Preponderant enchantments written
With dawns bereft tears
Of a hircine mendicant
Upon a necromantic acorn
Thirsting times wild-wize monition
During a week of sundays
Atide sins wake awash
Clarities purification.
Natures immure debt drawing
Maledictions masterpiece,
Leys bane web mercifully mirroring
Obsidian sibilant eyes
Peccably prenouncing the portent
Languid whisper inquisitorially;
Heavens augumented vestments
Distinguishable amid eternities
Pensive shade as thuriferous
Hallowed tombs loom black
As ink, somewhere that was
Thought to be void far between
The dark hour anchoring the
Fractured talisman of loves memoirs.



ELEETE J MUIR.

Memories:
the back and forth trajectories
the internal out-of-sync in-sync directories
of treasured moments, of pleasantries
and the reviled relived accessories of treachery.

My memory is pitted with chasms like Swiss Cheese
the phantom dreams of being hit by a car in a winters bite
the realities of unconsciousness and brain spasms
the fathoms baffles in batches and waves of breaches
disfigured features like a frosted window caked in creatures
burrowed and riddled like a parasite in the spite of night.

By the time id got to hospital id forgotten my own name
fortunately I had a gas bill in my pocket which hadn't freed itself
while being violently hurled over the red car bonnet
and it became the one and only evidence that I even existed
even though the A & E nurse insisted and persisted on asking questions:
my address, date of birth, blood type, emergency contact -
like Id have it tattooed on my body like a scene from Memento
amid the voices in crescendo and brain-damage thumping techno.

That was a few years ago, or was it, I couldn't be sure now
but some days I forget what I did in the morning
so I just have to live for the moment somehow
the memories like Swiss Cheese constantly morphing
to the piped tune of the cerebral banshee
buzzing in my left ear like a perpetual honey bee
makes me wonder though;

I am lactose and diary free - the dominant dietary preponderant
some modernistic conglomerate causing ultimate lethargy.
Does this mean if recollections are like Swiss Cheese
I am intolerant to memories?

Home airs have become quieter,
Things are back to normal...
Here in this house, which isn't my home,
The soundless afternoon winds bring a touch of melancholy,
Holiday season is finished, the hours pass by so slowly.
In the living room, my eyes strayed upwards,
Towards a Christmas wreath left hanging on the wall...
A sunbeam was shining weakly over it...but,
It rested on the wreath long...long enough, it dazzled me with a reality
That changed the preponderant gloomy atmosphere...
The wreath will be kept, for next year...
It is sad to think, another season over
Another year over....and
December is still eleven months away,
But.... the reason for the season could linger on, if we choose to.

It is said, charity begins at home, but it doesn't have to end there...
We quickly stretch our hands for our family,  close friends in need,
They are our loved ones, it feels good...feels like Christmas!
But the old, the blind, the disabled people, are strangers, waiting...
What if we gave them even just a bit of ourselves....even just for a while?
Some warmth, or smiles...a hand to find their way,
The Christmas feeling would be alive! Stronger!
For the street children, the orphans in a hospice, it means Christmas,
To be fed, kept warm with clothing and shelter, any time, day, or month.
They... we...would feel a heavenly kind of peace surround us...
It would mean everything for the prisoners, the juvenile delinquents
If we could spend an aftenoon with them,
Listen to their rumblings, litanies of their pain, their losses,
Hear their past moments of glory...of how it is
To be neglected... deserted by their own loved ones...
It is Christmas day, to see them lifted from their agonizing silence, beaming...
To see a child's lost front teeth, as he/she gives a smile of happiness
While holding a bag of goodies and gifts of toys,
Would melt the ice...the stone-cold airs dwelling within...
Maybe, even the lukewarm souls could change...
It is Christmas for them...... for, these short-lived holiday moments,
Mean the world to them...

Yes.....
Charity begins at home, but it does not end there...
If only we could stretch our hands...bearing in mind---
A kind deed done to our fellow human beings,
Is as good as done to God.

The sun shines bright on that Christmas wreath on the wall,
Any time, any day of the year....
Even if it's not there at all...


"Whatever you have done to the least of my brethren, you have done unto me..."        (Matthew 25:40)


Sally

Copyright 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal.
Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies.
I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events.
These beings possess no artificiality.
Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria.

Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal.
There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust.

Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control.

Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency.

Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline.
Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision.
My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation.

Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate.

Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign.
Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time.

I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew.
The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought.

Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation.

I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence.
The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.

The ones we hurt the most
And the ones who hurt us the most
Are ours
Parts of us

Our beloved boomerang admirers
And they’re the ones who love us more than anything

Yugoslavian aggressively panhandling for depositions from unrelated denizens of the gin joint

A panoramic view of a wire tapped room with a lunatic with latent panic that is undisturbed

Hoarded handouts
Admissions
Acceptance
Embarking on a new flight of stairs

Pitter patter of foreign fitted shoes

Coming across label makers
“Jew”
“******”
“******”

Steer clear

Then those who memorize banned books and recite them
Who question the validity and relevance of tradition and old fashion ways

Finding things in common
Tastes in music
Fondness in wine
Alike minds that crave astonishing world widening writing
And thought provoking art

A libation to the collision of the alive and living

A somewhat scary visionary who breaks the black and white patterns of a wheel of fortune and misfortune with a lance of optimistic disregard

Stealing kisses and sipping on top shelf liquor

Smoking mystic cigarettes from Indian mountains

Idioms and vernacular

Dedicated guardian angels who hang their heads and rest their faces in their palms in puzzled disappointment

New visions
In music
In literature
In technology

But actually in
Self-expression
Communication
And progression

Stab a knife into the stuffy conservative dollar sign chasing guard

And let the prisoners of self-doubting overlooked misunderstanding go free

The complex complications of cement commitment

Walking out on an infant
Walking away in an instant
Instantaneous fear
Spontaneous combustion

A noose
Legendary
No
Not yet

Sing it to me
Play t

Lay morality to sleep
And raise yourself up
And proclaim a new way today

A jumbled viewpoint
That is brilliant and completely sound

Have a sip

Your hatred, look deep
****** it and rip it out
Then let it go

Busting up regulations and requirements

Creating an image that cannot be simulated
That is originated from the imitation out of respect from the innovative minds

Slow it down
Go
The lust
The envy
Two ingredients for a new story
All that’s left is the spilled blood and you’re done

Drift and go on a dimly lit trek into the subconscious and give birth to underived works

The world may burn, melt, freeze and shine

Surrender, transform, standstill then ascend

The ones in need fall into our laps along with the decision we all must make
To help them
Or pass them by

Click clack goes my keyboard
Revisits to the times before

With the aid of chemicals and inspiration
Mixed with ******* and crazed obsession

The feeling of being replaced
Like lying in bed on a cold night
Without a blanket that has some place better to be

My dear naval, nautical nincompoop
I miss you, you’re fighting pirates
Soon terrorists

You know it’s useless
You don’t want to be part of this nonsensical unholy fuckfest of political unrest

You’re a poet, you don’t write
Your life is your poetry
It’s beautiful, you want to live
Not just exist

Be wary, I have foreseen the pandemonium festering in your heart
You are lucky in your naïve exile in paradise
You’ve been hurt
Looking for love
Live, lend
And all the above

Fool proof plans
And ideal daylight

The suicide of the farmer’s daughter
California sushi roll
Burning embers
Red hot coals

Best of luck to you

No elegy
A eulogy
See it to the end

Distract them
Steal the vital piece
Then proceed to take what you came for

It’s okay
Forget what you’ve been spoon-fed your whole life
The greatest caper committed

Jam the doors
Skeleton keys
Skull and cross bones on the bottles
Take whatever you can carry

No man left behind

Leaving a not, imprints
For them to see
And know why we did
What we have done

Phony fame
Upper hand
Inclined
Shame

There is a time and a place for treason
When all is ugly and bigoted

For you will only be this young at this very second and never again

Shoot from the hip
Fly high on the seat of your pants

Grungy soap dish
Domestic disagreements
Empty reflections
Rapping at the window

Go away
Please
For your sake and mine
It’s insane

I expunge your from my life
Not in hate
But in agony
We both know it’s for the best

Don’t be spiteful
I hate being used
Just a tool to b left behind

Extraordinary shallow callousness

Let’s take a walk around the universe

I see two lovers showing their vulnerabilities to each other
I see a man and a man making love so pure
I see my friend traveling the world
I see an amateur addict about to take their first step into a lifelong dependency  
I hear the screams of those about to be murdered
Does that quench your thirst for reality?

Aiding and abetting
Guilty by association
Confession of guilt
Squandering money on bail

**** that
There’s a rat
*** wrap
****** wrap
Saving you from yourself
Following, no matter where you go
Always

       -Tommy Johnson

Others fail you
But you must never fail yourself

Drop
Down
Drown
Die

So many futile attempts
****** submissions
Preponderant talent

And that’s about it

In New Brighton,
in the Wirral they gently laugh at
anyone who thinks the Beatles
could be bettered
Still to this day I think
The Big Three's " Some other Guy"
was the better version.
In Stoke, dear Staffordshire
they apportion YMCA mentors
to the homeless teenage kids
who haven't yet navigated
the logistical hub of the new Potteries,
yet can only dream of open spaces
where weeds will flourish
Trentham Gardens being  one.
Each of us would agree
there's a nuance in self preservation,
only recently carried to extremes by the vitriolic
of the late Summer Riots
whose fiefdom cry
"preponderant re-distribution"
turned England over.

The clues have been…let's say,
Preponderant. We've seen
That Trump's reputation
Is far from squeaky clean.

Now he sounds indignant:
"How dare they imply
That I worked with Russia!
Do THEY think I'm a spy?"

Is there evidence
That Trump and certain staff,
Knowingly or not,
Worked on Russia's behalf?

Knowing or not knowing…
Yes, even the latter
Definitely is
A counterintelligence matter.

The FBI will discover
Whether suspicions are true
While Trump sends out a tweetstorm.
Of course, what else is new?

Is he an asset to Russia
At our country's expense?
The accusation really
Makes a lot of sense.

His words and actions are
Often injudicious,
Which makes him sound so utterly
And blatantly suspicious.

Mueller certainly knows
A lot more than we think.
He will put together
The pieces, link by link.

Team Trump will spread
Deep state myths to steer
Us off the path to truth.
They smear whom they can smear.

They will try to hide
The truth without a doubt.
Cooperation with Russia
Is what it’s all about.

Misstating the law,
Giuliani tries
To give Trump his support
By backing the president’s lies.

Trump’s words leave us
With so much to bemoan.
Who knows WHAT goes on
When Putin and he are alone?

He's been parroting Putin's
Talking points. How's that?
Is he a spokesman for
The Russian autocrat?

Undeniably, Trump
Finds himself in a spot,
Which amounts to a case
Of possible kompromat.

Never have we had
A situation so…hairy.
Never have we had
A president so scary.

-by Bob B (1-13-19)

posited puzzling apt aperçu...

While pondering particular
theme to address
amidst tangled wide, whirled
webbed mental skein
today November third
two thousand twenty two,
unexpected Möbius strip
tease conundrum unforeseen,
yet as avid aspiring wordsmith
only now I became keen,
which unflagging vexillological,

theoretical, rhetorical, philosophical...
narratological, linguistical, judgmatical
historical, fantastical, didactical,
and bibliographical predicament
may not suddenly find me
flush with green
i.e. profuse legal tender,
but merely thought provoking
puzzlement addresses following quandary
stuck within gray matter of pate

impossible mission to differentiate
jagged fine line between
passion and obsession
case in point strong
affinity to write of late,
cuz yours truly susceptible
toward compulsion that doth not abate,
and mind boggling to wed healthy
love of language analogous as mate
nsync with psychological trait,

viz excessive compulsion
diagnosed years gone
by courtesy professional
mental health specialists, did annotate,
and I admit behavior impossible to satiate,
thus generating aforementioned query
how does one (me) segregate
productive interest versus excessive,
née fanatical all consuming -
affinity towards English language

I loopily, quirkily verily narrate
oft times burning midnight oil
(albeit figuratively alluded
to wicked mister Arson Wells) witness
as logophile doth painstakingly toil
bajillion cerebral threads to uncoil,
whereby utilizing figurative tweezers
uprooting, untangling rhyme I embroil
(even using ****** Doo conditioner)
metaphorically beneath mine royal

hirsute (Scottish) matted topsoil
ultimately bringing in top gun
uncannily resembling gargoyle
shape shifting between
comical characters such as
Popeye and Beetle Bailey
at lightspeed as if
greased with Olive Oyl
so watch out Bluto,
get ready for turmoil!

After revoking themselves from the transposed swords that slightly decreased in size, they uncrossed them to size it to the historical size that actually conserved them. They were the existing Xiphos that began to be delineated over sixty centimeters, which figured from what separated them before turning through the nearby heights of the Thuellai. After separating both when detaching themselves from the ribs of the Xiphos, they thus penetrated the light of the Empyrean, cutting the bastions of the dreamlike attire that had them articulated, nailing each of the Xiphos in the calcaneus as Vernarth executed before entering in the fight of the site of Gaugamela with the Falangists. In this way, they both took the Xiphos and synchronously pierced the crossed swords in each calcaneal bone of each foot, but across so as not to incite the Gods of Olympus, to hold the Angels and the God of the Seventh Heaven. They were left with the iron-bronze on their feet with a short encysted difference, and with the spears that the hoplites mainly before adopted with Vernarth in the charge of the Phalanx that was towards the shadow of a famous change of climate control that was splendid of the dying Kassotide, making these swords more invulnerable and deleterious.

Seventh Necropolis of Messolonghi
Parapsychological  Ellipsis

Vernarth came as if they had just come out of the Kassotide escarpment, resembling the imitations of repetitive interference on the assessment of re-invading Xerxes in what personifies him. Alexander the Great had already expedition this sea of the Hellespont and this time he would do it together with his egregious Commander Vernarth. What they had to reach together were the dominated geographical limits and their experiences, even what the conquest of Heles meant due to his resurrection from mythology or submitology, perhaps inquiring this as if it had not existed, or if it had been more preponderant when leaving his image as a hagiography that received a concussion and that pain never lets him overcome being on guard towards the front of the wind that hurts the autobiographies, of whom if he knows how to read the degree of the works with his maximum oratory, metaphorizing and adjusting in revolting voices alembicated of Messolonghi Seventh Cemetery.

The vapors of evil followed the converted spaces of other bodies that regained life, here the ears were clipped with songs from Hades, which from Messolonghi came to constitute before the fight with the revived war spirits of Dario III. Before reaching Skalá they felt impassive nascent airs that were emanated from the underworld, from where the tribulation would constitute unhappy chambers that revealed the bodies of the Achaemenids who woke up bilocadly in Patmos, they were transhumed from the aldehyde vapors that made them breathe themselves and supposedly insightful. The visions of this cemetery were made vacant to receive the casts that would fall after the fight on the heights of Skalá, where the weak and daring would be condemned before the natural graves that would reconvert them into precious ornaments of the Kassotide Trench from Delphi, to revive them in the stench that is greater than that of the corruptible human being.
The Seventh Cemetery would be the genesis of the global warming concept of the modern world grafted onto the atmospheric leitmotif of the Kassotides. The Anunnaki will rebuild the bones of those who no longer had them, and of the shattered bodies that were advancing in those who would occupy the void of the Messolonghi necropolis with dust from rubble from other bones covered with Cinnabar decanted with the Antiphon, and with the airs of trial where all the prescriptions lyricized a general funeral apostille that authorized an eternal dimension, which swirled through the dry nails of some who did not overcome the fear of existing, knowing that they would risk a thousand years without the universe that made them the son of a father from Andromeda, where enemies and friends would decree the global changes that would originate from the first-century b. C., the first consigne of the meetings that would alert the efficacy of containing a ****** and constant abyss of supernatural power, further away than that of a God who leaves behind the atonements that sustained him in the immediate ideology from the Seventh Heaven to the Seventh Cemetery of Messolonghi that tried to intercede between syntagmas that came from the shady fifth of the Helleniká Necropolis. The weaknesses that actually had to be imposed were increasing, and everything that could be solved becomes a disturbing renter of Drestnia, who would intervene with the enlightened when coming from Kalidona. Many stayed in the circles of abstention derived from the first Messolonghi Cemetery, from where Drestnia was alienated to get rid of attachments to mortuary remains, which every hundred centuries were physically and psychically absent from all the astral storms of Andromeda.

The climatic changes began to take shape in the whole world from the paralysis of the office of the Oracles of Delphi in 391 b.C. Since the moat of the Kassotides began to vary its alchemical tributary, after centuries in the bars of the bastions of the feminine brotherhood of Pythias and Sybilla's, everything was detached towards the physics of the globe with incessant rectangular impulses that emanated cylindrical emanations that radiated from Messolonghi, cleaning itself of the implanted grafts that were intended to replace the ex-karst nature of the Dodecanese, in the aerodynamics from which the impatient eyes look. The seventh necropolis was dissipating from three hundred cylindrical hectares, which would finally bequeath to the Archon who would define waiting for the de-demonization of the colossal shadows, after the few minutes of existence that were subtracted.

The following initially crafted approximately three and a half years ago and presently brought a  much sought after surge of satisfaction while meandering along the information superhighway.

Panglossian Perspective
Pivoting Poze Pretentiously

Pacific, pacifist pampered papa
parading par excellent paragon
parent (parenthetically parochial
particularly partisan) parvenu
passive, passionately paternalistically patient,

paunchy, peaceably pepped, perfectionist,
perceptive, perennially perky, permissively
persevering, persistently personable,
perspicuous, pertinent, phenomenally philanthropic, philharmonic

picturesquely pious, pioneering, piquantly pithy,
playfully pleasant, pleasurably plucky, plummy,
poetically poignant, politely pontificating, popular,
positively potent, powerfully practiced pragmatist,

praiseworthy, prayerfully precious, precise
predominant, preeminently preferable, preparedly
preponderant, presently president, prestigiously
prevailing, priceless, princely, principally pristine,

privately privileged, prized,
proactively procreative,
prodigiously productive, proficiently profitable,
progressively prominent, promisingly prompt,
prophetically propitious, prospectively protective,
proudly proven provocative,
prudently psyched, puissant,
punctilious, punctually purposeful pygmy.

Already noticeably marked
increase in daylight
yours truly courtesy affected
qua heliotropic phenomenon
finds me noggin gently being tugged
upward and westward ** toward sun
after dark mine talking head
rests downward and eastward.

Soon very indistinct
environmental intimations
regarding onomatopoeic
ubiquitous murmurings,
whereby old man winter
ever so faintly
relinquishes, loosens, forsakes...
Judas Priest iron maiden grip
upon emergent biosphere
suddenly awakened when
Mother Earth generates

invisible signals transmitted
across world wide web
analogous to conductor
standing on podium
with baton in her/his hand
orchestra playing on cue
perhaps choice selection
Rite of Spring
work by Russian composer Igor Stravinsky
or Flight of the Bumblebee
written by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov.

Soon dormant species will exhibit rebirth
out their linkedin hibernation
flora and fauna tentatively
begin to issue forth out their slumbers
shoots poke thru across terra firma
insync with twittering tweeting creatures
hint viz verdant and/or fecund potential
ready to burst forth and proliferate
instinctively trumpeting joie de vivre.

Sensational show stopping, eye catching
breathtaking... parade of sights and sounds
await buzzfeeding eyes and ears
about six weeks hence,
within mine home box office
here at Highland Manor apartments
quite affordable rent
allows, enables and provides
radiant quiescence, preponderant observance,
nonresistant magnificence, jubilant innocence,
exuberant deliverance,
concurrent buoyant abundance.

Accordingly and allegedly other than
meteorologists plenti schooled
ascertaining onset of temperate air
more particularly otter den non humans
unassumingly (ferreted out), who bear
the tidings, when that season

of rebirth dawns with crystal clear
blue skies, and terrain where deer
and antelope eagerly play without despair
purportedly realized, reassured, recounted...drear
re: days vamoosed foretold by
Punxsutawney Phil on Groundhog Day

February second - requires one
with acute hearing to ****, and ear
turnips tickling the nose nostrils
delicate hairs (instagram ideal outlook) subtly,
markedly, lively..., yet gently flair
soon harkening shrieks

of delightful analogous funfair
no stranger to Renaissance Faire
of pitch perfect gamesomeness
will seem as... otherworldly pleasant
ah heaven sent giftware,
where all creatures great and small

sing psalms, upon arrival when hardware
trappings of winter shucked witnessing
unrolled welcome Scottish mat so hare
and tortoise can race,
cuz vernal equinox, sports a linkedin
improvisational, ebulliently

educational, cerebral, audiological...
twittering melange I will hear,
and grateful no defect doth impair
ability to revel silence, slake, soak...
insatiable thirst even prodding junketeer,
panhandler, vendor...
the last named,
perhaps selling kitchenware
knicknacks, keepsakes...
to hippies (think yours truly)
with long wavy hair
interwoven with Kahila
Garden Lily, Laurel, Maidenhair...
profusion of sensual delight
brings Mother Earth near,
the body, mind, and soul

espying frolicsome **** sapiens
donned with minimal outerwear
infusing all living things
common native plants and animals
in conjunction with resident outlier
particularly those pining
to answer call of the wild overdare
ring and bee zee lee court'n prepare

ring to beget young as
singular requisite quintessential profiteer
fluttering, instagramming emoji,
sans shutterfly puppeteer
as audience visually already reddit
regarding acting entire scenes,

viz Biblical Genesis answering prayer
particularly if gnostic, heterodox, queer...,
finally relieved, sans polar vortex
albeit somewhat rare
atmospheric phenomena, how ideal
if said rabid Jack Frost

would sink icy bite - part
and parcel green gang
at much more favorably time reappear
during oppressive heat spell during
sweltering triple digits temperature
summer re: time of year.