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Daniel James Mar 2011
Shrouded in secrets
The men from F-Branch
Recite the techniques
Undiscussed in advance
Of Democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
Democracy's Dance with Terror.

Outside the port of Umm-Qasr
Hundreds of men
Hooded in the dark
Of the midday sun
Kneeling on the run
From Democracy's Dance with Terror.

Suspected by students
Back home and online
Theories get conspired
Petitions get signed
"Stop Democracy's Dance!
Stop Democracy's Dance!
Stop Democracy's Dance with Terror!"

The attorney general
Is called for advice.
A solemn exchange
Top down bottom line.
His argument is
"If it's nice it's all right."

Ministers from Ministries
Are detained and questioned
By the goggles of a press
Suffering sleep deprivation.
It's like a game of touch rugby
Outside downing street
With a twist on the rules of 'Just a minute'.

And outside the port of Umm-Qasr
Democracy doggedly dances her dance.

But the rhythms of the dance
The stress of white noise
Peaked
And escaped on the wind
Blowing through the forgotten kindness
Of confused hearts and minds
Escaping through the drafty guilt
Of hung up uniforms
Dancing on the mumbling lips
Of sleeping soldiers
With wives, partners, families, friends
Back home
Who don't know what it's like
They don't understand the drill
They can't do the moves
They don't know what it's like.

But the dance did not stop
It did what every bad vibration does
And moved elsewhere
And was henceforth known
By an unpronounceable acronym:
JFIT!

And now we join James
Young musclebound man
With a drink in hand
Back from tour of duty
It's a Saturday night
And the Weston women like a soldier,
A real man.
The fact that he
Has been doing his duty.
"Do you mind if I ask..." Asked Deborah
Showing more than necessary of her bra
"Where was you based, your base in Iraq-
Your third base, in particular?"
"I'll tell you," Said James
And the ladies came quick
Putty in his hands
Just like a joystick.
Said James, with the gravitas
Or some silverscreen star,
"While out in Iraq,
I was stationed
At a British logistics base in Shaiba.
It's outside Basra.
Basra in Iraq.
Iraq?
You have heard of Iraq?"
But by then,
Deborah and her bra and her friends
Were talking to another group of men
Who worked in property development
And apparently, Deborah, they're neighbours
Or something, because that one said
They've got seventeen houses between them.

But what James hadn't told them is this
The exact meaning of words in English
Like British Logistics camp is
Not always what you think that it is.

Oh did I say camp?
I meant base.
Please delete any mention of camp
From the record.

It was not long before
That James' routine
Had been... very different
To say the least.

Indeed soon after crossing the border
And re-invading his parents' home again
He'd been watching Jeremy Vine when
He spotted a pattern of systematic abuse
On the curtains
Whenever he muted the telly.

James decided to get out of the house
And to help him get a grip
He decided to go shopping
But when he looked down at his list
It said:

59 hoodies
11 Electric plugs
52 Alarm clocks
122 pairs of earmuffs
160 torches
117 blackened goggles
132 stress positions
39 enforced nakednesses

And by this stage he realised
That perhaps he ought to see someone.
But instead of seeing a journalist
Or the Swedish King of wikileaks
He went and saw a military psychiatrist
Who charged him a lot to let him speak
On a one-off profit plus! contract
James ended asking the same question
Week after week -
Do you think I'm crazy?
What does all this mean?
The doctor replied:
"Of course you're not crazy,
It's just your mind is very ill,
I'll tell one part of it to ignore another part -
Here - take one of these little pills
They're only one pound ten each
And if you take one
Every three hours
Every day
For the rest of your life
(Or until you die,
Whichever is longer)
You'll be fine.

Meanwhile,
The dance continued to be taught
Like capoeira on a foreign-office team-building course
On the art of interrogation
The alpha-tango
Aimed at prisoners of war.
But the footsteps of karma
Where circling once more
And the base back at Shaiba
(Near Basra. In Iraq?)
Was once more withdrawn
This time to the airport
Along with other UK forces.

Now relatives of the victims
Both at home and abroad
And those most susceptible
To empathy's ill-considered force
Were planning to divert the dance -
Divert the Dance!
Divert the Dance
with Demo Dances,
Demo Dances!
Demo Dances!

Then it was the turn of the politicians
To work their magic of popular logisticians
By answering the questions no one has asked
Like are we human or are we just dancers?
We are just humans
Doing democracy's dance
Democracy's Dance
Democracy's dance with
(cough, cough).

And the news reporters
With their sleep-deprived goggles
Reported in such detail
As to make one's mind boggle
Each step, each move and each deliberate error
Of democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
With Terror.

(To be Continued... on the BBC)
Lawrence Hall Feb 2019
a HOME credible THE BISHOP accusation ADMINISTRATION is PARISHES one MINISTRIES that, SCHOOLS after RESOURCES review SAFE ENVIRONMENT of EMPLOYEES reasonably CAREERS available, CONTACT US relevant MAKE A GIFT information BISHOP’S FAITH APPEAL in LOVE AND JUSTICE consultation AFRICAN AMERICAN MINISTRY with CATHOLIC CHARITIES the PLANNED GIVING Diocesan CHANCELLOR Review OFFICE OF CONSTRUCTION Board HISPANIC MINISTRY or CAMPUS MINISTRY other CRIMINAL JUSTICE MINISTRY professionals, STEWARDSHIP AND COMMUNICATIONS there YOUTH MINISTRY is FINANCIAL SERVICES reason MODERATOR OF THE CURIA to MAKE A GIFT TO THE CAPITAL CAMPAIGN believe SOCIAL MEDIA POLICY is FAMILY LIFE MINISTRY true VOCATIONS

The soup today is not what it could be;
We’d better search out the old recipe


Explanatory Note:

I fear the poem as written fails, which is my fault (perhaps I have lapsed into fuzziness from reading  Leonard Cohen), so here is a bit of exposition:

The words in small print are a quote from the Bishops of Texas (long may they wave), generated by some in-house scrivener, about what constitutes a "credible accusation."  "Credible accusation" is not a title in civil, criminal, or canon law, and it appears to be some sort of Article 58 (cf. Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago), a means whereby anyone is guilty because he has been accused.  It stinks.

Also stinky is the behavior of some few priests and religious.

Anyway, I pulled the quote from a diocesan web site, and scattered among it in LARGE TYPE categories from that site.  I stirred 'em all up in a soup because the matter of paedophilia and the bishops' responses seem to be a soup, making it difficult for a "good simpleton" (cf A Canticle for Leibowitz) like me to understand.

May God have mercy on us all.
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
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Vernarth sequence

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

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

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

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

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

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


Prophecy II -  “Seventh, Inter-synergy energy”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prophecy III -  “Sixth, Resilience…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prophecy V – Fourth, Limbus Necropolis

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

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

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

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

Prophecy VI - “Third, Rethymnon City and State”

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

Rethymnon Political Ellipsis

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

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

End Ellipsis Rethymnon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reader and Petrobus jumped on this steep stone, emulating the meteorites that shone in the sky of Patmos such a party of nocturnal lights, such emery detached from a fleeting planet in the largest Hellenic scene saying: "Well-being to the Hellenic World all calm, dance and immunity to the firmament where Isidora rests in the Kantabroi of Aionius”
Prophecies of Aiónius
Forcing an alignment of corporate resources
for some theory of best fit correlation
doesn't work on Kingdom People
when using an unspoken method of tabulation.

If Life is about true spiritual growth,
then why do ministries attempt to pigeon-hole
not making any allowances for us
to develop, expand and break our current mold?

Despite multitudes of outcome possibilities
the Church seems to suffer bouts of paralysis
from the continued mashing of talents and gifts
resulting from unexplained Presbyterian analysis.

There are many ministry leaders who speak of vision -
Their tone indicates that the laity is completely blind and numb;
their message is clear - the Body is not interested
to reach the Earth before Kingdom Come.

We are souls with great, untapped potential
and not just elements of an array.
Despite our abilities and life experiences,
our dreams and desires we're not allowed to convey.

For a failure of Church motivational tricks
comes from cramming God's People into a human matrix.



Author Notes:

From the book: Reaching Towards His Unbounded Glory
The ISBN is: 1-4196-5051-3

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2006, All rights reserved.
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Lawrence Hall Nov 2018
Prelude PEAVEY you give PEAVEY the splendor
Of the PEAVEY CAN I HAVE AN ‘AMEN’!?
How great is our PEAVEY WOOOOOO! The lion and
The PEAVEY name above all YEAH!!!!!

Age to PEAVEY chorus PEAVEY bridge PEAVEY
You are PEAVEY touching my PEAVEY these
Bones will PEAVEY shout your PEAVEY OH YEAH!!!!
We pour out our PEAVEY WOOOOO!!!!! YEAHHHH!!! An’ Lord

We just wanna PEAVEY you YEAH! And WOOOOO!!!
REPEAT 4X PEAVEY YEAH!  WOOOOO!!!! We are
God’s PEAVEY AMEN!!!! CAN I HEAR AN ‘AMEN!?’
Food drive PEAVEY outreach ministries PEAVEY

Love offering PEAVEY I worship PEAVEY
Outreach WOOOOO! And Lord we just offer up our
PEAVEY…!!!


(You can always walk away – and I did)
"Peavey" is the brand name of a range of loudspeakers. You can often find them booming orders at you from the ceilings of churches.
Mitchell May 2011
Shakespeare made a pair
Of two fine young ladies
They were dressed in white
Lily
Dresses
Both avoiding to call their
Mother Mrs.
Twas a funny kid that shakespeare
He moved in a mute way
Never daring to speak
Never saying
But these two ladies remembered that man
With the long fingernails
And the blurry bleak stringy hair
He spoke to them about Jesibels
And spaces mixed with "my"
Ministries with Queen series
Marooned men with their dogs
They sat and listened and were wishin'
That He'd just take them to bed
But all the while Shakespeare was talking
He was also listening
A brain like that just doesn't know what to do
How to act
Where to break the rules and take a quick smack
But these fine ladies, these fine women that should've been
Movin'
Just kept sippin' on their red Pinot Keruoac's
And memory relapses
******* on the tuna marmalade madness in front of'em
That left them both with a deep kinda' sadness sayin "umm"
They finished their meal, those quick two twins
Went to the girly room to wash up, take a face bath
When they came back to the table everything was in disarray
Shakespeare had left with everything
But being a gentlemen
He left on the table
The dinners' pay
Michael Tobias Sep 2013
I will make a fangle of mechanisms,
a creature with iron snouts
and concrete aortas.

Its fevered howl will wake the duplexes
perched on sloped land,
built from collected tins and bottle caps.

Boys sooted in grief will balk like ravens,
chew sweet dip, and spit,
but never reach the foreman’s gate.

They’ll crave a tavern with antlers as chandeliers
where a black flame burns
on the brim of a zinfandel.

But tonight they’ll gristle through streets
to a stale room
where fluorescent lights blanch a young widow’s skin.

Basic cable ministries will flick and dim
in the homes of the wigged ladies who wait for them—
the howl keeps them

breathless, each of them fearing
the slow swallow from a snake’s mouth
to its furnace.
Mitchell Nov 2011
Neither the soul lies in wait or
My mind hangs by bloodied stakes
No not me is forced in restriction for
Through light comes a love which
Is neither clothed or naked but
Protected by the ones who live within it.

Through the apparitions of former
Ones, lying awake in the wake of history
Castle tops spin their stones weary from
The sun and all of its penetrating waves
Pedestrians on their kneels wailing for
A forgiveness they truly don't have to beg to give.

We walked through forests of mist and
Stones wet from the tears of ones who have lost
I nod toward the mountain where the fountain
Rests in a serenity of mysterious eternity where
Infinity dances alone with her bells and her brother
Hell whose hot to trot for inside he wishes he had
Never put up his hands and fought.

How we got to this world of foreign ways and
Mistaken miseries, I will never know, but the
Tired baby with all her maybes makes me wonder
If the dawn was made for her and her only.

These many people who wander through the streets,
Their faces shining but their souls beat,
Out loud I scream but no sound doth come from my mouth,
If I stay here much longer I don't think I will last a month,
For friends are shaking in their nil to none accounts and
The roads are being paved for the next with their hex
They wear with pride but they do not truly know where
High markings come from or where it future blow.

Hours sleep amongst the sands of time with pillows
Crafted from the mice of the coming millenium with
Their whiskers, their greying eyes and their jet black
Hair and inside they bear a weight which we can never
Know, it hangs on their necks like a child's red bow but
So we are christened by the highest of saintly prayers,
Whisked away to forgiveness, though few refuse to hear
The chimes of euphoric illusion, a shining diamond, a
Pool green as peacocks feather robes, nodding off for soon
We will all have to go.

Libraries hold the old shelves of thought of masteries
Gripping tight the leather and the cloth administered by
Their ministries, ordered by the highest sect. to break the
Mold, though too far and regress forward into a high
Revolution of solutions by chance of creating a medallion of
New toys for the nots to be curious about and later be shot
Admitted in the eyes of the clouds and the sun and all of nature
Piles of bone and skin and blood and elastic tendons we hold
True to the one attribute that is acute enough to carry home,
Though where exactly too, hope to see quite soon.
Michael W Noland Mar 2013
I will not hide despite the cameras in the sky, nor will i fear the satellites or Internet spies, and i will fight, and i will fight, as to not comply to the lies that co-hearse the norm, into standing idly by, in malformed, and twisted histories, twisting history, into a pearled vision of ministries giving eulogy, to enemies of the light, using light to blind the masses, before the flashes of infertility begin emanating from the cities, under the unity of, We The People, turned predator, under better sedatives that are better delivered, straight to the dream, or belief, of, or in anything.

Dare to dream, turn a blind eye to everything, or just something else, assigned children, or stolen wealth, while warmly held, in foggy hostilities, of those you rarely see, while soldiers of the peace, protect the streets, with covered faces, and powder burned fingers, lingering just out of reach, from the stones that burn the armored cars SAWing through the crowds, with the pulsing sound, of a million hell hounds, hell bound, machine gunning the bodies on the ground, for the pale riders, feeding on the dark horse, on course for a four course meal, leaving hopeless poses, of crying corpses, ashing in the wind of their trail.

Its our blood of defeat that lines the streets with the feed for the beast, as well as that same blood that feeds our victory, as we shall be exactly on time for the end, and the beginning.
All my ***** ****** for a few days. I shall be reformatting for a few.
Martin Narrod Nov 2015
There is no dust to settle,
Two days from land and we are not ready,
The whole year to prepare- poppy seed afternoons
6:00p.m. morning drunks to corroborate nightmare memories.

Where are the aches and the sick bending bone-like threads of
This corpse who romances sallow and pallid warlocks.
Interior flesh ministries unveil festering ****** horrors.
To not go out means chain smoking reds inside.

Plaster the monster over my face so I cannot breathe.
Then the unabashed words can take to the road with pitch forks and
Long, drawn-out misunderstanding. I eat salmonella for preference.
Ashes and soot and dirt and history sew its film atop every surface.

This is not what I thought they meant by life on a deserted island.
There is only me and I am still curious to see if I am advantageous.
Finally they do not wont of me. This is the sorcery I have been executing
In poor forms until this precise moment of lascivious loathe.

If you cannot understand this I am serving the greater good. It is worse to
Misunderstand than not know at all. Let your small hands to the sides of My face and your eyelashes rest atop my head. Lips inside hair.
With precision I extract pearls from your saltwater tomb.
I set the peas to our bed.
You left me alone to follow your impossible dream to live in Nashville to become a musician and thatwill never be. You are stay at the Nashville Men's Rescue Mission and sing two days at Clancy;s Cafe and you still have no real work or healthcare I don't understand this impossible dream. Do you like being a vagabond and homeless person. Living off charity of your church of Christ. Panhadling, living off Big John, and associating with white trash what shame!!!!  You had a great chance to better yourself at Breakthrough Ministries in Chicago when we first arrived. Oh I like this city better Nashville Tennessee and you blocked me on your facebook because I refused to marry you. All you cared about was your *** life with me but in truth I gave you everything and lost my indentity and sanity. Look into your mirror and who do you see a toothless, pityful, homeless, 58 year old man who blew a good thing.
Robert Littlejohn http://linkedlin.com/robertlittlejohn
It's been a little while since I decided
since I started telling everyone who asked
since I posted it in every corner
since I declared my major.

But what if I don't want to be a teacher?
What if I go off to college,
and I suddenly have the courage to do
what I didn't want to do before?

I'm afraid that it won't work
afraid I can't make it work
afraid to let go and fall
because what if it falls through?

All I want to do is music,
and yes,
I'm minoring in music
and honestly
I could be a teacher
but I'm rethinking that.

I know I don't have to go with the career
that matches my major,
and that I could finish out a teacher's license
and then go on to music.

But I could be so much more prepared!
There's so much more I could do
if I majored in Songwriting, Music Performance, or Worship Ministries.
What should I do?

What can I do?
I can take generic classes now,
ones that can count for any major,
and choose later.

But how long can I wait?
I'll just have to be patient
and wait for His guidance
because He knows what I should do.
What do you think I should do?
WL Schuett Mar 2018
Night colloquies of heartless
Predatory growls
And the soulful cries of prey .

The shadow between us
raged with hellfire .
Burning fields of voiceless thunder
Unpainted houses,
Ministries of snakes .
Enchanted pond flowers
Ritualistic smokescreens
Put blood in your eyes
Eating songbirds for eternal life .
Saved !
An innocent surrendered
To a shutterless window .

The false fire in your belly
Is speaking in tongues,
Swaying in wraith
To a sermon knocking on
A door forever locked
By ethereal stillness .
Weeping in post ******
Ceremonies of a
Forest with a thousand eyes
Where Everyone is prey .

Feasting on innocence
And ignorance.

Soft wanton evil growls.
The Songbirds shadows drift
Stolen from the souls
Of previous times .
Simon Quperlier Feb 2014
I woke up this morning, and I thought I was in Bethlehem, last night I had a binge in Beijing, I remember breaking my side-mirror, in what seemed to be a steeple-chase, on the derelict boulevards of France, the finish line in Vatican, then made a toast with the dead popes, as the holy grail circulated, we sipped the blood of Jesus, in the process of my anointing, to be the Messiah of Poetry, and give sermons in Shakespearean sonnet, establish ministries, and surpass prevalent religions, till my ordeal they shall crucify me, on a fiery cross.
René Mutumé Aug 2013
the poems, the letters, the sculptures
the movements, the sleep, the mute
the deaf the blind- and in the end and the beginning
there is all the art you need
a pounding hammer
the work of small anvils
replacing our arms
able to bruise the sky
just by waving
and there is no line - needing us;
in the end, and when the beginning comes
our blood will break the desert
and our flesh will be the architecture of silence
the proximity of our cells becoming each
season that we name,
ourselves
and the stars are shot faceless
by our days, and even the snoring dogs
will create time, as our hands stop the sun
from landing in our laps and gods are returned
to infants by the muscles of our arms, men
and women dragging carcasses near cave doors
will halt, and sigh at the future-
ticks in pelt and intoxicated elbows
of musicians pulling bow across string
will send perfection insane
once again
like a scream and a kiss landing at the same time
and all the wine of every fruit will not equal
the lone smile of a wrong turn
in the night, in fact- the small ball they crawl from
and make you rock into
will pass, and the partitions
of your faith will open,
tombs will shake
jokingly in the floor boards
friends will smile in the nails
ministries of sermons will ****
and burst out in private flight, when nothing can.
be swallowed anymore, lucky there is
the millennia's that feel the same
just a piece of gin
in a waltzing glass
reflecting your face, wondering
if you're going to stay
here
just a glass watching from the table
taking in your company as the night
becomes honest enough
to rain
and end any distance
that would separate our one
simple
organic
song.
ml Aug 2016
She lived in a prison trapped by her own demons
Far away on a land in the vacant city of Past
(This must be a new renaissance)
With its thousand over capacity of memories populating the country
They hiss and snarl and growl and tear at her clothes
Trying to get her to utter something
An apology or a plea, a command or a query
Say a prayer! Say a prayer! little girl in the prairie
Yet she will not break her silence
A stone wall set high above the cement floors of the four walls that were caging her in
She would not give up the strength she found
In the sliver of light that sneakily crept under the tight fit of her window sill
Every afternoon at 3pm when the sun was at its highest
So were her fears and doubts at their lowest
She had the name of Paula given by her ancestors
Who collected flowers of which pollens were distributed by bees
To their own specific ministries that thrived off of generosity and pure need to give
Yet at night the monsters came back to prey on her decaying bones that
Gave a home to the fatigued
Sensitive to every piece of sound she could collect in her ears
Looking around constantly wondering who’s there hiding behind every whisper of the wind
Psychotic laughter ate at her resolve, feeding from the tears they didn’t know will someday
**** them; she killed them with every desperate cry to her King
They knew not of a Prince of peace with glory and power and grandeur and majesty
Her hands grew weake but His remaidn strong throughout the years
They pushed back the walls that were falling
Based on the wrong foundations they couldn’t hold on to the weight on their shoulders
Pressing at every corner, every shoulder blade was a blade on its own, turning on itself
Like a jealous lover, they all fell away pointing their fingers indignantly
With an air of impudence with which they could not see or hear or think or imagine
Surely, they must have known of a God who could do wonders like use a stone as a destructive weapon against a Philistine?
All that was left of the cell where she was so untimely detained was smoke and ashes
Scent of old and Past – a receding memory from a warrior’s victory
It no longer held captive the prisoner it once held
So closely
So dearly
In its arms
Safe and sound she goes back to her Father's arms
Trapped in the embrace where freedom lived
And salvation, and grace, and mercy
"We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed."
I will not take on the 2012 philosophy
I will not run with bovine stupor
if for one minute of my life
would I light a candle and believe

Better faith of true and light
Illuminati please give me a break
an arm or leg maybe even my neck
would so put me out of my misery

Some live in the ministries of the soul
others bleat on mountain tops
waiting for their saviour
to guide them bleating back to their barns

Don't buy into the lies?
yet if you do go with distraction?
it is warm in the barn
and there is fresh hay.

So Enlightenment or Hay

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jessy Andrews May 2010
Regret
Written by:
Jessy Andrews
2-25-2010
1:24 AM CDT
Poem 3

I feel no real emotion towards regret.
To me it’s not really an emotion.
It’s merely a darker part of creation.
A darker part of the spirit.

The darker part where only self loathing breeds.
Where all that will destroy feeds.
Not a pretty place.
Regret, if left unattended finds its way to the brain.

Once there it becomes like a fungus.
Hard to ignore, much harder to get rid of.
It penetrates and grows heading straight into the blood stream.
In the beginning when your first in its grasp it feel likes a very bad dream.

I don’t allow any place for it.
There’s simply no room.
If it tries to enter it instantly gets a access denied.
No room for its seed to grow into a bloom.

Like a wound if given no oxygen to breathe.
It will merely just disappears.
Evaporating like the rain left from a storm that ends suddenly dissipating in the sky as it clears.
That is the freedom from regret.

It’s just a word.
It truly holds no real power.
Only those who believe in it allows it to exist.
And when they open the door it becomes harder to close.

I’ve watched as this has happened countless times.
I’ve watched as it has come to haunt those close to me.
The mystery of why they allow this to happen remains unsolved.
Regret in itself should be dissolved.

But, it’s exposure is very much on a wide range.
Reluctant it is of course to merely change.
It’s a part of our human condition.
A part of our governing psyche.

Breathing in its toxic breath.
Following us into our very moment of death.
I refuse its company.
A key it is to the very corer of depression.

An emotion in itself is strong  enough to ****.
I feel no emotion to this thing called regret.
Complete I become still without.
It’s place within me has no residence.

Look inside and what you’ll find is such clear evidence.




©Ministries of The Chaotic
Olivia Kent Aug 2015
Somewhere in the world my loves.
Love is missing.
Missing in ministries, filled with the cry of the heartbroken wenches.
Stuck there perhaps for ever.
Muddy trenches.
Lined with lace.
****** soldiers losing face.
Their whips made of satin strands, taken from chocolate boxes.
Locked up in closets from the school of hard knocks.
Long lost in mines, emptied long since.
Little old ladies, with cute purple rinses.
A receipt signed in dragon's blood for the pain that they gave.
Save for the memories of snowdrops in June.
Once he stood there in doublet and hoes, a classless cavalier, who left much too soon.
At the base of his mountain from where she once fell, lived a tale on a lion and that I can't tell.
Only the lion can, the lion he's the main man.
(C) LIVVI
A Nonsense poem
jeffrey conyers Apr 2015
One thing for real.
Love will never fade.
For years ministries has been stating the end times is near.
But only God holds that answer.

We visualize constantly about events and things.
And like the changing of Spring to Summer and Fall to Winter.
Many of us seeks that forever love.

One we cherish deeply forevermore.
wordvango Sep 2014
In deep sleep forget
fall into
remembers
shimmer in repose
somehow see the known
like a minaret mimicking
a place
of prayer
a parakeet saying what
excavates our ministries
until a foundation is reached
a truth
build then upon the prayers.
Build then
a truth.
AKELDAMA (THE FIELD OF BLOOD)
If I were Shakespeare
I would say: what hath happened to you mother earth?
Fallen creation! What hast thou done?
Abel’s blood laments from the ground
Innocent streams of blood flow in the swamps
Calling in the deepest seas
Yet creation joys at its screams and groans
Blood and bones spread like a red carpet
Bodies hung like clothes on a washing line
Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become!

Brothers butchering each other over stolen money
Babies murdered in the name of abortion
Albinos sacrificed in the quest for wealth and good luck
Oceans are dump sites for human carcases
Pastors servicing their ministries with innocent souls
Alters covered with ***** and blood
Bribery has become the order of the day
Akeldama! Akeldama! The world has become!

Authored outside the garden of Eden
Anger and heartlessness have become a burden
The love for money has made hearts to harden
With personal pockets to fatten
Forgiveness and good virtues are forgotten
Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become!

Shattered into pieces my heart bleeds
My soul weeps tears of blood
Tears that are torn and roasted before they reach the ground
Causing my troubled heart hasten to pound
Just like a floating trophy blood shed circulates around
My voice is bubbling within me
I am like an ant under an elephant’s hove
Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become!

Judases creeping in the shadows
Like giant monsters
Innocent hearts dripping and drizzling with blood
The guilty jubilantly roaming the streets

The church is silent
A sleeping lion!
A toothless bull dog
Blood stained tithes and offerings
Flesh fuelled businesses crowding the CBD
Deceit and betrayal is a game of hearts
Dead consciences that cannot be resuscitated
Children are fatherless and mothers are childless
The rich are heartless
The heirs are senseless
Crying is useless
They deem Christianity meaningless
Talking about Ubuntu is a sign of weakness
Leaders are foreign to selflessness
Oh Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become!

To him who hold the seven stars in his right hand
Who is the first born of all creation?
Turn not a blind eye on our afflictions
For how long will we sing the sour song of Akeldama
A song written by the greedy and blood thirsty
A rhythmless song sung when strings are broken and voices are full of anger
Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth mourns!
Oh Akeldama!
aurora kastanias Jun 2017
Much like the Mayans thousands of years before,
Granting 2012 the honour to host
An apocalyptic end of the world,
Peruvian shamans now declare
2017 the year
Of turbulence and widespread war.

The healers thus reunite on a hill,
In the capital of Lima to perform
Cleansing rituals able to prevent
The fatal clash between North Korea and the US.
It comes at a time of heightened tensions
Between the two countries over
Threatening nuclear missile programmes.

An unprecedented inferno ignites the night of a West
London residential skyscraper burning
From its second to its twenty-seventh floor
Unleashing the worst nightmares
Of its sleeping inhabitants
And the courage of sleepless fire-fighters.

Colombia's Farc rebels hand over their weapons
To United Nations Inspectors
As part of historic peace accords,
While the President declares,
“Peace will be built little by little,
Like a cathedral, which you build brick by brick"
Revolutionary forces no longer armed.

Migrations creating social unrests
People fleeing their threatening nests,
As mayors plead governments not to let
Any more in and ministries ask, cities to absorb
Two hundred and fifty thousand more.
Coast guards relentlessly saving the drowning ones.

US Attorney General denies, having undisclosed meetings
With Russian officials in Washington hotels.
Any suggestions of collusion with the Kremlin described
As appalling and detestable lies.
Agency’s investigation into Russian political meddling impeded
As Intelligence believes in conspiracies. Memories of Cold Wars
And Bond movies where the ‘traitor’ was lucky to be fired and not shot.

While doctors announce people over 75 taking
Daily aspirin after a stroke or heart attack
Are at higher risk of major and sometimes fatal
Stomach bleeds than previously thought,
Anthropologists excavating in Morocco
Find fossils of potential ancestors, the oldest sapiens retrieved,
Tracing back our steps to 300, 000 years before present.

Across the ocean, somewhere in Arizona,
A man heading to a retirement home prepares,
Cleans up his garage with the help of a neighbour
And finds a 15 million dollar *******, he ignored
He ever had.
Francisco DH Mar 2014
Let us
Let us play with your look
Let us love and sing and wonder
Let us reason ministries
Let us go then you and I
Lawrence Hall Dec 2018
A Conversion Experience at the Bright Light Free Will Four Square Full Gospel Missionary Temple Outreach of the Lord Jesus Christ 501C3 of the Lamb Ministries the Reverend Doctor Master Bishop Apostle Brother Billy-Bob Hairdo and His Honored First Lady Disciple Irma-Mae a-Brangin’ Messages and a-Suckin’ in Government Grant Money


Here is a list of the thangs we is aginner
If you do any of this stuff, yew air a sinner

Th’ Lord accepts all major credit cards for His work
Elihu Barachel Jan 2015
Listen to my gospel, listen to me preach
You will be so edified, the truth I always teach
-
Send me money send me cash, send lots and lots of dough
My Ministry will bless you, my Ministry will grow
-
The more you send the more you're blessed, send everything you got
I'll be like Lenny Zin, I'll buy a jet and yacht
-
If you don’t believe like me, you’re going straight to Hell
I’m the only one that knows the truth, and I know it oh so well
-
I can get you saved, today Salvation is on sale
Send $29.95, send it in the mail
-
For an extra $20.00, a magic donkey **** you’ll get
Show it to Saint Peter, all your sins he will forget
-
If you send $100, my blessing you’ll receive
It will make you rich, before tomorrow’s eve
-
Send to: Greggy's ******* Ministries, on Coosa County Road
Send only CASH, to 35010 Zip Code
MRQUIPTY Aug 2016
lines mark boundaries
scratched by gunship
cannon fire
crossed regardless by
their smoke .

preserved on haze made
horizon from concrete
ministries bunkering
a fissionable peace.

avant garde fighters
control as shoeless
fashionistas
brokering fear in a
'retro' style of blades
and system spooks.

working poor garb
in fake labels
preferring sim-culottes
to any daring
protests against
themselves.

we are all Benetton
and on message hating
colour or hating the
hating of colour.hungry
habits of the two tones
chimed by the 'we all bleed
the same' brigades.

shop the same, perhaps.

standing in queues behind
logos made of corporate
programming dependant
on the modern gunship
smoke territorying our
lives.

we are all under arms.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2017
I am more than a tiny bit surprised
At just how deeply ******* I am.
I feel used and abused so strongly
As if I fell for some complicated scam.
The issue is that I never fell for it
Not for a single, half-witted moment.
I never asked for, and worked very hard
To avoid the backlash from this foment.

I shared, and wrote and poeticized it;
This deep disgust and abject fear
That we would witness an apocalypse
At the end of this **** frightening year.
I feel like the four horsemen, together
Have run right over my screaming body
And left a puppet government in place
That is at once illegal, evil and shoddy.

The country that has boasted for years
That we are the home of the free and brave
Has been battered with bigotry so badly
I fear there may be precious little to save.
People are being programmed out of life
With nothing like human rights remaining.
They are ******* on us all, my friends
And want us all to believe it is raining.

We have totally untrained people set up
With their hands on the buttons of war.
We have people heading up our ministries.
That don’t know what their agencies are for.
They make it obvious that they hate us
If we can’t give them a few million bucks.
That means all that free and brave stuff
Is gone for now and we’re all out of luck.

Our leaders sell counterfeit-Rolexy laws
On a national unprecedented scale.
And then they plan to increase the taxes
So, they get more from each and every sale.
And sadly what it means is that we are
Too few of us are really worth our salt.
We’ve sold our souls to human devils
And this disaster is completely our fault.
I have a healthy space
That I cultivate each day
We are all architects
Of our own time and place
We are infinite weavers
Of sublime ministries and arboretums
We are blooming leaves and plants
And the tiny fingers that grieve them
We are all Apollonians engaged in battle
With the heartless hedonists in our midst
But we're also dancing Dionysians
Who know that you already know
What's best for you to believe in
I am a firefly on your wall
And long before the fall
I held you tenderly
In my embrace
What a chase yet we never really escaped
Nor made it back from that place
So we attack ourselves in the kitchens
With faces full of ice cream
You laughed and said who is the victim now
I came close to closing the door
But instead i wrestled you to the floor
And cuddled you
In case you forgot
Just how f@!#$@! beautiful you are
(Sanatoga, Pennsylvania location)

I luxuriated as inkling of spring 2021
offered sneak preview today
March third as temperatures
reached low fifties Fahrenheit.

Yours truly began reading
one paperback book
(I purchased three),
and absorbed daily dose of Vitamin D
while secretly ensconced
within favorite nook.

This middle aged rue stirring ******
favors warmth, boot haint no stranger to cold,
when dark hen stormy wintry days
eggs hit from Arctic portal enfold
ding Atlantic Seaboard
in a blizzard of bitterly, blindingly, and
brutally sub zero temperatures
from an occasional nor'easter
fiercely gripping hold,

the majority years, sans this prolific
recalcitrant scrivener lived
in various and sundry abode
housed within Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
with 19473 current zip code,
and during my boyhood recall,

how massive ice sheets did erode
the (then) opened expansive farmland,
in preparation for planting time,
where runnels of frigid water flowed
with childish cheeks exposed to glowed
after hours upon
many a green acre got tilled and hoed

despite feeling energized and refreshed
with arms and legs ne'er frozen
aye didst eagerly await with exuberant yen
kickstarting thy body electric
experiencing hearthstone nook
designed and built by Christopher Wren
after heading indoors counting fingers
and toes to make sure, I still got ten

soon hearing the chorus of fauna,
and floral kaleidoscope of color
aground or taking wing
thus, upon thawing out thoughts
drifted toward approaching spring,
the season revitalizing
dormant natural inhabitants,

whose excitement (like mine) didst ping
announcing the debut of fecundity
nsync with screeching
from the lizard king
who entered and did break on thru
doors of fame and fortune  
becoming out of this world legendary
rock and roll icon,
nevertheless, he joined twenty seven club
for permanent fling.
Big Virge Apr 2020
So It Seems That GREED...
Is Part of The Disease That Corona Breeds... !?!

Human Beings Now Behaving Like Demons... !?!
In The Name of Preservation While Corona’s Dictating...
A Need To Be Stationed At Home or Face Facing...

A Form of Detainment Or Penalty Payments...
For Being Outside Which Doesn’t Right... ?!?
Being Made To Pay Fines For... Distancing Crimes... !!!

Seems Like GREED To Me...
By Ministries And These Government Fiends...

Who Would Seem To Be The Ones Responsible...
For The Spread of This Disease That’s Now Breeding Overseas...

Like Poker High Rollers Just Ask MOLLY...
Because The Bloom of Greed Is A RECURRING Theme... !!!

From Euro Countries...  
Now In Need of Money...
To Those Who OVERSEE...
Who Their Money Should Reach...
In Times Like... THESE... !!!

Well It’s GREEDY Teams Who Seem To Believe...
That Money Will Save The Human Race...
From Having To Eternally... “ ISOLATE “... !?!

I Mean.... SERIOUSLY...
How Does Being Humane...
Relate To... “ PAY “... ???

Do Insurance Claims And Interest Rates...
TRULY Equate To Saving Those...
Whose Cashflow's Slowed With Corona In Tow... ?!?
These Greedy Folks Are Reaching New Lows...

..... And That’s NO JOKE..... !!!!!

It’s So Sad To See That Human GREED...
Is Proving To Be As Dangerous As This Corona Disease... !!!

From Companies Whose Bosses Bleed...
Their Employees Like... VAMPIRIC Breeds... !?!
Who Now Won’t Give Their Workers An Inch...
When It Comes To... Payment Benefits...

Especially Now That People Are Sick...
With No Quick Fix To This Corona Sitch’...

Where Panic Buyers Are Now Retired...
So Now HAVE To Join Queues Just To Shop For Food... !?!

It’s A Crazy Groove That’s Now In Use... !!!
Greedy Crews... Are Now In View... !!!

From Corporate Crews Who Use Boardrooms...
To Business Moves From People Who...
Are Placing LOOT... ABOVE Being Shrewd... ?!?!?

To Street Teams Who Are Quick To Shoot...
When Cash Is Owed To GREEDY Blokes... !!!!  

Whose Business NOW...
Is DECREASING... Just Like The Dow... !!!

It’s A Time Where Greed...
May Now Be Seen Through TECHNOLOGY... !!!

You See Greedy Themes...
Have NOT Disappeared...
And... This Is CLEAR... !!!

The Human Breed’s Now Embracing Fear...
As Well As Vaccines That May NOT Be FREE...

And Then MAYBE... The People Will See...
That Government Teams May Be Running Speech...
About Helping Peeps’ To Stay... HEALTHY... !!!!!!!!

But BEHIND The Scenes There’s... MUCH To See...
That May Just Be Connected To Schemes...

Where Technology Breeds...
Digitised Streams For Cash Money...

The Type of Policies That Will Surely Feed...
NEW WORLD Regimes With Their Wish To See...

A Human Breed That’s On Their Knees...
And Unable To Impede Their Pursuit of POWER ...

Which INEVITABLY Tends To Lead...  

To... UNNECESSARY ...

...... “ GREED “...... !!!!
Sadly it seems, even in times like these, there are quite a few people, who can't see beyond their greed !!!
Facebook ministries is helping those that have no voice.
For they belong to Christ as well, everyone does matter.
Even if the evil one uses prideful people to say otherwise.
Everyone matters to Christ, even the evil ones can become saved.
For Christ loves everyone, even the demon posses can be rescue.
For Christ does the impossible everyday, so trust him with your life.
He wants only to rescue his from the demonic forces everywhere.
For just because someone is posses does not mean that he will not save them.
For we were all born to Christ but then some went to the evil one.
But when we pray , learn to love even the most twisted of people.
Then we finally are loving others as Christ loves, because he loves everyone.
Yenson Sep 2020
metropolitan colonials - those wags of ***** Levi's
and Nike trainers
now entombed in polychrome boiling ***
dumbfounded in questions for meaning
seeking bounty without guns and lancers
tossing bibles of lies and dismay
punking the symbolism of politics not the realities
the ***** come home to claim prizes at the winters ball
the wayfarers long dead leaving statutes to now **** and plunder

and itemized sepia to darkened bodies traded for gain and ruin
stigmata oozing blood, sweat and fears
such is the lives and times of the concrete collaborators
and the pens of mouths and forked tongues
simmering in the chicaneries of cutthroats in twisted downrising
sumptuous citadels and wastrels ministries all hedged from colonies
the twenty first century invoices of the explorers
for kings and queens

— The End —