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O fog,
shrouding the busy highways
   softly
muting their resonant roar
   to distant growls

Unfurl your smooth fury,
crumple these cars,
shatter their frames across
   and beyond their concrete tracks
   that separate forests and hills
   and thicken the air
   with acrid smells
   from exhausted horsepowers.

Embrace them,
   O fog,
and guide their screeching tires
   over the embankment

roaring hearses
unreigned
by your moist arms

                           * * *

     &) Discovered recently among H. D.´s unpublished papers at Yale University Library, malevolent scholars take this poem as proof for the poet´s befogged imagination during some of her post-imagist periods. More englightened critics, though, point to the stunning topicality of H. D.´s mythopoetic mind in its accurate presentation of mankind´s archetypal struggle against nature. There is as yet insufficient biographical evidence that the mature H. D. possibly had a short but intensive attachment to the infant Ralph Nader, who later became head of the U. S. Environmental Protection Agency. – For serious information on the poet, see  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H.D.
This is H. D.’s 1915 poem that inspired my little satire:

Oread

Whirl up, sea -
whirl your pointed pines,
splash your great pines
on our rocks,
hurl your green over us,
cover us with your pools of fir.

* * *
Dark n Beautiful Nov 2024
Thank you, God, for your love and wisdom. Even in moments of doubt, I tried to keep my faith discreet. Many times, I felt the weight of my sins, knowing that conscience is not just a guide but a compass. I speak for myself when I say that each day,
I struggle with the inevitable tasks and the pain inflicted by evildoers. Today would have been his birthday, a bittersweet reminder that evildoers cannot harm us for long if we believe in your power.

I have come too far to let regrets weaken me. I am too proud and too strong for shame or regret.

Please, always come to me when I am in doubt. Keep shining your light upon me and keep my mind healthy.

My vision is clear, and I know my children will be happy and safe. I will fight for daily strength to move forward. I will adhere to your words and find rest in your guidance. You know me better than I know myself, and I love you, Lord.
Your mercy never fails me.

I grieve for others more than I should, perhaps being too mythopoetic. I am mortal, a giver by nature, and proud of the choices I have made.

I am who I am, black by nature, and I embrace my identity with pride.
Theo 7d
it is sometimes
o.k.
to feel guilty
for
not feeling so.

here i mean as i folded clothes from my laundry that theres a guilt now days i feel when not feeling the guilt im supposed to feel and no i personally do not prefer "wise" or whatever poetry but it came and the rest of the words were broken in the wind. anyways, i wrote this and the title refers to a praxis of mine to clearly identify my ambitions and thus accept that i have these be they fueled from "personal self" or "society" (thats you, kid!) or otherwise and thence leave them all and be a life lived with no ambition- in fact apparently such is the way to be rid of addictions - addiction in case you've guessed by now have little to do with drugs, in fact its any self-soothing behavior that is done as a protest of acknowledging and being with a sort of fuzze pain that we may or even may not be conscious of and thus our actions to bless away this amorphousity is through this or that action perhaps being a proud teetotaller and thus getting drunk on virtue or not smoking cannabis but getting high on fasting or not ******* but getting ****** up on miserliness it is all almost infinite and a never end and thus live live live with no why heyhoheyhey
day15 napowrimo
I have made.
Every iconoclastic blasphemy.
A sigil to the loss.
Of my humanity.
As a mythopoetic respite from the contradiction.
Of life.
And, I am super position.
To myself.
A sadhu of dirt.
Brahman of filth.

And on the pyres are burning.
Former lives.
As each taboo.
Spills forth from my mouth.
Each symbolic act of my own personal apophenia.
Is carved on my skin and I don't.
Hide.
From the light.
I announce.
My own divine dusk.

I picked death.
As my austerity.
Not *******.
Absolution through annihilation.
Nolan, the great destroyer.
Saiva of the unambitious.
Stuck in a great protest against.
Light.
Defiling the temple.
That is my grace.

My blessing.
The fall of nations

And, here in the gallows field.
Are hanged men.
For hands of glory.
Necromantic rites of antideluvian.
Ideas.
Strange unknown Gods of distant mountains.
Looming ominous and odd.

In the burial grounds.
I abide.
With the insects and lowly things.
I am a statement of the triumph of rot.
In the face of beauty.
I become abominable.
In flesh.

And, God made the low.
Like God made the high.
And when he made me.
He blessed me with.
Sacrilege.
A wicked tongue that forks out of my mouth.
A will stronger even than absolution.

If I am clean.
I will become *****.

Here lies the ambition.
Of Nolan Bucsis.
Caked with blood sacrifice.
Filth.
And suffering.

Life has become Hell.

So, through my ego.
I ascend beyond it and never leave.
I abide in the abject misery my life has become.
I willingly become the scapegoat.
I will eat the sin.
Dine on sacrificial beasts.

Discarded.

The theology of collective guilt.
Trickster spirit using misery.
To blossom beautiful fruit.

They will know me by my ignominious deeds.
Even though Raven steals the sun.
Even though Coyote eats his wife.
Even though every ***** lowly thing.
Exists in itself.
The lesson remains.

Looks can be deceiving.
Bluster isn't belief.
And the urge to be isolated.
Subverts the need to be.
Loved.

Maybe I need to be.
A prophet.
Of destruction and desolation.
Woe and foreboding of doom.

So I remember the contradictions.

God made an angel of death.
Azrael.

God made an angel of sin.
******.

God made a great destroying chief of Satans.
Samael.

Where there is light.
A long shadow is cast.

Because God made me.
And,
I want.
Eternal night.
Perpetual sleep.

— The End —