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Connor Jul 2016
And it's difficult to remember something as the very name of Eisenhower
Or flowerbaskets
And tired movies made of silicone and
Aftersex
Or sixteen candles echoing out of an imaginary suite with cigarettes at every table
And green lawns
Barbershop conversation
The reflection of the sun in special trees
Or my best friend Jesus Christ
Or the smell of the theater that one day with the cynics who just got back from a tennis match and barbwire still laced delicately around their thoughts and
Nihilism
And automotives
And priestess Jane or Henry's gloomy doppelganger who reads alternative magazines and loves the aesthetics behind broken glass
And fine tuned musical instruments

It's difficult to remember
Lonesome Fridays smoking on a park bench trying to finish the puzzle
Or synagogues you've never been in
Or insurance
Or newspaper articles detailing the misadventures of Mr. City
(Of course of course! Take your shoes off at the door and make yourself at home)
We're tossing all our sewage into the ocean
that's far from clean as it
LOOKS anymore these days
That's anything
And everything except for the glowing mountains seen faded and wintry behind Apartments and the
"Glorious Mexican House of Spices"
Never been in there either

It's difficult to remember
Times of Mr Twin Sister
Or Joan Jett in the hallway
In a highschool who's psychology classrooms have become a time capsule in the ground/
Or the gentle skinny ******
Wearing Broadway makeup and
Kafka tattooed on his shoulder
I like his hat
He looks at me suspiciously
Or the guy who is yelling his order at the counter when it's quiet here anyways
Or the mariner who has a hobby of the saxophone
Or 1970s *******
Or the sheepskin bikeseat fad that's yet to come but I'm predicting it now!
Or two dollars and twentyseven cents at the beginning of Allen Ginsberg's America
"I've given you all and now I'm nothing"

It's difficult to remember
The Oriental
Sacramento flies
Midnight Moon
Quarter to four
"The Immortalization Commission"
Remodelled hotels downtown
Where mandalas on the floor became a
Tiger lily luminous
And the kimono is yesterday's painting/
Dearest Darling
When I was feeling down!
A staircase in reverse (??)
The sound a kiss makes
It's difficult to remember
Colleen's earrings
Or Washington State
Or air conditioners in Bali
The Indian ocean's daybreak hymn
To Seminyak
Or whatever happened to Steve from the Airplane out of Taiwan
On 3 days awake
Hello Kitty nursing stations
****** (Kubrick's version)
Cardboard taking up half my bedroom
It's difficult to remember until I jot it down and then its a sudden forever
Sunshine Superman in a cafe spontaneous
drawings with someone I just met who has some ******* attitude/
Who hops fences and has feral ideas
People! En Masse! Te Amo!
You're all in wolven liberty
And vague postulators
And holy prostitutes for the dollar
Sad eyed intellectuals
With undergarments made of breakfast cereal/
Seaferry poetry is different from
Trestle in August poetry
Or henna handshakes
Or the Napoleonic era
Sweet Cherry Pie
The tulip's tongue
Garabajal
Cloudy first day of July
Was hotter yesterday
But not too hot

It's difficult to remember
Antiquity
The pale horse Studebaker outside the clinic
With a glossy red trim and **** I wish that was my ride
Andy Warhol's exploding plastic inevitable
Nearsightedness
Angels and their ability to shower with a a snap of their fingers
Distant harp music
Better him than me
Bananas almost ripe
Green aquatic
Reclusive junkies
Palomo's appliances
Questions for the next time
How much I like what you like and how I like that you like what I like
Ahh that's not my bus
I'm trying to get to the city!
That one quote Socrates is known for about knowing nothing as true wisdom
Supermarkets being built on top of liquor stores burned down a while back
Monopolies
Tragedies
"No Love Lost"
THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL
Your guess is as good as mine
Never tried to eat Asian food in Asia
It was all pasta and good cider that tasted like pineapple
Rain hitting the window and I'm
Drowsy again
God Save The Trees!
Curly hair looks good on boys
Torn up blinds
Queer as a three dollar bill
If Bill costs 3 dollars I'm sure he's caught something better safe than sorry
Sage advice
I'm the very model of a modern major general
Golden yen and international currency
Incense in the bedroom and how good it smells
There's my bus! Applying for a better job than the one I got now
But that's how it always is right?
Chasing satisfaction
1007 apt
Porch ornaments
Unique names
Unique style le style
The extra charge on foreign ATMs
Cordoroy polo shirts
Flooding in New York!
When someone's face screams *******
"Slippery when wet"
Dine N Dash
Grass gone yellow
Confidence in dyed hair and capes as long as wedding gowns
But less expensive
Doors that always seem to be locked and I'm wondering 20 year later what's behind them?
Albino animals
White thoughts as clouds or
Abstractions
Weathers nicer in Florida but who cares
Festivities this early in the day
Automatopeia
Do sad orphanages still exist?
Just like the movies
Midnight in mirrors
That sick puppet at the shoe shop used
To know how to really hammer it down
And now he's weak and forgotten
Never heard the words of a true prophet only Oceania
Or the private temple near Apollo Bay
Like Japanese gardens behind that gate
Will I ever see it
Make a proud example outta ya misbehavior
Form without function
Exhausted spiritualism
*** Kettle Black
negative photographs of dark rooms
And there's laughing coming from SOMEWHERE
Essays on kleptomania
Had a bad dream I became a cliche
Surrounded by other freaks and there was a lovely ***** I fell in love with her
We married in Oregon by the sea her name was rosy
***** rosy
Check your mailbox for nails
And what you don't wanna hear/
If you were a vegetable you'd be organic!
Empire
Satirical bubble gum
Satori
Linda Lovelace and her special party trick
That's someone's fantasy
Diamond in the rough
Mister guy with two black eyes frequents the adult playhouse
Hes fully stocked on fishnet leggings
He's too proud to put them on himself but
Has nobody else around
Boo hoo
Swigs back the whiskey and trips down the stairs getting a third black eye in the process
Marion came by with her dog the other day
Wanted her box of clothes back but he loved to sniff them to remember her
But she wouldn't have it

"Honey I'm going to call the police!"

"Ah they don't give a **** they have bigger things to worry about"

"Yeah you got that right shrimp **** enjoy my unwashed *******"

And she never came back again
He started losing the vertebrae in his spine 1 by 1 and you know where this is going
I won't say he was a poor man because he had it all coming to him the *******
But he coulda had a better start if you ask me.

It's difficult to remember
And even more difficult to forget
After the fact

Seagull opera
Giganticism
Portrait of the artist as a young man
Losing one's pencil when the best idea of your life drops down from heaven and into your sorry head
Signs graffitied to have funnier meanings
Cruelty
Impassive
The Loyal Lioness
And Bangladesh has too many kitchens
And not enough dishes
When I was young I used to say Island as "is-land"  
Which is true it is land
But the Europeans probably stole it from somebody else anyways/
I left my future behind
And objects in the mirror are closer than they appear
Im no illusionist
I'm terrified of the cracken
Father feels the same way about
Hotels
Why bother/
This has been going on and on for a while are you tired yet
Is your patience being tested
Mine isn't because this wasn't an all-at-once kind of rambling
It's extremely important to laugh at least
Once a day
Otherwise you'll find yourself a politician
In no time at all
Rockefeller
(         ) Quaint home to die in
I think
Trains create great music
Float on
Sink into yourself
Roses in a crooked alley
That's people
Busy busy busy busy
Let's describe a situationist
I'm not a fan of bright colors on clothes
Your best shade is blue
Bricklayers transcription of Don Quixote to a skyscraper
Rocket thyme
& Garden
Erratic children's
Insomnia
The doorbell repeatedly
Vancouver riots/ I saw that live on the news!
Pictionary with the surrealists
N Dada TV set MC Escher
Antenna
You're in the Twilight Zone now
Dear Ramona
I'm trying to make it up to you
With a brightness only seen when you're ready to see it so please for the love of God don't blame me when it's not appearing
The tapestry hidden
Keep your blankets clean
And avoid hospitals unless you're fine with fishbowls & the halogen
The water gestapo
Storage lockers full of unacted plays and
Antique microwaves
Emitting the nostalgia of the cold war era
And what a waste of time that was /
Walter Wanderleys presence in Autumn universities
The opening of Vivre sa Vie
Salvador Dali's pluvial taxi
Lightbulb epiphanies
Aquariums and their protestors
Zebras in the shade
Two wrongs dont make a right
Elizabethan theater
Saloon shootouts in a fever dream
I lost and bled out all over the rustic wooden floor
A maiden reached out for me and El Paso did play I woke up and pretended nothing happened/
Funerals for bad People who did bad things
My first memory of a cat beneath the mattress
Hello Dolly!
Auditory learning
Psychotherapy
Lillian the landlady lost her ladle and labeled little Lyle as a lair
The Black panther movement
Reading symposium some years ago and
Making note that Phaedo was still my favorite dialogue/
Zen Buddhism
Xoxo xoxo
The day Gypsies were replaced with
Surface ****** appetite
And not the real thing
Newspaper clippings
Hypnotism when all other options are out
Mystical visions of sidewalks
And the love of your life stepping through a door you've never seen
Maybe Yes No I Don't Know
Creature comforts
Che Guevara's problem is that his beard made him too easy to recognize
(Also that little hat!)
Chinese cough medicine didn't work
For long I still wheeze sometimes
Domestic violence thru the wall
Ceiling fan probably doesn't even work!
Dimpled laughter
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
In skytrains to Commercial
Bermuda in her mind
And courtesy in her voice
I'm no Arthur Rimbaud
But you already knew that
Alcazar of Seville
Filling up the shipbottle
Here's your paradise
Now relinquish it as it is
False!
Hare Krishna
Nowhere Fast
El Diablo and the
Portofino loaf left rotting on the countertop
Latin children speak of the sacred viper
You'll hear of it after this but we'll never see what the ******* meant
Heads alternating round the social current
Of my lively city
There's a dog soaking up the rain
And songs are made in honor of
Recent catastrophes
Trials are dealt
Cards cast to the gutter
New York quiets down for the news of another war
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Skeleton key
Ballad of the last wailing zoo
THE ATRIUM
Complexity in simplicity
That's how Brainard got me!
Elderly overcoats
Hiding purest LSD
Is a fan of Hawaiian T shirts
And a communist
What if I was a Freemason
Or owned a tanning salon
Faint crimson
What did Marv look like again?
"You're surrounded by people who love you"
Coffee when one needs it
GOODBYE BLUE MONDAY
Tattoos on the wandering man
Oriental chimes and the people who own them
Bus stop regulars
Vines overtaking power lines
The hypnogogic state
Strawberry light softening
The mind
Sister Ray LOUDLY PROCLAIMING
doitdoitdoitdoit
Passing the graffiti n Pluto neon
Halal wide awake another Saturday
Where's the Karaoke
Flashing by here
Those who find comfort in a bridal scavenger hunt
Or expensive beer
And here comes the hooded clown
Clamoring about his favorite
Loudspeaker
Telling me my time is soon and the noise
Drowns out the drowsy bliss
After hour spirits the perfect time for
Writing and trying to read distant Chinese
Indecision on the tip of the tongue
"NOW WHO IS THAT KNOCKING
ON THE CHAMBER DOOR?
COULD IT BE THE POLICE?"

I'm completely off the topic
And into Apartment lobby photosets
Low battery phone calls
Confessions
Nauseated reverb
Trying to see the attachment people got with bingo halls
And moving companies
Ah no luck again
Eve is at it with her showtunes
Halfway methodology
Triage
Paisley headbands left
Distraught on the quivering
Heater
Dwindling sunsets
We're truly disciples of the moon spirit which grants us more energy
(This is according to a drunk I met one night)
Or ***** old men
When the horizon is engulfed with
A winking cinder
Suitcase at the door
Last time
First time
Magician never reveals his fetishes
(They all have to do with bags under your eyes)
Employment office dramas of my friend the one who blinded a social worker
And the one who blamed Islam
And the one whos philosophy entirely consisted of Spooky Action at a
                                            DISTANCE
Parisian riots
Queer youth
Didn't make the team! Jester
'cross the hall who's beard suggests
Ishmeal n car battery n expired vegetables n rain which crosses the line n
***** cranberry n
Poorly fitted suits n
Harsh pigment n incense shops n
Bocca     secret towns
With churches more beautiful than any you'd find in your own city
n the cultural market
Xylophone ear to ear
Soul cleansing starting at only
$89 (with a 6 month guarantee)
Sophie's birthday and her picnic at Victory Park
The nearby bums trying to sell tea mugs and
Loose wires beside gated convenience stores
I'm an Island away attempting a poem
And never bought a scratch n win
Or heard the same song more than seven times in a row or been in a column
Or escaped the washhouse
Invested in a birdcage for next year
Been to a palm reading
Visited Oasis
Smoked salmon
Told anyone else about Montana
Screamed the things I'd like to scream
** Word of the day
Or kissed a lunatic or swallowed the corpse of yesterday
I keep her on my neck until
I'm too anxious to let go
Counting streetlights
Jeans worn in and faded to be sent off to
A lonely caffeine addict
Christmas Eve I'll be reading a postcard from San Francisco
Asking the same questions
My imagination is made of a different material than last week
Now it's the same color as your hair
HEY that's a good pickup line to use in the heart of the Canadian Embassy
Drinking discarded music resembling a sweater you may have said YES to if it wasn't so unsure of itself
And now Mr. Acker Bilk ascends thru the window of an August home
Like a lazy hornet
I'm still lost without identification
Or a nice belt
As happens when one uses a quality item too casually
How did uphill suddenly seem so downhill?
I'll claim a waterfall
For SALE that inevitable Indonesia
Greyhound O another greyhound O another greyhound
I'm fretting too much about not enough
Delayed the Airport and the yellow question

????

II

What if I knew how to read the curb?
Or translate drunken droll
What if I was never tired again and could
REALLY do anything I set my mind to?
What if I was the first cigarette that cured cancer instead of caused it?
What if I could end superstition
And walk underneath any ladder I wanted?
What if I could make it with a young Audrey Hepburn!?
What if I stopped pretending to be a microphone and got on with "it"
What if the grocery store closed later
And I opened earlier?
What if parking lots werent so sad
All the time?
What if gravity simply had enough of exotic birds and specifics?
What if we stopped trying to recreate what is truly lost?
What if foreign children embraced
Wasting time instead of
Midnight starry bicycles
And the antics of a monk
Disguised as a romantic?

There are those that worship God
And those who worship the Sun
And those who worship nothing at all
But I suppose on the last bus
We're all the same exhausted
Voice who can't wait for next pay day
What is an empty bank?
Or authenticity
What is there to prove anymore?
I hope I don't die tonight and regret
Being impulsive for once
You're a smart shadow
And a dull character
Pushing the last of the daisies
Get the lamp to turn on again
Give the pavement something to look forward to with your walk
Be consistent in being inconsistent
If there's a word there's a ***** and a poem for it!
We all oughta worship
Nothing at all except
Clarity
Compassion with ones neighbor who either forgot the pay the electricity bill or couldn't afford to
We're a swimmin
Written between late June to July 13th.
Free Bird Dec 2016
I'd like to tell you a story
It begins in 1492
When dear old Christopher Columbus
Sailed the ocean blue

He landed on what he thought
To be the country of India
He stumbled upon a group of people
Who appeared to be indigenous

Because these native people
Happened to be where he thought he was
He called them all "Indians"
&& somehow that name stuck

They welcomed his group with open arms
Even offered them their feast
Unaware that deep inside
They were but wolves, dressed as sheep

Columbus && his crew
Soon ravaged the land
They took what they saw
Then they took full command

Of the people they found
On the land where they landed
They felt they should rule
So they stepped in, heavy handed

They murdered the people
Who had taken them in
Set fire to their villages
While the victims watched with their kin

Flash forward to the future
It's now 2016
It's been over 500 years
Since the overtaking by the regime

Future settlers decided
To let the survivors live on
They designated them small areas
Of what had not yet been robbed

These Native Americans,
Generally keep to themselves
They get by living off their land
But now they need your help

The Sioux of Standing Rock
Are being horribly mistreated
The state of North Dakota
Is poisoning them without reason

A pipeline has been built
That runs through this Native territory
When Bismarck residents didn't want it
It was rerouted, how discriminatory

People from all over the country
Are seeming to agree
They are making the commute
To protest peacefully

In defense of an oppressed people
Who only want to live
But the government is stepping in
Even blowing off some limbs

"Let them die, they're not like us"
the message the administration is sending
It seems that after all this time
The battle is never-ending

What exactly does it take
For people to see eye-to-eye?
In the end we're all just human  
We kiss, we laugh, we cry

So if you have a heart at all
If you know that this is wrong
Please join the Sioux in their mission
By coming together, we can be strong
You don't have to be out there protesting to help. You can still make a difference by making a monetary donation to help build with Standing Rock. You can read more about it on the go fund me page listed here. Every bit helps.
https://www.gofundme.com/EarthLodgesAtStandingRock
Cleanliness and ******

The ship was old once it had been a big ship now it was small
it had been overtaking by time, its shower system had sea water
which was nice enough to cool off when it was hot.
After having a shower, you needed a bucket of fresh water to rinse
the salt away if not you would scratch all night have irritated skin
For month we did not have a proper wash when our ship docked in
Bremerhaven for repairs and we got fresh water found I had
an extra pair of socks I didn’t know about
it was wonderful having a hot shower I stayed under it til someone
complained I was using all the warm water, even today the sense
of cleanliness makes me shudder with delight.

Whatever I had done in my youth the night before it helped
to have a shower and wash the sin away the smell of “life buoy.”
the only soap we knew about, made the difference the ******
loved it they knew you were clean ******
Here rests a future
Untouched and eager
for light
Wanting to exude its aromas
of which I neither looked
nor cared.

She handed me the match
fresh, burning bright,
a new sense in my familiar room.

Baffling confusion
overtook as I blew her match
so stubborn
to extinguish
in a faint stream of
smoke still thinning.

Was I
the stubborn?

Subsequent darkness
overtaking
Once a sweet home
Now a paralyzing loneliness.

Match burnt, candle gone
future still…

Will another offer to
light my dark corners
--myself willing,
with a newfound scent?

A day may come
to end my night,
but I only care to see
the one I once hid from.
Jade Louise Mar 2015
Phase 1:
The rain was eating the world
The acid drops falling into attack
At first they had been glistening
Sparkling clear, like giant glass tears
So beautiful a child held out his tongue
But then they had began frightening the flowers, puckering holes in their pretty petals
They made the house's crisp coats of paint stream in desperate colorful tears
The roads filled, like acid rivers
Rivers that no sail could survive
The world dissolving, right before my very eyes
Like a canvas being erased from inside its frame

I was running with my umbrella
Clear plastic hexagon on a handle
Hovering above my head
Like an insect’s stretched out wings
Sheltering me from the storm
My magic umbrella
My rain boots pacing faster, acid avoiding my eyes
Getting to the dandelion garden
A garden where not just any
kind of poppies grew
But silver poppies

The garden was dripping in cobwebs
Shining like stretched maps of ice
Medinal mushrooms formed in clusters
***** and distinct
My head was spinning from the odor
The garden’s sleeping spell overcoming me

A lightening bolt cracked outside
Splitting the sky into two
Toxic clouds steaming into the atmosphere


Phase Two:
Toxic air
The animals breathing in its chemistry
Their eyes growing wild
The barks leaping from their vocal chords
In short snaps at first
Then as the insanity ensues, stretched energy
Howling, growling, wild
Ravenous
The humans locking their doors

My heart still beating
Like a drum
Searching for a silver poppy
The garden encased like a giant glass box
Holding the plant that ends the storm
Me like a fish in a bowl, separated from the rest of the world
Trying to find the poppy
To save it

My eyes searching
The silver poppy lying somewhere in this glass greenhouse
Each time, to be found in a different place
Like lightening, never striking in the same place twice
A silver poppy never grows in the same place twice
Once plucked, reappears somewhere else
Wherever you would least suspect
Somewhere in this garden

My eyes dry and stinging,
My hair tangled and tired
My clothes with poked holes from where tiny droplets of acid rain hit
Raggedy
The poisonous plants begging me to touch them
Like Eve and the apple
The dirt has no poppies
No silver poppy to be found
But then

The water pool
Cool and placid
Like a mill pond
I dive in
Silver catching my eye
Like glass
The poppy looking like almost any poppy
But silver

Lying like a secret at the bottom of the pond
My fingers grasping at the poppy's thin throat
I had swam in like a mermaid
I emerge like an animal
On a mission
Cupping the silver poppy to my chest
Like a baby dove

I escape the greenhouse doors
I pluck the poppy's petals, scattering them into the rain
At that moment
A hungry dog approaches me, quickly morphing into a wolf
Mid-leap, its teeth about to sink into my neck
The silver petals pressed flat into the concrete by the rain
The acid burning my skin


Phase 3:
And then
Relief
The rain tastes sweet like lilacs and water
Me turning into circles as the dog presses me with wet sloppy kisses
The rainbow shining, an upside-down smile
The plants glistening and growing
The birds chirping, their voices light like silhouettes
The world in harmony
Children running out of their houses
The animals rolling in the grass, the woodlands

Me, standing, left holding the silver stem
Tears rolling down my cheeks
How many times would I have to do this?
My mouth like a bow
My hands like a lotus
My whispers like a prayer
How many times would I have to stop the chaos?
More tears


Phase 3: The Maker's Forest*
Then, giant hands scooping me up
My body, the length of the pinky
The giant hands without arms
Stretched out to me from the sky

Carrying me
Across forests and fields
I peer over the thumb
Passing over deserts and oceans
A tiny breeze tugging at my hair
Sleep overtaking me
How many times will I have to stop the chaos?
Dissolving into my dreams
Like a tiny doll in my Maker's hands

I wake up in darkness
Except for a crack of sunlight, smiling in
I’m in a sphere enclosure
My hands tear at the two walls of the split
Breaking open the egg I was in
The soft segments of the shell
Lying in cracked pieces around me
I am in a nest, with three other eggs
A nest high up in a tree

I climb down the tree
Branch by branch
I am in the Maker’s forest
The Maker’s healing forest

I have heard before we have a Maker
But I never believed it
How could I
If we had a maker, why would our world keep falling apart
Why would I keep having to retrieve the silver poppy to remedy it

I walk down the forest path, getting closer to the sky blue cottage
The path is lined with evergreens, redwoods, trees tall and high
Filled with hundreds of nests and eggs

Phase 5: The Maker's Paint Studio
I open the white picket gate
And a painter emerges
Dressed in off-white overalls and an apron, carrying a brush with a tip of ruby pink paint
No words yet
Just sparkling blue eyes, shaggy grey hair, and leathery creased skin

I catch sight of myself in the reflection of a puddle and gasp
My lips are ruby pink like a bow
My skin is healed and smooth
Like porcelain
My hair is soft and silky
Falling in waves down my summer dress
The whole forest is bright and shining
awake and alive

How did I come to look like this
How did I come to heal so fast?
Why is this forest so beautiful?

Come with me
The painter says
I step inside, the room filled with pallets of paint and aisles
The walls standing like giant canvases
Covered in illustrations and images
The golden desert I passed over on one wall

The sparkling ocean whose breeze tugged my hair on the next
And on the Maker's canvas, me
I’m standing there, the silver stem in my hand
But the world around me, it's not falling apart nor dissolving

Its beautiful
I look at the painter
The chaos I say
I can’t take it anymore

I tell him
This world you paint
It pains me
Paint something prettier
Don’t ever paint a storm again
Why can’t you always paint the pretty picture on the canvas?
That’s the world I want to live in

But I do, the painter replies
His eyes kind

But I am not the only painter
He says looking at me

My illustrations, he smiles
The people I paint,
They can paint too
And the world you see,
Sometimes it’s the world you paint

You mean, the storm? I painted it?
He smiles
It wouldn’t be very fair if I was the only one allowed to paint now would it?
"How do I stop? How do I stop painting storms?
I don’t ever want to leave this pretty forest"

He faces a white canvas, starts painting a tiny girl
Sometimes what we see, he says
Is more of a reflection of what could be, of our minds eye, than what is really there
Storms do happen of course

But the storm you repeatedly see
Is the storm of your mind
Let me ask you something
Are you afraid?

Yes, I reply
And what are you afraid of?
Well everything, I reply.
There is so much to be afraid of

Then that is what you are seeing, he says
Free yourself
Of all nonexistent time, of what could be and what was
And just be exactly where you are
And you will see things as they really are
Your paintings will add the beautiful details to my paintings

With that the, little girl, the one with the short brown hair and pink dress steps off the canvas
She smiles at us
And then she opens the cottage door, her ruby lips and blue eyes taking in the forest around her, walking further into it

Phase 6: The Storm of your Eye
And then I’m back, with my hexagonal umbrella
Running to the garden
Acid rain splashing around me
Instead though, I stop
The world doesn’t need the poppy, I hear my Maker say
The poppy isn’t even real
I stop and close my eyes
Forget my doubts
And everything that could go wrong
I forget everything
The blood running through my veins, the splashing acid, the storming clouds
My minds goes blank
What the world needs
Is me

When I open my eyes
The world is quiet
Then I hear the sweet chirping of birds singing
Children playing

An old man walking his dog
“Looks like it might rain” he says, pointing to a far away cloud
I close my umbrella
I won’t be needing it*

~ JLH
Chapter XXI
Hegira to Patmos

They dropped their moorings from Cala Cogone early, when the tide seemed to be separated from the waters like a head distanced from its body. On a lavish and romantic day they went to Genoa, to continue the logistics of the trip to Piacenza. During the trip Etréstles was stretched out in the bow under a Sun that seemed to be fearsome as it was a digestive task that would make him ingest his own dream, which perhaps he aspired to be more than a journey. While he slept, at the helm Etréstles dressed in a black robe and the comrades also sleeping with dreams that they painted with sign gestures on their faces.

Dream of Etréstles: "With the memory off-center ..., I was still in Izzana, dancing by the clouds on gray tulles of the layers of the sky that tried to stop being a Kingdom without a Crown and Sword". They glimpsed the stones melting and turning into gauze juxtaposed to the aerosolites that unfolded from the Sorcery, landing on the hands and heads of Vernarth and Himself. As he continued his dreamy journey, he dialogued with the auxiliary legate of his own dream. “He tells her that he sees them beyond where their liturgies collide. They cross eroding the vanished and itinerant reason”. He gets up and takes the moorings of the ship and ties them to his neck. Then everyone cooperates to walk along the edge of the ship, which all moved barefoot. This is how I would wake up!

Vernarth tries to wake him up, shakes him, but doesn't wake up. And when he tried to avoid him from sleep, he saw that he had the moorings around his neck, along with two Unicorns who were escorting him and were looking towards infinity, auspicious that Genoa was already coming in front of their horns. The others began to wake up and ate reclining, almost as if without any desire to get up from the deck full of self-sliding linen, which allowed everyone to pass their own meals, including those that were semi-consumed rolling on the deck. Etréstles,  transferred the dream to Vernarth, once he went to his bedroom to rest before they touched the roadstead at the foot of the homonymous promontory, 36 km from Genoa.  Portofino, close to the hydro form of the Portofino Regional Natural Park.  Being able to find different entrance doors through S. Rocco, Portofino Vetta and Nozaregoino  that led you to paths with different levels of accessibility and landscape. On the route of the path that traveled from Northwest to Southwest on the same promontory, he received the full beauty of the Mediterranean vegetation, with its beautiful pines, bluish and clean waters of the Mediterranean, which filled his lungs and especially his stem, which silenced of peace to those who accompany you through this interesting and beautiful Natural Park with deep blue eyes.
Vernarth is wrapped with two layers of linen and stands in between eclipsing each of the Unicorns. They pass her horn through her pectoral, as if wanting to insinuate affection. But her propitiated gesture was to crown her with the Power of her phalanx, the impetus in Gaugamela, an Onyx Crown, to lighten the burden of sleep and wake up before reaching the shores of Genoa.
Calling in Genoa, they all descend in a separate part and say goodbye from afar, gesturing with their hands. Their ramblings revealed multi-level radiographs of the resolved aura that invited them to an enclave hostel, to re-enter the world of their daily chores. The Unicorns who would return back to Sardinia stayed on the ship that was in the blue bay. They positioned themselves at the bow one and at the stern the other, to lighten the sails and return to Izzana.

Vernarth and Etréstles walked with their bags, letting go of their feet towards La Via ** Settembre, they travel in an east-west direction, next to Corso Italia, the promenade that runs along the promenade, which is one of the favorite places to reform the destination of Piacenza. From this road they moved near the adjacent carriage station to the Caruggio neighborhood in Sottoripa. Here they entered an inn to eat and drink liqueurs made from natural herbal recipes and sweet citrus, some fish with bread, sauce and Genovés sourdough. to satisfy their hunger.
They had dinner and opened the exit to the terminal. Before, they went to the Ponte Monumentale where the church dedicated to Santa Rita is, called Iglesia de la Consolación, whose entrance, at the level of the old streets, is slightly lower than the current street. They pass a porch and enter. "Almost like a grand cloister sensation they perceived during their stay, as if centuries had passed, but which never ended in the wanderings of any secular period. It was the impression once entered and soaked on this road, which still remains active. From this original cloister, the invocation of images on the sides placed towards the church towards Via ** Settembre, as well as the closed portal in the market access plaza on Via Galata, recur, while the other two sides are they completed attractions to admire when the eastern market in Genoa appeared before them ”.

When they entered, the masks were passed over the bones of their faces, indulgent towards both faces of the visitors, under a freshness of gravitational atmospheric fragrance, perhaps from the connected baptismal font or the lateral nave or the three naves separated by square pillars illuminating them. This is where Vernarth places his right hand on his forehead and his mouth, as a sign of catechesis detached from The Vault, the central nave and the counter-facade that were painted in fresco in 1874 by Giuseppe Isola, after reading about the intertextual verifying thus Vernarth. (Visioni dell'Apocalisse, Gloria di Nostra Signora della Consolazione and Giuditta rientra trionfante in Betulia), while Etréstles frenziedly admitted the frescoes through the side aisles that are the work of Giovanni Quinzio at an angle close to him. Observing everything, he was already indoctrinating to reprint new vigor to enter Piacenza triumphantly and head to the Region of Patmos. Giuseppe Isola's fresco was the great motive that struck his reason for being where he was to continue the threads upon threads of his lineage as the great Commander of the troops of Gaugamela and his Phalanges. Here is the church in its first tune with the duty of limitlessness before its steps to dominions that will make it recover their powers, from where they were first seen dressing in the clothes of an innocent child.


In the apse, there was the choir singing baroque pieces, and followed by elaborate wooden stalls from the 17th century. In the Altars on the left, on the Fifth Altar, Etréstles, captures a simultaneous vision. From that moment when it was the disappearance of this Santa Maria della Pace church, which could have been one structure on top of the other, perhaps in ruins but if the columns could go further from where their originals are born. Until then both had separated from each other, and they would meet again here in the apse, where they never lose sight of each other again, to turn towards the exit that required them to leave the sacred precinct. In the terminal, a grayish float awaited them, with silver trim on the edges of the structure, at the top of the front roof it said "Where you must never go and be". It was just the transport of an allegorical float. They were theatrical traveling artists, who had places available for travelers to Piacenza. The one that they just approached to move to the home, where they had to register at their own will and rejoin this excellent session "Parapsychological Regression".The Trebbia valley, a few kilometers from Piacenza. Vernarth noted that a shaft of the chariot made a strange sound. To which he notified the driver, telling him what he caught on the rear axle of the carriage. They go down to inspect all; not being able to detect anything that it would suppose would be an anomaly of filming of the instrumental east. Etréstles sees that some steeds were grazing on some meadows and he tells them all. Vernarth warns him and immediately heads to them. It reaches only a sorrel that was running its tongue over its hoof. The others flee. Vernarth approaches, and notices that he had a wound in his left hoof, noticing that in the center there was a strip of Green color, He takes his leg, and examines it. He takes out his dagger and begins to remove the stake that was inserted into his damaged leg. The others were gone, restarting the trip to Piacenza. Etréstles managed to climb a steed, and followed him - The float remained without them supposedly to arrive safely at Piacenza. But at 5 km, before reaching the city they are struck by a lightning bolt from a sudden storm. What misdirects his route - the passengers were left intact, only fatally suffered the loss of the driver. (It was verified by Vernarth when he arrived at his home in Piacenza).   As  Vernarth rode fast in the storm, trying to catch up with the carriage. Stress them towards the same to reach their brother. They rode propagating the pastures that passed near the forests of Val Trebbia. When the storm intensified instantly, it was wise to take refuge and wait for the flood to decrease. They were always close to each other. Etréstles about 18 km from Vernarth, they did not know it, but the horses sensed each other. They already distinguished, that they were close to each other, but it was necessary to take care of the horse, and have to check its hoof again. He checks it and notices that it had a green stripe in the four parts, like a pigment already placed concentrically in the middle of each hoof.


Ellipses Gaugamela - Final War
Vernarth bids farewells farewell. Once the Achaemenides are surrendered, he prepares to review them. Walk with Alikanto across the ****** plain. Reviewing his five hundred dead and three thousand wounded, he goes to recirculate in the footsteps of the attack, manages to see lead as a sentinel gathered wounded horses, but not serious. He approaches him and says Khaire; asking what unit they came from. He tells them of the Hosts of the command of Hefestion. The sentinel tells him, that he was enraptured by the fact before his eyes to see that all the horses of the line of Hefestion, Alexander the Great and Vernarth, to fascinate him that they had a green stripe on his left hoof. Wedge riders are formed, lining up the stable, towards the court of the guards and Macedonian monarchs. She dismounts from Alikanto and checks the chestnut trees, managing to insinuate that it could be Medea's ploy of the smiling charm towards her Hetairoi dancers, whose elite had bracelets on each leg on each chestnut. Also with the offensive weapon, they acted as the Macedonian's personal guard. Vernarth recalled that, before starting the offensive, with his blessed Xifos he inflicted light wounds on the left foot of his Phalanges in the act of "overtaking them before being stained by the enemy"

Vernarth says: Here is the cavalry that has received so much praise for «hammer» in the strategies, because it crushed the enemy units retained by the «anvil» or the «phalanx» that I had to command and lead the charge, intoning the riders. And even more the circumcisions that he gave them before entering combat. With the Hetairoi I was organizing squadrons of 200 to 300 soldiers, while they were checking the chestnut trees. In the campaign, they would ride the best horses, ******* or on the blanket, they were awarded the best weapons available. Each carried his long throwing spear Xyston, accompanied by a Kopis sword, for hand-to-hand combat, which in the interlude would defend his flax and bronze breastplate, with respective protective armbands and helmet, before lightly tackling his aggression . The horses were also partially protected, but not their hooves! I gave them the final instruction by decree to take them to the altarpieces and attend to them, so that they check their left hoof.Thus giving signs of great concern about the green stripe on each of its left hooves. Sentinel Hetairoi, with some of his servants, gather the animals and transport them where they have been ordered to tend and examine them. As the designs collapse over the night in gloomy litanies, Medea bursts into a great green outfit saying:

Medea: Vernarth, rancid are on my memory the potions and designs of those who want to talk about me or offer me in their lust.Where the zeal of anxiety deceives the wishful arms that welcome the victorious pleasure. Hooves are my skeptics and famous decisions, because I am weak in will but not in character. Green is the pouring of my converted powers into the veins of the horses. They were carriers in their eloquent ferocity. Instead of blood, I had sap from the magic vessels that I transferred to them so as not to doubt the doubts. Their object is that a green band was encased in their hooves as a sign of the Hipnos promontory through their Son Clovis, to plunge all the forests of the raging underworld, towards the heart of each "Valiant Hetairoi".


Outside ellipsis / near Piacenza
Vernarth and Etréstles in a post-storm clearing, a soft breeze greets them and they meet again, they greet Khaire! And together they reroute to the empty pastures, which would gradually begin to venture them through the farthest forests of the Val Trebbia. On some brown plains with poor colors that visited him falling as they faded on his mirage. From this unusual crossroads they will supremely perceive the closeness of Piacenza in their breathing.
Now they are in the vicinity of the Cimitero de Piaceza. Then they will have to go home on the Via Giovanni Codagnello, on the calendar of January 2020. The Parapsychological Regression continues.


Piacenza Cemetery, January 20, 2020
Vernarth and Etréstles entered the necropolis long before sunset. They were carrying a cake to celebrate Vernarth's birthday. Night Patrol joined the visit. In particular, they followed a night watch service that was active, trusting their guide Piacenza or the surrounding area, with 3 internal night patrol passages 365 days a year, for the rest of lives beyond all material life, perhaps turned into marble statues.
They hired a special service dedicated to the approved service for 2 people .; They were active during the caretaker's office opening hours (the same opening hours as the cemetery). With this service they overcame difficulties to walk after so much traveling. They leave the green-hoofed horses, now turned into statues. They request authorization from the entrance cemetery offices, to honor their belonging and to please those who visit them on their behalf. In Genoa, after having passed through the exterior without entering, they were ecstatic with the Staglieno Cemetery in Genoa (the most monumental in Italy).But if they enter the Piacenza, where the sanitary monumentality passed through the real function of such an enclosure in the contingency. It was commented by the neighboring offices that the migration of corpses from Bergamos were moved to Modena, Acqui Terme, Domodossola, Parma, Piacenza to carry out the respective ceremonies. Due to the great Viral Pandemic that decimated a great majority of Italian citizens in these areas. Vernarth became aware of the current reality, saw how a gravedigger conversed with the crowds, there was a nurse, a doctor and a prodigal man who concentrated on uploading moods to those who were there, almost like a caster, to relieve them of this transitory despite humanity.
They continue past the pyramidal pines, to the central pavilion. They sit on the edge of some flagstones, and take the cake to celebrate their birthday. They sing a hymn and they both enjoy it lovingly. Etréstles saw that he had a little cream left on his nose and cheekbone, running his hand to remove it. In the instant, the guard calls them; it was time to go because it was time to close the compound. They say goodbye with a monumental hug paying tribute to their brother!


Etréstles says: Honors Vernarth, for your immeasurable Valor! It is a great contribution that we divide our work and commitments. From here I go to the Messolonghi Cemetery. I will only wait for the crescent moon to meet the Charioteer, then leave with him and my beloved Drestnia. My Xifos Sword in my right hand and the head that I cut off in my left hand, in Gaugamela before that rugged fate! Khaire, My honors Commander Etréstles!. It remains in the shadow of some pyramidal pine trees of this sublime night, and then they distance themselves. Vernarth leaves the compound heading towards his house relatively close to the cemetery, on the Via Giovanni Codagnello.


Final session in Vía Codagnello, Piacenza:
Vernarth enters opens the door and everyone is waiting for him. Huge groups of friends, work colleagues, family, their pets, and especially the Parapsychologist, who had commanded this whole great session. They all approach her and in the instant, Vernarth awakes abruptly from the parapsychological session. They stabilize it and check your vital signs. There were many days of this odyssey. His awakening was mediatic, since they were attentive to him to question him and confess everything, but he was clear that his purpose would lead him to the confines of Patmos along with Raeder and Petrobus. It remained only to wait for the tenuity of a simple immortal warrior to assist in the services of John the Evangelist. The parapsychologist says you have to wake up, you can no longer be AND stay here in this temporary tube!
Once he has refused to wake up, he takes the itinerary to return to Macedonia. The visibly worn and stunned parapsychologist demands that he give up and obey his command. The effort was unproductive, only letting himself be carried by the grip of his right hand, taking his other with great vigor to remove it from shamelessness, from whom he does not suppress his pride to who still remains wounded by the swords that bleed his soul in Gaugamela. "Everyone is amazed and resigned !, pointing out that he must have always been in the surroundings of his beloved Macedonia, cutting the bursts of succulent insolence on the same temperate cliffs, where some variation of the sounds of the wind would make him saddle his Alikanto to acclaim the gods who came looking for him ”

Vernarth is engulfed in ambivalence, almost celebrating his birthday and waking up from his parapsychological journey. Both will take place, but the session will continue irrevocably. After a few days close to the first day of the crescent moon, he greeted him from a privileged place on his house Etréstles de Kalavrita who was with the Charioteer in his car and Drestnia, they went in that masterful car to join the chores of the Koumetrium Messolonghi (Editorial Palibrio - USA) .So returning to Messolonghi, to meet his disciples and essences of the foundation of his naturalness.


Hegira to Patmos
On a gray day in July 1820. Piacenza slept under the ambush of the revolution, in Italy there was a situation similar to that of another European nation. Vernarth was preparing his last details with the parapsychologist, to undertake his Hegira to Patmos, since he was a revolutionary and this was of great motivation to emigrate from this constant stage of Wars and sociopolitical processes. Manage to be a participant in this revolt in the Piedmont area. Its ideological axes were liberalism and nationalism. Given that the most affected countries were those of southern Europe (episodes from other areas, such as Germany or France, were much less important), with Spain as epicenter of a movement that extended to Italy and Portugal, and on the other hand Greece; It has been called the Mediterranean cycle as opposed to the Atlantic cycle that had preceded it in the previous generation (the first liberal revolutions or bourgeois revolutions, produced on both sides of the ocean: the Independence of the United States -1776- and the French Revolution -1789- ). As compromised great principalities of much of Europe were banned, it participates in great dissolution of collisions and invasions that involved it. In this way he would liberate his Homeland, especially his province of Piacenza.

Although the "Kingdom of Italy" as such did not exist, there were two great kingdoms that participated in the Revolutions of 1820: the Kingdom of Naples and the Kingdom of Piedmont. However, most of the revolutionary movements were driven by secret societies, such as coal. The Kingdom of Piedmont was also one of the most affected, since it was at the epicenter of Italian nationalism. It was controlled by Víctor Manuel I, member of the House of Savoy and defender of the Old Regime. The monarch had only been on the throne for 6 years, since he returned to Turin in 1814 due to the defeat of Napoleon. Since his return, various factions within the country advocated for a unification of all the Italian kingdoms. The unstable situation of its neighbor, the Kingdom of Naples, caused the carbonarians within Piedmont to revolt in March 1821.

Conclusive Hegira ellipsis to Patmos:
After this great conflict, he orders his parapsychologist to resume his final session in Patmos; he begins the procedure for the era that he had to trespass anachronistically, returning to the era of the Macedonian Empire. The parapsychologist asks him time, place, dates, clothing, customs, and manages to meet his request. He enters the portal, and in the backwaters of Messolonghi he meets Raeder and Petrobus. They were close to this heroic land, Messolonghi in the Gulf of Patras, the capital of Aetolia-Acarnania. Nothing less than in the land of his Brother Etréstles "Koumeterium Messolonghi".


"They all approach the vicinity, pray three times to heaven, and manage to be abducted to the underworld of Messolonghi. When they were snooping through the catacombs, they make out the surroundings of a luminous vault, thus distinguishing a woman passing by with others. It was the beautiful nymph Eurydice inaugurating The Constitution of a new Government”.
Eurydice and the gravediggers worked for the new government to be instituted. They were reviewing the last ground plans that converged on the tenth cemetery.
Eurydice ...: with the absence of Etréstles and Drestnia we will make her awakening continue, whose awakening phase closely relates to her wife.
Grave ...: Where do we start?
Eurydice ...: by the southwestern statue of Ashurbanipal, to pay tribute to Botsaris. Then, we will go up to receive the cordoned off tomb of Bramante and Ghiberti, so that the latter can advise us regarding the work to be erected.
They climb the northeast pavilion to the foundations of a mausoleum. They approach the slab of Ghiberti, who was loosening his fingers, sitting on the shore of a Pyramid-shaped cypress. Bramante vanished into the gray beams of light...

Ghiberti ...: I already know your mission. I am summoned to the Council on the day of the sailors' return. To start, they went to the mines to look for precious stones, stones to build Markos Botsaris.
Eurydice ...: Good! Well, in nine moons and nine suns they will return from the coasts of Morocco, the last docking point, so that they can then return. At the moment they are already warned.
Just back, there was a Lover with her right hand holding her chin.

Inamorada In Love ...: Five centuries ago I awaited my awakening, my lover promised to return ... with these verses...:
"I want to be different,
I want to take you my love...
and tell you that by missing you
there is no greater sadness than not seeing you ...
Forgive me for not coming back...
before my absence caused your death,
Wait for me ... I'm going to tell you ... how I miss you
Along with my immortality of feeling...!  How I miss you...!!

... He still tells me this, but from here, under the embankment of the cemetery I feel that he is far away and I can do nothing. Also, I have it in my memory and one day we will meet here. The Enamorada continues to sit and watch armies of soldiers being thrown into graves, their bodies severed. As she continues; ... there is more life here than on the surface, and the trenches replace the concave wombs, as vessels! As everything here lives, even the flowing and hallucinatory invocations are perceived from the Poets, Alchemists and Astronomers. They make the invisible go in a formidable adventure to the site of their magical hallucinations.
Eurydice ...: Stay on your stone, with your chiffon dress; here you will see the arrival of Etréstles. He will bring news from other lands to answer you. Now dispense if we delay, sadness will fall on the other beings who are being buried and transhumated. The Enamorada remained on the stone with her knees resting on her chest. Eurydice and her assistants went to their rooms. "
All this they manage to witness, and then go in search of Etréstles on the same tenth cemetery floor. Raeder and Petrobus were laughing and at the same time they were impressed, as if wanting to remember him when they have to leave directly from Messolonghi to Patmos, towards the Dodecanese region. In the meantime Vernarth was searching for his brother in all the nearby areas of the catacombs flashing penetrating light, unable to find him. He arrives at the ninth cemetery and is fascinated by a feminine image that would seem like a phantasmagorical chimera ..., it was Drestnia moistening some ferns on some crypts making gestures to see them already grown, even if they had just been planted...!

They approach her intimacy and ask her greetings, Drestnia answers them abstractedly that Etréstles traveled to Patmos to applaud the maiden ceremonies that would be wed in the spring in the nearby meadows. Being able to settle in The Monastery of Zoodochos Pigi, and who later went to the hills of Castelli, as it has been known that everything has been celebrated on a hill that many hundreds of years ago has sheltered our historical fragrances in the unity of the ethereal until the present. Such ruins among some works as well as the Temple of Apollo that will continue to survive with its prevailing mystery not revealed.
Etréstles gives them their congratulations and wraps his arms around Drestnia. They evacuate the cemetery, remaining abstracted in the internal darkness of the catacombs with fewer lights than a feasible twilight of darkness, as if immediately leaving Etréstles to be with him in the spring, shedding light on herself taking them to the Castelli hills, which they would figure in the sweetened exaltation of the pollinations of the nymphs on the maternal and ****** maidens.

They go out and spread their impulses over the promontory of the Koumeterium of Messolonghi with Raeder and Petrobus on Raeder's shoulders. Vernarth invoked the north with her staff where Alikanto would appear with her hooves with greenish stripes.

Raeder says:  Let's go. On those warm currents to follow we will not unite you Vernarth. Smiling, the fantastic boy danced, forming figures that enlivened him to hold on to the legs of Petrobus. They both stared at Vernarth and raised high above the warm clouds. Beneath the Messolonghi miniature, she had Vernarth's sights on them; she was putting reins and her Hoplite tunic, to mount Alikanto. He looks around and makes a big sign to Raeder to follow him to where he was, they suspend themselves and manage to go back to the highest mass of misty airs that would take them against the clock towards Patmos to meet Saint John and Etréstles.
HEGIRA TO PATMOS  /  COPYRIGHT
Hanson Yang Jun 2018
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mark soltero Sep 2020
i begin to arise
looking over into your gaze
so that i can feel you
breathless and shaken
with joy in your eyes
thirst overtaking the impulse
to feel how strong this love is
rubbing your skin
exposes the warm static throughout
im left without air
asphyxiating for pleasure
head rushing
groaning your name
please keep going
you keep our skin vibrating
and purging the toxicity of the world from us
taking in only me
you can feel my pulse
radiate from your sacral place
with you gushing out
like the words it takes to tell you
that i love you
and want to fill the empty spaces within
for a moment
i feel like we’ve become one
our bodies sing
heavenly tones echo within the confines of this home
with archangels watching over
as we fulfill our celestial fate
I saw the familiar
rose-flush dust
shoot from my
fingertips,

the day
I finally
decided
to snap out of it.

I had forgotten what lived inside me.

I snapped again
at the
worrywart hut
I'd created
for myself
to live in.

And again, once more
for all time
gone
to my mind's

incessant banter
and going-on's
with
the
flirty,
too flirty,
doubting Adonnis.

The fog was heavy,

in its resilience against my
needs
to get it right,

overtaking me in confusion,
making me forget

the reality
that lay beyond it.

Its grip was choking,

sending me reeling
through a
soul-tainting realm

I hated
I knew so well,

grasping

for anything
to hold on to,

anything that
looked
like

Life.

So,

with the moon
tonight,
I weep

for the many suns
sacrificed
to
Unbelief

and
the parts of me
permitted to be
plagued
by

poison
and
malpurpose.

Though,
with the same tears,
I will thank my God
that I can at least
see
what lies
within me

and again, once more
while the moon is still bright

for the gift to feel
remorse.
Farah Aug 2014
The pain is still present,
steady as my heartbeat
but is no longer overtaking me

My heart aches
literally aches just by the thought of you

I want you to know that everything I said was true
and never have I doubted my love for you

So goodbye for now
hope to see you in my de ja vu
Michele M Apr 2013
The smell was gagging her.
She no longer felt the constant agony which was a relief but the smell indicted
A severe infection
Perhaps she would get lucky and cross the veil soon
Her day of execution was coming upon her
She could hear stakes being placed and wagons
Delivering peat, coal, and wood
Oh how she feared the burning
Once as a child she burnt her hand in her father’s smithie
She cried till her mother rubbed a poultice of comfrey upon it
She never forgot the pain of that burn
All  the comfrey in the world was not going ease her pain after tomorrow

She remembered growing up hiding in the hay mound
Watching her father
It fascinated her, turning hot molten metal into something useful
Working the elements her father would say was an honor.
She secretly yearned to do the same but her father said it was ’men’s’ work
So when not in the fields her brothers got to spend time with their father not she

Not that she minded spending time with her grams
Learning the healing arts
Using herbs and precious stones with magical properties
Working the elements but in a more subtle way
But she was more drawn to her fathers work
And look where her grams legacy has gotten her now
If she had been allowed to work with her father and brothers she thought bitterly….

She tried to move and felt an instant stab of pain where her bones had once been
Her right foot was nothing more but dangling rotting flesh
The Malleous Malficarum meant nothing it seemed
The traveling inquisitors did not receive the confession they sought
She refused to confess even under torture
So instead she would burn to purify her soul  
They would get their entertainment
As would her village

She heard moaning coming from the cell next to hers
It was her neighbor old Hatty Beckwith
She had been accused by Ned Higbee of consorting with the devil and killing livestock
The whole village knows Ned wants her land for the water
This was insane
The inquisitors fees for Hatty would come from Hatty’s estate she supposed
She wondered how her father and brothers would manage to pay her fees
She heard the guards talk and say the expenses for torture and burning were great
As were the cost for their food, drink, and their diversions
As if torturing were not enough entertainment

The sound of screaming suddenly pierced her senses
Someone was being pulled on the rack again
She knew that pain too well
Not being able to stand the smell of blood and listen to the screams any longer
She struggled to crawl to the dark corner of the cell
She lost track of time being in the dark for so long
Only seeing slivers of light through the opening of doors
As the guards came and went
But she calculated Samhain would soon arrive
Possibly even this evening

The village would be preparing and celebrating
The ending of the last harvest and the beginning of a new year
Honoring their dead ancestors
Setting a place for them at the table
She wondered if her father and brothers would set a place for her next year
Telling her tale as they have done for her mother and her grandmother before her
About now her brothers would be taking stock of the herds and grains
Deciding which animals to slaughter
Preparing stores of meat, fruits, and vegetables
In order to help them survive the coming winter

A huge bonfire would be lit in the village
And the villagers would extinguish all other fires
Each family lighting their hearth from the common flame
Bonding the families of the village together.
One big happy family she thought with irony
She still knew not who turned her in
But one thing she was sure of and that was fear changed people
Or maybe it only brought out their true selves

She shifted trying to get comfortable and began to drift off into a merciful sleep
When she awoke hours later she sensed a difference in the air
She heard drums keeping time
And she could see and smell old autumn leaves gently swirling in her cell
She thought she saw a gate, opening wide
And from this gate appeared the dark mother in her terrible naked glory

She froze -fear overtaking her
She closed her eyes tightly only to feel a gentle touch
Her mind crossing another’s
And when she found the strength to open her eyes
There stood her mothers mother

Her grandmother’s arms inviting
She stands, pain forgotten
She feels the nights stretching behind the days till
She reaches the darkness where all of her is ancestor
It is who she has been all along
She is ready for this journey, crossing the dark river
Into the country of death

She will join her ancestors and her witch sisters
Breathing freer knowing that her death
Will shed her of her female body
Cleansing her of the sin of being a woman
Who is more than the sum of her part’s
Taking the dark mothers hand, now hearing whispering and laughing
Her grandmother smiles and she sees the moon and stars above her
They cross the veil together, the gate gently closing behind them

She understands clearly now
In Mabs cold womb life will start again
A child of light to begin a new
The wheel continues to spin, the cycle continues
And she will always be a part of it all ~M
Surrationality Sep 2013
I plan on sleeping into oblivion into Armageddon into the end of the world.  
The earth shakes all around me as the sky falls in brimstone and rains sulfur and right now I think I see the angel of death in the distance.
I am not sure what it would look like though this vision is chilling me to the core.  
The molten core of this rock of life now death is rising up and overtaking the trees yet somehow I remain alive somehow I am not engulfed in the holy and divine flame of this apocalypse but I am sweating like a pig.  

I think I smell bacon.  

The sizzling of the flesh of those around me reminds me of bacon.
I think that’s why Hashem is ******.  
I know the smell of bacon.
I am not religious but the death and chaos around me and the angel of death above me and the burning sky and charred trees and buildings and bodies around me have given me a slight change of heart.  

Help me holy one!

I renounce my sins and blasphemy and beg forgiveness at Your all-powerful feet staring at Your omnipotent toenails and noticing a little fungus and thinking that we all have our flaws, even the Alpha and the Omega, the Almighty God that is prayed to day and night.  

If I could hear all the prayers in the world right now as we crumble into oblivion what
would they say?
I’m sorry Lord for what I have done Forgive me Lord for my indiscretions I was good, God, why have you done this to me what is Your plan Almighty tell me ******, why must I, your humble servant die at your hand because of the evils of others!  and I hear the reversal of fortunes.
The pious screaming at You for answers and the blasphemous like myself whimpering for forgiveness and the strong become weak and the weak become weaker and the terrible whine of hot steel bending and the crackling of flesh that reminds me of bacon and I remember now that I shouldn’t know that smell but forget among the cries of flesh and steel and concrete wood plastic explosions cacophony chaos bliss finality the end of days is on a
Tuesday

and I love it because I have always loathed
Tuesdays.  

Tuesdays
have always had a putrid green sky and a certain unpleasant odor lingering in the thick juicy air an odor not unlike fertilizer that has somehow gone bad and I wonder how **** goes bad because fertilizer is just that, ****, right?  
And that smell begins to flood my nose again as I hear the sizzle of flesh burning again this time
closer and louder and real and I begin to feel the heat all around me and my time for epiphany is now over.  
That fertilizer smell, that rancid **** demonic hellish smell is none other than my own burning flesh, none other than a warning sign that the end would come on a
Tuesday,
that most loathsome and evil of days, the worst of the week.
Tuesday.  
Insufferable intolerable
Tuesday
with your rancid **** burning flesh hell spawn demon smell, a smell only found in the bowels of the underworld and gym locker rooms, your rancid green brown sky, a color to match your smell in the thick sticky juicy air that never leaves.

Tuesday,
you evil being you devil you lost soul you destructor I hate you now more than ever as the sizzle crawls up my body and engulfs my nose and for that I am thankful because I can no longer smell that evil putrid narcotic smell of death but it stops before my eyes so I can bear witness to the end of days to the last whimper of the earth as it is consumed by fire and hear with what is left of my ears the eternal silence of this beautiful Apocalypse and begin only slightly as the bacon sizzle crawls up my forehead
in silent reverie
to love

Tuesday.
brandon nagley Mar 2016
i.

Today, O' today
I got her letter in the mail;
Filled with pictures of mine
Queen, she sent me
Poems done by me, in her
Calligraphy.

ii.

Today O' today
I got lipstick kisses on
Her notes, the red stood
Out of all she wrote;
As her amour was
So fine.

iii.

Today O' today
Anon mine spirit's soared,
That fashionable vellum
O' I adored. O' Jane Sardua,
O' Jane of Earl. O' rose of Asia;
The Luzon's pearl.

iv.

Today O' today
I smiled again, because mine lover,
And mine best friend. Her ardent sonnet
Displayed her touch, grabbing mine soul,
In heaven's blush, silently tear's came to
a rush; from joy's overtaking.

v.

Today O' today
O'er the blue, I made mine stay.
Consatero, ah veray,
Queen Jane, Queen Jane,
Of Asia's praise;
Today O' today
How I fell in
Love again.


©,Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou)
Vellum- smooth writing paper...
Anon- at once, or immediately.
Blush- not of embarrassment... Meaning as of color...
O'er- over in archaic form .
Consatero- is a word I created meaning... ( blissful in sound and color)
Ah veray - is another word or words put together meaning- ( venerated ( meaning regard with great respect) and elevated in honor and glory ..

Note- I made this poem about the amazing love letter Jane sent me in the mail. The old fashioned way of sending love if ones far away how it used to be sent and still should be sent. Though everyone's so inter-web connected now they've lost touch with humanity in themselves and others... As big reason I took break from poetry sometimes we need it. Now I'm back. Plus I've been sick lately and not doing best but I'll be OK with God with me... Jane sent me a lovely envelope an envelope I've never seen before with a beautiful skin texted layer... Her handwriting is so beautiful, and her message in the two page letter touched mine soul where I did have tears because seeing how much she loves me really makes me feel blessed again and again daily!!! And she sent me three pics... Older ones. One of her as she was a little girl. One during elementary school and a later one... Alll so beautiful and queen like!! And she is a well know calligraphist and getting better by the day. Though really a starter shes already professional as she's getting professional lookers looking her way ... Calligraphy is the old fashioned style handwriting practiced from long ago. Like the beautiful old way of writing you used to see in poetry. She sent me poems that are mine own poems though handwritten in her calligraphy!!! Such a gift it was as I was very down yesterday and this was a pickmeup!!! A blessing!! And a treasure I will cherish until we meet and beyond!!! Thank you so much mine Reyna Jane... Soulmate... Best friend!! Lover...alll... My àgapi mou. Zoi mou, anasa mou!!!m se letrevo queen!!!!!

Note - wanna follow Jane and her calligraphy on Instagram you can find her I believe at yellow_majesty or Earl Jane sardua maybe that is try Earl Jane Nagley... But try yellow_majesty first. Also Earl Jane Nagley on fbook. To ask her for info on her calligraphy... As she needs support ... Thank you friends!! And thank you for all of your support!!! (:::
Nico Julleza May 2018
Dreary of a dark empty space,
The loneliness crowded,
Which somewhat I called—
"A Place Unwanted."
To them may it be madness:
A pretense of his suffering,
His mindful selfishness.
But not how I would label me.

To be covered in lunacy:
Lies coming from about,
Changing colors and theme,
Wading of goodness.
Their ways of hypocrisy.
I was a sea of countless woe,
To be brave but unsure.
Am I ever safe, if I never show?

The gaiety beyond avenue,
Through under glass I look.
The joy fits for most,
But not a dream to be oath.
Overtaking my inmost true,—
These things behind the sun.
What I should walk away from,
But it could never be done.
#Dark #Self #Sun #Unwanted #Insicurity

Sometime we are unwanted by the world, but there is always a place for you underneath all of it. This is one my dark poetry I made this year. Hope you enjoy the art of it.

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2018
On the cold solstice
the velvet magnet
of Luna's magic
pulls

quietly urges

whispering
gentle spells
into dreamy ears

compelling
her lover
to rise
quixotically
coaxing
him from
the warm sleep
of winters
first night slumber

she summons
a willing lover
inviting him
to follow
her stark
alluring light
illuminating
the lonely blackness
of a bleak universe

her
seductive powers
transcends distances of
a thousand solstices

her
resounding light
a sure mark
braces any weakness
emboldens desire
guiding the bidden
to unforeseen
destinations

standing
in your presence
my face is flush
reflected by your
resplendent light

my heart
broiled
by your
vexing
radiance

the roiling tide
of a midnight reverie
ebbs
as my
earthen shadow
begins to pass
over your
indelible
whiteness

I witness
my dark countenance
eclipse your light

defiling you
fearing
to forever
mark your
effervescent silver
with the baseness of me

without shame
your smile
allays my fear

you understand
you anticipated
the expression
of my
coy reticence

a sweet chant
sings
unencumbered
reveries
gently
reassures
you've danced
through many
moonlit nights
with eager lovers
only to return again
in virginal whiteness
across the
endless cycles
of time

released
relieved
abandoning
all restraint
now
I
summon you

my blackness
your whiteness
breeds a
sensuous
orange
sweeter
then an
open mango

she rules the sky
a celestial monarch
forcing Mars into
a sheepish retreat
commanding
mighty Orion
to sheave his sword
while
Venus
seethes
with envy

my form
begins to swallow
your lines
and
soft curves

my blackness
disappears
into
inviting cracks

falling into
dark creases
the soft billows
sweet mounds
voluptuous craters
gay playgrounds
for my mouth
mysterious hillocks
eagerly explored
with hands and
limbered fingers

a quixotic Eros
the scent of spice
swells in my head

everything
enveloped
like a
holy ghost
playfully gaming
hide and seek
radiantly moving
through
darkened canopies
of a lush forest

nostrils fill
with
tang of spice
a scent
of Caribe

face buried
in thick tresses
of maddening blackness

becoming unhinged
by eyes speaking
a thousand languages
as lips whisper
joyous whimpers

a silent kiss
of an orange lit night
writhing bodies
splayed together

ravenous tendrils
shape sloping
cloud pillows

quivering lips
unveil smiles of
alabaster pearls

mocha darkness
sambas through
the night

she exhales
her lovers name

Luna bathes
her cinnamon curves
in delicious
mango light
offers generous
dollops
of ******

peeking
baying
drifting
I cast off
onto a sea
of lucid dreams

drinking from
a dark aureole
as the tresses
of her
sweetened nest
moistened my member
in a sacred communion
to a hungry lovers mouth

her dancers legs
slim, supple
unbounded
and open
sweet to taste
smooth
so soft
to touch

the fullness
of our rumba
se los tango
con cha cha cha

light steps
close caress
kinetic commotion
wild laughter
fills the sails
of bold schooners

Luna's smile
commands
the seas
to heave

un poco loco
ola de feliz
los hablamos
un contrara
la estas
la esta

the lavender sky
of the mornings
twilight
inspire
Meadowlarks
to herald
the emerging day

still
drunkenly swigging
loves nectar
sleep creeps closer

confessing
small regrets
she fell
victim
to passion again

Luna
comes back
to her lover
pets his chest
with delicate fingers

in a voice
as light as air
she sings
a poem
into his ear
of passionate nights
beauteous art
longing to express
heartfelt truths

The mango consumed
Luna's whiteness returns

my shadow recedes
into inconsequential
nothingness

naked
I stood
sadly witnessing
the dark horizon
overtaking
my fleeing lover
swallowing her
in tiny bits
as morning drops
a final veil
over the face
of a now
vanished love

Music Selection
Grant Green, Moon River

jbm
Oakland
1/19/11
Mediocrity isn't my favorite flavor
But I make do
Tasting other sensations and qualities as well.
Like candied revenge,
And carmeled success.

But mediocrity is slightly different
It's bitter...
But not enough that it would ever cause me to settle
For something else
That was further from my seated reach.
It's also stale, at times,
As if it were left out on a bar all night,
To be eaten by others looking for, well
Anything.

As I bit down on mediocrity once more
I couldn't help but salivate
At the thought of achievement and drive
Memories of their savory aftertastes overtaking the putty being mulled about my teeth.
And I swallowed the paste.
Mostly to get the taste out of my mouth.

But as my taste buds clear,
And my thoughts drift elsewhere.
The idea that one more hand full of mediocrity
Might not be that bad.
Creeps into the back of my mind.
After all,
It is within reach.
Gin Jul 2012
I hold you in my heart
For my arms just shan’t
From the very early start
This sickly sweet torment

A quench-less thirst
A hunger I cannot Fill
Loving anguish, turned curse
Is for you what I feel

As I daze in your eyes so green
I am consumed with you
The most beautiful I have seen
And ache the very touch of you

The heart alone has its reasons
To succumb to such forbidden devotion
Unbearable loving emotions
Secret I dare not to mention

You are the treasure I hide to keep
Buried in my chest’s own heartbeats
The one & only so many do seek
The one who would make me complete

A barely audible whisper
Surround my thoughts of lust & sin
A dream state I relish to linger
Shivers overtaking my skin

Desire of lips tenderly touching
Hands passionately holding
A sweet embrace quietly waiting
Patience Painfully persisting…

So close, yet away from my reach
I will be waiting for all seasons passing
Shall life be kind to grant me my wish
I vow to give you my heart forever loving

What is meant to be
Will always find its way
So I hope, beg & pray
Fate to bring you to me one day

...I hold you in my heart...
http://ginrhymes.blogspot.co.uk/
Livia Jan 2015
I don't know what to do
Can't run
Can't hide
Can't get my life to balance
The darkness overtaking me

I don't know what to do when there's
No one there to help
No one there to wipe my tears
No one there to allay my fears
When the demons inside overcome me

The darkness is almost to my soul
I need help
I need love
I need someone there
But nothing is working

The demons are here to stay
Rebecca Oct 2014
She feels so lost, so alone
Emptiness consumes her soul
Her world has just become unknown
Surrendered to the knife of strife
Cuts so deep, cuts that bleed
Smothered she is by the knife of life

Her heart is ripped to shreds
Her young mind is surrounded by fear
False promises ring in her head
Demons are overtaking her soul
Sacrificed she becomes to the blade
Her release from the never ending cold.

Staring off into the wide open sky
She sees all the stars that shine so bright
Hope starts to glisten back in her eyes
Escaping from all that consumed her mind
the smile once lost, is finding its way back
Slowly but surely…in time

The knife wins again, this time deep
Extreme emotion floods her body
The blood runs down to meet her feet
Her eyes drift off and start to fade
Her world has just come to close
Her soul surrendered to the blade


She screams out for help in her own little way
But no one is there…
She is left in the shadows, left behind in the darkness
Chris Aug 2015
My room has become a little less me
And a little more you
You've rubbed off on things by the shelf
Memories coated in a thin veil of you.
Dust prints on forgotten things.
Goodnight, goodnight, memories
Hung on the door.

Corners found branded with your name,
Initials carved into dry wall.
Things rearranged the way you like them,
The imprint of an old room grows tall,
Overtaking what's left.
Goodnight, goodnight memories
Stored in my drawer.

The girl in my bed reminds me less of her
And more of you, you see.
Or more strictly, how she could never kiss
Me, not like how your kisses could be.
Goodnight, goodnight, girl unbelonging
Next to me.
Lisa Cunningham Jul 2015
I find myself in a daydream about those lips

Slowly caressing every inch of my body down to my hips

Leaving me in such a state that I cannot control mouth

Deep moans of yes and no and baby please don’t stop

I find myself surrounded in your arms, lost in your voice

I’m not fighting the mood but it takes m y body by force

Blessing my ears with such a tone of memorization

Sending me into a ****** state of confusion

That only you control and I dare not fight the hold

Cause everything you are doing is like food to my soul

As if I need it to continue for my own survival

The thought of you stopping and leaving gives me a taste of dehydration

Hogging this glass of water to the death of me, you hydrate me

Close my eyes as I continue to steady my breath

So much water I’m drowning in my water flow

Trying desperately to keep my head above the current only to be dragged down to the bottom

The water overtaking my body granting me the pleasure of feeling every desire you have

Reaching out for your face to pull you close, gazing into those eyes

Seeing the passion you have for me only takes us to new depths of waters

Suddenly the effort to breath becomes easier as we are exchanging an never ending oxygen support

Legs wrapped around you waist, squeezing to keep you near

As my body is shaking with overwhelming pleasure from this sea we have created

Wanting to bring you to the edge of the waterfall and watch you overflow your self

Both of us deep underwater submerged in love

Suddenly floating to the surface again

It seems we overdosed on love, in our own sea we drowned.
Reworked from a shorter poem
Babygirl Aug 2014
She was walking alone in the rain.
All of life was just so full of pain.
She smiles throughout the day.
No one asks, so there is nothing to say.
That's the funny thing, about walking in the rain..
No one can see the tears falling endlessly down your cheeks, no one can see the pain.

She wakes up and she starves herself, trying to be perfect in someones eyes.
No one notices all the pain, or how often she cries.
Depression overtaking her mind.
All she feels is pain, never love; nothing kind.
There is a secret she buries deep within..
And if anyone knew, they would say suicide is a sin..

She is going to let the smile fall, she is going to succumb to the pain.
Nothing more to say as she walks through the rain.
She walks to the place she will say goodbye..
Somewhere beautiful so no one will cry.
She smiles as the blade slides across her wrist.
Darkness has tainted her soul, demons kissed.

She lays down, looking up at the skies.
The most beautiful thing in her eyes.
She starts to close her eyes, the blood flowing free.
She whispers, im coming home, to fly with the angels, can't you see?
Soon her vision fades to black.
She knows, it's to late no going back..

In the rain, she lay there dying.
Everyone thinking she was happy, never seeing her crying..
She hid it well, but you should have seen.
How could you not hear, the nightmare, it made her scream..
You ignored the signs, they were all clearly there..
So, she knew, no one would care.

She took her life, and you sit and wonder why..?
You have no right, because she was begging you every time she would cry.
You ignored her pain, because you were scared..
You showed her, no one cared..
She was a broken heart in a shattered world, she would spend hours in the rain, crying..
When inside, she was already dying..

Famous last words, Im fine, and out came that smile.
When in reality she was begging, look, please save me, go the extra mile..
But you took her word, and that sealed her fate.
She was living in a dying state..
Her eyes could not lie.
So why did you listen, when the tears were always there, about to cry..

You will never know the reasons why.
So don't torture yourself with the questions, because no matter what she was gonna die..
You could have looked and seen, always going for a walk in the rain.
The only time she could clearly express her pain.
She will live in our hearts, a memory..
But what she needed was you to see...
Cold coffee, never litted cigarettes
People shivering at the bus stops
Thick fog, chill morning
I watch as birds race the sky
Puddles grow bigger on the pavement
Drowning dead grass stalks
We’ve got lost in everything
From lies to sincere kisses
Comforting touches to sleepless nights
I’ve lost hope
Do you think we will ever go back?
We’ve lost us
Tara Marie Apr 2016
I am sun and you are moon.
Caressing countlessly
Cranes and Starlings swoon
With love effortlessly.

I paint the daybreak flawless
with color sinking in
Moon is gathering the waves
while Mantas sink and swim.

You wrap yourself in darkness
with holes and craters deep,
Orbiting a world that has you
shackled at your feet.

I can see it spinning, with
everything it holds.
And I'm afraid that one dark day,
it might just steal your soul.

I can't control your presence
parading atmosphere,
And must not always worry
That the waves will disappear.

Nor reminisce on memories
so many "moons" ago,
That orbit other planets,
of which we'll never know.

And maybe all this warmth
inside my soul so bright,
is overtaking judgment
and misjudging moon at night.

The heat within me rising
might be unwarranted.
So I will just shine brighter
and make flowers bloom instead.
symbolism is life.
The Sphynx is drowsy,
Her wings are furled,
Her ear is heavy,
She broods on the world.?
"Who'll tell me my secret
The ages have kept?
? I awaited the seer,
While they slumbered and slept;?

The fate of the manchild,
The meaning of man;
Known fruit of the unknown,
Dædalian plan;
Out of sleeping a waking,
Out of waking a sleep,
Life death overtaking,
Deep underneath deep.

***** as a sunbeam
Upspringeth the palm;
The elephant browses
Undaunted and calm;
In beautiful motion
The thrush plies his wings;
Kind leaves of his covert!
Your silence he sings.

The waves unashamed
In difference sweet,
Play glad with the breezes,
Old playfellows meet.
The journeying atoms,
Primordial wholes,
Firmly draw, firmly drive,
By their animate poles.

Sea, earth, air, sound, silence,
Plant, quadruped, bird,
By one music enchanted,
One deity stirred,
Each the other adorning,
Accompany still;
Night veileth the morning,
The vapor the hill.

The babe by its mother
Lies bathed in joy,
Glide its hours uncounted,
The sun is its toy;
Shines the peace of all being
Without cloud in its eyes,
And the sum of the world
In soft miniature lies.

But man crouches and blushes,
Absconds and conceals,
He creepeth and peepeth,
He palters and steals;
Infirm, melancholy,
Jealous glancing around,
An oaf, an accomplice,
He poisons the ground.

Out spoke the great mother
Beholding his fear,
At the sound of her accents
Cold shuddered the sphere;?
Who has drugged my boy's cup,
Who has mixed my boy's bread?
Who with sadness and madness
Has turned the manchild's head?"?

I heard a poet answer
Aloud and cheerfully,
"Say on, sweet Sphynx! thy dirges
Are pleasant songs to me.
Deep love lieth under
These pictures of time,
They fade in the light of
Their meaning sublime.

The fiend that man harries,
Is love of the Best;
Yawns the Pit of the Dragon
Lit by rays from the Blest.
The Lethe of Nature
Can't trance him again,
Whose soul sees the Perfect,
Which his eyes seek in vain.

Profounder, profounder,
Man's spirit must dive;
To his aye-rolling orbit
No goal will arrive.
The heavens that draw him
With sweetness untold,
Once found, ?for new heavens
He spurneth the old.

Pride ruined the angels,
Their shame them restores,
And the joy that is sweetest
Lurks in stings of remorse.
Have I a lover
Who is noble and free,?
I would he were nobler
Than to love me.

Eterne alternation
Now follows, now flies,
And under pain, pleasure,
Under pleasure, pain lies.
Love works at the centre,
Heart-heaving alway;
Forth speed the strong pulses
To the borders of day.

Dull Sphynx, Jove keep thy five wits!
Thy sight is growing blear,
Rue, myrrh, and ****** for the Sphynx,
Her muddy eyes to clear."
The old Sphynx bit her thick lip,?
"Who taught thee me to name?
I am thy spirit, yoke-fellow!
Of thine eye I am eyebeam.

Thou art the unanswered question;
Couldst see thy proper eye,
Alway it asketh, asketh,
And each answer is a lie.
So take thy quest through nature,
It through thousand natures ply,
Ask on, thou clothed eternity,?
Time is the false reply."

Uprose the merry Sphynx,
And crouched no more in stone,
She melted into purple cloud,
She silvered in the moon,
She spired into a yellow flame,
She flowered in blossoms red,
She flowed into a foaming wave,
She stood Monadnoc's head.

Thorough a thousand voices
Spoke the universal dame,
"Who telleth one of my meanings,
Is master of all I am."
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2014
The Godfinger has not yet
colored-come this far south
from up in the North,
but soon inexorable, marchingly quietly
to finger paint reds and golds
that are calendar scheduled to arrive

the idea of them, their visual,
burrowed  but easily retrieved,
for in the poet's mind's eye
he foresees their forthcoming blaze,
smells them in the not-quite-autumn
sea breeze

colors welcome for many,
for they serve to awaken and ravish
inattentive-to-nature wooly brains,
distracted by new work projects
diluted multi-tacking senses,
back burnt by responsibilities,
**** deadlines,
term papers, too soon due

full well knowing fall colors incipient,
this summer man piety engorges on
the embering remains of his beloved season,
His Summer Surround Sound Environment,
reflecting on his insignificance,
the seasonality of life,
the sad-always finale for grownups
that is the year ending
December,
no longer a far away,
inconceivable concept

these robust leaf colors, product of
chlorophyll properly chilled,
signal mark
all hope lost for the summer warmth,
the life force of this
poet's body and soul's
his sun tan lotion ****** cleanser, restorative,
all sold out, no longer on the store's shelf,
and a new conceptual,
2015
low growling while on the prowl

but for now,
it's still land-greens and water-blues,
though tarnished are the hues,
the grass, an admixture of
ugly straw yellow and a sickly green,
the bay green blues darker, uninviting,
the surface sun glints duller, less charming,
but close enough to the
real thing
for him to embrace passionately

he thinks bemusedly, out loudly,
writes smilingly, out loudly,
for he is in his trademark chair,
adorned in summer garb,
t-shirt and shorts,
holding on for as long as he can,
grabbing errant sun rays,
breathing salted bay air that's
cleaner now, for the summers sailors
all gone ashore to dry dock ports

while his woman, sensible ever,
acknowledges the frosty wind that
necessitates blanket, a full dress uniform,
complete yoga outfit and anorak,
the dress code de rigeur for combat
against
the September brilliant and undeniable chill

Springsteen and Cassidy hum his
melancholy perfectly and he wonders
about the ifs and of's his chosen life,
about the why's and wherefore
of his poetry that he sometimes writes
under assumed names

these contradictions,
me, summer,
she, cloaked in wool,
these natural nature inconsistencies,
even though unrealized,
the inevitability clashing sounds of vibrant colors
overtaking greens wilting,
all to be winter-denuded,
mark the day,
mark the man,
his poem,
mark this moment of
inconsistent colorations
September 20, 2014
Cunning Linguist Dec 2018
Clashing lights from the shadows;
Thundering in constant motion
Red swarms overtaking the blue nights,
A grand disturbance -
Raging through the cosmos
Shifting the course of this endless strife
(Wake up now,
We have misconstrued our fate)
Spiraling forth, into nebulous unknown
The force flows from within;
Embrace the cause -
To restore a balance lost aeons ago

Gears turning towards a lie
Deceived by peace
Crucial moments for the light;
Two tides collide

Detrimental,
Sacrifices,
Interstellar transmutation
Exiled till, the return of the progeny
Remnants of the order
Confined to, the corners of the galaxy
Strengthened, by the chosen one

Fallen hero;
Exalts into gradeur
Shining greater than the stars
Universal luminescence
Macrocosmic ~
As Above So Below

Frequencies resonating,
Constructing wretched Elysium
Eternal cataclysm,
Decimation

A massive surge of power;
Lost, following the stars of scripture
Kingdoms falling one by one ~
NOVUS ORDO

Symmetry unfolds
Visions pass
Fallacies expose
Divine excursion

Escape the stasis
Elevate, frame of mind
Amidst resistance;
Ignite lucidity
Harmony engulfs,
This fractured existence
© Subnuba 2018
Lyrics by Reid Donovan, Adrian Ocana
Grey Mar 2021
She spoke
with half-smoked cigarettes
and lilting cursive scribbled over last night’s letter’s return address,
her bags packed with only a backless dress.
Nails dripping black and red
blood and paint indistinguishable
in the darkness of the winding alleyways
zigzagging her heart.
She was truly, unendingly lost
in the mazes of her mind
as she traveled backwards with a string
lazily trailing after broken stilettos.
Yesterday’s rain still dripping from empty window sills
and illuminated by lanterns lit with fireflies
found solace in her silent tears
for they were companions,
cut from the same paper-thin cloth.
Maybe a goddess had worn it once,
but those days were long gone
when she lit it aflame with a cigarette
fresh from her lips.
Desire was never a question —
this she had learned from the fire
overtaking her overflowing mind —
and yet it was soundlessly spoken
on empty bottles
not yet broken and swept up by the sea.
Only the blind man could see her now
just as the deaf girl heard her cries
and thus she remained unanswered.
This, however, she did not mind
for being lost was no longer not a choice.
3/21/2021
She had passed the exit of the maze, and yet she did not hesitate to continue on just as she had done the hundred times before.
The Sphinx is drowsy,
Her wings are furled:
Her ear is heavy,
She broods on the world.
"Who'll tell me my secret,
The ages have kept?_
I awaited the seer
While they slumbered and slept:
_
"The fate of the man-child,
The meaning of man;
Known fruit of the unknown;
Daedalian plan;
Out of sleeping a waking,
Out of waking a sleep;
Life death overtaking;
Deep underneath deep?

:***** as a sunbeam,
Upspringeth the palm;
The elephant browses,
Undaunted and calm;
In beautiful motion
The thrush plies his wings;
Kind leaves of his covert,
Your silence he sings.

"The waves, unashaméd,
In difference sweet,
Play glad with the breezes,
Old playfellows meet;
The journeying atoms,  
Primordial wholes,
Firmly draw, firmly drive,
By their animate poles.

"Sea, earth, air, sound, silence,
Plant, quadruped, bird,
By one music enchanted,
One deity stirred,--
Each the other adorning,
Accompany still;
Night veileth the morning,
The vapor the hill.

"The babe by its mother
Lies bathéd in joy;
Glide its hours uncounted,--
The sun is its toy;
Shines the peace of all being,
Without cloud, in its eyes;
And the sum of the world
In soft miniature lies.

"But man crouches and blushes,
Absconds and conceals;
He creepeth and peepeth,
He palters and steals;
Infirm, melancholy,
Jealous glancing around,
An oaf, an accomplice,
He poisons the ground.

"Out spoke the great mother,
Beholding his fear;--
At the sound of her accents
Cold shuddered the sphere:--
'Who has drugged my boy's cup?
Who has mixed my boy's bread?
Who, with sadness and madness,
Has turned my child's head?

I heard a poet answer
Aloud and cheerfully,
"Say on, sweet Sphinx! thy dirges
Are pleasant songs to me.
Deep love lieth under
These pictures of time;
They fade in the light of
Their meaning sublime.

"The fiend that man harries
Is love of the Best;
Yawns the pit of the Dragon,
Lit by rays from the Blest.
The lethe of Nature
Can't trance him again,
Whose soul sees the perfect,
Which his eyes seek in vain.

"To vision profounder,
Man's spirit must dive;
His aye-rolling orb
At no goal will arrive;
The heavens that now draw him
With sweetness untold,
Once found,--for new heavens
He spurneth the old.

"Pride ruined the angels,
Their shame them restores;
Lurks the joy that is sweetest
In stings of remorse.
Have I a lover  
Who is noble and free?--
I would he were nobler
Than to love me.

"Eterne alternation
Now follows, now flies;
And under pain, pleasure,--
Under pleasure, pain lies.
Love works at the center,
Heart-heaving alway;
Forth speed the strong pulses
To the borders of day.

"Dull Sphinx, Jove keep thy five wits'
Thy sight is growing blear;
Rue, myrrh and ****** for the Sphinx,
Her muddy eyes to clear!"
The old Sphinx bit her thick lip,--
Said, "Who taught thee me to name?
I am thy spirit, yoke-fellow;
Of thine eye I am eyebeam.

"Thou art the unanswered question;
Couldst see thy proper eye,
Alway it asketh, asketh;
And each answer is a lie.
So take thy question through nature,
It through thousand natures ply;
Ask on, thou clothed eternity;
Time is the false reply.

Uprose the merry Sphinx,
And crouched no more in stone;
She melted into purple cloud,
She silvered in the moon;
She spired into a yellow flame;
She flowered in blossoms red;
She flowed into a foaming wave:
She stood Monadnoc's head.

Through a thousand voices
Spoke the universal dame
"Who telleth one of my meanings
Is master of all I am."
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2014
since I wept poems freely,
from rise to set,
every breeze, every minute, each bladed grass,
a creation-emotion overtaking

the residue is
every pen dry,
every pencil nubbed,
every free and white
piece of paper,
even all the napkins,
Picasso scribbled

but this one compelled to
rise and set,
before you placed
with a gratitude that
needs no explaining,
a poem,
first and knighted as

Camaraderie

a tired, benighted idea,
oft expressed,
that cannot be contained,
swelling up, chest burn bursting
and it's not yet 600am

but the sun demands
payment for admission to this
morning's performance,
which will never be rebroadcast

so in humility, I
offer up this scrap,
in hopes it earns me
one more show tomorrow
pleasing him,
by pleasing you

we write with many motives,
but this ticket is
for my friends here,
genuine camaraderie that is holy,
sourced from holy water,
"straight from the water"*
within our physical selfs

your arm unasked slung
over my shoulder,
your words my inspiration,
your demands, none,
other than give a listen

which is no demand,
but sweet sugar daily,
crazy stupid flooded
teary-eyed
through words care crafted,
I have found so many
gentle kind
that without hesitation,
I find myself blessing us all
by repeatedly uttering
Hallelujah!
This is the poetry of this site
betterdays Aug 2018
i recall
with a fondness
blurred by years
the town of
my formative years

in the mountains
the heart of the table lands
dissected by a highway
it crouched, along the sides
of a shallow valley

i remember a greeness
that came from the trees
eucalypt and pine
most prominent
in my mind
and the grass that grew
lush and tall
only to be mown
each Saturday morn

i remember
churches and schools
the wide expasnses
of playing fields
and parks with
hurdygurdys and swings
i remember the pool,
that too turquoise
rectangle,
that glistened
with wet invitation
and on the highest peak
the stolid grey water  tower
lording it over all

i remember rough tarmac
under my feet, running from
light pool to light pool at dusk
and frost on picket fences
in early mornings,
like delicate sugar candy
solidier braving the early sun

our house, small on a large block
with hydrangea at the front
wisteria overtaking the fenceline
an at the back door a concrete slab
painted fire engine red,
but faded to overipe watermlon pink

poplar trees garding the back
and the smell of onions
burning on the grill
hill'*******with tennis ball
and pantyhose
standing  to silent attention


and in the forground
my brothers and clans
playing football, league
with passion and
burgeoning skill

all this comes to mind
on a cold winter's day
i may of come a long way
but my heart still
ties me to there
and the memories
make the knots
Alyssa Underwood Sep 2021
I
--
The LORD is asking, “Do you trust Me, child?”
And surely He is worthy of all trust,
but visceral reactions oft’ seem just
in keeping soul’s anxieties well riled.
While panic, shame and dread stir doubting winds,
obsessive, tight, compulsive thoughts pour fuel
into this downward spiraling boil of gruel
where toxic interactions breed more sins.
So for relationships I feel unfit,
and now old interests die and pleasures wane,
as each new hope in Earth’s good brings fresh pain,
where dark depression’s presently my bit.
Yet in this wilderness I hear God call,
“Child, look to Me. I am your ALL in all.”

II
--
I meditate upon the word of God
to heal a mind that’s broken from the fall,
and lying in morn’s bed I now recall
the former paths of fullness I have trod.
I clear the course of tangling debris
that fogs perspective’s distance-viewing sight
and clogs the narrow way which lets in light,
so with God’s truth I’m able to agree.
I gaze toward the future that is sure,
to glory that is promised out of trial.
I push through lying voices of denial,
rememb’ring my inheritance secure.
So healing first begins by sizing scope,
for in true measure I can grasp true hope.

III
---
Long sheltered in the recesses of mind
on pedestals that overshadow truth
are lies which I have entertained since youth
like tape recordings stuck on forced rewind.    
There‘s something of appeal in misbelief,
some comforting, perverted, dressed-up face
which keeps foul strongholds rooted into place
and lets such rotten seedlings harvest grief.  
But I must choose to undermine their message,
uncovering deception’s hidden lairs
whose cultivation grounds for growing tares
leave roadblocks to integrity’s safe passage.
God’s probing, piercing words—what precious gifts!—
can excavate, expose and extract myths.

IV
---
I apprehend these truths in David’s psalm:
“I’m fearfully and wonderfully made,”
and all my days of life are firmly laid
within the sovereign care of God’s own palm.
And yet another voice keeps creeping out.
“You’re too unfit for blessed community,
hence from belonging full immunity
is your dim lot,” says paralyzing Doubt.
For ‘gainst the Word that says I‘m rightly hewn
rub all the bristling edges of myself,
but would one set forever on a shelf
a Bösendorfer piano out of tune?
No, value is a function of creation,
and He who made has promised restoration.

V
--
Restoration’s anchored in redemption,
and my redemption‘s grounded in God’s love.
Nowhere in far reaches man has thought of
could mind unfurl the breadth of such conception.
Sloshing, hesitating in the shallows,
I wander close to shore in Love‘s vast sea.
Then from the swell I hear a coaxing plea
to dive into the deeper wake of hallows.
What‘s this weight that pins my frame from racing
toward His unknown billows of delight?
Do I not trust that He will clasp me tight,
help me bear the fiercest waves I’m facing?
What guile of devils am I heeding here
which keeps me bound by paralyzing fear?

VI
---
Disheartened by my want for firm resolve
to swim toward agápē’s unplumbed depths
for int’macy with Him who paid my debts—
the only One from sin who can absolve,
I wander, wond‘ring what I’ve missed to see
within my comprehension of Christ‘s love
when He would vacate majesty above
and suffer cruelest death to set me free.
They stripped Him, flogged Him, spit, pulled out His beard,
then pressed a crown of thorns down on His head.
They nailed Him to rough cross to leave for dead—
Creator of the world now by it jeered.
In love this traitor by her King was served:
Christ Jesus bore God‘s wrath which I deserved!

VII
----
Considering what labors Christ performed
to buy my freedom off sin’s slav’ry block
that of His fullness, with Him, I could walk
in resurrected life (not just reformed),
can I not trust that He will see me through
each trial, tribulation, sorrow, loss
when He would not forsake me at the cross
but carried all my grief and suff‘ring too?
And just as death‘s cold grave could not contain
my Savior but gave way to watch Him rise,
whatever loss my path has to comprise
shall work for me eternal glorious gain.
So while my courage may still be in lack,
the settled thing is there’s no turning back.

VIII
-----
Wading through fresh tidal pools of mercy
along a piece of coast that‘s not too wide—
among the crags and caves where stragglers hide,
hoping to evade crowd controversy—
I know I‘ll have to move on before long.
But in the warm meanwhile of the day,
I kneel to rest; and as I start to pray,
my heart begins to open to a song—
a gentle, soothing lullaby I’ve known
sung to the tune of ‘Eventide‘ as hymn,
reminder that this life is fading, dim
but that in Christ I never walk alone.
And as I raise the words, “Abide with me…,”
here comes my Shepherd, walking by the sea.

IX
---
What now is this waylaying, sin-sick soul?
Diversional winds from cliffside descend.
Where‘s pressing fire my devotions attend?
Brain‘s robbed of sanity, sleep, self-control.
Jesus comes near numb heart in distraction
and bids me again to clean deadwood out.
Jesus, I‘m desperate, drowning in doubt!
Help me expel what‘s needing subtraction!
Discipline, prudence, wisdom, contentment
can work to restore both body and brain,
while worship will lift locked heart from restraint—
its untethering from woe’s resentment.
I won‘t, without wisdom, taste truest Love,
yet Love holds true keys to wisdom above.

X
--
Mottling mind’s hazed subconscious sockets—
bedecked by ego’s restless crave for fill—
infections grow to permeate my will,
ladening, with dross, affection‘s pockets.
Foul seepage soon coagulates to plaque,
forces clefts which weaken my foundation,
foments psyche’s stormed disintegration
till half-light’s flushing falls to midnight‘s black.
Yet amid murk‘s rotting, rank confusion
with ev‘ry faculty succumbed to rift,
My Shepherd plucks me fiercely from the cliff,
tending thorn-torn blight with Love‘s ablution.
Healing, though, requires my surrender—
all cooperation I can lend 'her.'

XI
---
Jesus asked a question at Bethesda,
the pool by which an invalid was lain,
for thirty-eight lost years left in his pain—
twisted, timed, tormenting, teared siesta.
“Do you desire to be made well?” He asked.
“I’ve none to help me!” was the plaintive cry,
then Jesus spoke miraculous reply
that to get up and walk the man was tasked.
That’s not to say all healing will be found
within this present life of ills and woes,
but still I hear Christ probing through the throes
if I am truly willing to be sound.
Or would I rather lie on crippling bed,
an invalid of spirit, heart and head?

XII
----
Shuffling through some past miscalculations
surrounding toxic breakage of the vines
that ought secure the healthy bound’ry lines  
guarding interpersonal relations—
rememb‘ring my susceptibility
to ego-shuttled, codependent err‘rs
which strain to manage others‘ own affairs
and so invert responsibility—
I ponder if I‘ll ever grow to learn
proper seeds for sowing mutual trust
with vital tools for gently sanding rust
to help stave off a bondship‘s breaking-burn.
One thing I know, that trusting in the LORD
steers love‘s impetus to carry forward.

XIII
-------
“I’m not enough and yet too much,” I've read.
Succinctly that describes my current angst,
and I can‘t justify to war against
these arguments which whirl around my head.
I’ve been told, “You’re just a little intense,”
by many people, not just one or two,
and this they voice clangs manifestly true,
as gaping holes defect my bound‘ry fence.
Voluminous in content and in force,
bestowing as prized gifts what isn‘t sought
or wanted by those for whom gifts are brought,
I falter in my need to change set course.
And where it comes to giving what‘s desired,
real competence seems found to have expired.

XIV
-----
Someone wrote, “true soul mate is a mirror“—
like limelight they‘ll reveal your unseen faults.
Where no one else delights to search your vaults,
“soul mate“ renders time to be apt hearer.
It matters not, was said, that they don‘t stay,
so long as they‘re an agent for reform—
the one who makes you desp‘rate to transform
by breaking heart and making ego fray.
Danger lies in nuanced underpinnings.
I thought I‘d found my soul mate in abuse
and used “he needs my fuel“ as excuse
to take a twisted game to extra innings.
Here I’ll grant these crazed imaginations
were at core demonic machinations.

XV
-----
Casting down romantic schoolgirl notions
that sin-drenched bonds might fashion souls complete,
I drag bewitching grails to Jesus’ feet—
spurning now to drink past guile‘s potions.
As I linger longer in His presence,
I‘m freshly bathed from marring guilt and shame,
reminded I‘m made whole in Jesus‘ Name—
partaker in the fullness of His essence.
Identified eternally with Christ,
secured by His unfailing love through grace,
one day I‘ll walk perfected face-to-face
with Him from whom true life is all-sufficed.
And as I muse, I taste true heart‘s desire—
rekindling, renewed with holy fire.

XVI
-----
Attitude is prime, determinant hinge
on which the door of restoration swings—
deciding what response subconscious brings
and on which morsels mind should bestly binge.
Plenty is dependent on perspective.
Mountain, plain or valley alter sight 
and size by which is measured present, plight.
Simply switching lens can be corrective.
In Christ, Ephesians tells me, I‘ve been raised,
seated with Him in the heavenly realm—
positioned by the One who steers the helm
that Father, Son and Spirit would be praised!
Worship, like a rudder, sets the outlook
to keep me highly grounded in God‘s Book.

XVII
------
Why should I to the worship of false gods
surrender my outlook frivolously?
Idols grab first gaze notoriously,
rob joy as will‘s defenses yield heart‘s nods.
What then? Can I suppose I might steal back
a measure of exuberance through more
skewed genuflecting to gilt calf before—
itself beleaguered, plagued by woeful lack?
Now heed, wayfaring soul of mine, what‘s true:
Creation‘s bounty-goods will make you slave
and with sweet Siren‘s flutes your mind deprave
when to them you lend focus Christ is due.
Lay firm your eyes on Him—pure, restful bed,
cover, fuel, completer, Fountainhead.

XVIII
-------
Wandering down some cobbled, crowded street,
I‘m nowhere headed, rapt in mindless thought,  
and as I saunter south I happ‘ly spot
a friend long-lost but fiercely longed to meet.
Just up ahead, he’s mixed well in the throng
but might be caught if I push through and race!
Heartbeat quickens. Oh, to see his face,
this one with whom I’m sure I must belong!
Yet when I actually seize him and he turns,
I’m devastated, sunk. It isn’t him.
Then moping northbound—dazed, dejected whim—
I stumble on the One for whom heart burns!
How strange, as I had grappled, chased and shoved,
that I’d been running from the One I loved!

XIX
-----
He‘s reservoir for which parched spirit begs,
familial feast cast heart longs to attend,  
elixir fractured psyche craves, to mend,
secure foundation ‘neath soul‘s skittish legs.
Jesus is hearth fire, garden blooming,
joy‘s kiss that welcomes prodigals with tears,
arms’ tender brawn consoling weak ones‘ fears,
shelt‘ring lullaby as nightstorm‘s looming.
Who else can scatter stars, strew mountain snow,
to whet beloved‘s taste for pristine grace?
What other love’s like this, that He‘d embrace
excruciating death to grace bestow?
And best, most faithful lovers of this earth?—
dull pennies next to Christ‘s resplendent worth!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

VOLUME II:
(** — XXXII) [Edited in 9/27-29/21]

**
----
Closing the door on chaining obsessions
requires some short-circuiting of thought
previously allowed to flow uncaught
and forge ever-deepening depressions.
Pathways in my brain can be rerouted
by changing interactions with my world,
observing what’s most easily unfurled—
presently what’s to five senses suited.
‘Mindfulness’ can be a Christian practice
and doesn’t have to rest on Buddha’s shelf—
“awak’ning non-existence of the self”—
or from unseen, eternal things distract us.
True mindfulness is found in gratitude—
joyful, eucharisteo attitude.

XXI
-----
A biblical version of ‘mindfulness‘
is found in 1 Thessalonians 5,
revealing as God’s will that saints should strive
for ever-prayerful joy and thankfulness.
Pond‘rous gratitude staves off resentment,
greed and pride. As was taught to Timothy,
what‘s created and giv‘n by God should be
received in sacred thanks with contentment.
Creation reflects God‘s bounteous glory
and demonstrates His loving grace and care,
so in same grace and glory we can share
each time we recognize Him in our story.
Ten thousand tiny gifts write each day‘s page,
and he who welcomes most is most like sage.

XXII
------
In restoration, elasticity
of mind is a factor to celebrate.
So please don‘t ever underestimate
the wonders of neuroplasticity.
New brainpaths form and old channels falter,
depending on what choices I might make.
Fresh experience of which I partake
will physically help my brain to alter.
Here‘s one great hope I must now remember:
What’s hardwired today can still be displaced,
and thoughts might soon flow on paths greenly graced,
as I feast my soul’s eyes on brain’s Mender.
Bent mindfulness toward Giver and His gifts
best brings joy‘s healing for my mental rifts.

XXIII
-------
Realizations that some obsessions
are desires to vicariously ride
the mindfulness of others who don‘t hide
their own keener sensory possessions,
aptly are aiding to turn my focus
from curiosity to understand
their thoughts, which often‘s led my heart-demand—
want to consume their minds‘ crops like locusts.
What I‘ve perceived as love, concern to know,
empathy for others‘ worlds internal,
might be more escape from mine external—
attempts to hide from life‘s real, present show.
Avoidance wears all sorts of vibrant masks
to keep me blinded to here-moments‘ tasks.

XXIV
-------
Viewing secondhand eviscerations,
as others spill their innards on the page,
may seem the safest way to heart engage—
surrogated life participation.
Substituting others‘ honed perceptions
where I ought learn observance of my own
will keep childlike experience ungrown,
smother creativity’s conceptions.
Social media’s pitfalls lie therein,
along with greater dangers lurking large.
Despite its many goods, there’s needed charge
that gorging on a good thing leads to sin.
Shutting website windows is like trailhead,
opening mountain path to higher tread.

XXV
------
I‘m learning to sit with anxiety
raised by self-denial of habit’s fix,
mindful how my heart solicits tricks  
to alternate for true society.
Discomfort speaks in volumes to soul’s ear
like smoke alarm alerting to a fire.
It tells me, “Quick, investigate! Inquire!
Please find the source of inner burning fear!”
Nervousness as friend might offer insight
if I can hear and listen to its warning,
objectively without the shame-filled scorning
that tends to follow panic-stricken plight.
Practice putting tension in glass cage
to monitor its undercurrent’s rage.

XXVI
-------
It’s time to preach a sermon to myself,
for fears are overtaking me in waves;
and spirit must combat what habit craves—
flesh seeking consolation in false pelf.
Scrutinize what’s underneath such worry.
Do I believe the LORD is still in charge
of details of my life and world at large?
Look to Him. Don’t yield to anxious hurry.
Do I believe He’s with me and He’s good,
a faithful Shepherd tending to each need?
Then look to Him. Don’t drown in fretting’s greed.
Christ’s sheep don’t have to look elsewhere for food.
Each wait is opportunity to grow,
for God has holy riches to bestow.

XXVII
--------
God’s character and sovereign wisdom hem
my life, as His responsibility.
No wrong will steal my true identity,
whatever slips or schemes might spill from men.
Christ’s Ruler over all, but do I let
Him fully reign as Master in my heart?
Do I acknowledge I’m His work of art
and purpose for His hammers, chisels get?
Intimacy and glory are the friends
to which His sanctifying lessons point
and meld together as love’s dovetail joint
whenever I surrender to these ends.
Soul, set your hope on grace to be revealed.
Entrust to God strain’s mysteries still sealed.

XXVIII
---------
LORD, HELP! Why is my mind so distracted?
And why then, letting it be drawn away
for half an hour, am I now okay
to let my compulsions be retracted?
Give in to let go feels like solution,
but know it only deepens the desire
for later curiosity‘s inquire—
grants no satisfying resolution.
Those thirty minutes mindfulness was lost,
yet could it be empowered by the fall,
as I look closer inside to recall
that giving way to habit bears great cost?
I won‘t grow discouraged by the setback
but seek to further understand self‘s lack.

XXIX
-------
Low-pitched, humming anxiousness was sitting
all day inside my torso‘s cavity.
Mindful sensing lent no gravity
to coax the stubborn squatter through outwitting.
Head was tired from too little sleeping,
so frankly seemed to coast and just make do.
Soul felt no fresh excitement by woods‘ view
and lacked bright energy for much guard keeping.
One moral of this story is night‘s rest
must become priority for healing.
Otherwise this shaky default feeling
will grow into another panicked crest.
Though it‘s no excuse to say I‘m tired,
it‘s clear reformed sleep habits are required.

***
------
Changing what’s practical opens a door
to transforming what’s spiritual, mental
and emotionally experiential.
Habit alterations might well restore
enough equilibrium of body,
restfulness, clarity, reason and time
to give me needed aid to better climb
above oppressive moods, both low and haughty.
Early to bed, early to rise...”could be
one thing to make a world of difference
and welcome back some simple common sense,
to open up new space for setting free.
But for that discipline to take effect,
I’ll also have to curb the internet!

XXXI
-------
Every opportunity for worry
is greater opportunity to trust
that God behind the scenes is sanding rust
from parts of me where fear has made faith blurry.
Without unknowing-gusts to stir the pit
of nervousness inside my helplessness,
I might ne‘er seek my Shepherd‘s faithfulness
nor learn to wait on Him and with Him sit.
These are times of richest growing lessons
when I‘m reminded He is LORD, not me,
and that He works to draw in int‘macy
feeble souls to Him through stretching sessions.
Joy is knowing sure—head, heart and will—
He‘s ever whisp‘ring, “Child, come closer still.

XXXII
--------
Recapping basic steps to take thus far:
Find sleep (which may mean need for melatonin
to counteract my haywire serotonin),
and overuse of internet I‘ll bar.
Then with restfulness bring mindful thinking—
keen noticing that‘s graced with gratitude
and sets a stronger skyward attitude,
buoys me up against fret‘s downward sinking.
More important still is meditation
upon the word of God‘s indicatives
which lay foundations for imperatives
to follow as prescriptive medication.
Most crucial element preventing fall
is fix my eyes on Jesus through it all!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

VOLUME I
(I — XIX)

8/23/21— 9/8/21

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

VOLUME II
(** — XXXII)

9/22/21 — 9/29/21

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nico Julleza Sep 2017
with all this sleepless night
wide eye like butterflies
fields of yesterday's pain
take a step to look
feel the whispers at the back
memories again haunted me

with all your pretty lies
words of shredded disguise
a promising of dreams
only to have realize
a state of foolish paradise
storming forever haunted me

with every blinded glass
musing images of our past
infatuations overtaking
wondering why it never last
weeping every tear to fall sleep
a finished love that haunted me

with every sickening heed
a figure keeps to overdue
fragments, a drowning sea
twisted disenchantment
on the floor, now gently fading
ending, but still haunted me
#Haunted #Me #Fear #BrokenHeart #Melancholy

What a better way to Haunt you. Is your Very Own Fear

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
is carpeted with snowdrops.

did you see them at 60mph,
overtaking. did you slow later
to see the next drift. did you reach
your destination safely.

did you stop for coffee there,
have a chat, look at the meat
and biscuits.

did you see the rainbow that
spanned the empty house.

did you ever wonder,
what happened next?

it is a small life, treat
it gently.

sbm,
Relle Sep 2019
the flowers bloomed under my chest cavity;
overtaking my ribs,
suffocating my lungs,
growing a garden right from
the bottom of my heart.

the roots dug inside my organs;
piercing my flesh,
crawling up my throat,
squeezing out my air and gripping
the words down under.

theres a garden of heartbreak that
bloomed just for you.
stealing my pulses,
stopping my heartbeats,
waiting for something you cant give;
your love.
Dark Delusion May 2017
Is this blood?
Red liquid seeping out of my stomach.
Am I going to die?
But where’s the pain when I need it.

Where’s the fear?
My sense of reality.
My sense of love.
It’s all gone, just like you.

No comfort.
Just an illusion?
Where am I?
Where’s my sanity?

Am I supposed to say goodbye?
Can I even say anything.
What was your words again?
My mind is clouded.

Blackness overtaking my eyes.
Silence filling my surroundings.
Nothingness blocking my mind.
A blown out flame in my heart.

Hope? What’s that supposed to be?
Love? That’s just another meaningless word.
Life? I’ve never had a good one.
Death? I’m sure I’m experiencing it right now.

With a dark past, and a blank future.
Where am I supposed to be?
Deep down in hell, with who?
Or should I refuse the inviting invitation from a monster like you?
ConnectHook Sep 2015
“Humankind: be kind – be One!
I am appalled at what’s been done.
Benign intentions must restrain us.
Hate should never entertain us.”

The toad comedian Ban Ki-Moon
croaked a pitiful One-World tune
while gunmen paused, reloaded, armed
checked that they had no comrades harmed –
and then prepared for further battle
against the clueless kuffar cattle.

Ban stood upright to intervene;
surveyed the terrorific scene…
muezzins chanted, mullahs chuckled
swords were sharpened, bomb-vests buckled.
Dhimmi dim-wits went on shopping.
(Are heads in sand less prone to chopping ?)

Hesitating, he cleared his throat,
raised his pitch by a quarter note:
“These acts are most undemocratic
We are saddened; yet emphatic – “

(no one heard his discourse further
drowned by the sound of massive ******…)

So let’s consider what is meant
by rolling heads and bodies splattered…
time for Truth to represent
(as if such inconvenience mattered…)

Such events disturb our sleep
and force us to compose, on waking,
lullabies for drowsy sheep
as predators are overtaking.

Flags of doom and holy slaughter,
sons of Ishmael filled with rage
are coming for your wife and daughter
and yourself. You turn the page.

Rising now to storm your tower
(7th century back to bite you),
Allah brings satanic power
to convert you or to smite you.

****** dhimmis would have us think
such rage is due to unemployment;
pure confusion on the brink
of funding further troop deployment.

Meanwhile, mullahs sip their tea
while tenured academics prattle
watching MSNBC
as soldiers die in battle.
A poetic response to Charlie Hebdo massacre
http://www.un.org/apps/news/story.asp?NewsID=49741#.VfDO0RFVikq
Georgia Feb 2013
The glimmer in his hair, those kaleidoscope eyes,
Isn’t he lovely?
With lustre and humid afternoons
We jumped on plastic sheeting
Till our cyclist’s thighs and drummer’s fringe
Ached for the next day’s meeting.

Yen for one such as you,
Sidled up in the overtaking lane.
A flashing red passed me by, mouthing
‘Mother and child reunion is just a song.’

And with that I wished for you,
Non-existent, imaginary you.

But for now, marmalade sticks together
A household of three companions
As we wait for our January highs
And commiserate November rains.

I’m the one of them who wishes
That she could sing Wonder’s song aloud
To you. Imaginary, non-existent you.
not sure about phrasing...or how the poem works as a unit..draft?
The maroons scored the first try hooray hooray
It was converted oh yeah hooray
You see it went upstairs and it was decided the try is theirs
So the might of Queensland
Are the first scorers
But then after 5 minutes or so
The mighty blues scored their first and it was fun so fun
Will the blues win
Well that will only happen if
They can keep it up oh yeah
The score is 6-6
Then there was some silly moves but it was cool when the blues broke loose then the maroons broke loose
Until the blues broke loose to score an unconverted try
To make the score 10-6
Making Queensland lick their wounds
And just as the blues scored that try they took the ball and ran it down to score another try
To make it 16-6 poor buggery
Maroons what is happening
At present the blues are too good
And that was the lead at half time oh yeah and the maroons had a very close chance
But the blues are in front
Dude it is great
Can they keep it up oh yeah
Buckaluck
After a few of misses and mistakes the mighty Maroons
Are hoping to have started a small heart attack by racing in
With a converted a try to make the score 16-12 the crowd roar and cheer so loud
And let's hope this game doesn't disappoint the crowd
The blues make this slip up which could be bad for their chances of the second match
The score is still the blues up by 4
But more misses like that
Could be their destiny
It is touch and go for the blues cause the maroons are looking like overtaking the lead but the blues stopped them
As well as an injury to the maroons and this will
Make them conquer all
The hopeless blues knocks the ball on and the maroons get the ball back yeah
What is happening to those hopeless blues
The maroons scored a try to tie it up
And Thurston is the player to
Bring the maroons leading again
Yeah mate yeah he got the goal
18-16 to the maroons
What will the last 2 minutes hold yeah buddy boy the maroons are too strong and bold
As we draw the final curtain
The maroons came back to beat the blues 18-16
They were down by about 10
Mate but the pressure from the maroons was too strong
Cheer cheer the Queensland team the blues played like ****
But as that final
Curtain drew
Yeah we sink down our vb

— The End —