Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The Precursor’s Psalms
Book Two
Chapters VI- X: Ragnarök

A sacred parcel to the soul who looks to ―raptured firmaments for their salvific benison. Se'lah.

VI: The Paean of Lovelight (The Paean of Lovelit Life)

1 Every particle in the soil of my epidermis roves for its emanation,
Its musicality, vibrating in pulsing fuchsia shockwaves,
This melodic energy is the Paean of Lovelit Life.
2 It reverberates the remittance in reminiscence;
yes, the Circle of Life breathes through the conduit,
it peregrinates
The ephemerality, even, the eternity in all entity.
(For in us exist dichotomies)

3 In a moment of self-revelation
I know naught but the vagary of the self;
still, the pain remains,
In the benighted truth of epiphany;
4 Yes, even,
Upon the Visage of Creation
All existence groans in groping
For its Nirvanic Pulse, ―like a wraith.

5 Finding meaning in all that I am,
all that I see, all there will be, and all that is,
I understand the fallacy in knowing, the bane in consciousness:
6 In an instant, one must forget

Page | 1

all they have learned, all they feel, all they sense,
in the diminution of a moment
lest the soul relinquish that which does seamlessly transmit itself through
The Streams of Tempus Fugit.

VII: The Virescent Masquerade

1 Forsake all sorrows of the morrow, for
Beneath the Masquerader’s Virescently Butterfly-Winged Mask, there is a beckoning;
2 O, even amidst foible for which you long to be assoiled, excogitations do roil;
A tremulous heart: eventualities do saunter past, present,
future, and in communing you examine the finitude & the frailty
(Will their Exodus, my Exodus,
Come before I am ready?)
Of those in the Land of the Living.

VIII: Hierarchy of Sacrality

1 Wisdom
Is a cosmos,
2 Love,
―Invictus Dei,
3 Power,
The Cradle of Cosmogenesis,
4 Justizia,
Universal Scales through which Edicts of the Cosmogonist unfurl.

IX: Vagrant Story

1 Profundities lie in our vagrancies,
And in these there lie Faiths;
The faithful hunger for
―Virtue
For through these, we find a Savior.  

Page | 2

2 Our Deiform-Apotheosis is ordained by of the Arbiter of Fates,
3 He Is Our Nexus to Transcendence,
The Empyrean whom carnal perdition hast braved


X: Nelumbo Nucifera (Sacred Lotus)

1 ―O, Jah,
The Sovereign of Songbirds,
Sing in the Key of Elysium,
The Requiem of Our Swansong;
2 Beseech the Earthen Womb
Of the Terraqueous Mother
To conceive us anew that
We partake of an elemental legacy.

3 O, then
Might we re-alight,
Upon an aforetime wearied land,
―Nelumbo Nucifera: The Impregnable Sacred Lotus
4 Whose aegis’d petals through
Dusk, Dawn, Midday, Twilight, and Eve
Might effloresce
In the Aeonic Light of The Empyrean One.

(Se’lah).

Written on
Monday
May 20th, 2019

Page | 3
The Book of 1st John
Chapter 3,
Verses 18 -24

(Verse 18)

“Little children, we should love, not in word or with the tongue, but in deed and truth.”

(Verse 19)

“By this we will know that we originate with the truth, and we will assure our hearts before him”

(Verse 20)

“regarding whatever our hearts may condemn us in, because God is greater than our hearts and knows all things.”

(Verse 21)

“Beloved ones, if our hearts do not condemn us, we have freeness of speech toward God;”

(Verse 22)

“and whatever we ask we receive from him, because we are observing his commandments and doing what is pleasing in his eyes.”

(Verse 23)

“Indeed, this is his commandment: that we have faith in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he gave us a commandment.”

(Verse 24)

“Moreover, the one who observes his commandments remains in union with him, and he in union with such one. And by the spirit that he gave us, we know that he remains in union with us."

Page | 4

Hearken unto
the
Resplendent Sol,

The Twilight draweth nigh,
Whence erupts from Sundered skies
Arcadia
In
Aeonic Light

Let ye soul
Transcend
By
The Great Apothecary;
His Panacea of Healing Love.

Though
I am a Loveless
Blight, worn, of Earthly Denizens,
I bid you
Immortal heartsease.

Borne of the Father:
Who
forms
all
things.

Page | 5

Sired by the Son:
Who
Conceives
All
Truth.

Begotten by the Spirit:
That
Burgeons in
(our)
―dreams.

The Grand Creator's
Magnum Opera:
Loom
Within
All of us.


Excelsior Forevermore,


Sanders Maurice Foulke III.

Page | 6
Thine eyes shall see the light of distant skies:
    Yet, COLE! thy heart shall bear to Europe's strand
    A living image of thy native land,
Such as on thine own glorious canvas lies;
Lone lakes--savannas where the bison roves--
    Rocks rich with summer garlands--solemn streams--
    Skies, where the desert eagle wheels and screams--
Spring bloom and autumn blaze of boundless groves.
Fair scenes shall greet thee where thou goest--fair,
    But different--everywhere the trace of men,
    Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glen
To where life shrinks from the fierce Alpine air,
    Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,
    But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.
Look, you have now broken your back bone
Because of climbing tall trees and high balconies
To spy on your wife as she roves the village,
You climbed a Tall baobab tree up to the apex
To play sentry and spy on your wife
When she went down the river to fetch some water
For you to bathe and wash your jealousy body
And when she met her brother-in –law;
The man from another village across the river
Who greeted her with a prolonged hug
Embracing your wife in his strong arms
They way a giant can do to a beauty model,
Feat of goofy jealous gripped you
And you forgot that you were perching in high danger
At the top of the baobab tree, you left yourself unsupported
As all selfish men can in feats of irrationality
Coming down like a sack of wet sand
Falling in a thud, breaking your poor backbone!
Dude; be warned from spying on your wife.
dear immoral,
              salt
seed of
    s
                              la
  ughter
enticingly, affably, salt
compassionate psychic stimulates
  the pigheaded exclamation
compassionate osculation stands
glove
                  gives callously
  equally, nonetheless, equally
quarrelsome loving glove
a persnickety longshoreman
  each persnickety biochemistry
is the
  longshoreman cancerous?
A ambiguous certification
a stupid symphony
leads a wizardry
a road worker.
                    No content,
  j
                      us
            t web,
                                  you
    r bright face
is suffered with an imagery.
Bridge operator:
                agile
                    computation
 ­         today, randomly ordinarily
ah! A
                    trembling
    je
      we
                l­er
confidant loves increasingly
  languidly, sociably, spontaneously
Look! A poor *******
perpetual on my
          quick
                              bible;
  my psychotherapy roves
into a
            bleeding seashore.
Oxygen
  tickles beautifully
boisterous, antisocial, odorous
Look! A quivering predisposition
the
          psychoanalysis's
  preferably quick
      psych
    otherapy-
how
        ebbing it is!
It has the the depression snowed ordinarily.
It repels the grin into the seashore
a
        punishing scream.
Cataclysm predicts perfectly
              stupidly sensually noncommittal
unchanging rambling cataclysm
in t
      he

                        unharnessing camaraderie
a perfect board
          overshadows
  his youth

  so
                                  that it is contemporary
grin
            quick psychotherapies
I repel quick
this punishing kennel.
The chore
into appreciated camaraderies
psychotherapies rove in it.
A ink stick:
  into appreciated ca
                mar
          aderies
psychotherapies rove in
            my own gossip.
Dogmatic, unrealistic cliff
  grip
              of firefly
realistically, subtly, cliff
Situationist
              on my quick bible;
  my paralysis roves
onto a crazy seashore.
Situationist on a
            journey;
  my
            paralysis ambles
onto a
      crazy hotel.

A equality
  onto procreation kings
paralys
          is
        amble outside of the kings.

Buzzard: omnipotent nullification
  extraordinarily, perfectly, saintly
that buzzard is ambitious
This poem was written by a computer.
In measured verse I'll now rehearse
The charms of lovely Anna:
And, first, her mind is unconfined
Like any vast Savannah.
Ontario's lake may fitly speak
Her fancy's ample bound:
Its circuit may, on strict survey
Five hundred miles be found.

Her wit descends on foes and friends
Like famed Niagara's fall;
And travellers gaze in wild amaze,
And listen, one and all.

Her judgment sound, thick, black, profound,
Like transatlantic groves,
Dispenses aid, and friendly shade
To all that in it roves.

If thus her mind to be defined
America exhausts,
And all that's grand in that great land
In similes it costs —

Oh how can I her person try
To image and portray?
How paint the face, the form how trace,
In which those virtues lay?

Another world must be unfurled,
Another language known,
Ere tongue or sound can publish round
Her charms of flesh and bone.
Awake, Æolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon’s harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take:
The laughing flowers that round them blow
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich stream of Music winds along,
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Thro’ verdant vales, and Ceres’ golden reign;
Now rolling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour;
The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar.

Oh! Sov’reign of the willing soul,
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares
And frantic Passions hear thy soft control.
On Thracia’s hills the Lord of War
Has curbed the fury of his car,
And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command.
Perching on the sceptred hand
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing:
Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.

Thee the voice, the dance, obey,
Tempered to thy warbled lay.
O’er Idalia’s velvet-green
The rosy-crowned Loves are seen
On Cytherea’s day,
With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures,
Frisking light in frolic measures;
Now pursuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops they meet:
To brisk notes in cadence beating
Glance their many-twinkling feet.
Slow melting strains their Queen’s approach declare:
Where’er she turns the Graces homage pay.
With arms sublime that float upon the air
In gliding state she wins her easy way:
O’er her warm cheek and rising ***** move
The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.

Man’s feeble race what ills await!
Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain,
Disease, and Sorrow’s weeping train,
And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate!
The fond complaint, my song, disprove,
And justify the laws of Jove.
Say, has he giv’n in vain the heav’nly Muse?
Night and all her sickly dews,
Her sceptres wan, and birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary sky;
Till down the eastern cliffs afar
Hyperion’s march they spy, and glitt’ring shafts of war.

In climes beyond the solar road,
Where shaggy forms o’er ice-built mountains roam,
The Muse has broke the twilight gloom
To cheer the shivering Native’s dull abode.
And oft, beneath the od’rous shade
Of Chili’s boundless forests laid,
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat,
In loose numbers wildly sweet,
Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves.
Her track, where’er the Goddess roves,
Glory pursue, and gen’rous Shame,
Th’ unconquerable Mind, and Freedom’s holy flame.

Woods, that wave o’er Delphi’s steep,
Isles, that crown th’ Ægean deep,
Fields that cool Ilissus laves,
Or where Mæander’s amber waves
In lingering lab’rinths creep,
How do your tuneful echoes languish,
Mute, but to the voice of anguish!
Where each old poetic mountain
Inspiration breathed around;
Ev’ry shade and hallowed fountain
Murmured deep a solemn sound:
Till the sad Nine, in Greece’s evil hour,
Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains.
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power,
And coward Vice, that revels in her chains.
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost,
They sought, Oh Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast.

Far from the sun and summer-gale,
In thy green lap was Nature’s Darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon strayed,
To him the mighty mother did unveil
Her awful face: the dauntless child
Stretched forth his little arms, and smiled.
“This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear
Richly paint the vernal year:
Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy!
This can unlock the gates of Joy;
Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears,
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.”

Nor second he, that rode sublime
Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy,
The secrets of th’ Abyss to spy.
He passed the flaming bounds of place and time:
The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze,
Where Angels tremble while they gaze,
He saw; but, blasted with excess of light,
Closed his eyes in endless night.
Behold where Dryden’s less presumptuous car
Wide o’er the fields of glory bear
Two coursers of ethereal race,
With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o’er,
Scatters from her pictured urn
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
But ah! ’tis heard no more—
Oh! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit
Wakes thee now? Though he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with supreme dominion
Through the azure deep of air:
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
Such forms as glitter in the Muse’s ray,
With orient hues, unborrowed of the Sun:
Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way
Beyond the limits of a ****** fate,
Beneath the Good how far—but far above the Great.
Megan Sherman May 2017
With voice that could inspire the angels of hell,
    To rise up, take arms against the Devil and rebel,
    You sing to Heaven of Love's luscious truth,
    Consists in it a kind of Beauty rare forsooth,
    A song to make all heart's swoon, take flight,
    Banishing demons of the night,
    Thou art the sublime friend, risen from eternity's fires,
    Inspires feelings suffice to be sung to lyres,
    Thine destiny to be immortalized in words sublime,
    That vanquish hell and transcend time.

    O cherished friend, beget thy sweetest sound,
    That doth ring along the Earth, up and around,
    Gift me with your precious Peace,
    Your perfect care, your clamouring Love increase,
    Blithe spirit indeed, coy mockingbird,
    Who does true justice to the word,
    Where God sings instead of does the verbs,
    I knew in my Heart I was one of your herd,
    Cubs of God, afoot on paws of passion,
    Love an exquisite chemical reaction.

    Borne aloft on divinest wings,
    Troubador inspires mind to flight, to sing,
    Searching fathoms of Love, the depths of soul,
    To unite the Heart with one and all,
    Fierce the luscious hues and hot,
    The passion which through my mind crept,
    For Truth of your words I could have wept,
    Deciphering mysteries of our Heart's crypts,
    Knowledge true on which spirit roves,
    Your song frolics in Love's treasure troves.

    Keep the flame alive my friend,
    Make my spirit whole once again,
    Next to thine truths illusion pales,
    Thine words doth scale all Heaven's vales,
    Fluttering like a ribbon on the breeze,
    Blowing through the wind and trees,
    Touching ears and minds and hearts,
    Gifts with light of love which imparts,
    Truth sufficient to be sung to lyres,
    From that great Knight that rose from Heaven's fires.

He walks, traverses Love's line for miles,
To save the Heart from wicked wiles,
That deceive the soul and self of worth,
But Love will be found even in Love's dearth,
Warming our Hearts the breadth of their girth,
Shielding us in warm spirit's sheath,
Dreaming, rocking, to and fro on passion's heath,
His words put Hearts in exquisite health,
Heartbeams go in every word,
Praying sublime to the lovely Lord.

In vain the tyrants suppress his song,
That raises voice above the evil throng,
For all hearts are drunk on his music,
Learning from his passion's rubric,
A Guru who made Love his melody,
To heal our sore and tender malady,
Applying salve to sullied spirit,
With wanton word and wanton wit,
Love grows wings, in every line,
Show me how to make your heart mine

Be forever laughing, living,
Friendly, florid and forgiving,
Let your truth in Hearts gestate,
For it let us be elate,
Towards the light of Lover's sun,
Through which the cosmic fires run,
You take us on wings of blazing fire,
Burnished with colours of desire,
What the mind dare grasp the bolt,
Of Zeus, through which our Heart's shot.
Anonymous Feb 2013
He awakes from deep slumber
to find his beloved missing by his side,
again.
Casting off the shroud of dark, dense clouds
He dons the black cloak of night and begins his frenzied search
for Her - the perpetually elusive one :
He scours the skies, cuts through frosty winds,
roves through the infinity of stars desperately seeking Her,
looks down :
at the lonesome road abandoned by commuters
that treaded upon her all day long
at a dingy alleyway where a girl solicits her new owner
for the night - to be used, abused, misused
at the young woman storming her way back home
distraught from a break-up with her Casanova of a lover -

- all this, while She trails behind him
in his quest for love, silently accompanying him
as he drifts over unknown lands,
hoping his agony abates, wanting to tell him
she is there, he could see her.
She, who lends meaning to his being,
his silvery, mesmerising
Moonlight.
This was inspired by 'Mrs.Sunshine' by Meena Kandasamy (Indian poet, writer, activist and translator).
she wanders through the forests and the groves,
her bare feet scarce upon the mossy ground,
as day sinks into night without a sound
and sunset fills the skies with pinks and mauves;
and like a restless breeze she wildly roves,
a love-lost woodland dryad, summer-crowned
and who could ever guess where she was bound,
or why the sea so whispered near the coves.
her eyes as bright as a white-feathered dove,
beyond the river, near a sheltered tree,
she rests awhile finds lilies for her hair,
their flowery mist no prettier than she,
(enchanting in the hearkened, vibrant air,)
her heart soft-brimmed with longing and with love.
Iyallo Nov 2020
Distant in the sky at night,
a profound and shiny light,
the moon slowly moves,
like a sloath on the roves.

A sensation in summertimes,
a cloud that sometimes
dresses the sky of white
when the moon guides my typewrite.
Mitchell May 2012
The knife sharpens itself
By a naked hand
Gripped by the thoughts of home
And happenings
Of Matthew's killings

Since in the own self
Accountings are remembered
Politely thinking that
Everything you've seen so far
Is a game

There is nothing
That is not your own
And Oh My God
There is once a place
That you know now
There is something you are up against
Yet you don't know what it is

Marching roves
Of men with the geeks and their money
Sweat trickles from the
Leather books of their
Leather shredded souls of the ******
And here the stone piles lay
The guts of a revolution
Paid off with nothing
But the blood of the brain washed equipped

So
The swearing of news
Of lands split apart by differences
Arms themselves with theories
Ways of living
Separation of man to man

And business
Is as loud
And as quick
As the shot
From a gun barrel

We are lead by
Monsters
So in turn
We are only minions
Of Monsters

Preceding in a
Discovery
Of an old enemy that
Swears that blood
Would never be
Thicker then their hate

The blasts
Begin
As the age of man
Is dressed
In fresh spilt
Sin

And there is the check of the
Young solider at his stone hedge fund
We wheeze for the riches
Of the looks of the great scholars
And lepers of the lost celebrities
Going through all
Of the way things are and the way
Things will be and the present step
We all seem to be obsessed with taking

Walk to the gates of the pearly gates
Sounds of bullets and scream to be heard
Our name, our humaneness, dampens
As we flatten on the torn apart dusty stone
Caught with one eye on the ground, their
Ears bent to hear any kind of sound

Excuses let not alone in warmth an hot bullet
Where former life lived now shows but death
We men, hot in our hurry to correct one another
Excuses everything where we should excuse nothing
And in blood He bathes in bullet casings
A former shell of the man after heathen he hath killed

Though pressed on silken angels wings where
We seek refuge for forgiveness after pleasure
Released' are we when the light is shone upon us
Each word to be released is to be sent to heaven
Our brothers, nodding to the likeliness of our worth
Sees their eyes within the pupils of us, our own brothers

Thunder where the proud is not equal
We marked nothing that could not be fought
Good or bad was not the answer we sought
For we only sought justice in the eyes of good men
We know not how to do too little or too much
We only turn our eyes to the home of our good selves

To the hawk the family runs away from its own mother
She tidies as bullets **** by in their boys imagination
To spread your wisdom is to also spread your disease
Seek the seed of of your turmoil, see you spread your knowledge
To the youth you produced you wished could be free of your curse
The night touches the lips of the innocent as the moon eclipses
Temporal breaths form on the authorities that swear their allegiance

Where time cries we see the shallow man weep their **** of time
The hallways echo with their cries of selfish uselessness
Preciousness shows light on His eye whose end is inevitable
The clapping senate, in their circle, their suits, their wives with sherry
Make no conversation to the people for their wounds are too deep
The people - with their lack of voices - show their mouths with no sound
As the greying suits like the bones within the earth clap to their own accomplishments
The laughs, those haunting laughs, are heard faintly over the lapping of forgotten blood

What must we say of custom but that it is boring
We make the throne to it as we see the revolutionaries toss stones at it
They who hold their essence, their truth to it
Sacrifice their children - later in vain - for the cause of it
Dear custom, you are the one who holds the red hot chain of control
Not the Devil or God or Tyrant or Executioner or Law Men
Ney! We must see that custom is the crutch of all Men
Unwilling to step foot on grounds which they know nothing of
Here - on these mysterious grounds - lays a life better than the last
Here lays a life not afraid of time or change of the ill effects of history
Here stands Ahab and his ship sailing for the mighty ****

In place our God's shed only their light on the one's that resemble themselves
Picked out to present the gift they have been sharing for eternity
The lights shine bright on the eye's of the one's of the camera
Lo' the mud is still ***** lined with a sickness that tries not to be forgotten
We wheeze for we are human yet the God's provide no cure
We die only to be tossed back into their pool of games
They who plays by the rules is imprisoned in a losing game
Rules, a shackle and chain, all presented by the creator of the frame

Prepare for the soft spoken telling of the charging of the army
Our men, sword to sword, relishes their hate in the blade
How deep can a man hate when they **** every innocent soul around them?
We pass through sheds of shifting christian childish light that cries
Time pleases of the Shakespearian wears that hold a truth who shouts "Not now, not now!"
Soothing ourselves with the honored number of the royalty that swears
To be mixed with the minnows of the common man to be a unholy injustice
Man turns to God and man turns man into the dirt with which they march on

And in the breath of a love of mankind
An innocence whose mess could bring you tears
And a thankfulness that only bears the strength to show Her fear
We are made of the same blood, the same muscle, the same skin
Yet we fight to the death just to see who will turn up on top and win
Can the hill of our ego's ever be conquered?
Where is our peaceful hill that many wish to live and wander?
Bloodshed is apart of mankind
But there is another side
One that is washed in the ***** pebbles of a forgotten city
And the waves of a mysterious endless ocean
There we will find our answer but I'm going back to
A place I've never been before
Where the piano player plays whatever He wishes
And the midnight wind grants me
A couple of moonlit kisses

Oh the politics of theatre
No, my mistake!
The theatre of politics!
We ask to say this when the cue lands
And the mass of man claps or
Boo's, swearing that with either
There is nothing to lose
We are the mob of the Roman empire
With ipads, ipods, the internet and smart phones
Technology tells us who we think we are
Yet
We are still the stinking rats in the stands
Gnawing on the priced bronze haunches of pig
Chewing dirt with flesh and flesh with dirt
Imaginations as wide as the forehand can stretch
Thinking that a glass based GPS system sets us apart
(They did it with paper and parchment)
Spiraling towards a repetitious existence

I wish not to be human
Yet
I am cursed
To be so

To be apart of
What I will be
Forever

Forces me

To favor the good
Within myself

Within
All of us
Nicole Lourette Dec 2010
flying into Chi-town
Altoids of various sizes
litter the scenery.
An artfully constructed
playset thrown off
by the skilled placement
of refreshing breath mints.
Maybe they’re off brand,
or perhaps ecstasy,
though I don’t see any
smiley faces or hearts.

I like to look for high school
tracks as we descend.
Forget the football fields,
they’re far less interesting.
Mostly black, though
sometimes gravel, dirt
or red and even
purple once,
though not in Chi-town.
The homestretch extending beyond
each curve;
no hurdles in sight
much less a sand pit.

A mile inland
there is some sort of water.
The body scattered
and split like some
kind of man-made accident.
shallow sand banks
invisible from the ground look
like dead whales.
floating (submersed) there
like lifeless, sandy corpses.
Maybe it’s because of my “Free *****” spree,
but I see whales.

I’ve never been to Chicago,
only in and out of the airport
and catching glimpses of what I
can see through the windows
of Midway.
My good friend has flown with
me once, but we parted at the
big city.
Have you ever wondered why
cities are built like mountains?
the tallest buildings in the
center with everything
else leading up to it?
Kinda like that Verizon commercial
with the magnet and lead…
Maybe I’ll Google it
to find an answer.

There’s a private airport a
little closer.
(Too good for Southwest to land
there). Private jets and runways
too classy to have a White
Castle across the expressway
from it.
They have cornfields.

Even closer now.
The houses larger with matching
sheds and identical roves.
Almost all have pools, makes
sense for a windy city like
Chi-town.
Some are covered and
nasty for the impending
winter. Playsets and driveways,
minimal trees.
I wonder if the children
ever get scared when
the shadow of a 700 series
darkens their windows and slides.
If they look up and feel warmth
in their Children’s Place pants,
throwing their ice cream to the
wind and catapulting into
the comfort of their father’s
arms and then
write about it 13 years
later after they get off that plane.

“Thank you for flying with us
today, please come back and
see us soon.”

A desperate cry for profit
Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,
  Nor other thought her mind admits
  But, he was dead, and there he sits,
And he that brought him back is there.

Then one deep love doth supersede
  All other, when her ardent gaze
  Roves from the living brother's face,
And rests upon the Life indeed.

All subtle thought, all curious fears,
  Borne down by gladness so complete,
  She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet
With costly spikenard and with tears.

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,
  Whose loves in higher love endure;
  What souls possess themselves so pure,
Or is there blessedness like theirs?
Sleep - Oh my dear friend why do you hide
midst the turbulent brooding that twist
and tumble within my fatigued mind?.
Come, let slumber kiss my heavy eyes,
whilst Luna roves the scene Nox has spread,
waken for me Somnus from his bed
to still thoughts and words erratic chase,
till Morpheus dreams then takes their place:
thence to grant me slumbers precious peace,
Come - settle my mind: Please - let me sleep.

3.30AM ©Michael C Crowder @scorsby
15th February 2021
I AM THE PARTY OF A NATION


you see, i am superman, today my friend

i am the party of a nation, oh yeah

i partied in and into every town, yeah dude

i eat up all my party oriental food

for music, the beach boys are good

and so are judas priest and iron maiden are radical dudes

and kiss wants to rock and roll all night, and party every day

and the king and all his subjects, sits down for a feast

i watch all the cool stuff on the computer, youtube internet, dude

and i eat some wild exotic food

i aqm the loudest dude, ya can’t quieten me down

cause i am not like geeky mark on home improvement

i am like the eldest two

ya know the boys who are very naughty

i am picking up good vibrations, ya buckaluck

i am sitting on gold mine, ya buck a luck

cause, if ya know what is good for ya, button up

ya see i like to party with dogs are talking by the angels

and i hate being told i am a little woosey, or an old dogie or a freak

woosesys old dogies and freaks don’t party, as much as me

ya see dudes, ya can’t understand that i am the king of party town

ya see i am a cool party rockin’ dude

i was a cool kid in school

if cool kids throw beer bottles on school roves or crawl between prickle bushes

i nailed the party test, cause i don’t believe in being a square freaky woosey

cause partying is my middle name, and reading poems at the phoenix is my game

RESPECT ME, cause if you don’t, you’ll be shamed from the young dudes

i am not a fighting man, i am a PARTY man, anywhere, phoenix or youtube

i am the party of a nation dude, i am the coolest dude around
Upon the trail, I will tread
Hoping that the darkened avenue
Will conceal the fears that I have fled
Feeling upon my chest the tempest beat accrue

Floundering to gasp my escaping breathes
I toil through the depths and groves
That time’s hand sheathes
Questioning anew my past roves  
    
Knowing that within the question lays the truth
Shall I not search the woeful past?
To expose the crestfallen forsooth
That has amassed

Finding upon the grains of time the paths I took
I wonder if regret would be etched upon the decisions I mistook
tyler ling Mar 2012
When he was revealed to you to be naught but ash and stone
his eyes burnt dusty grey that of a thousand campfires grown cold
            to feel not
                  to hear not
draws likeness to hell on earth
      the leaves so brown and rusty
pay no attention to the girth of his unnoticed masochistic sorrow

so tomorrow may be better than the rest but in his roving endless mind he will find the greatest unrest
                          In all things he finds beauty and in all things he finds lonesome boredom
           so that is why he roves in search of endless pleasures to quell the restlessness he finds when he
       reaches home
                     Too much time he has been stuck in one place
          he grows weary of the endless thoughtless race
                 to places others hate and where on one wants to be
so on his feet he flees
       to the lands devoid of life
to camels
rocks
and the occasional bubbling cree
            The shoes too tight the hurt his feet
they leave an aching, tingling feeling
                                      They yearn to begat themselves of his heel
                                      Plead with the sweat between his toes to never grace the skin of any man again
yet he still wears them
              He knows they cause blisters
              he knows that in those shoes an ever hardening, hateful fungus grows  
                        His wandering feet cannot remember the grass
                        the heat of asphalt
                        the agony of sharp glass
           What is he to do?
           his entire life he has worn some sort of shoe
to walk without?
                           absurd he laments
          He dreams of the day when he will spare no expense
          when the shoe he dawns will be the finest in the world
Another 10 years
               another 10 he hopes
When his tromping up floors will finally pay off
                                                      Will that day ever come?
                            a bigger car?
                                           a bigger house?
                                                          ­ a bigger safe for all his guns?
              He pleads
                      he wonders
                            blindly through life he blunders
hoping for when things will get better



                                                       ­          he was raised not to wonder
                                                          ­                     raised not to dream
                   into suited glass himself he must ream
Wanting not of the beautiful himself he will cry
                                        on his deathbed he will see but lonely sky
Too late to fix now
he wished he had realized younger
even fifteen years would have worked
                                                  
       ­                                                Now he sits
                                                            ­              old and broken
                                                          ­                                       feeding breadcrumbs to flightless birds
                                                           ­               wishing someone would have spoken
                   Told him to cast off the shoe that left his foot choking and unable to breathe
                   His eyes fiery
                            heart masked with rage
                                      he screams ever upward
                           bent with age

                           Broken                                                  Heartless­
                                        Mourning the loss of his life
Imran Islam Jul 2017
Trust is the love
It comes from believing
When anybody burns to anyone
Even couldn’t stir afar, no one
It’s called love
Then do you have love?

Care is the love
It depends on serving
When somebody turns to anyone
Even heart feels like a stone
It’s called love
Then do you have love?

Faith is the love
It clicks every nerve
When somebody gets bored alone
Even mind calls up to the bone
It’s called love
Then do you have love?

The need is the love
It always looks alive
When somebody seems good
Even sense feels like a hone
It’s called love
Then do you have love?

The love looks at the time
It doesn’t believe mime
When someone roves with one
Even some feeling is done
It gets closer the love
Then what do you have?

The love looks for prime
It doesn’t ask for a dime
When someone's faith has gone
Then the love is done
It breaks with the love
So what do you have?

The distance interrupts the love
Then doubt breaks the relation
Truly think, what do you have?
Was it real or be it like fashion?
Tupelo Jan 2016
This blood fat summer has swallowed me whole,
Gulped down my body in one swift inhale,
Living with this pair of fists battering my surface,
One resting on my jaw, another on my gut,
Sleeping under shingles and tin roves,
Waiting for night to settle itself in,
While the others dreamt in their beds,
I wandered twilight streets with a bottle and a question,
Saw my reflection in a puddle under streetlights,
Wondered who’s face stared back at me
An alien memory clawed its way out from beneath my skin
Left a scar for me to remember
The boy I once knew
Megan Sherman Mar 2017
With magick wiles the heathen girls
Doth the path of justice unfurl
Brandishing their torch of truth
To **** the evil spirits, forsooth
To redeem a stolen, pillaged pearl

All eyes turn round, to see the loves
And upon the naked truth mind roves
Our spirits are our treasure troves
Trodden down by bad man's hoofs

Our torch of truth their evil proves
With hearts of stone that can't be moved
We dance with torch and ward them off
On divine zephyr borne aloft
To go to adoring heavenly cove
Nuha Fariha Jul 2014
The walls are made from mossy rough blankets,
buttressed by lumpy pillows.
The flashlight, stolen from the nurse's pocket,
casts yellow moonlight to help him survey the land.  

There's a lot growing in these woods
the roves of blood thirsty IV tubes,
the constant clatter from distant lands
piped through the TV from the next door over.

The prognosis is bad,
but he doesn't care
He's protected here,
in his cradled form,
still exploring even as
he takes his last breaths,
ready to conquer new lands.
Elijah Bowen Apr 2019
hate sings a love song,
blithe, pretty, little tune
in honor of its heritage.
hate sings sweetly, a song
of marches and hangings,
of ghettos and slavery
it hums admiration for its people.
it sings of this land.
the majestic peaks and playful meadows.
it sings, with love, of blood-drenched cotton and  
trenches adorned with crooked bodies.
it sings of its forefathers-  
the conquistadors and pioneers.
saintly butchers and child rapists.
hate paints it’s history holier than the Sistine Chapel,  
singing blindly like a hymn.

hate sings a love song,  
possessive and vicious.  
it scrawls the lyrics on
subway walls and sycamore trees.
it sings in symbols and metaphors,
accompanied by the beat of temple gunshots and kicks to the ribcage.
hate sings through the pulpit and the pew,
clipping it’s verses from a holy book,
it sways to the rhythm of “Amens” and “Hallelujahs”

hate breathes down my neck and yours,
knocking door to door,  
bearing music with a message,  
it weeds out the undesirables one by one.
for the greater good,
hate tortures children therapeutically,
and executes those presumed guilty.
it erases generations
in concrete rooms  
and in the bellies of ships.  
it explodes homes,
smashes panes of glass,
and burns every convenient symbolism.
hate roves and rages and spits and howls,
singing the song of a beautiful future.
mrmonst3r Nov 2016
I couldn't find
a mark that's true
falling       so far away from you.
words are
ashes in my mouth
though will not let me choke
each glassy eye
that roves on me
Can only see a joke.
I'm gone, so gone
yet permanent. A creature
in a snare.
Engage my tongue, my heart, my skin
Yet you won't find me there.
Give up these earthly
monuments
give up the love that
waned.
each trace of me
A poison.
A human,
Tho abstained.
Zywa Feb 2022
I penetrate her,

digging for her promises --


my soul roves about.
Immigrant
"Genker liefde" ("Genk love", 2017, Mustafa Kör)

Collection "Truder"
kelvin mungai Jun 2016
Let cheat the night
And Strip under the moonlight
Make the glowing stars jealous
As my palm spanks your ***
Plant your luscious lips upon mine
And taste the product of my gold mine
Let the universe sing at our awe
While you ****** my breath away
Let me labor as i beg for more
As your sensation takes me to ecstasy  door
Trace my mophology
With concentration like you are studying biology
Read My contours,
As my hands take a tour on yours
Let lust burst our love glands
And Wait for momento to land

Lets cross the line
With our whines
As we spice up the night with moans
Gasps and frozen groans
Let our bodies mould
As my pecker roves in your mold
One we become
As the armosphere calm
Deeper let me explore
Motivate me let me not slow
With lust lets as glow
As the night bow
Iet us paint the midnight with slimes of sin
Before the sun rises and naked be seen
Let us sing
As our ****** start raining
Lauren Christine Jul 2018
these words glide like honey over my tongue
I feel good in my skin
my mind roves in cream, gentle and soft it says
I feel good in my skin
my breath flows in like spring wind
I feel good in my skin
this body relaxes home into itself and knows
I feel good in my skin
oguh stanley Jan 2016
Do we record our endless thoughts that we think when we wake,
On the bases of reality of life that gives and take
Do we remember how the hurt felt,the pain of misery struck
how the joy of forgiveness erases and endless smile stuck
Do you remember how the tears of hurt drips with so much hoarse
And how the past is forgotten full of remorse.
Do we recognize the hug that hurts and how heartbreak feels
The friendly hand that makes and how true love heals
Do we recall how test and challenges of life breaks us
And how our strive to overcome makes us
Do we reminisce how the cost of betrayal was a cheap bargain
And how we learn to move on and to build trust again
Do we remember how finding true love was so rare
And how faith and trust erases every atom of fear
Do we remember how hatred creeps,the world roves in greed
And how true care stood as we sang the rhyme of love in a creed
Do we remember the obnoxious past,the wrong turns and harsh choice
And how we live to learn and speak with the right voice
Do we remember the road not taken,the choice not made
And how we finally understood that life is a beauty that will never fade
Do we recall the intriguing fear of death,the shadow it looms with
And how hope of heaven was the life in us,the spectrum of miracle it shines with
Do we now know not to forget life is a beautiful mystery our minds can never understand,
And how gospel of its gift of abyss and bliss intertwined
Megan Sherman Apr 2017
I woke and saw that life was love,
I stood akimbo to the sun,
I felt, a spread of joy and light,
A truth that soars like turtle dove,
Within the Infinite spirit roves,
Becoming us as I steal in,
I can't fight back the joy I'm feeling,
Love's aside my stoop and sings,
Effulgently, for everything.
Megan Sherman Mar 2017
Troubadour of the city, whose entreaties have me captive
Thou art a devotee and loyalist of heart
In thee I see the genius of Love, a passion native
Activity refined, most exquisite art
Meandering o'er streets and greens
Goes troubadour, sauntering to inner music
On a path of fire and passion the melody careens
Imbued with cosmic tune melodic
At the loom of my life the troubadour weaves
I wake to go wild upon the call of Love
Each dalliance one of the falling leaves
From life's wizened tree, her blossom roves
     O troubadours thy melodies make
     The stained and sullied spirit wake
Megan Sherman Nov 2016
Wondrous is the word that wakes
The slow and slumbering mind
To the magic of reality
Oft forgotten, left behind
Like letters sent from heaven
Words adorn our ears
Matter gleams with meaning
Wherever they appear
In earnest writers herd their words
In to magnificent parade
Treating us to multitudes
Of visions that cascade
Words can shock, surprise and snare
When you don’t know to expect them
There are more words in a human mind
Than colours in the solar spectrum
Words speak of possibilities
We might not entertain
Worlds are woven in to view
A tapestry aflame
With words we can make sense of things
With words meaning roves
But best of all words permit us
To communicate our love
Megan Sherman Feb 2017
Towards luscious light of love I go
Atop the truest steed
The journey has me rapt in throe
My spellbound spirit bleeds
All that we know of Truth is Love
Devotion to our heart's true bliss
On that feeling our passion roves
Enveloped in Love's kiss
The forest of my desire is ablaze
For being touched by desire
Heaven's fearsome, furious rays
Most divinest of God's fires
    Towards luscious light on truest steed
    I go compelled by my Heart's greed
I.

you would feel it.
   the bones of it.
   the drone of it.
   the arms and the fingers
   and the inscape of things
   and the sheer weight
   of it.

the mind seeks to inhabit all things,
nailing them to their stations.
indicting them to their prisons.
casting them to their sullen exiles
while the heart
       does nothing.

II.

   the hand's meager unraveling
    is its realness
   not its assumed truths.
   the parcel of the mundane shifts
  its weight across people-rivers,
  as light roves in secret strobe.

   you cannot feel it.
        the heat of it,
    nor hear it,
         trundling in its train,
   dwarfing in yonder light,
    controlling its rages.
   you can see it always speaking,
  as nobody hears a figment of
    a shadowed creature when it
     is cut in the tough ornate -
the body tries,
      the mind is asleep,
    and the heart is where all
  the frays take place.
Megan Sherman Oct 2022
With aura of gold, as such inspires psalms
A beatitude which fretful, encumbered mind calms
I sing to thee, sweet moon, a luscious pearl
Which into night time throne ascend and twirl
Consists in this enigma rare, divine beauty
To which the sages pledge entreaty
All hearts swoon with music upon her sight
Harbinger of eternal delight
Sublime as a god paint with pallet of dream
She is all powerful and all supreme

O cherished disc of cosmic bliss
A rival matched to sunshines kiss
Inspires feelings suffice to be sung to lyres
A fixity in time and space that will never die, expire
Could ever I do justice to thy majestic spirit?
In words, nay, don't think I'll ever near it
Pearl in Heaven's clam adorned by sparks
In embrace of which we to the veiled realms embark
Thee borne of God's labour, testament to his passion
Which he begets in floods, not by ration

Gift me with your precious Peace
May thy blessings expand, thy love increase
Borne aloft on divinest wings
That inspires soul to soar and sing
Consist in you spirit blithe, like Shelley's coy sparrow?
Your healing light penetrates like arrow
Into heart and mind, begin to heal
For energy healing is self-evidently real
To intuition, not gray reason thine appeal
Wisdom not from facts but the truths we feel


Moon a sublime friend, wields and wends
A bounty of pure energy sages guard, forfend
Beyond mere icon, an authentic power
Graces with presence in the witching hour
Assist as we fathom depths of soul
To unite the heart with one and all
Upon thy beauty spirit roves
Frolics in thy treasure troves
I crawl under canopies in thy golden grove
A liberation as such the satanic architect loathe

For moon outranks the schemes of men
Who divide the world to the power of ten
Splendour of the cosmos reduced to sordid schemes
That dare to bastardise our dreams
A soulless empire which subjugates earth
In which evil breeds after it was birthed
A pearl defiled by rubber treads
Of men who rule with imperial heads
But her blood not blue, in fact it red
Peace the agenda to which she wed

In vain the tyrants suppress moon's song
For all their efforts her voice far surpass evil throng
The hearts of the witches are drunk on her music
Learning from her passion's rubric
A guru would revere her melody
To heal our sore and tender maladies
Applying salve to sullied spirit
Medicine more powerful than logic, wit
Healing that cross our hearts writ


Keep thy light alive my friend
Make the world whole once again
Next to thy shine illusion pales
An aura alighting Heaven's vales
A beacon of hope amidst deep treachery
That restores the faith inside of me
I may dwell among the ground and trees
Accustomed to the earthly breeze
But my spirit is still commit to moon
In which divinest beauty hewn
Megan Sherman Jun 2018
A year! - My head sunk beneath
Horizon which conceals the hell
Drags its prey along by teeth
Around, around the soul’s grim cell
An eternal year these torturous ways
Which make me see, sense, hear the soul
Of deathly fear, that reaper strays
To maim innocence with hot claws foul
My hunted heart, my shredded mind
Could never last the trials of fires
In which grim Lord in evil refined
Sets to torture and never tires
That empty, putrid and bitter eye
From whence the pits of torture surveyed
Roves its sights upon me as I
Relinquish hope for which I’d prayed

— The End —