"ordinance" poems
Nine months after I was born, the Twentieth Century began to collapse.
East Berlin,graffiti-mural concrete, a jutted enigma scratched
on ordinance maps, the sort found
landscaping westernized Primary School walls.
Where within, labored in real time, the television told my parents
(and everyone else given to social conservation in 1989) that a wall falling down
would bring an end to the gap between the working and the working poor.
Freedom waited for many on the other side.
But of course, History draws up different plans.
Never content to just go out with a bash, or to
fleetingly drift by leaving
in its absence an underwhelmed lull
The bloodiest century yet
left the new world entrenched
in an odyssey of hatreds
handed down from the past
right about the time human suffering became a bit dull
and the peaceful countries were too busy
tripling their money instead.
What does History really teach us and what are the real benefits
of being free, or freer than you were before?
Human ambition, which burns it way out of any oasis of calm,
which calls children out of sleeping in the night
Always seeks out the exhaustible
An inveterate Black sheep leading astray
the ever susceptible ****** lamb
Delusion’s strange bedfellows are the worthiest adversaries
to run away from, to reserve contrition for.
Unlike the inevitability of uprooted animal migration
during a monsoon swell
Can a people with an invested addiction
to the pursuit of happiness
Ever truly be prepared
for the inevitability of rapid change?
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
Lo, the drunken ordinance of light through
stained glass, lest to rehash the peopled
white of infinity.
Reach...with what folding passion second
guesses the labor of its love...the warm
footfalls of the sun overlaying the intricacy
of a snowflake...as captions of bone
dissolving upon the motion picture.
Perpetually opening seasons enamored
directionless...cancellation and activation
which is The Spark upon dark...striations
of dreams upon the gyres of galaxies.
Proofs positive of palpable breath, given
and taken in gloried passage.
The cloistered ghost gifted the laughability
of its cloister.
A polish fit for heresy...listen to the
crystalline structure as it bats its eyelashes.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
Car packed and ready to go;
on leave so we thought but it wasn't so;
I suppose it wasn't just meant to be;
T Air Defence Battery was going to sea;
Across the south Atlantic Ocean;
Well at least that was the notion
One hundred and ten ships all packed to the top;
Commandoes, Paras, Guards, Ordinance, Artillery, the lot;
This is it lads. We're going to war;
But nobody knew, what was in store
And all those mixed up feelings inside;
Were **** near impossible for us to hide.
We landed at a place called San Carlos Bay;
In nineteen eighty two. On the twenty first of May;
To repel Argentine invaders from the Malvinas;
Anxious, proud and scared. You had to have seen us.
Across the Falklands, the Task Force did travel;
By air, sea and foot and not as a rabble;
Objective Port Stanley for the final shove;
First taking Tumble Down; Goose Green and Bluff Cove
We recaptured the Islands. They were British again,
And amid all the glory, cheering and pain;
We now look to peace for as long as we reign
And no more hostilities, that drive man insane
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 11:36 AM UTC
Union and Grand
I moved into this house less than a year ago
and already three gun related murders have occurred
within a three block radius; two of them involving children.
I'm not making this **** up.
Those numbers wouldn't be anything exciting for a population
hitting upwards of the millions,
but this is not a big city.
This is the heartland.
-
The city paid for a series of strategically placed dead ends,
forced turns, and surveillance equipment to be installed
in the area of about a mile surrounding my house.
No wonder they call this place "The Trap".
They keep changing the maze,
and studying us like rats.
-
They had a make-do memorial for the little girl who got shot.
They attached her stuffed animals, cards, and photos to a utility pole
on the corner of Union and Grand. The city had it taken down.
Some kind of city ordinance
from some dusty tome at the town hall.
Kids killing kids, and the shots keep firing.
-
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not what'd you call an activist.
But when bloodshed occurs within eye shot of where you sleep,
you start to get a little irked.
These kids have as much potential as me, and twice as much grit.
Their teachers barely even know their names,
let alone what it's like to be deprived of privilege.
-
I'll stomp this concrete until my feet break.
This labyrinth is my constant reminder and reality check.
I am here, and you are there.
This connection is suspended on silver threads and I am your puppet.
Mold me into your angst driven dreamboat.
Because tomorrow, I'm just going to wake up here. Tyler.
-
This soul has been folded seven times
and I grow tired of this reality.
There was a time when I could scream loud enough to wake the dead.
I guess I'm showing the symptoms
of an accidental child
with a tongue that only tastes art as bitter protest.
-
I'd tear my face off
to know if this is really getting through to you.
The face in the photo is that of the goat; the false idol and deceiver.
A Knight of Pentacles, selling you gold plated garbage.
Odin-kin.
You always feel like I have a secret to keep; my fist is in the air.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 3:05 AM UTC
encamped on a barren savanna
a formaldehyde trick laid
beneath a palace of red canvas
carcasses of Noah's Ark
left for a menagerie of men
a spectacle of meat and bone
the tides of oddities come crashing
against the shores of spectators
the earth opens its hands to carry
the rails that lead an entourage of
grandeur at the ring master's ordinance
God's children in satin and sequins
Devil's work bared in ink and blood
ladies and gentlemen!
wooden pews for the congregation
occupied by followers seeking refuge
in the sacred acts of manipulation
enchantment for children
necromancy for those who walk
with hearts no longer beating
for the world they once knew
prepare to be amazed!
tight ropes are spun into webs
painted skin become prisms
nature's anomalies turned
into golden mythologies
figments of A Vision
brought to life by an apparition
the most extravagant extravaganza!
and the world burns anew
contemporary tales are told through
a splendor of color and brilliance
in a palace of red canvas
lay the corpses of humanity's finest
a formaldehyde trick
of preservation and deception
come one come all!
an asylum for those consumed
a sanctuary for those comforted
by the art of celebrated illusion
an institution built on maneuvering
the depths of every man's heart
welcome to the circus
sit back and enjoy the show!
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
Its annoyance
Anointed
In pessimistic clairvoyance
Its the avoidance
Of the simplistic
And stoical
Components
Its motion
Less
Ness
In oceans
Of lip service
Its ***** potions
For the passionate
Its fake ****
And face lifts
Its abortions
In portions
Of subordinates
As gifts
In gifs
Of gorgeous
Ordinance
Distorted
In tortured
Tapping
Of the dead
Its all the fame
In shoving
The pain
Of loving
In the oven
Of stubborn
Mothers
Blubbering
Under the covers
With other men
Its the omens
Of the oh mans
In roman
Misnomers
Of fortunate
Misfortunes
Torn
From time
Its the mine mine mines
Confined
To their own kind
Pre signed
In old blood
Its consignment killers
Its the drugs
Its timeless thrillers
Its the shrugs
Its the thunder
Plundering
Structures
Rattling out
From under the bed
Its all the thoughts
In our heads
Blaring
The booms
Of the tamed
Its the assumed
The restrained
Its this tomb
Of shame
In doing
The same
Old **** again
And again
Its been
Better
Then again
I grin
When
Cold
Its when i should fold
That i embolden
Its all the No's
Its blankets nose
Its the cut blow
And lack of flow
Its fists and elbows
As opposed
To safety locks
Its ******* flu shots
Its everything
That ****** me off
Its the the stupid robots
And the silly riot cops
Fencing in the famished flocks
Its the *****
And the *****
In plastic boxes
Giving rocks
Off
Without us
Its the gold pots
And stacked stocks
Locked
From us
Its the Rocks
Inside my socks
As they knock
The blocks
Of billy bobs
Bobbling
On the dash
Its the harsh
And its the rash
Its inside the last
Bastion
Of dummassez
passing
Through the
Blast radius.
Alas
Its the mass graves
And the paved pools
Of anyone who knew
Anyone who stood
Its all us fools
As cool kids
Knowing
No show biz
In soul ****
Its in knowing this
And ********
And barking
At the moon
Soon
To swoon
None
I am peaking soon
In looming threat
Of lost concepts
Slipping away
Under the sun
Electing to quit
While im ahead
Way back when
It was fun
Way back when
It mattered
Its a gun
Shooting blather
Blathering
As a bladder
Would
Misanthropic
And misunderstood
A changed topic
Knock on wood
Bye is good
Goodbye
Told you
Its implied
In rite
So
Good
night
Until
next
time
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
1068
Further in Summer than the Birds
Pathetic from the Grass
A minor Nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive Mass.
No Ordinance be seen
So gradual the Grace
A pensive Custom it becomes
Enlarging Loneliness.
Antiquest felt at Noon
When August burning low
Arise this spectral Canticle
Repose to typify
Remit as yet no Grace
No Furrow on the Glow
Yet a Druidic Difference
Enhances Nature now
1.9k
How many million galaxies there are
Who knows? and each has countless stars in it,
And each rolls through eternities afar
Beneath the threshold of the Infinite.
How is it that will all that space to roam
I should have found this mote that spins and leaps
In what unutterable sunlight, foam
Of what unfathomable starry deeps
Who knows!? And how this thousand million souls
And half a thousand million souls of earth
That swarm, all bound for unimagined goals,
All pioneers of death enrolled at birth,
How were they swept away before my sight,
That I might stand upon the single *****
Of infinite space and time as infinite,
Who knows? Yet here I stand, climacteric,
Having found you. Was it by fall of chance?
Then what a stake against what odds I have won!
Was it determined in God's ordinance?
Then wondrous love and pity for His son!
Or was it part of an eternal law?
Then how ineffably beneficent!
Each thought excites an ecstasy of awe,
A rapture rending the mind's firmament.
Infinity -yet you and I have met.
Eternity -yet hand in hand we run.
All odds that I should lose you or forget,
But, soul and spirit and body, we are one.
Is this the child of Chance, or Law, or Will?
Is None or All or One to thank for this?
It will not matter if thanksgiving fill
The endless empyrean with a kiss.
1.9k
We marvel at
the smell of the white clover.
It is a baked in smell right now,
the heat is oppressive, crushing
The smell of the clover, and this
cigarette are the only reason we’re
out here.
Smarter, healthier people are inside,
in the air-conditioning, nursing a beer or
a lemonade, watching whatever might be on
HBO.
Returning to our respective homes,
we rejoin their much more comfortable
ranks.
(I’m curious what’s on HBO anyway.)
When the need for nicotine rises again;
cigarette in hand, opening the door, seeing
the pavement has darkened with rain.
The smell of the clover has been muted,
replaced with the brassy, metallic breeze
that rises like steam from the hot driveway,
lingering under the nose like a warm childhood
sip from the spigot.
That steam has its own odor,
rich and febrile,
rising from the superheated
surfaces of our cars.
It smells like squirt-gun suicide,
a child’s drink from the barrel of
plastic ordinance.
(Do you remember doing that?
I do.)
How terrifying that must’ve been to parents;
to see their children, in swimwear or skivvies,
******* on the end of a gun.
Perhaps they gave it less of a thought
than I do now.
I’d wager they were inside,
in the air-conditioning, nursing a beer or
a lemonade, watching whatever might be on
HBO.
Out of the early summer heat.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
galaxy.
cosmic.
constellation
explosion
now.
present.
three-dimensional.
zero hour
infinite
tunnel vision
proliferate.
obliterate
paradox
existential
hypnotize
twilight
melancholy
rush
orbit
choir
parallel
sublime
conscious
claim
strong
vindicated
frequent.
fallen
free
secrets
delicate
envelop
common
echo
violent
beg
complex.
release
natural
heartbeat
determined
fear
daring
battlefront
efficient.
wine
courageous
scarred
wise
poison
trust.
eternity
confident
ecstasy
ordinance
splinter
thin
darkness
reverent
veil
admirable
unremitting
acidic
lethal
responsible
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
You articulate in swift flight, confidence soaring,
plenitude of words, justly convincing.
Floating on breathless wind between here and there.
Fumbling with sense, coherence of purpose
between twisted bed sheets, whispering pillows;
In the freeze frame static of moonless nights.
I feel the yearning burn towards hoping truth
in a splintering fire against which I warm;
crackling up all your feathers, and concord.
In the daylight you scatter ordinance together,
recklessly aspiring to repair undoing damage:
Wings stunted irrevocably through flailing flighted dreams.
Unknown weighted obstacles glide courageously in hurtled silence,
sideways across the cool air of this post-nested room;
Waiting for gold and diamonds to appear, glorified.
The slightest movement uttered punctures you,
a soggy blown balloon squirting off these walls-
dexterity lays useless on this love-laden floor.
I stare at you spewed inanimately,
like splattered spaghetti in a fitting rage,
across the boards of our echoing abode.
Depths of sightlessness reveal tentatively:
There exists no place for a soul
on the unstable face of the dead.
Oct 25, 2009
Oct 25, 2009 at 2:29 PM UTC
a cult novilist in Blackpool
watches Martina Navratilova
throw sugar lumps
at passers by
as captured teardrops
in a teaspoon
call, plead, for understanding
perhaps release
for they’re not the
obsessive prize
once hailed as trophy
but simply words in the air
that execute that which never comes
causing a retreat from an ordinance
of nothing
where time defiles itself
a red speckled jersey
whose arms, once occupied
are too small, limited
like abandoned prosthetics
leaving rotting flesh
to slowly scald the earth
with a vaporous experience
of emotional contrasts
like that of mesmerising serpents
whose visional embrace
stares deeply with such a charge
of ****** energy
that causes the air to weep
and poses the question
who shall give me leave
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
twined like bristle on ordinance days
but not quite as mystical.
Where are we going
and what have we cast,
responsibilty came yodelling
by torrents
and plainly unsettled withdtew
to her plot.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
I remember the tops of clouds,
Looking as far as I could see.
I don't know if the Pacific
Is a pretty place,
But at altitude,
At least it's sunny.
Under the cumulus blanket,
Man makes his own clouds,
Thick with metal and smoke,
All black and shrapnel,
And God help you
If one opens up around your wingtips.
I remember nosing down,
Gritted teeth and twisted belly,
Eyes flitting between instruments
And the little ship
Getting fatter and fatter
Through my prop.
You wait till the last second,
Drop your ordinance,
And pull your nose
Up and up and then
You push that little throttle bar
To the limit,
And then the **** black clouds
Start up all around you,
And when your big baby shakes,
You know something's wrong,
And you cry out
"Buck? Buck?"
Like I did.
And then you don't know
If your face is covered in tears
Or blood from you or Buck.
I remember landing on that carrier,
Big and metal and gray,
Like a big tombstone for your friend,
And your plane is the coffin.
**** it, I remember.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
Who am I ?
Can I ever aspire to touch that shining spot,
Suspended in the entirety?
This base form is bound.
Every agent a shackle;
Every constant a fetter.
And 'this' the final frontier beyond which lies the ever unattainable.
I am but a constituent;
A byproduct.
An aberration.
And such shall never surpass the goal of ordinance.
Or seek to know more than that which is due.
For futile is this search
And that which I hope will ensue from it.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
It was only a tiny village then
Away from the thoroughfare,
Had existed since I don’t know when
With a grassy village square,
There were only seven ancient cars
In the narrow village streets,
And none of them travelled very far
For the shop stocked milk, and treats.
It hadn’t seen much of progress since
The days of old King John,
Who’d lost his jewels in The Wash, by Mintz
Near the town of Oberon,
The villagers there were set in ways
That caused nobody harm,
But when Lars came from Oberon
There was cause to feel alarm.
For Lars was the local planner for
The town of Oberon,
He’d dragged it kicking and screaming
Into the century just gone,
He’d widened streets, and cancelled Meets
In the old stone Mason’s Hall,
By bulldozing their building, leaving
Folk with a low stone wall.
He’d passed it all with an ordinance
That had given him total power,
The council caved to his arrogance,
All that he did was glower,
He put street lights on the corners, and
He acted like a prince,
And when he was done with Oberon
He set his sights on Mintz.
He drove on down to their village square
And he said it wouldn’t do,
He’d turn the square to a thoroughfare
So the cars could drive right through,
He didn’t care when the people there
Said ‘Leave our square alone!’
He said, ‘I’m passing an ordinance,
So you might as well go home.’
The local hall was agog that night
There’d never been such a crowd,
The villagers all were up in arms,
‘This fool shouldn’t be allowed!’
‘This calls for a special meeting,’ said
The spokesman, Rupert Bragg,
‘We’ll have to call on the village witch,
The widow, Nancy Stag!’
They all poured out of the village hall
And they went to see the witch,
Who was busily mixing potions in
A cauldron and a dish,
‘You’ll not be needing my magic,’ said
Old Nancy, with a smile,
‘If you all agree with my plan, you’ll see,
That Lars will run a mile.’
She asked the women to stay behind
While the men went on their way,
‘I mean the ones over seventy,
The rest can go or stay,’
They huddled up with the village witch
And applauded Nancy’s plan,
‘We’ll send him scuttling off from Mintz,
You’ll see, he’s only a man!’
When Lars came down in his private car
They met him in the square,
Holding banners and placards, but
That’s not what made him stare,
‘You’d better get back to Oberon
Or we’ll march there, for our rights,’
He turned, and hurriedly left the square,
They all were dressed in tights!’
David Lewis Paget
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
Amidst gray garlic skies
Swells a deafening despair
It laments the death of yesterday
And in its ineffable grief
Appears as a drop, yes a drop
It is green and resembles
A soft wind blown thus among clouds
By the ordinance of chance
Across black boulevards
And here the legendary
Taste of ashes fills the air
Where a single breath disperses
Galactic calculations through green glaciated lips
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
( Brandon)
wilt thou have this woman
to be thy wedded wife,
to live together in the holy bonds of matrimony?
Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her so long as ye both shall live?
Me (to mine queen earl Jane nagley) I MORE than DO!!!!
( earl Jane)
wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together in the holy bonds of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him so long as ye both shall live?
Jane- ( I MOST definitely DO)
( me putting ring of amour on Jane's hand)
I, Brandon Nagley, take thee,Earl jane, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge thee my faith.
(Jane getting ring from her father putting ring of amour on mine)
I, earl jane, take thee, Brandon Nagley, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge thee my faith.
Forasmuch as, Brandon Nagley and earl jane nagley have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have pledged their faith each to the other, and have declared the same by joining hands and by giving and receiving rings; I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride......
( me) getting down first before kissing her, I kneel, kissing both her hand's on one knee. and staring in her eye's, ( tear's come down) from all the happiness and joy inside me... I stand up......
( kiss for ten minute's) tears flowing both of our eyes)
Clapping and smile's in the crowd of friend's and family.....
I sing for her..... In front of all, as we dance.......
On that wedding floor,
Until the night end's,
Though we stay up the whole day
Until a day and a half later
We fall asleep into eachother's arm's..
In heaven
In bliss...
Two hand's
In one marriage....
As tis when we waketh up;
Mine queen stareth at me
And sais
" I loveth thee most"
As tis I sayeth back
Me more......
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley/wedding day dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
Oh no, it is not right
To side with an ordinance
Contrary to the divine words,
For the Gods of thy destiny is jealous
Over thy new found ego-Gods,
Thou slept as a great hero
And awoke as a dead wretched coward,
Thy gilt could not taste the indefinite
Wisdom from the ancestors for long,
May be, the libation poured
On thy blessed eighth day
Could not please the Gods of thy destiny,
Thou have lifted up thy wicked hands
Against the children of heaven,
And thou shall never escape
The judgment of Tweaduampon Kwame,
And any attempt to exculpate thyself
Shall outcry thy destruction,
Why, has the executioner received
Thy death warrant from the council of elders?
The ruler of the city of the dead
Is stirred up with delight
To welcome thee into his kingdom,
The worms and termites
Shall be thy bedspread and pillow,
The sea behind thy house,
Yarns for they salt,
For how shall he be clean,
He who is defiled with blood and slaughter,
By the polluted lapse of denial,
And who is stained by so great an evil?
Oh, see how thou have become
A spectacle to the sparrows,
The floods are now clothed in the
Official dress of the raven,
Causing the volcanic mountains over the
Eastern hills to weep over thy transfiguration,
For thy sacred calico has been
Stained with malice and destruction,
Amazingly, the rooster has accepted
To crow only at noonday,
Whilst the dawn has also refused
Contact with the daylight,
Now, let the lazy sleeping lion
Dream of infinite terror and disaster,
Oh yes, mighty lion, the clouds
Of Nigeria will not hold together,
Until thy woes are emptied in fear and tears.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 5:59 AM UTC
I am a pirate.
An ego without
adequate moral precepts
representing no culture
since being deemed socially unacceptable.
Pledging no Country:
sovereign remains of a Country that was.
I am a goy,
living without legal ordinance.
With nowhere to go-
-hoping there is a place...
Coming for you, in hopes to follow your shadow.
To pillage, ransack and ****** your daughters,
as she knows no other way --
or sisters --
slightly more independent.
I have no allegiance;
just my creed of plunder.
Tis my birthright.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
The LORD Reigns, let thy Kinds Tremble! He Dwells between the Cherubim, let thy EARTH Be Moved.! The LORD Is Great In Zion, and HE Is High Above All the Peoples. Let hem Praise Your Great and Awesome Name-- He Is Holy! The King's Strength also Loves Justice: You have Established Equity, You have Executed Justice and Righteousness In Jacob. Exalt thy LORD Our GOD, and Worship At His Footstool--- He Is Holy.! Moses and Aaron were among His Priests, and Samuel was among those who called upon HIS Name, they called upon the LORD, and HE Answered them.. HE Spoke to them in the Cloudy Pillar, they kept His Testimonies and the Ordinance He gave them.. You answered them, O LORD Our GOD. You were to them GOD-Who-Forgives, though You Look Vengeance on their Deeds.. Exalt the LORD Our GOD, and Worship at His Holy Hill; For thy LORD Our GOD Is Holy.!
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
*The retrospect of material
I value those works on machines
Mainly in co ordinance of our commons
When you hadn't recoiled towards summons
Contrary compassed promotions.
Palpating the inadaquet; a revert
Chances to brandish
Never did you, cultivating no savvy aerials
Inspiring me not with world's flow
A place I wanted to spand;
Inside still do.
On pulverant turfs did we become jovial
Only until now has zest fulfilled
so I thought.
Stupor on you revulsion, and to attorny
hearsay rumors, spur verses words
Your flight remains hurt
The retrospect of days
Spays that gained ways waned
Which I could not jurisdict
Tactful our souls
Both cordial; satted in rage
Images of ****** past age
Halyconing things to say
But still I shake when I view you
Alone behind machines
A ****** head; drenching steam
To far former and prior; like dream*
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 8:31 PM UTC
Thee gnome had called
hymm mein flatterer, then
an ape fight for quills, to be
or naught, hidden by a hive
patch of bramble. Do ordinance
iris search of apart theorhetic sea,
Adeiu mostly, can wearwolves
as sultry be known to chew
rawhide bones teethlesslee.
Gather by a dared deity
of A Roman's antiquity,
all of course to femine
posterity. An Aye for Aye,
a sythe to seize do naught
ii and cling. For better is yet
to OyYea' and I, causes instantly
be and bee.
cliche toupee'
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
Love through Her Eyes
Emotionally seductive
Her lips kept my faith fragile
Lighting cross the inner circle
Pushing closer a declaration of forgiveness
Sadness crawls behind my bedroom door
Waiting for insanity to unveil the ugly true
Tired of the falseness of the world
I began my way back from darkness
to find the reflection of my soul
On a broken glass
If I only knew them, life would be bearable
Tensions beneath the earth put me at ease with the breeze
A voice within me sits a waits
For a chance to redeem my heart
Impossible to undo the damage to a fragile violin
Misery walks with a seldom coldness
Blowing inside a blue bubble
The point of no return at the end of string
Simply see your life flashing bye
Through the eyes of a ballerina
Swift steps raising the stakes of solidarity
Tender white cloth cleanse my silence
With gentleness, I frame each hand with sculptural escape
The nuptial nightmare cross the skyline
Ordinance of a round table, a predestine notion of rampage
Breathe in the blades of surrender
The sobriety is incoherent
A glass is half empty
Put her on pedestal
To be the man I was chosen to be
Freedom must be given without
The remainder of day Blown to pieces
Time has passed and I’m still lost…
Rony Joseph all rights reserved 2010
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 4:14 AM UTC
The technocracy gathers the museum pieces categorizing ideally to undermine and de-emphasizing objective understanding for the sub-categorized priest-craft, drafting a temporal framework for God. In bargaining as it accentuates its void for evangelism.
This classification, this legal ordinance, this academic dissertation and that context of its time.
Then Mary...
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC