"pyramids" poems
its amazing what we’re capable of when pressed;
lunar launches
and shaman healing
hail marys
and fortunes of gold
heavy hauls
and broken borders
war, compassion
and treaties of peace
all those wild and lofty regressions from the mean;
soul re-settings
(from deadly deeds)
scores and scriptures
liberty and peace
walls, asylums
(in the jaws of defeat!)
channeled spirits
of warmth
and love
and connection
and sometimes, it’s just a little fodder;
pyramids and viaducts
aqua-lines and chunnels
spider climbs
and deep dives
(with base jumps near the high wire)
gardens, and divine art
and even water boards
(for beauty is always in the eye of the beholder!)
have a look around...
and let gratitude be your guide
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.
Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.
Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.
Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.
Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.
Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.
15.8k
"Back from vacation", the barber announces,
or the postman, or the girl at the drugstore, now tan.
They are amazed to find the workaday world
still in place, their absence having slipped no cogs,
their customers having hardly missed them, and
there being so sparse an audience to tell of the wonders,
the pyramids they have seen, the silken warm seas,
the nighttimes of marimbas, the purchases achieved
in foreign languages, the beggars, the flies,
the hotel luxury, the grandeur of marble cities.
But at Customs the humdrum pressed its claims.
Gray days clicked shut around them; the yoke still fit,
warm as if never shucked. The world is still so small,
the evidence says, though their hearts cry, "Not so!"
13.4k
If I were dead, I would still dream of us
If I were dust, I might yet believe
The more of our promise
Will come to be
Yes
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 9:36 PM UTC
Barefooted is not good ,so A pair of shoes helps in any season ... People rush to buy the best and the highest qualities Even if their prices are like pyramids ... I don't understand this rush towards All different kinds of pairs of shoes ... There are people who are ready to buy The whole shoes' stores At any price !
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”
nuts, crazy peeps
whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped
me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included
the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)
they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline
though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs
so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!
so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
guessing must be something in the water and the wine
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
Let's think about this, before we do it.
Let's think about this.
Let's do it.
You can tell me I've failed. My lungs are hot.
My breath is useless, like my rescue.
If you close a door, I open a wound.
I made plans to steal you from yourself.
I wanted sunlight for you, roots and crawling
ants, pyramids of help and hope.
I wanted.
I wanted them to be mine, my contribution.
Well.
The self wants a shadow. A shield.
A soul.
The -I- falls apart when the skin does.
There was a moment when
you became who you always were:
alone, surviving against a sea of black,
and I could not help you. Could not
swim against the dark surf
your arms themselves made.
And how am I now to make you
some craft to come home on.
How am I now to give
knots and knowledge to your
drowning. I cannot brave
the isles that break you from
the strings of sand that wait beyond the waves
dying, still, to give you home and breath.
I want your bedding. Your body.
I want your terrible soul, your bait and switch,
your milk, your cave, the meat of your
isolation, the heart you hid in the Pacific.
All I ever find at sea:
tired arms, a head full of wishes.
(Not exactly buoyant.)
And the flashing fins of fish
who sank and died.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
Myself caught in the heatwave sunlight, brown eyes
furrowed in the sun, scarf loose on my neck/
the transcendental Denpasar morning-birds
are playing their melodies in my head still,
three years post-Indonesia.
All of my soul to India now,
sky the pink of painted elephants
on Jaipur dawning,
my afterlife was somewhere here
perhaps two generations ago, chances are.
Vijay Raghav Rao and Alla Rakha
playing the Tabla/via earphones/treading the
Funary Box City (Kashi) future Spring
hands held together keeping calm pace.
Looking about, my twenty-two year old face
catches humid wind
S
I
L
V
E
R
S
H
O
P
tattered bike leaning on the gated guest house entrance
PERENNIAL AZURE SHIVA SITS CROSS LEGGED/
COBRA NECKLACE IMITIATONS ON THE GODDESS THROAT/
MEDITATING SHIVA/
dulled from years and corrosion.
Brahmin center of the market street
flapping it's tail,
sweat beads from my forehead bleeding
to oily pavement.
At last the months have come for the river Ganges,
April penumbra/savage thunderclap
while school children uplifting the heart
AND MIND
are ROARING in their laughter
the CONTINENTAL DISCORD OF JOY
sleeping with their eyes open
while others are too tired for the Earth.
Sidney Bechet floating swan songs during
the black hour cremations/
“Bechet Creole Blues”
CATERWAUL IN THAT VOID
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF DEATH/
LUNACY OF LIFE
(I've arrived at the simultaneous crossroads
of both)
searing flesh in open air pyramids/
Manikarnika Ghat,
Asia F
L
O
W
S
through dreams
like inevitable prophecy
and as ash blends with stars
the CITY seems fulfilled
and mystifying
in it's
(((((RESPLENDENCE)))))
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
Can I write you a love song
I’ll sing it softy in your ear all night long
Blow gently without words on my saxophone
Diamond and Pearls behind the throne
A beautiful ensemble meant for only you
As I give credence too
Take my hand
Cross this journey with me as I sing about faraway lands
Past Egypt pyramids shifting Morocco sands
Lay back my love, allow your mind to silently drift
Feel the enchantment of my piano keys as it spiritual uplifts
I’ll sing love songs of old
A cappella chorus echoed from deep within my enlighten soul
I’ll sing to you about the blues, society’s injustice, and elements of darken storms
Keep your heart warm, while playing my French Horn
Enrapture foretold from this dedicated symphonic poem
A music sheet of percussion, woodwind, brass, keyboard, and strings
Harmony carrying the mind away as the joy of coming spring
I’ll hum your favorite beats, can you feel the crescendo now
Fiddle from the heart by the sweat of one’s brow
Submerge your cerebral cortex, lose yourself in the sultry tunes
Harp sounds bathe of light kissed from the illuminating moon
Destiny overcasts in the lyrics
Fate floating stratospheric
Karma of others handled in the eyes of satiric
Opera, I give you so grand in its grace
French Creole dialect murmured among silk and lace
Sounds of my flute resonant to face
Allowing my Cello sounds to thoroughly embrace
Can I write you a love song
Body and soul serenading soprano to keep you standing strong
My guitar stringing your philosophies along
An equal equation, one plus one equals two
Emotions, feelings, sentiments, its tenor expressed only for you
No compass to my heart, my seasonal love found in hidden melodies
Trombone guiding back and forth breathless as it please
Orchestra sounds
Ascending minds, bodies, souls, pass the opening clouds, divine and profound
The last note sung by me as we gradually come down
Beautiful music embraced, needs never to make a sound
Shh, close your eyes
Meditate on the music for a little while
Hush sweet baby don’t say a word
My heart softly tweets to a mockingbird
If that mockingbird don’t sing
Can I write you a love song created only for your being
As minds are sightseeing
Hearts fleeing
Timpani drums guaranteeing
Entwined of our divine wellbeing
Emotions freeing
Crooning of bodies heard as the day is long
Can I write you a love song
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
Led down from the tower
Head high and hands bound
Blindfold declined against the wall
Black square pinned to his heart
Eyes afire and shining proud
He sang...
He sang of Caruso, Townes Van Zandt
Pavarotti, Bocelli, Mercury,
Carreras, he sang of Antoine,
Of Sinatra, Lennon, Morrison, Redding
He sang and songbirds paused in flight
He sang like them all
He sang a song of himself
Of leaves of grass, of second comings
Of Byron, and Bharti, and Cummings
He sang of Neruda, and Plath, Tagore
Dickinson, Kamala Das and Naidu
Oh, he sang of them all
He sang of art and beauty
Of Mona Lisa and starry nights
Girls in green dresses and pearls
He sang of Van Gogh, of Picasso
Of Rembrandt, da Vinci
He sang of Michelangelo
He sang of sadness, pain
He sang of My Lai, Sand Creek
Of Guernica and Krystallnacht
He cried and sang of Wounded Knee
Of Katyn Forest, Sabra and Shatila
Oh, he wept as he sang
He sang of history and wonders
He sang of Olduvai and pyramids
Machu Picchu, Tikal, and Angkor Wat
He sang of a great wall, the Taj Mahal
Stonehenge, Easter Isle, Mesa Verde
His song took us to them all
He sang of courage
A song of Bunker Hill, Gettysburg
Of the Alamo, Normandy, Stalingrad
Of Lincoln, Guevara and Dr. King
He sang of Bolivar, Bhutto, Ghandi
He shamed us with their song
He sang his song...
As women sighed and peasants cried
He sang until the rifles fired, he died
Songbirds fell from the sky
Soldiers broke their guns on stones
And marched into the deep blue sea.
r ~ 4/12/14
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
I’m talking to you
in my head
been cultivating this shyness
since I was three years old
talking to inanimate objects
painted smiles, rubber-skinned
metal frames
turning wheels
the family minivan kept me company
as mountains rose and fell
like held breaths
let go.
playing games with pregnant raindrops
rolling down the glass
obsessed with the shark’s fin triangle
the wipers could not
reach.
I’m obsessing over seeing you.
always trying to be invisible
your eyes beginning to skim past I,
they didn’t used too.
*“The voices that once spoke love
but did not mean love.”*
the withered rose living
in the trash,
abandoned friends in the attic
forgotten songs
unfinished books
I am the forgotten
I am the abandoned
I am the left behind
cobweb-and-cotton-dust-collector
the silence connoisseur
I wear loneliness like an unwashed favorite shirt
If I die
Will you read this?
Does anyone else think such things
or is Tonio Kroger my only brother?
I am Kafka’s cockroach,
everyone is waiting for me to die
or to change into what you want me to be.
my name will not be in the history books
by the time my children’s children will have children
I am no one.
Everything fades in this world
like whiteboard-marker on acetate lives.
Desolate corners and garbage
tell stories
art is vandalism, vandalism is art.
and people wear diamonds but they are worth nothing.
and babies inherit their father’s eyes.
I am not yours.
You are not mine.
Isn’t ownership objectification?
If a man owns a clock
does the clock own the man?
Let’s be
money and greed
or
greed and suffering.
one cannot survive
without…
Let’s be
the mismatched pyramids
of wealth and population
form a parallelogram
like bricks on an unstable wall
never falling down.
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 7:46 AM UTC
Cloud that I float on, carry me to Peru
send to me exotic birds, bearing gifts of aqua blue
Lets take a detour through the mountains of Kandahar
for it doesn't bother me if I come out with battle scars
Oh please, oh please can we stop in Dharamsala
I have some questions to ask His Holiness, the Dalai Lama
Cloud, if its possible can we please time travel?
I want to see how they built the pyramids from dirt, stone, and gravel
Lets defy gravity, next stop Andromeda
being 2 million light-years away we'll see scores of space phenomena
Our next and final stop shall be a place called peace
take me there, please cloud, but on the way lets visit Greece.
-Bobbie Leigh
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
Samantha Fox
Was a panther
In a previous life
As well as an ox.
Not to mention
The wife of a
17th century cobbler
On the outskirts
Of Gillingham.
Which is unusual
As those who remember
Past incarnations
Are usually the wives
Of Heads of Nations
Or helped build pyramids.
Actually said Samantha
I forgot to mention
I was also the transistor
In Euclid's protractor.
Can you get anachronisticer?
Oh reincarnation
The rebirthing
Mother of invention.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
the cosmos
a web of plantary oppositions squares and triangulations
curses and blessings
demons, humans and gods
friends and enemies
each a constituent
a revolving carousel of heavens and hells
the macro, an umbrella of spilling stars
like shattered glass in flames
outer and inner stone & gas planets
wandering infinitely
like strays
others in tight gravitational ellipses and eclipses
the elements of fire air earth and water
from the most subtle formless
to rocks flames oceans and the air we breathe
disjuncture
in a
a mix-meister
a gruesome churning mouth swallowing our delicate membranes
and we wonder
why
we are in pain
why
we are nourished by flesh
as we ourselves are consumed
filled with blood and nothing
and deadened by marking time
all hungry shells
and why
we wither to dust
as do suns and moons
and gods themselves
all of us children of monsters
and corpse eaters
born of magnitudes
episodic collisions
and harrowing creative destructions
the dead living and the living dead
with eyes that flicker only on half a landscape at a time
a holloween
of pyramids and bones
always running from wolves
because we are meant to be eaten
okay my darlings
now
lets try
focused breathing,
and boundless light
lets try
being Hindu
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
Despicability is the foundation to their life
For them it is intrinsic
Genetically encoded
Simplistic
Poetically eroded
Reprehensible at best
**Unscrupulously callous
Secrets and facts, they conveniently
ingest
Distorted byproducts, they release to the
masses
To aid their campaign; a forked tongue
fest**
Pathetic and unapologetic
A beast armed to the teeth
Imported bypasses to increase the flow of police
A weakness and an act,
They so vehemently attest
**Harvesting greens off the branches of
the people
Pockets engorged with wads and folds
Crushing blue collars at the lower levels
As they sit atop their pyramids of gold**
Today they sip champagne
To celebrate their reign
Tonight we'll skip being humane
To feed them excruciating pain
**You've incited this coup with ill-thought
deterrents
Now herald the arrival of the scourge
Down with lopsided governments
Tonight... All we would topple! Tonight we purge!**
Justin G
ryn**
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
may the way that gives way to this accord of may be in awe of truth and not the fruits of disarray
I shall be meditating upon the roads travelled and many discoveries gather that I have unravelled
I shall curl my high excitements and misguided ambitions to unfurl what the calls of the wise unfurl and admonish
In the mist amidst the tricking twists of fits and false gists, may I hold up fists that will seize to desist and delete the disease of fallacy in curtailed wit
In the shadows dark, some pale
may I not fade into the tales of lies and manipulative games
In the guise of dames so modern and fabulously inclined to fame,
may I guage and carry my animosity into the mystery of my identity where only the genuine and real can relate
In the encounters with material and all that deters from the mystic and ethereal,
I hope to remember the real surreal to surmise the reels of fantasy thrills in graphic frills and euphonic trills
However the gigantic systems of the world in money, greed, vanity or lust, may doctor sickness into the souls of the lost and weak:
may my heart remain meek and my vision bright and led by the lens of the soul....
With or without I pray not as a religious pilgrim but a sage seeking neverending Light... ever the more grateful, harnessing the grapes of creation, worshiping a servant's code in humility.
hustling about this rash hassle of life overshadowed by pyramids and castles
remaining true to the cause even when temptation is endlessly bustling about
remember remember the hustle when you were down and out without
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
The little Toblerone bar,
a sweet one he is,
with his heart all a flutter.
He wanted to be mighty,
with as much strength
as he could muster.
Powerful as the pyramids!
Cool as the Swiss Alps!
Majestic as the Everest!
He dreamed of it all;
to become
greater than China's Wall.
But what he never realized
Through his chocolate brown eyes
Was his pride before his own fall.
Like the Everest, Swiss Alps,
Even the mysteious Pyramids,
Humans have stripped them
of their treasure.
Because Toblerone was broken down
to be eaten just for pleasure.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame!
All common things, each day’s events,
That with the hour begin and end,
Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.
The low desire, the base design,
That makes another’s virtues less;
The revel of the ruddy wine,
And all occasions of excess;
The longing for ignoble things;
The strife for triumph more than truth;
The hardening of the heart, that brings
Irreverence for the dreams of youth;
All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds,
That have their root in thoughts of ill;
Whatever hinders or impedes
The action of the nobler will;—
All these must first be trampled down
Beneath our feet, if we would gain
In the bright fields of fair renown
The right of eminent domain.
We have not wings, we cannot soar;
But we have feet to scale and climb
By slow degrees, by more and more,
The cloudy summits of our time.
The mighty pyramids of stone
That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,
When nearer seen, and better known,
Are but gigantic flights of stairs.
The distant mountains, that uprear
Their solid bastions to the skies,
Are crossed by pathways, that appear
As we to higher levels rise.
The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.
Standing on what too long we bore
With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
We may discern—unseen before—
A path to higher destinies,
Nor doom the irrevocable Past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain.
3.8k
I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
***** turn all golden in the sunset.
I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
3.8k
i'm not talking about
inter dimensional travel
between the planes of reality
with a final destination of the 8th world
no, just going back to the basics
we've all heard of these
"7 wonders of the world"
theres the pyramids and the gardens
a light house i believe
i'm sure zeus was mentioned
along with arthritis?
no, no artemis, that ol' chap
haliarnassus and colossus
thats about it
seven right, no detail
just brushing up on the facts
well after about 10 years of research
much endured suffering
many fallen tears
and lives given to the cause
I petition the 8th wonder
organic chemistry.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 5:20 PM UTC
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got pills.
All these pills piling up on my desk,
stacked like the pyramids higher than my chest.
all these kids running around,
I hear them Grrrr.. so I lock my pills up sound.
The pharmacy is open to my needs,
she just rolls her eyes to my relapses.
Says she's going to leave me,
if I don't bring the cost down below twenty G's.
oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my
**Gosh **** gosh **** gosh, gosh ****
Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got pills.
Woke up this morning aches in my neck,
gout in my foot, what the heck.
opened the cabinet, pills all gone,
crack addict snuck in, took the lot.
Jumped on my bike, tire's flat not a good start.
no license for a car, ailments mean ill have to walk.
standing behind some old dude chugs out a ****
pills got laxative effect, I think I better not laugh.
Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my
**Gosh **** gosh **** gosh, gosh ****
Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my.
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got!
"groans in loud noises, Aaaaaaaaaa"
And my stomach, my stomach
I said my stomach!
Pills make me want to eat food.
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs.
I got pills I got to take,
so I'm going to take, take, take them everyday.
I have ailments that I have to feed,
so I'm going take which everyone needs
I got pills.
*Mama got pills, daddy got pills,
yo sister got pills,
yo auntie got pills.*
I got pills.
Yo uncle got pills, Everybody got pills, everybody got pills.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
*where are women really safe?
how is it that society-collect FAILS
as humanity stumbles yet again.. and again?
our lady-folk are not safe*..
Amaya-bai finds little comfort but in sibilant-twin
as no eye of sun nor ginoo laid eye on this binukot
Olga is the silent-saint; believes in charity at home
yet chaos ensues too easily - she is wronged and just gets.. lost in the system
Zandile fetches precious amanzi in her sun-soaked calabash
her vigilant-sister falls.. roving guerrilla-men from the river's edge
Michelle, la petite belle, survives the daily-grind via low-coin
tubes to Champs-Élysées as assistante-de-pharmacie
Aadita, from the outset at 15, dons a veil hiding ****** acid-burns
she has some relative-luck to escape sati later on
Amy with downtrod-heart, grabs the tram to downtown family
wearing dark glasses and gloves on rainy-day blues
Emiko graced (yet cursed) with beauty struggles with ancient-practice
despite the ban, silent-suffering lotus-gait in the tiny village
Aisha may be alive but not well from ethnic-marking tragedy
as irugu are outcast from all-too prevalent gishiri-cruelty
*might as well take a trip to Vladivostok
or be dumped in a sarcophagus
beneath the Pyramids
safer there*
S T - 27 sept 2013 - freitag
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 3:59 AM UTC
dear western society,
no one cares for the peasant who provides
the pheasant for the royal table -
but when the pheasant isn't there -
the royal orchestra cries out:
where's the pheasant! where's the pheasant!
as if both pheasant and peasant were alike...
indeed, the peasant isn't there to
provide the pheasant for the feast-
and with such vitriol you proudly say:
once these roaming stars that go against
all reason in cosmology disappear, you'll
know that i was here - you'll know -
perhaps the pyramids were only overshadowed
by the Eiffel tower, but many more pyramids
were mentally tattooed into the minds of men -
and rose far greater and were more
harder to overcome that man took to
climbing Everest - stone by stone his legs
encountered a new form of laying brick-on-brick -
for if western society deems me mad
to purge the old hopes of colonial rule - then
i have already chastised my body to have no heart,
and let it be carried on course toward Iran
or Afghanistan - and there entombed -
i hope Western society loves its humour as much
as it loves it's panic and paranoia and picnics
of waiting for the far right to wake up -
and this liberal-leftist mush of kind words to
be shoved into Disneyland of other fantasia.
yours sincerely,
Vermin.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
The Great Pyramid
Scared to Death,
which makes sense,
nowhere to go but up,
from the top of The Great Pyramid,
no pictures here,
so free you can’t capture it,
white owls and black cats,
call me Alexandria,
honest what,
do you do when,
all of the wisdom,
gets spoken but people don’t listen.
Listen.
I’m at the top of the pyramid,
and I’m scared to death,
not scared of death,
but scared to death,
and that’s exactly what a paradox is,
Isis,
and Horus,
light the,
menorahs,
bless all,
our children,
the need,
more than hope when,
their families are dying,
and it’s not enough to just be trying,
need more than hope,
need to do more than try,
when you can walk no higher,
that is when it’s time to fly.
Scared to Death,
which makes sense,
nowhere to go but up,
from the top of The Great Pyramid.
Please God,
we are,
the Children of Egypt,
we created the pyramids,
and our pyramids created this,
so don’t expect,
a symphony of sympathy from us kids,
even if we,
we unconditionally accept it,
Oh God,
please don’t neglect,
can’t you see we did this all for you,
and all we ask for in return is your acceptance and respect,
Oh God,
I’m scared to death,
I’m stressed and I’m tense,
please allow me to relax,
and please,
when I reach your gates,
I pray you let me pass,
I am just a child of You,
and we are family especially in death,
yes,
I do believe the Light will prevail,
even if it hasn’t happened in this generation yet,
and I’m excited and I’m ready all my bags are packed,
and I’m climb up the steps to the top of The Great Pyramid,
and I’ll come when you call,
even when I’m scared to death…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
The Holy Trilogy Vol. 1; available worldwide: 11/11/16
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 4:02 AM UTC