
« Qui s'ouvre dans ce zéro.

« Va, Dieu crée et développe
« Un lion très réussi,
« Un bélier, une antilope,
« Sans le concours de Poissy.

« Il fait l'aile de la mouche
« Du doigt dont il façonna
« L'immense taureau farouche
« De la Sierra Morena ;

« Et dans l'herbe et la rosée
« Sa génisse au fier sabot
« Règne, et n'est point éclipsée
« Par la vache Sarlabot.

« Oui, la graine dans l'espace
« Vole à travers le brouillard,
« Et de toi le vent se passe,
« Semoir Jacquet-Robillard !

« Ce laboureur, la tempête,
« N'a pas, dans les gouffres noirs,
« Besoin que Grignon lui prête
« Sa charrue à trois versoirs.

« Germinal, dans l'atmosphère,  
« Soufflant sur les prés fleuris,  
« Sait encor mieux son affaire  
« Qu'un maraîcher de Paris.

« Quand Dieu veut teindre de flamme
« Le scarabée ou la fleur,
« Je ne vois point qu'il réclame
« La lampe de l'émailleur.

« L'homme peut se croire prêtre,
« L'homme peut se dire roi,
« Je lui laisse son peut-être,
« Mais je doute, quant à moi,

« Que Dieu, qui met mon image
« Au lac où je prends mon bain,
« Fasse faire l'étamage
« Des étangs, à Saint-Gobain.

« Quand Dieu pose sur l'eau sombre
« L'arc-en-ciel comme un siphon,
« Quand au tourbillon plein d'ombre
« Il attelle le typhon,

« Quand il maintient d'âge en âge
« L'hiver, l'été, mai vermeil,
« Janvier triste, et l'engrenage
« De l'astre autour du soleil,

« Quand les zodiaques roulent,
« Amarrés solidement,
« Sans que jamais elles croulent,
« Aux poutres du firmament,

« Quand tournent, rentrent et sortent
« Ces effrayants cabestans
« Dont les extrémités portent
« Le ciel, les saisons, le temps ;

« Pour combiner ces rouages
« Précis comme l'absolu,
« Pour que l'urne des nuages
« Bascule au moment voulu,

« Pour que la planète passe,
« Tel jour, au point indiqué,
« Pour que la mer ne s'amasse
« Que jusqu'à l'ourlet du quai,

« Pour que jamais la comète
« Ne rencontre un univers,
« Pour que l'essaim sur l'Hymète
« Trouve en juin les lys ouverts,

« Pour que jamais, quand approche
« L'heure obscure où l'azur luit,
« Une étoile ne s'accroche
« À quelque angle de la nuit,

« Pour que jamais les effluves
« Les forces, le gaz, l'aimant,
« Ne manquent aux vastes cuves
« De l'éternel mouvement,

« Pour régler ce jeu sublime,
« Cet équilibre béni,
« Ces balancements d'abîme,
« Ces écluses d'infini,

« Pour que, courbée ou grandie,
« L'oeuvre marche sans un pli,
« Je crois peu qu'il étudie
« La machine de Marly ! »

Ton ironie est amère,
Mais elle se trompe, ami.
Dieu compte avec l'éphémère,
Et s'appuie à la fourmi.

Dieu n'a rien fait d'inutile.
La terre, hymne où rien n'est vain,
Chante, et l'homme est le dactyle
De l'hexamètre divin.

L'homme et Dieu sont parallèles :
Dieu créant, l'homme inventant.
Dieu donne à l'homme ses ailes.
L'éternité fait l'instant.

L'homme est son auxiliaire
Pour le bien et la vertu.
L'arbre est Dieu, l'homme est le lierre ;
Dieu de l'homme s'est vêtu.

Dieu s'en sert, donc il s'en aide.
L'astre apparaît dans l'éclair ;
Zeus est dans Archimède,
Et Jéhovah dans Képler.

Jusqu'à ce que l'homme meure,
Il va toujours en avant.
Sa pensée a pour demeure
L'immense idéal vivant.

Dans tout génie il s'incarne ;
Le monde est sous son orteil ;
Et s'il n'a qu'une lucarne,
Il y pose le soleil.

Aux terreurs inabordable,
Coupant tous les fatals noeuds,
L'homme marche formidable,
Tranquille et vertigineux.

De limon il se fait lave,
Et colosse d'embryon ;
Epictète était esclave,
Molière était histrion,

Ésope était saltimbanque,
Qu'importe ! - il n'est arrêté
Que lorsque le pied lui manque
Au bord de l'éternité.

L'homme n'est pas autre chose
Que le prête-nom de Dieu.
Quoi qu'il fasse, il sent la cause
Impénétrable, au milieu.

Phidias cisèle Athènes ;
Michel-Ange est surhumain ;
Cyrus, Rhamsès, capitaines,
Ont une flamme à la main ;

Euclide trouve le mètre,
Le rythme sort d'Amphion ;
Jésus-Christ vient tout soumettre,
Même le glaive, au rayon ;

Brutus fait la délivrance ;
Platon fait la liberté ;
Jeanne d'Arc sacre la France
Avec sa virginité ;

Dans le bloc des erreurs noires
Voltaire ses coins ;
Luther brise les mâchoires
De Rome entre ses deux poings ;

Dante ouvre l'ombre et l'anime ;
Colomb fend l'océan bleu... -
C'est Dieu sous un pseudonyme,
C'est Dieu masqué, mais c'est Dieu.

L'homme est le fanal du monde.
Ce puissant esprit banni
Jette une lueur profonde
Jusqu'au seuil de l'infini.

Cent carrefours se partagent
Ce chercheur sans point d'appui ;
Tous les problèmes étagent
Leurs sombres voûtes sur lui.

Il dissipe les ténèbres ;
Il montre dans le lointain
Les promontoires funèbres
De l'abîme et du destin.

Il fait voir les vagues marches
Du sépulcre, et sa clarté
Blanchit les premières arches
Du pont de l'éternité.

Sous l'effrayante caverne
Il rayonne, et l'horreur fuit.
Quelqu'un tient cette lanterne ;
Mais elle t'éclaire, ô nuit !

Le progrès est en litige
Entre l'homme et Jéhovah ;
La greffe ajoute à la tige ;
Dieu cacha, l'homme trouva.

De quelque nom qu'on la nomme,
La science au vaste voeu
Occupe le pied de l'homme
À faire les pas de Dieu.

La mer tient l'homme et l'isole,
Et l'égare **** du port ;
Par le doigt de la boussole
Il se fait montrer le nord.

Dans sa morne casemate,
Penn rend ce damné meilleur ;
Jenner dit : Va-t-en, stigmate !
Jackson dit : Va-t-en, douleur !

Dieu fait l'épi, nous la gerbe ;
Il est grand, l'homme est fécond ;
Dieu créa le premier verbe
Et Gutenberg le second.

La pesanteur, la distance,
Contre l'homme aux luttes prêt,
Prononcent une sentence ;
Montgolfier casse l'arrêt.

Tous les anciens maux tenaces,
Hurlant sous le ciel profond,
Ne sont plus que des menaces
De fantômes qui s'en vont.

Le tonnerre au bruit difforme
Gronde... - on raille sans péril
La marionnette énorme
Que Franklin tient par un fil.

Nemrod était une bête
Chassant aux hommes, parmi
La démence et la tempête
De l'ancien monde ennemi.

Dracon était un cerbère
Qui grince encor sous le ciel
Avec trois têtes : Tibère,
Caïphe et Machiavel.

Nemrod s'appelait la Force,
Dracon s'appelait la Loi ;
On les sentait sous l'écorce
Du vieux prêtre et du vieux roi.

Tous deux sont morts. Plus de haines !
Oh ! ce fut un puissant bruit
Quand se rompirent les chaînes
Qui liaient l'homme à la nuit !

L'homme est l'appareil austère
Du progrès mystérieux ;
Dieu fait par l'homme sur terre
Ce qu'il fait par l'ange aux cieux.

Dieu sur tous les êtres pose
Son reflet prodigieux,
Créant le bien par la chose,
Créant par l'homme le mieux.

La nature était terrible,
Sans pitié, presque sans jour ;
L'homme la vanne en son crible,
Et n'y laisse que l'amour.

Toutes sortes de lois sombres
Semblaient sortir du destin ;
Le mal heurtait aux décombres
Le pied de l'homme incertain.

Pendant qu'à travers l'espace
Elle roule en hésitant ;
Un flot de ténèbres passe
Sur la terre à chaque instant ;

Mais des foyers y flamboient,
Tout s'éclaircit, on le sent,
Et déjà les anges voient
Ce noir globe blanchissant.

Sous l'urne des jours sans nombre
Depuis qu'il suit son chemin,
La décroissance de l'ombre
Vient des yeux du genre humain.

L'autel n'ose plus proscrire ;
La misère est morte enfin ;
Pain à tous ! on voit sourire
Les sombres dents de la faim.

L'erreur tombe ; on l'évacue ;
Les dogmes sont muselés ;
La guerre est une vaincue ;
Joie aux fleurs et paix aux blés !

L'ignorance est terrassée ;
Ce monstre, à demi dormant,
Avait la nuit pour pensée
Et pour voix le bégaiement.

Oui, voici qu'enfin recule
L'affreux groupe des fléaux !
L'homme est l'invincible hercule,
Le balayeur du chaos.

Sa massue est la justice,
Sa colère est la bonté.
Le ciel s'appuie au solstice
Et l'homme à sa volonté.

Il veut. Tout cède et tout plie.
Il construit quand il détruit ;
Et sa science est remplie
Des lumières de la nuit.

Il enchaîne les désastres,
Il tord la rébellion,
Il est sublime ; et les astres
Sont sur sa peau de lion.
Adam Kinsley Nov 2018
Her lungs are black--
Insomniac
Her Love is free
She's after me
I'm up all night
My words are trite
Our will is dead
I toss in bed
We're doomed indeed
Our vice is greed
Three hearts had Lied
We're dead inside
Our pride won't mix
We conjure tricks
With words unsaid
What faith is dead?
Thus, lust is left
With minds, bereft
Had we not learned...
That Love is earned?...
I normally write poetry with rhyme and strict meter, but rarely with cut-down meter like this...Let me know how it flows and what you think.
Sergio MP Mar 2015
I want to build a country,
not just some dirt, not just a land
a nation so great, a fatherland.

Tú estarás ahí, mi amigo,
sonriendo, mirando al frente,
haciendo camino conmigo.

Nous ferons un pays sans frontières,
sans limites, avec des montagnes
faites de sable, prêtes à être soufflées.

Elle sera une patrie où les mers seront des étangs
et nos ciels ne seront qu'à un saut de distance.

We'll have families and friends,
todos los paisajes que el mundo nos ha de ofrecer
sans préjugés ni douleur qui puissent nous confiner.

We'll build a land where friendship will prosper
and traveling will be the fuel of our hearths
Construiremos un hogar que sea propio
sin esas reglas que nos separan
Nous ferons un refuge des distances
où on habitera sans peur aux menaces.
Cody Edwards Feb 2010
This man has a gun pointed at me,
that extends from thumb to index in an L,
at me from his hip.
I can't see much through
my hand. Reflexive, if dampened
by a gristle of curiosity.
Weight shifts from foot
to toe to ball to other
foot. He doesn't speak
to me; to the floor,
but his gesture comes at me
through the atmosphere or
whatever analogous high ground he possesses.

The tip of the pink barrel
menaces like a treble scream
or a broken blackboard.

Shift. Shift and a look around.
It must be done quickly, he
looks at her to ask permission.
I imagine her too cold
for response: atoms
held in hexagons to keep
that inevitable crack from
toppling the salty gravity.
However they must speak
through the superaudible
for her stolid fluidity
resolves his change
(changes his resolve)
and his eyes stop dead on
me.

The laughter of that trigger
rustles through skin
and plays with bone.
© Cody Edwards 2010
Jon Po Dom Feb 2017
The air is heavy
None can breathe.
In this place
No smiles, just grief.

A barren wasteland.
Fallout from the Phantoms.
Menaces whose pleasures lie
In the pain and misery
Of those beneath them.

Their feet press
Down upon the chests.
Anxiety builds like
Pressure from a fire hose
Capable of tearing
Flesh from bone,
Crushing rib and spine
Leaving one in
Dread and despair,
Like lost souls
Over a scorched earth
From burning hell fire.

There is no joy.
No satisfaction.
No sense of community.
Only desolation and desert
With dead camels,
And vultures
Circling their rotting corpses;
Life ****** right out.

In here,
The fools leading fools
Leading the Intellect,
And no end in sight
From this eternal misery

JM 10/26/16
Asim Javid Apr 2016
Holding her hand , walking on the streets.
Realizing the life in those skipped heartbeats.
Exuding the attar, she dulled my senses.
Tremulous tattered talks due to spooking menaces.
Then she talked in her asthenic voice.
And suddenly everything was just background noise.
All I could do was , stare in her eyes.
And I glimpsed into her soul beyond visible lies.
She was the configuration of pain and hope.
Inside, she was in a scrimmage and clinging with a mope.  
Zealously & tenacious , inside , she was a fighter.
I hankered to describe her beauty in my words, as a writer.
But to describe such aesthetical effigy I constellated nothing, not even a single word.
I was stupefyingly stuck , like a fallen wingless bird*.
The mission bells rang out and
the faithless were hung out
to dry,
today is a good day to die
or as good as it gets.

Menaces and threats never satisfied and
they died where they stood.

But it was Joseph of Arimathea who
came to be here
when the faithful had gone
and it was his words that shone
some heard him wrong,
but not me.

On the hilltop where olives gleam
against the towers where I
have seen
ghosts of the past
I saw it at last and
misunderstood,
that's as
good as it gets.

The look that says it all
says nothing at all,
but the eyes say everything
you'd ever need to know.
Molly Feb 2013
She sat and stared at him, so weak, afraid
of losing him now - without speaking out
about the years spent with feelings portrayed
as a dream - ’twas painful to think about.

Years spent - staring into his eyes, aware that
she was in his arms in his mind, dancing
choreography in their façade, flat
moments live to him… She remained acting.

There he lay, tubes jammed in all crevices,
his lungs given breath by machines, his heart
a controlled rhythm by metal menaces
that ****** his soul, stalled bittersweet depart.

Here, he breathed his last while holding her hand.
It troubled her, that this she could withstand.
The lamplit page is turned, the dream forgotten;
The music changes tone, you wake, remember
Deep worlds you lived before,--deep worlds hereafter
Of leaf on falling leaf, music on music,
Rain and sorrow and wind and dust and laughter.

Helen was late and Miriam came too soon.
Joseph was dead, his wife and children starving.
Elaine was married and soon to have a child.
You dreamed last night of fiddler-***** with fiddles;
They played a buzzing melody, and you smiled.

To-morrow--what?  And what of yesterday?
Through soundless labyrinths of dream you pass,
Through many doors to the one door of all.
Soon as it's opened we shall hear a music:
Or see a skeleton fall . . .

We walk with you.  Where is it that you lead us?
We climb the muffled stairs beneath high lanterns.
We descend again.  We ***** through darkened cells.
You say: this darkness, here, will slowly **** me.
It creeps and weighs upon me . . . Is full of bells.

This is the thing remembered I would forget--
No matter where I go, how soft I tread,
This windy gesture menaces me with death.
Fatigue! it says, and points its finger at me;
Touches my throat and stops my breath.

My fans--my jewels--the portrait of my husband--
The torn certificate for my daughter's grave--
These are but mortal seconds in immortal time.
They brush me, fade away: like drops of water.
They signify no crime.

Let us retrace our steps: I have deceived you:
Nothing is here I could not frankly tell you:
No hint of guilt, or faithlessness, or threat.
Dreams--they are madness.  Staring eyes--illusion.
Let us return, hear music, and forget . . .
Aaron LaLux Dec 2017
As the sun,
starts to slowly rise over Sydney Harbor,

I stand alone,
looking out over the balcony & wonder,

why do we feed,
our future seeds,

poison in everyday things,
literally,

the ointment,
is the poison,

we focus on nonsense,
instead of what's important,

everyone on their laptops & phones,
feels like Attack of The Clones,

with skeletons in our closets,
& a backpack full of bones,

in pain from it all,
but when we complain we're fed Tylenol,

administered drugs from sinister thugs,
Woolworth’s is the main culprit,

we’re all going under,
& we probably all deserve it,

we’re all in trouble,
with nowhere to run to,

where will we go,
when we finally come to,

nowhere to hide,
from the Light of the Sun rise,
& this is the truth,
even if it doesn't sound right,

come to,
your senses,

we are all our,
own worse menaces,

tooth aches head hurts,
maybe I should see a dentist,

& I'm sorry for insulting you,
but the worst part is I meant it,

feeling all jolly,
all dressed up in our splendor,

wandering around all jaunty,
wanting to congratulate The Inventor,

for the exponential growth,
that’s occurred,

from obscure to a buzzword,
in less than a lightyear as space blurs,

& I wake up,
still awake from the night before,

to the lights of the Harbor,
upon a building built on a concrete shore,

in a city called Sydney,
built by criminals & slaves,
but I'm singling out Sydney,
because America was built the same,

as the city's lights slowly start,
to give way to the sun light,
of the new day I give praise,
& thanks to God for this fun life,

for this one night,
that felt like a lifetime,

gone now luckily I wrote some lifelines,
which I disguised as lite rhymes,

when really they're the right rhymes,
to free any imprisoned mind,

because the ship is still sinking,
but you’re still at the bar drinking,
& you're starting to get this feeling,
you've been caught & you start reeling,

& no one else is there,

no other drunken patrons,
everyone else is gone,
& you'd go too but you haven't a home,
no one's around not even a waiter,

and that’s when,
you discover these,
proverbs under the cover of these words,
& you find they're your savior,

as time tick-tocks,
you kick rocks like Kid Rock,
getting kick backs,
until you find right there,

that the Tic Tacs,
that you kicked back,
are actually a syntax of medicinals,
candy disguised as Lifesavers,

& just in time,
you find these quotes before you choke,
to get you to the right life boat,
now that’s what I call a Lifesaver,

& once I take note,
that you’re safely to shore,
I turn to go,
up Heaven's Elevator,

but before I go,
I give you one more quote,
& simply say to you once more,
“Goodbye For Now you can Thank Me Later.”.

∆ LaLux ∆

from The Sydney Sessions, available for FREE worldwide here:
www.scribd.com/document/367036005

on kindle and paperback here:
www.amazon.com/dp/1981605932


Available FREE through the link.
Jenn Gardner Jul 2011
macabre menaces resided inside,
all surviving on only organs
and
reality.

the earth and the ether
were far better places,

the day prior to the outbreak.

before the madness..

like dust motes,
we were collected in the sunlight.

after the madness...

like dust motes,
we were erased.
void Sep 2022
harmful to others
beloved by many
i feel foolish for even speaking
of course no foul deed goes unpunished
but a slap on their wrist
equivalent to a slap in my face
how do those live feely?
the menaces in society?
hiding behind gentle faces and sweet smiles
underneath it looks sickening
it’s beyond a spoiled barrel
the rotten apple contaminated all
you and your friends sharing the same mind
they'll combine the guilt and mental gaslight
i feel foolish for even speaking
i feel foolish for letting this grow
when i should’ve ripped out the roots
Mark Blickley Feb 2017
“Mysterious Waters of the Naked and Nervous”

She begins her life
along with nine-thousand seven hundred fourteen siblings
in the shallowest part of the pond,
just four days after being laid as a jelly egg
attached to a fern leaf bent over humid water.

On day seven she sallies to neighboring weeds
using a very circular route
quietly clings to ****, watches with terror
as brothers and sisters are  attacked
by sharp beaked birds
swooping down to chew helpless tadpoles,
devouring membranes that cover their gills and necks.  

One of few tadpoles to survive to day ten.
officially becomes a tiny pitch black pollywog
with continuously wiggling tail and  small round mouth
of ***** jaws that scrapes across tiny plants,
searching for something to eat.

She greedily swallows microscopic animals
found inside pond bottom ooze
and slime which clings to pond’s surface.

Devouring a particularly tasty ooze meal,
she is horrified to witness
tadpole brothers and sisters  eating each other,
siblings extending their bellies
by swallowing extended family.
            
Mostly tail with fine stippling of gold,
within  twenty-four hours she breathes
from two gills at each side of her throat
as hind legs suddenly sprout
rounded buds that soon turn into toes  
amazing her how fast she can propel  
away from murderous dive bombing birds of color.

She first demonstrates courage  
by a successful attack of  black fish that menaces her for hours.,
******* on its fish fins until they are ragged,
not in anger or self-defense  
more for tasty algae trapped within them.

But it does feel good to be able to destroy instead of being destroyed.
Tony Luxton Sep 2017
Guided by the stars,
a better life,
a safer life.
Their new world worth
the journey and its dangers
for their progeny.

We try to keep things as they are,
ruled by fallacies, and fears
of their strange languages,
faiths, mythologies.

Harsh voices shout with menaces,
'Send them home from whence they came
to their hollow caustic lands.
We should keep our own traditions,
Angles, Saxons, Celts and Jews.'
Mitchell Jun 2011
Impending rain through the gut rut strain
A letter stamped and ready to gain
Impending media menaces straight on through
A touch of pepper was what she wanted to know

A listen of the booth towards the man's moon lit
Whistle for the sinister because we all got sisters
Either you hear me
Or you ain't got nothing to say

Good night to the morning because I ain't trying to see you
We used to be something but things got boring
Bent post cards meant everything she meant to lie
Cut another piece of that fibbing apple pie

A showman knows when the audience is rolling
They breathe it in and know when it stinks
Thanks for the lot but smother me another time
I got some reasons I ain't feeling fine

Puking out the nonsense so I don't walk it off
Curb stump near me so I can start to bear it
A silly **** bump near the ever clear rear
Wishing for the fear to leave me every night dear

Dawn break sticks near my window right about now
Eye rubbing madness for the cook that boils sadness
Cash for me with my woman far away
Round this corner I think I might have my stay
Julian Sep 2020
2 Kings 23:3-5 Version? (I found this by looking up the word Mazzaroth in Wikipedia it was the first reference and it is displayed in 23:5 (the hosts of the heavens and constellations)

3 And the king stood on the platform, and made a covenant before the LORD, to walk after the LORD, and to keep His commandments, and His testimonies, and His statutes, with all his heart, and all his soul, to confirm the words of this covenant that were written in this book; and all the people stood to the covenant.

ד  וַיְצַו הַמֶּלֶךְ אֶת-חִלְקִיָּהוּ הַכֹּהֵן הַגָּדוֹל וְאֶת-כֹּהֲנֵי הַמִּשְׁנֶה, וְאֶת-שֹׁמְרֵי הַסַּף, לְהוֹצִיא מֵהֵיכַל יְהוָה, אֵת כָּל-הַכֵּלִים הָעֲשׂוּיִם לַבַּעַל וְלָאֲשֵׁרָה וּלְכֹל צְבָא הַשָּׁמָיִם; וַיִּשְׂרְפֵם מִחוּץ לִירוּשָׁלִַם, בְּשַׁדְמוֹת קִדְרוֹן, וְנָשָׂא אֶת-עֲפָרָם, בֵּית-אֵל.
4 And the king commanded Hilkiah the high priest, and the priests of the second order, and the keepers of the door, to bring forth out of the temple of the LORD all the vessels that were made for Baal, and for the Asherah, and for all the host of heaven; and he burned them without Jerusalem in the fields of Kidron, and carried the ashes of them unto Beth-el.
ה  וְהִשְׁבִּית אֶת-הַכְּמָרִים, אֲשֶׁר נָתְנוּ מַלְכֵי יְהוּדָה, וַיְקַטֵּר בַּבָּמוֹת בְּעָרֵי יְהוּדָה, וּמְסִבֵּי יְרוּשָׁלִָם; וְאֶת-הַמְקַטְּרִים לַבַּעַל, לַשֶּׁמֶשׁ וְלַיָּרֵחַ וְלַמַּזָּלוֹת, וּלְכֹל, צְבָא הַשָּׁמָיִם.
5 And he put down the idolatrous priests, whom the kings of Judah had ordained to offer in the high places in the cities of Judah, and in the places round about Jerusalem; them also that offered unto Baal, to the sun, and to the moon, and to the constellations, and to all the host of heaven. (Mazzaroth)

First I will refer to Job 38 which is clearly indicative of some guarded celestial truths that might be miscegenated of origins of the life forms that believe in synoecy among the dominions of the covert verdure of Earth reigning over us with silence and silentium with solatium for the soilure of the interregnum of times reigning with pollution and in stern rebuke by God I was reminded subconsciously that Climate Change is a truly evocative Lachrymose experience when encouraged by prayer that was a poignant moment of tears when I meditated on the Carbon Tax I immediately started crying even though I was not saddened by the affair in any other way that was palpable. The staddle of Job talks about specifically the tucked vestiges of the thorny imbroglios of intemperance countermanded by the master stroke of the divine interpretation of lightning which is essentially electricity and the clouds it is referring to are the internet where instantaneous communion can be achieved without exertion the line that struck me the most is the “Clods that cling together” because it is a resonant stroke of Islamic virtues that the ***** clot is the seed of all creation by which all have been created in the fungible image of our variegated creator who is not necessarily janiform of a leviathan of many faces but an experimental disposition of a disembodied figment that can assume any form on heaven or earth to dissemble his true cloaked identity of the original protoplasm of the first anointed civilizations in the long history of the Universe. Knowing the true visage of the first sentient civilization to bow beneath the creator with obsequious devotion in a presumably monolithic world where God’s presence was so obvious it might have actually been the first heaven before there was death and this pays homage to Adam and Eve the firstborn of all creation. The creation story might refer to the first sentient animated civilization in the Universe which sinned and then became a diaspora of a mirrored reality of the realty of heaven and  earth where many variegated snakes and beasts roamed about clamoring for God when they turned the synsematic toasts of revivalism to the newfound creation of sentience with rivalry potentially precluding the salvation of Abel who was murdered by Cain. These stories might be extraterrestrial vestiges of the true lineage of the Almighty God we serve and although controversial as it has been Biblical knowledge that Adam and Eve were humans before being tempted by the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, it is possible this process was recapitulations of former times and the former protoplasm that precedes all things because the strokes of glory of sentient life was nurtured especially attentively at the beginning of the first civilization of the Universe where God was probably everpresent and ubiquitous and accessible to all creation and it is even possible that this world was the first heaven for the first death before many subsequent deaths of the lineaments of tribes that supplicated beneath divine mercy for adjudication. My theology is that God is attentive to a broad universe of quagmires and in perfection or refinement at the beginning or the crux of history we are a perfectabilism of God’s attentive scrutiny and we master ourselves rapidly enough so that God doesn’t intervene as often as some might hope but many people don’t understand the time frame of God’s everlasting perspective. So it is potential that the first habitable world in the universe became the utopia of extensive cosseted scrutiny that became the prototype for Heaven that eventually alighted into a cosmic if segregated fraternity of the chosen for the cubic metropolis or the gardens beneath which rivers flow. God can assume any form and he chose the pulchritude of humans to issue a strong statement about the verdure of our plenipotentiary potential perhaps replicated often with minor mirrors of dimpled design throughout the cosmos as it is likely that another civilization which resembles humans in DNA with almost exact precision currently exists and is civilized by advanced life at this current time and that we exist in a multiverse unbounded by the enumeration of infinity. God pays scrutiny to those civilizations that repent and many are saved by the salvation of their orbific longings but it is also possible there exists an operative design of cacotopias that don’t know God but relish prosperity or have derelicted the possibility of God for too long because of either extreme asperity or abundant warmth of luxury. Remember the universe is infinitely vast so the likelihood that God is fungible is possible but not yet confirmed because if other alien civilizations exist that yet know God because of Jesus of Nazareth they are reproved by the divinity of interposition of reality in its mercurial ways conforming to the grand design of perfectabilism and God has operated throughout humanity for thousands of years why now have we reached the pinnacle for repentant absolution? We bend towards the synclastic light of the culminated alien fascination with our pulchritude despite their dearth and they are attentive to God because of Jesus of Nazareth and subsidiary to that Muhammad or potentially the deities of the Egyptians which might be defalcated concepts of the alien version of a pancosmism that is mysticated on the rarefied commentary of the strictures of polytheism that might populate some regions of the universe. The absolute truth in the One God we serve is that human understanding cannot enumerate his truths without understanding its distance and segregation from other worlds as we fight the suffrage of old age to propitiate the longing for tranquility. This is all tethered speculation but I believe that God is regnant in all affairs and in this vast universe is attentive to all our pleas and the questions of heaven and Earth remain unheeded or distorted by our humane totemic versions of truth that all memorialized the pyramid a sequential convex formulation of a stratified system that reaches its apex in the singularity of the hypethral skies above and is the tenure of the majesty of the esoteric secrets that coshered and ushered societies into great divergence but ultimate found consecration on Mount Moriah with Abram’s sacrifice before he was known as Abraham of his son Isaac that was prevented by Yahweh’s messengers of isangelous repute. The mystery of Adam and Eve might be a recapitulation just as the story of Noah reminds us of the travail of other centuries and other worlds that provide the pathways to divergent creations that are ultimately saved by providence and the rich thickets of allegory throughout the Bible all point to the emergence of transcendental truth which is shepherded by the mysticism of this age and the surrealism of knowing we belong to the elect hive-mind cosmic fraternity built on psychism and titanism. The firmament is testament both to our distance from our cosmic neighbors and also our propinquity to their suffrage and suffering in their beatific but arid realities that are draped with the pangs of loneliness in their excursion to broader realms of conquest and in their wallop of time itself they have opened up the lychgates of Heaven and Earth to provide the provisions for a new understanding of history that is rich with the percurrent themes of a monotheism of a fungible God which took the form of Man as he can take any form he chooses in his aseity of being and his judicious providence to select the Earth as an exuberant exsibilation against glaikery but also a profound victoria for the awakening of humanity to its cosmic identity as a favored species young in years but enriched by celestial guardians that are among isangelous repute because of their decisive roles in human history throughout the Creations of their divergent designs that illuminate the illuminism of the pyramid the elemental form of the ultimate capstone of knowledge with the all-seeing eye of providence encapsulated above all ethereal reckoning. So it was the downfall of the utopias of ignorance by learning knowledge that bequeathed the lineage of mortality itself in the beginning in the form of men and angels both that inhabit our broad universe because in several occasions in my life I felt like I encountered human beings with such clairvoyance that they seemed like agents of God. Noah’s flood might refer to a distant or near civilization that was swamped by a catastrophic event or tsunami much like Atlantis and this predicates Noah and explains the longevity of his estimated lifespan and that of Methuselah who lived 969 years which ironically points to the  Apollo Moon landing in 1969. The fumatoriums of human ignorance can now be micromanaged by a swarm of up to seven alien civilizations but most likely 3-4 of them and they are all attentive to these theories and probably inseminated the Bible to begin with potentially with their own theological understanding of the universe transplanted on a human perspective to shepherd humanity into the answers it so desperately sought but found themselves famished by. So in Job 38 we crouch in our dens looking for the prey of the lioness of civilization that is embattled against itself for entirely internecine reasons. There is some temerity but I believe the theopneustic power of this revelation because I am keen to the attuned universe of the largesse of omnified civilization trouncing over the matter and fettle of instinct but Genesis is integral to understanding every cosmic mystery on Earth and in celestial Realms and is probably the seedy repute of Baal and Molech among other idolatries which severed themselves by heterodoxy of eunuchs and saturnalias too profane to expound because their epicureanism outweighed their pragmatic need for the virtues of the conclamation of heavenly authority manifest clearly on Earth at various times by various prophecies that all point to the Sacrifice at Mount Moriah and notice how God always works through mountains like Mount Horeb/ Sinai to provide his flock with everything they need to know to maintain vital sustenance. Surah 3.86 “How shall Allah guide a people who disbelieved after their belief and had witnessed that the Messenger is true and clear signs had come to them? And Allah does not guide the wrongdoing people.” Surah 3.84 “Say, "We have believed in Allah and in what was revealed to us and what was revealed to Abraham, Ishmael, Isaac, Jacob, and the Descendants, and in what was given to Moses and Jesus and to the prophets from their Lord. We make no distinction between any of them, and we are Muslims [submitting] to Him.". Surah 38.1-9 is mandatory reading even for the scepsis of Christians because it proves how farsighted the aliens that shepherded Muhammad really were and how insightful Muhammad really is and still is as an emissary of heavenly recompense in his guarded palace beneath which rivers flow. Surah 85:3 (853 AM) “And [by] the witness and what is witnessed” Lets return to the central thesis of all kerygma that is synallagamatic with mutual respect to the pillars of all civilization that the meeting ground of the jovial joust of gladiatorial conquest of the yobbery of rookery and the apikoros yordim that emigrated too far into esotericism might marvel that God is ultimately vindicated as an author of a true unfiltered version of a slightly redacted history suited for the auditorium of a universal audience that displays with majesty and power his foresight to tend to the distant constellations that are created by the tentpoles of the sky reaching their apex into the aperture of the allegorical veracity of all culminated creation exultant in its self-affirmations of pride that it might balk at the embellishments of pettifoggery by the kirkbuzzers of superstition and behold the true throne of grace and authority bestowed upon the bailiwick of the living and the dead in what might be a segregated heaven to prevent the pullulation of tribal discord even in omniety with eternity. I hope to witness heaven firsthand in my upcoming seances with the extramundane but first we must expound this troponder. Jews first, Christians second and Muslims third were all alerted to this watershed moment in history with exact knowledge probably encased in the Arc of the Covenant or some other divine artifact that embodies it but sometimes we pale in our pallor of substandard evils that lurk within the recesses and alcoves of our destiny that we forget to prophesy with earnest sincerity about an abiding hope for the forward rather than the froward future. A book that changed my life forever and shattered my worldview and made me obsessed with Earthquake science was 1906: A Crack at the Edge of the World because that quake inspired the Azusa Church Revival movement that lead to the resurgence of proselytism of protestantism of evangelical churches. I highly recommend buying that book on Amazon.com right now it gives you such a harrowing perspective on that Earthquake 114 years to the day that beset Northern California. Revelations 5:11-14 NKJV “11 Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. 12 In a loud voice they were saying:
“Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
    to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength
    and honor and glory and praise!”
13 Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying:
“To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
    be praise and honor and glory and power,
for ever and ever!”
14 The four living creatures said, “Amen,” and the elders fell down and worshiped.
Genesis 2:1a (reaffirms my theory) NKJV
 Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array
I am going to pause to marvel at the significance of that San Francisco Earthquake because that seismotic jolt shaped the destiny of our aborning nation and was the first time-to my knowledge-martial law was declared and they tried to extinguish the fire with dynamite which further spread the conflagration and San Francisco is obviously named after Saint Francis of Assisi who ironically died listening to Psalm 142 which is about the liberation of prisoners on October 3rd 1226 A.D. His name is also ironic in purely terms of cognomen that should not be expounded. Although depaysed from my original brunt I would like to extend the bronteum of theological reckoning to the absolved polity of the renown of gigantopariahs clamoring for vitality in a time of treachery and perfidy because the valiant insurrection of our adventures in decent music is the chavish of many birds to the itinerant hordes of adoration as in some parallax of reality in the realty of a potentially merged heaven compartmentalized into factions there might be an ulterior reckoning of overabundance but instead I propose a segregation of the heavenly realms postulated on the idea that in omniety we will know of many things that will fascinate entire generations of time as the knowledge of the esoteric percolates through the heavens by riometers beyond calculus and calculation that will one day heed these proclamations with a hortatory weight as the assized Epic of Gilgamesh echoes the same percurrent themes as Noah’s Arc including the forty day ultradian rhythm which signifies temptation and also the contrition of God signified by the flocks of the sigillum of the aspergillum of dignity afforded to all who migrate into tethered territory beyond the yokes of ******* to the dengonins which own all the ulterior praises but serenade lesser patrons in this almighty day of wondrous awakening to the cosmogony of the infinite justification of the allegorical heft of herculean prophecy entwined in the rhetoric of the primordial authors of human sociogenesis bound to the covenant of Abraham and his blessed sons Isaac and Ishmael who both deserve glory and honor. The elegance of the mystagogical parlance of the intrepid bravery of partial rogues but never full-fledged knaves impregnates God’s vibrant experiment with flourish that delights him with the zaktengur of individual raconteurship so an adventurism in life might be warranted as long as it is done gingerly and with love as the ultimate cloak of absolution rather than the self-insulated boredom of an impavid disposition of the self-settled sedentary languor of whilded depositions of thanatousia brought into parturition by the midwives to sorrow and tragedy that besets the human family from time to time but the sorrow of mankind is not beyond the bailiwick of God because perfectabilism is in his very nature in the adolescence of creation which can greatly be prolonged by the conservation of our robust intellectual bastions of energy and the sustainable development of a green planet beyond depredation that heeds some minkumpfs with some peremptory guerdon to save the spate of suffering among our animal brethren. I grieve that my profound plumb into the depths of psychism was abbreviated by the pomp of porlocking purpresture but I renege my former glaikery in sustained suspense over selfsame tridents of musical happenstance and with poignant evocation I convoke a solemn remembrance of all those lost to the spates of disaster and the paroxysms of the unpredictable that is now foreseen in time to forestall turgid tragedy and impregnate the world with a ****** of a thirsty new vogue eager to adapt and learn with laureate belletrist of the aubades of the dawning light of absolution granted the the sacred cross and the lives we relish in history that are dedicated in sincere earnest alacrity to become revenants of the new age beating the whiplash of the second death because the former things have passed away in a figurative manner even though there still is death one day the inventive verve of the quizzical nihilism will try to outfox death itself for a hollow memorial to preserved sentience which is a mockery of transhumanism that is a professed modesty of the ultimate vouchsafe of the transmundane but unnecessary because of the real palpable joy of the resurrection inherent to all segues between life and death that we all might embrace our creator with almsgiving and gratitude with patient forbearance for the virtuosos that memorialize a prosperity worth relishing even in the soilure of privation because no soul should grieve in bereavement when there is so much joy inhabiting this gleeful planet that is hardly glad in any way about the dereliction of spite and anteric schadenfreude of sacrilege on a massive scale that should be a blotch of a bodged chantage of evil. As I digest the memorials of the festive but never churlish traditions I marvel at the synclastic bent of amasthenic enlightenment concave towards certainty in a demarche for the diminished efficacy of viruses to scare us into trepidation but with dutiful caution of proactive measures taken in times of exigency and crisis. There is nothing facetious about God’s exigent deliverance in these times of leniency and fasting as the wineskins preserved from the lineage of old will perdure until they have their fill and the Earth is saturated with the blood of the prescience of a Cattaneo prophecy guarded in his 6-24-2006 set which hints at a catastrophic scenario potentially impending right now or of a future variety where “blood will be pouring like oil gushing out of a well” “respirators will have their fill” “hospitals be closing” etc. and in these steep harbingers we find poise and pause to reflect that the majesty of God is unfurled unpredictably by showcasing the redemptive power of the autarky of the imagination to see the unforeseeable and lurk in the dungeons of the unknown dengonins just to spy with privy knowledge about the circular circus of privation encircling me like the rapture of murders of ravens that are a crow shy of an X-Files repute...Of that situation that the afflictions of the many matter to the anointed few that delegate because of Jethro and through the power of the Levitical orders to abolish some Kosher restrictions among some apikoros Jews that lean on my wisdom because the suffering of animals should be a suffrage for sentient rights of animals not to bleed excessively into a slow painful death. I urge all Jews not to let those cows or other animals suffer so grievously at the hands of malefaction just for a petty consecration which proves a hollow point about sacrifice and thereby seek to abolish some Kosher demarcations on the grounds that they are inhumane sacrilege because the ransom of Jesus of Nazareth’s suffering and agony on the cross-rather than his blood as many people beguiled more on physical manifestations of trauma rather than the emotional toil of suffering that bears more incumbent on the human sympathy-consecrates all virtues of circumcision and makes meat ceremonially clean because we serve a miracle-worker God who hasn’t finished his last work yet because more thaumaturgy is in store. The antagonist of history is congealed human superstition filtered through the siphon of protective scurrilous fears and petty vendettas borne of willborne hatred of tribe and division that was the fettle of preliterate societies of hyperdulia because they knew the iconography of Christ and marveled at his miracles but believed too strongly in retributive justice to scare away the herds of the contrite to a monasticism of plight and blight that consecrated  many great human achievements in scholastic virtue and scientific importance but ultimately found relegation before Gutenberg saved history with his seminal watershed invention third only to the second place wheel and the first place advent of human language itself as the most prominent plucky invention of human revitalization and through the salons of France and the dramaturgy of Shakespeare we found an apex of enlightenment that provoked revolutionary ideas not so guarded by gingerly blackguarded varnish of a superstition for the metal tablets that illustrated magically the future for an abiding audience of the past which must have seemed an abominable miracle to the astounded puritans of the times because songs like Love Story (at least the music video) suggests that the song circulated in the past eras of the English Renaissance before electric lighting was invented. We have all to thank for the invention of rock and roll which is an esoteric title for a sizable momentum of catalyzed verve that enchants the planet still with the majesty of the harp and the lyre to glorify God for all eternity and Allah for all the worlds he possesses in his infinite bounty one in the same for the culminated vision of all hallowed prophets with an emphasis on Surah 2 accentuated to the Christian audience even if neglected by the Muslim audience. I am primarily a Christian but I believe Islam is a divine path worth pursuing on a tentative basis but I have yet to outstretch my hands to try and reach the barnacles of a distant world beyond my womb and bereft of my lineage even though I stand united with the Abrahamic faiths that solidify truth and memorialize the superorganism messiah of humanity in collaboration with our celestial hosts to foist the ribbons of the figurative far-flung Pleiades and the harps of the harpricks of the just as distant but transfixing Orion to envelope the earth in sincere repentance before the holy flock of the justifiable truths found in the candor of devotionals and hymns to the immemorial God of all Creation that is the impetus behind every ambition-if only subconsciously in his universal psyche and consciously the catalyst behind every cohesive machination or orchestration of complex human and alien activity but subsumed in the psychism of God-is the idea that we are living indelible elements that constitute his superorganism in the theoplasm that is circumjacent and adjoined to his intentions that he surveys with such nimongue ease that his wednongues go out of style very slowly because his vogue is the ultimate champion against the misprision of militant psychiatric injustice that needs to be rectified by top-down government action to debrief and inform the necessary travail to surmount my challenges and assume a subsidiary role in the government and the ecclesiarchy to shepherd the shepherds and write for a living with a fair governmental stipend and a partially uncensored internet so my fanfare can envelope a broader portion of the world. I issue a humbled but ultimately otiose entreaty that Donald J. Trump, a personal hero of mine, can be a participant to my plevisable situation by appointing a team of people to work with me on the social engineering of the future and most importantly the ligature of the ecumenical cause for aggiornamento of the ecumenical cause of Abraham and all of his descendants because we all abide by that sacred covenant in the broader world that inhabits our sacred rites and rituals. We should also embrace the boundaries of mysticism to fathom the depths of the theoplasm more fully to understand how the firstborn of all creation is the perpetuity of sentience for the revival of respiration for new species yet to come even more beautiful and prosperous than us and those that already exist frolicking in approximated heavens that we might meet upon transmigration as reincarnated wisps of superior worlds of heavens inhabited by the segues of death but knowing no despair. But I stridently believe in the ultimate promise of an ineffable splendor of a real final resting place or a cradle for the supervisors of the isangelous that orbits above our heads and flutters in our considerations as the vast multitude of worlds.with heroic saviors that spellbind the universe together with a stitchwork of mastery of the fraternal bonds that divide some species from others by insuperable bounds of space and time but through the gift of transcended time ushered by alienesque invention and we have thus been bequeathed a new unexpected emergence phenomenon that is aperspectival in temporal terms but always recumbent upon the prolific dance with a jousting destiny toying with us through swarpollock and other machines of sentinels but never tiring their terrier race as subservient to the human imagination ambitious beyond former bounds.
    Thank God we have a president that presides over the defeat of the strictures of warped and intorted hypocrisies of orthopraxy for the candid endeavor of the plain plaid truth of the vibrancy of germane beating the pulp pallor of the nebbich calculations of uxorious plumage plucky in its resolve to serenade our youthful cadets in their continued resolve to chaperoned campaigns of the barnstorm of the obvious for the conclamation of the ultimate victory of history over its worst proclivities that suspend themselves in the tentpoles of time and space as glaring menaces of affliction. The gated entryway to prosperity should be unfurled with majesty and a welcoming grace to sustain cordial deeds and promote fundamental encounters with vagary not with a vagrant fission but an emergent fusion not of hyperbolic atrocity but rather the subsidence of the chisel of directive ambition that serves the greatest causes of the ****** of dignity to transcend the fettle of disarray. The quibbles of the questermongers and the querulous wernaggles of relative impotence matter greatly to the large bulk of a hibernating humanity but when we all awaken to a universal truth that serves a flickerstorm of revolutionary usucaption of the halidom of tomorrow experienced by the foresight of today. We levy the largesse of a collective bronteum that warns and admonishes gently the people behind the curtains that might find objectionable some of the barnstorms inherent to this missive of doctrinaire but soluble missions to save humanity from its worse caverns of idolatry and to anoint the brightest light to beat the most deafening din of darkness that can be imagined by the sterile vapid retreats of privilege into insularity-we fight not for a mercenary cause but for the valorous insurrection sanctioned by the chartered expedition of new frontiers for a newfound freedom found in fundamental vouchsafes of a freer speech in the lyceum of the knowable reality of noogenesis. We should never suborn the dacoitage of the hybridized compromises of the halvork of mandarism but always tolerate the entreaties of amicable jousts of demarche even when combative with a peaceful irenic resolve that is contempered with virility rather than pomp and not even a hint of virulence because the collective world depends on a quorum of well-spoken and considered thinkers adjudicating a bonhomie rather than provoking a collieshangie. The world should not spurn error but castigate it calmly because the worst errors of temerity are remediated by the ploys of the treacle of the imaginary plane of the supersolid convergence of the ulterior with the pragmatic that serves the working class as well as the shepherds of elite institutions because all deserve a fair hearing in the court of commonwealth justice. There is no treachery in universal irenology that special barleychild of serendipity that shields us from harm while providing bulwarks to stabilize economies and sustain the recognition of our wholesome usucaption of newly acquired deeds and merchandise that spawns an ingemination of technological revolution incumbent upon declassification that leads to a resurgent robustness of economic conditions that calibrates properly on the proper alkendur of the hikkle of hype mixed with disdain. We suppose that the remixed panmixia of virtual insanity doesn’t become an affliction because in many ways it might meet abomination but some people lean on the leniency of felicity to swell the coffers rather than populate the coffins of the agreeable pivot between the sustenance of choice and amicable adjustments in economic security meets a run-on sentence of the levies of strain as the imponderables outnumber the certainties of the covert. We populate the future by going back to the past and this is why the movie is so entitled Back to the Future because if you think about it, it requires a recumbent logic of a recursive incursion of the origination of the future visible to the past to create the impetus to sustain the vitality of a resurgence of travel to the future itself one of the most obvious giveaways in movie titles ever devised by the clever. We encounter the timing of the lightning and thus hear the thunder not of the radioglare but the laskerade and serenade of the pulpit of good deeds rectified by the rectiserial visionaries that balk at orthodromics when the artful bypass of nonlinearity is favored for curiosity rather than missives of emissary diplomacy.
The reparations of tomorrow are the guerdon of yesteryear, the heyday of seminal prophecies that consummated a theological brunt that revolutionized the perspective of eagles nest lookouts all around the world to sempiternal decryption of history showcased by the sheen of prophecies now culminated in the effervescent now is a plangent epiphany in the life of a storybook romance with an artful dalliance with a romanticist ideal of an enlisted destiny recruited to cement its own purpose with concrete action without flagging resolve. The ultimatum of history was a faltered filibuster of the listless historian marveling at the prescient telaesthesia of the unknown visibilia that protrude in remontant certainty that the memorials of yesteryear catapult this cause into the fruition of a dated missive of coded bywords encrypted by the chronological clepsammia of allotted time for special occasions when the entirety of space-time folded upon itself to anoint itself champion of the supersolid reality of the surrealism draped over the tentpoles of abundant absolution that excuses the kisswonks of the glaring threats of Wilkes Booth to entomb a heroic titan of imposture as the real effigy of a slain delay of strenuous calculation to appease the Confederate heart wounded by the diacopes of struggle. In this rollicking turmoil of a roiled time of rookery we can celebrate that the amasthenic weight of the historical certitudes of the docimasy of memorialized junctures in time when all was denuded barefaced in the sight of the world to marvel at the rigged artisans of the artistry of furtive skullduggery that imposes no astringent rebukes other than those reserved for departed gyrovagues of hallswallop before their due time and season, we marvel at the irony that an insular vociferous vehemence of clairvoyance predicated on the absolved shrive of history for aborning and alighted apostasies now stands regnant in triumph of the space-time continuum. This might be an overstatement of the herald of a day signified by a transcendent conversion to a theology reified by the rengall discoveries of the intuitive theopneustic truths of the subsultus of vagary and vicissitude that the day when the code was cracked about the fractures of history converging upon the latticework of ephemeral and ethereal cords of cordial embrace of the cryptadia belonging to the “commonwealth of the aliens of Israel” (Eph 2:12) became evident to the masses was the chosen day of encroachment upon the suspicions of the alerted masons of the American Revolution-to ward off with apotropaic beacons of light glinting in lighthouse caverns of repositories of unknown treasuries-the salvation of the human race from the dudgeons of apostasy by the consecrated creed of the newfangled credenda that borrows heavily from lore to make this fabled date stammer as a freckle in a dimpled time that is cute but eccentric in its flapdoons of memorial that shower history with innumerable examples of the numerological importance of consecrating or desecrating a given day based on the furtive skulks of hidden troves of luxuries the elite have always bestowed upon the elect. So maybe this day wasn’t as transcendent as it could have been and maybe there is a resigned awgrudge that such a pilfer of time would make such a resonant dent on the pride of Britain to provoke their invasion and scuttle the American bastions of prideful reconnaissance of the future bestowed by the patronage of elective privilege, but this day will always be canonical in its ability to reprove the critics that the orchestra of history is not a heterochrony with destiny but a very validation of its truth in serpentine convolutions of the bywords of the guarded synquests of aristocracy. May the doubters gleefully jibe at the overstatement of a heroic task on a filibuster against the cretins that foresaw the trudge of ignominy and still willingly stooped to the levels of evil cadges into prurience that they foisted upon the reminiscence of evil protrusions that they might be forever banished to the barathrum for their pitiable deeds to desecrate and blaspheme that historic wallop of synquest to trounce the trinces of an uncertain future gravitated and mesmerized by certain facts known widely enough to provoke wars and enter the pasilaly of universal knowledge enough to warrant further inspection. The wravel of time is elegant and exquisite and all the glory goes to the coryphaeus dengonin that braved infamy and rebuke to soldier on in demarches to dignify the otherwise seedy drab and daft drolleries of pretense that any uncouth man could ever emerge from the throes of absolute defeat into the vindication that history either by intention or by accident is convex and aimed to entrench the vital truth that accidents are convenient but deliberation is calculus that deserves fanfare. It was because of a seminal theory of theology that this day earned its repute in history because it coincided with such rattled seismic events that are turgid with blessed tragedy that is never gloated over but always solemnly commemorated in hymn and deed of charity and eleemosynary duty. The irony is that the Revolutionary War ended on May 12th 1784 which marked the exact time of the Earthquake in California at 5:12AM PST and that fact makes many subscribers to the scepsis of sebastomaniacal delusion postulates more keen on the acumen of the day that history unraveled at the seams and revealed its circular reference to an ennobled prophecy that was the momentum and excuse for many clarigations of force and many other heralded deeds of posture and gentility or savagery and desecration. All that matters now is that we know that history is not a myth but rather a stagecraft of timing that is predevoted by preordained memorials to the tithes of time to cement its own legacy as foresight transcends hindsight in its own largesse but also its brutal slaughter. If the encroachment of tyranny poaches its greatest champion to excoriate an overstated case of mania they will meet the Army of Me and believe me their exhaustion will no know swift end in the halls of a deep dark purgatorial gridlock cell of eternal torment at the castration of their virility or their spayed femininity because I will not be reduced to rubble because of some hapless Facebook posts misinterpreted by the garbled miscegenated heap of albatrosses of invidious lies trying desperately to dethrone my virtues and seek the ulterior misprision of a  forever vanquished hope that resides in the torment of a plagued future negligent of the sacerdotal duty of the guardians to protect history rather than brutally savage it with dismal reprisals that are pangs of the deepest ire that will provoke a choleric rage enough for them to have to barge into my apartment and break down my doors. They will not trespass into my sanctuary city because I inoculate myself hereby from any incursions foreign or domestic on my livelihood for posts that do not hint at instability but only memorialize cute facts of the gawsy rather than the gawky imposture of the morality police trying to entomb me in the glaikery of a forever sunken refuge of homelessness and ill-gotten subterfuge.
Sam Dec 2015
This resident hedonist
is feeding false promises, premises,
had precedents
lacks presence
get off our premises president
our countries bloodied and blemished
supposed genius turned menace
made a promising entrance
now with vehemence, menaces
subverts his messages, sentences
burn our nemesis' edifice
don't hide in the crevices
its prescience
Nuit, des amours ministre et sergente fidèle
Des arrêts de Venus, et des saintes lois d'elle,
Qui secrète accompagne
L'impatient ami de l'heure accoutumée,
Ô l'aimée des Dieux, mais plus encore aimée
Des étoiles compagnes,

Nature de tes dons adore l'excellence,
Tu caches les plaisirs dessous muet silence
Que l'amour jouissante
Donne, quand ton obscur étroitement assemble
Les amants embrassés, et qu'ils tombent ensemble
Sous l'ardeur languissante.

Lorsque l'amie main court par la cuisse, et ores
Par les tétins, auxquels ne se compare encore
Nul ivoire qu'on voie,
Et la langue en errant sur la joue, et la face,
Plus d'odeurs, et de fleurs, là naissantes, amasse
Que I'Orient n'envoie.

C'est toi qui les soucis, et les gênes mordantes,
Et tout le soin enclos en nos âmes ardentes
Par ton présent arraches.
C'est toi qui rends la vie aux vergers qui languissent,
Aux jardins la rosée, et aux cieux qui noircissent
Les idoles attaches.

Mais, si te plaît déesse une fin à ma peine,
Et donte sous mes bras celle qui est tant pleine  
De menaces cruelles.  
Afin que de ses yeux (yeux qui captifs me tiennent)  
Les trop ardents flambeaux plus brûler ne me viennent  
Le fond de mes mouelles.
Vaincus, mais non domptés, exilés, mais vivants,

Et malgré les édits de l'Homme et ses menaces,

N'ont point abdiqué, crispant leurs mains tenaces

Sur des tronçons de sceptre, et rôdent dans les vents.


Les nuages coureurs aux caprices mouvants

Sont la poudre des pieds de ces spectres rapaces

Et la foudre hurlant à travers les espaces

N'est qu'un écho lointain de leurs durs olifants.


Ils sonnent la révolte à leur tour contre l'Homme,

Leur vainqueur stupéfait encore et mal remis

D'un tel combat avec de pareils ennemis.


Du Coran, des Védas et du Deutéronome,

De tous les dogmes, pleins de rage, tous les dieux

Sont sortis en campagne : Alerte ! et veillons mieux.
(Qui avait laissé prendre le feu à ses habits.)


Ce feu, quels torts a-t-il donc faits
À votre Laure, qui se fâche ?
Plein de respect pour ses attraits,
Il n'en veut qu'à ce qui les cache.

De jamais le lui reprocher,
Pour moi, je me ferais scrupule.
Qui craint que le feu ne le brûle
Ne doit pas trop s'en approcher.

Joigne les effets aux menaces ;
Tant d'imprudence est à punir :
À l'étourdie, à l'avenir,
Ne laissez que l'habit des Grâces.

Cette sage sévérité
En nous trouvera des apôtres.
Refusez-lui la charité,
Ce sera la faire à bien d'autres.

Écrit en 1790.
Amanda Kay Burke Jun 2017
These demons are constantly present,
They collect under my skin and inside my bones,
Slithering around my insides,
Constricting my lungs,
Turning my heart into a cold wasteland.
They are forever haunting me,
These past regrets and current mistakes that I make daily.
They will not be silenced,
Though I try to forget,
They will not let me,
They push around my thoughts,
Controlling every one.
They push my happy memories away,
And force the painful ones to rise.
What can I do to escape my tormentors?
How long until they become one with my soul?
I need a way to fight this depression,
I refuse to give into their dark solicitations.
There is an inner light somewhere,
Strong enough to overcome these menaces,
I just have to find it somehow.
I know i could be peaceful once more,
If i could just defeat these voices,
These awful demons,
Residing within.
Just something i jotted down. Im having a bad day.
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
The Devil wears a condescending Crown of Aristocracy.

Behind the beauty of the aristocracy he led,
and sometimes romantic and eventful lives he savored,
lies a darker story: a legacy of deception, violence and unrepentant greed.

An aristocrat whose ground are his virtues and talents and pain,
Pouring one mischievous ingredient after the other,
All for a play of exploitation and influence,
The Devil has passion, but barely a soul, thus an erroneous aristocracy he rules over.

He was beautiful and ******;
Blemished in earthly pleasures and loss of his prodigious being,
The Devil lacked emotion and acted upon logic until he lost his heart,
His crown was adorned with half lamentation, half echoes of his past, out of dark menaces.

IA
mel Jun 2018
Neglected souls,
Fearing not death,
But life itself.
Chained to our torment,
And known to most as menaces.

Forcing our pain on the innocent.

Maybe, just, maybe,
We don’t have to be misunderstood.

But alas, our fate is solitude leading to our deaths.

For, we are the people who make you lock your doors,
And fear for your lives.

We are criminals.
MRQUIPTY Apr 2016
sometimes seen hunting

for metal fibres to coil

around glass


hair streaked with henna

hair and hands hardened by

concrete


something elemental about him

that flowed into the artisan

outpourings scattered around.


it was as if the shards with metal

sinews were progenitors . Tiny

capsules from which he came.


how he cradled them

gave that the air.


sure they were on show but, priced not to sell


on show but never untouched


a show



that drew in *******. He worked with rejects.

Affinity perhaps. He surely had nothing

for the **** that was drifting toward him.


Hard faced and beaten; wandering the market

bored of themselves . Hating money moving

without them.


One gestured at broken glass caged in wire.

A whimsy for a small hand.

Waving paper money as an offer. The elements

of him did not move. The flash of blade insisted


Rising. Blade dancing the market hushed.

Maker stood and slowly lifted his shirt.

In the dusty brown of dirt he glared pale.

The blade to the noise of the bearers

procession menaces his face until


light catches the copper sutures

stitching flesh to bone
a mcvicar Nov 2019
inherently demoted
passion waning in Stonehenge
studying the ancestors below me
(abhors me)
no longer needing the satisfaction, i'm guessing
you'll be needing the ever after
when clinging to the clingfilm of thy emotion
lust for the green light of capitalist torsion
but we're fine,
we made it
we're rosemary
and thyme
did she even make it through or did she just forget me
altogether, i get why she'd renounce me
the pretty lady now's in paralysis
international
clinging onto
the crevices
of the menaces
of the surrogates
mind shifting through plain fields of evergreen men
bottles upon bottles of ***** autumn drinks
guilty smokes, alternative facts and poltergeists
cloud my gaze
renounce my place
forgotten wee daisies were born in this place
but i didn't
and i don't
sister is trembling
sorry, she's alone
repenting for foreign perversions
preventing the invasion of thy nation
crossing the borders with thy translation
simply insane,
simply old age
it's bad, i need to get back into my old writing habits

— The End —