In blood, a precious cake dancing
aflame in whirlpool of
cyclopean darkness.

The triggers of sanguinary
guns are tumbling down tears,
sorrow and grief in gush on
the cliff of darkness.

The moon,  a crimson cake of
venom toasting blind sun in
gory rays as stars twinkling
blood at dawn.

The orphan profusely wailing
for peace in her own bizarre
carnage in bazaar of iniquity
and rivers of blood.

Let the world stop this blood
Lest this blood stops the world!


©2018 KAYODE STEVE ADARAMOYE

Charming lass, the shark she did trust , was a nimble one,
softly nibbled the dead cells laid crusted on her heart
genial it was so she felt like closing her tired eyes a bit,
her bed, lukewarm water, ominously bobbed all the while.
A woeful clown, she dreamed, tried everything to make her laugh
with his pathetic pranks; a jellyfish wearing a  wedding dress
seeing this, smelled blood, tried to raise an  alarm.
The shark was the one responded, "Don't you wake her up"
the waves were lapping on the shore, then dense silence reigned,
as expected a sanguinary sunset it was,on water blood lay splattered.

We are all like deformed seraphs
With seven wings that flight death.
We conceive filthy cherubs in swamps,
That dwell in the eden of our own making.

We have inherited muck from our fathers,
Passed on as glorified heirlooms;
And like fools we are, we proudly raise
That useless dirt we crawled out from.

In an effort to save our decadent ways;
We put our own blood over our doors,
And don our fig leaves that wither
As ******* sons and daughters of the earth.

Like heretic church curators we are,
We gather choirs that sing hymns of lies,
As its melody echoes in a swift pace
To defile the hearts of the innocent.

Truth and Beauty, do we even know?
Our own replica of it, we create.
We liken it to things that poison and ****,
And celebrate upon ruins of graveyards.

We have taken Death’s sickle,
And used it to tear the Book of Life.
We sleep in the mount of skulls and bones,
Where our castle of agony lies.

We dwell in the place of worms,
We have built a throne of flesh,
We have dined on decayed carcass,
And drank sulfur for wine.

We have fed our children to the wolves,
As the blood of our people
Seep in the soil of the earth,
And flow in the waves of the seas.

We have crept like marauders
Under the beds of our neighbors,
To slit their throats in their sleep;
So that we may bathe in their blood.

For we all desire to be drenched in blood,
To be covered in its velvet cloak.
Not knowing, that the blood we seek all along,
*Is the cleansing blood that Christ gives.

Head a hostile environment again
Emotion overthrows intelligence
Fragile skull accepts another beating
and indecency becomes preference

Absorbing black into gray matter
Meticulous infiltration;
Makes death a desire
and living a fear

Friendly fire
Mind battles disease, disease
obliterates mind to violence
collided with sharpened corners of myself
****** mess, wrong message

Swallowing hostile heavy medications,
contain my elation so that overjoy
doesn't morph into mania, or joy
Mass of electrons now inside
find nothing positive; thought paralyzed

Deviating cells that scare themselves
from the darkened sanguinary state.
wide eyed faces searching for a homeostasis
Far from stable since demon's rule

Constant epiphanies with no execution
turn to facts filed in brain catalogs
Fully aware solutions are there,
but the drawers are glued shut

~kb

I dreamed of Frida Kahlo
"yo era ella amante"
pure, paupered prince to her primal queen
yet still I hollowed a carnal niche into the midst
of one perdurable, lurid " noche de los muertos"
and fingered the lachrymose from her lacerations
counting prurient  time in a piercing nine of
perennial persecution before I wore her pelt
to lay me down in her sanguinary glow

Perdition falls from your lips in pretty posies
sanguinary lies woven within an embellished fairy tale
they drank the kool aid of your bastardized  aspersions
it's evil spell cast, hypnotizing the living dead
devil with archangel wings doth pose in velvet idioms
spewing respite in dark undertones of ego's rejection
perusing any that would annihilate acrid truths
peer in the mirror to see the lying heathen lecher
****** venom dripping from your deceptive sword
in bitterness of jagged tongue's kissass contempt

hell hath no fury as a soulless man scorned*

How did you get to be so unkind?

Perdition falls from your lips in pretty posies
sanguinary lies woven within embellished fairy tale
they drank the kool aid of your bastardized  aspersions
it's evil spell cast, hypnotizing the living dead
devil with archangel wings doth pose in velvet idioms
spewing respite in dark undertones of ego's rejection
perusing any that would annihilate acrid truths
peer in the mirror to see the lying heathen lecher
****** venom dripping from your deceptive sword
in bitterness of jagged tongue's kissass contempt
'don't talk about it, talk about the weather'~
hell hath no fury as the man unveiled to the masses
history repeats itself and no one seems the wiser....**



How did you get to be so unkind?

To the warmth of life
And passing through with grace
Of a woman in hand under veil,
Lavished in her unconquered beauty,
Enamored with her saving grace
Amid the elation of first kiss,
Under the spell of first eternity.

And through the veils of silence
When the swarm of sounds of
Making love have devoured the hours
And he stares into fertile eyes,
The truth of his belief in them,
And the prelude to forever's nest,
The dove returns upon white unifications.

But soon the dove will deny the embrace,
And the cold lonesome dove
Will be forgotten in the skies blue,
The touch of ****** prowess ,
The soft moist of lips that convened
A destiny of adornment with kisses
So deep and meaningful that it vibrates
Through times like a phantom flame
From forever's fire,
The bitter flight of the dove with passion
To ravage her body,
Upon the return open does the veil.

Before passion abandons,
Let them return home to nest
The kisses from that eternal night,
That journey for the taste your
Of your sanguinary fruit
Provoking the eternal flight.

Before her lips close at the dove's
Return, lift the veil of forever
On the romantical threshold,
The death and purity,
The light and the venom,
What white veils may hide.

In 4 sonnets, by Sara L. Russell
(aka Pinky Andrexa) 2/6/03

I

A vampire's spun of dust and frailty,
Condemned to shun the healing light of day;
No innocent first kiss for such as he,
No cross to keep his own demons away.

He's poised in shadow, by the lady's bed,
Fixated by her flawless, youthful skin,
Her fragile throat beneath her dreaming head,
Translucent, showing pale blue veins within.

"And will I lift the curtain of thy hair,
And on thy pale white *****, stoop to feed?
If thou wakest to find me sleeping there
Would there be retribution for my greed?"

She does not hear his whispered litany.
He stoops to feed, in silent ecstasy.


II

Her blood intoxicates him right away.
His head is reeling; he is feeling strange.
She's tasted claret earlier that day,
Surfiet of wine has caused her blood to change.

Inebriated now, he starts to yawn,
As gently, like a cradle, the room sways.
He's mindful he must not linger till dawn,
Yet down he lies and, dozing, there he stays.

Wild dreams of parties fill his sozzled mind:
Of sanguinary crimes, of flying free,
Of hanging upside down with his own kind,
In places that the sun will never see.

As if thrown from a lofty height, he lies.
Beside him, she has opened her blue eyes.


III

The lady does not turn her drowsy head
At first, but when she does, stifles a cry.
The ashen youth beside her appears dead,
With bloodied lips; until he seems to sigh,

Whereon his mouth curves into a half-smile,
His wanton eyebrows flicker as he dreams.
She settles down to watch him for a while,
How very dark and dangerous he seems!

"And will I lift the curtain of thy hair
And on thy handsome throat, alight to feed?
If thou wakest to find me lying there,
Wouldst thou be angry, or rejoice to bleed?"

Did I say that? She wonders, feeling odd,
She gives her new sharp canine teeth a ****.


IV

He wakes, looks up - and she is looking down.
Her wide blue eyes betray none of her fears.
He stares at her, his hand raised to his crown
(He's not had such a hangover for years).

Gaze locks to gaze; they cannot turn away,
He falls into her eyes, she into his,
Then there is nothing left to do or say
Until they have exchanged a tender kiss.

Now comes her father, thumping up the stairs,
The vampire turns, in dreamy half-surprise,
Lifting her up, and, overturning chairs,
Leaps to the window sill; fire in his eyes.

"You're mine now, little one"  She hears him say.
One more leap - and she's spirited away.

Show him your knife, oh! lovely killer, he wouldn't mind,

Seeing your weapon of destruction before the bull is felled,

How much should he suffer,not any more swiftly bring to an end

Was your's love?In such ingenious disguises, how clever!


Well polished and sharpened is the weapon, such meticulous care,

For the precision expected, never ever you missed your target.

A gleaming cutting edge, you sure want to make him proud.

Now I  see this clearly, the magnificence darkness processes!


If a sanguinary end of love life is thy pleasure, may thy will prevail,

Yes your love has been expressed tarantula like , from the day one.

The dark angel, with a vengeful gift, you are, the dark bloom too.

Yet another martyr of love, all his pain equals to your one searing kiss.

Out of reach from any sound,
Beyond the highest thought,
Invisible across an astral scene, too

Aeonian home,
Forever free

The planets are like
great eyes to me,

My wife owns the moons.

The kids have turned
all fix'd and strange,
Been feeling awfully tame,
Poor things,

Remembering days
insane with esprit,
Moving willingly
through tilted palms,
On crescent waves,

Surrounded by
the clearest ever blue,

Deep under sanguinary hues
and tropic reverie that loom
to meet the sever'd, melting sun,

Arising horizons,
One hundred and one

As violent as fire,
Enough for them all!

‘’We’re running in circles in the night and we will be by the fire devoured’’

This gnawing fire ardently feeding on our weak bodies since the idle bird of our soul was tortured by the rebellious death, and debased if any occult alliance was giving indulgences away, it would be ******, sullied by several sins and it would desperately date a demon despite the dreaded consequences: The forces of Darkness would be dressed in their bacchanal breeches their crowns tainted by their fanciful sets cinching on sordid sanguinary dances in a tremor hearts and hearths in unconverted sets the demon’s sap, onto which would flow the alabaster lymph of the nymph, in an orgiastic horror my senses secede from this union of leeches and leave this macabre theater…

Towards angels, divine messengers, I turned my eye when, alone in the mystical night I screamed from my inner rings they let me touch an aura in a flurry of wings bathing in this fountain of youth, river of the rare ragweed in the radiance of a ray, they appear, one will prophesy the celestial might of their powers, in the new day’s seed.

Oh dear cherub, now recedes the sweet veil of my vision off my tired eyes sliding in the wind when the morning sighs trapped during my lethargic battle late at night, by evil sylphs, life’s harshness ruthlessly hangs onto me with no ceasefire. As I am struggling, if I could only cling onto the coastline, I inquire, of my childhood’s lake…Like a fainted fairy, they plan my annihilation…

“Say my soul, if you were sent before the gates of a double infinity towards which would you hold out your limp limbs, say it please, between Hell’s chaos and Heaven’s inner peacefulness would you choose the Devil or God’s eternity? To whom would you alter your altar and to whom would you give your night? Answer me! Test the shapeless orb of your entity, you know that nothing will leave this room under a candlelight. And nothing will be known, so wiggle with ease. “

‘’I would kiss love, I want to hear neither about the Arcadia or Styx
I want a seraph, would it be blessed or cursed that I would love and cherish.’’ ‘’Oh my soul, such a nice undertake, you would submit to another type of torment thus I say: There is no other painful path when declining, I will blemish your dreams… Love love to death and you will let yourself die- you cannot fix this: Love, when hell tortures you closer and closer to the edge, will tear you appart and bring this pain to the firmament and I would not call this a pleasurable privilege.

In the murky clots of consciousness
between sleep and awakening
we clung to an icy overpass railing
spitting down on graffiti camouflaged
train cars as their charging rickety
boom carried our uncontrollable laughter
toward destinations unknown
Our spirited tenacity was matched only by
turbulent winds whipping us into submission
Forcing us to brace ourselves to avoid getting
swept away
You tumbled backward off the slick rounded bars
of the overpass rail
and bit your lip so hard
I thought you would need stitches
but you kept on smiling as the blood plummeted
dripping all over the tracks in a sanguinary frost
Feeling arrogant and invincible
like two avante guarde dog soldiers
we marched past our old urban battlefields and
grimy fast food cattle fields
closed in on a ramshackle bar
and drowned our taboos and inhibitions in
foam drenched pitchers until we closed out that
ramshackle bar
We gleefully stumbled
wearing hazy street light halos
back to the
duplexed squalor of my doorstep
Sloppy kisses stained with the scent of
cheap beer completed the night
as we tore into each other and
made love on that ratty creaking mattress in the front
room
All I had at the time to rest on
was that ***** old bed
and you
until several months later
when they confined you to
pristine hospital beds instead
Intravenous deceptions and false hope blood tests followed
but even with all the motions of our modern medical drama
we couldn't avoid you getting slowly swept away
I regret never having the strength or honesty to visit you
just as I regret never telling anyone about you and I
I go hang on that overpass railing sometimes
remembering the knock-down-drag-out-reckless perfection
of that night
knowing that my agonizing love for you should
have been something I proudly proclaimed to the world
Now the trains carry away my atrocious wails
as the weight of my shame
nearly pulls me onto the tracks
and spills my insides in sacrificial testament
to all we've lost

Crimson poppies shot through  
    deadened ****** soil
midst fields of deliverance,
    as every mother's tears rained
    upon sanguinary retribution

Coranalled with ruby lumanecents,
She purified her hands sanguinary,
Disdaining her heart's curt, desperate repents,
She plunged into Phlegethon pensively.

Like a mother nursing her one child,
A metal bottle played her heart's succor,
She saw the world: imperfect, defiled,
And laid herself to rest on the wood floor.

Then she prayed, "If I die before I wake,
I pray the lord my branches don't break"

Women i love you for your boisterousness 
and softness too, harshest lighting
notwithstanding 

You are poems of poems of poems
in moonlight beneath crimson moons
encouraging mystery

Women your sanguinary allure holds
me never but your pernicious sorrows
are as captivating as ever

You are goddesses and ****** and archetypes
all the same from salon to Wal-Mart
to the Barnes up the Parkway to the Zoo

Wymyn you are ***** on bykes leather
lesbian jackets and caresses of chains
silent cervixes smattered and schmeared 

Ladies your parts are none of my business
and my love's too Western for that nonsense
but I wish them all good health and plumbing 

Listen sisters, allow me some gravy
for respecting the curvature without
ever needing to ride like Sally into orbit

Your ******* are thousands of temptations
to many men but I'm only enamoured
by your foreign policy experience

Women you know how to know what's what
and make yourselves muses and heroines 
perfecting heterosexual enchantment forever

Hey ladies let's be friends and not so secretly
plot for you to really start conquering the world,
ok?

The impress of form 'neath a veil,
Her scars are but sediments of sentiments
Outlining without specificity the ebbs
Of her dark, internal reservoirs.

Scrolls of indiscernible braille,
Her slashed forearms convey
In archaic lexicon the innermost
Artistry of her sanguinary soul.

One finds within her labyrinthine mind
Innumerable subterranean recesses-
Balmy hollows carved of ashen loneliness-
With room for one and one alone.

À chacun son gout;
She traverses with ethereal placidity
The bounds of her self-erected walls,
Searching for nothing and everything

We're a sad starving bunch

of stupid teenagers

sipping from the sky

an occasional rain drop.

We're a sad starving bunch

of secret-keeping teenagers

shrieking to the sky

the phantom growing pains and all too real slowness of our sappy lives.

We're a sad starving bunch

of sanguinary teenagers

shooting our brains toward the sky

attempting to sacrifice ourselves for something more serene.

he goes to work and sees too many things
for a man who's barely 43
people in plastic wrap
and suitcases
bags and boxes
wash up on the edge of the Mississippi
sanguinary flowers bloom from temples and chests
needles and pill bottles
scattered on floors of broken homes
victims and families
go through so much more
but that nagging worry still pierces my chest
that one day it will become too much
for that man who's barely 43
that it will hollow him out
and that he will be haunted

Just because you now use your spear
as a walking stick, doesn't change
your past's sanguinary veneer
men, women, and children, your range.

All for us to sing of your κλέος,
the shades come back to haunt,
your glory, your fame, your albatross.
dreams of slit throats and screams daunt.

You have given up bloodshed,
we no longer sing your praises,
now you can finally rest your head,
and the enemy thanks you for your hiatus.

Its not what you think it is
When I let you in
Into my head and thoughts
into my quirks and knots
into my bed
where your morals take over
and refuse my lust
you're the type of guy I should be with
but you dont understand that im wounded
still have yet to heal
wounds that I fill
with fire and alcohol
wounds that I ease
at the expense of you
its true
I don't really like you
but you can come over tonight
and get me high with finger tips and lips
teeth on hips and racing blood
just don't look too much into it
i'm ravenous, sanguinary
you're timid
weak prey
offering up a vein

In 622 a. C .; Emperor Cyrus of Persia, invades Babylon and free the Palestinians from Babylonian regime. Thus beginning the migration of many families, including; Afad Kalebi the turn son of Dabhús Kalebi noble Canaanite who grappled stoutly against the Philistines subversive. So he protected his family, within which overcoming fear is nested with love for their land, overcoming the oppression of the invaders.

Afad of untamed nature, had his ancestors that safeguarded. Thus, they returned to Palestine Sea, saturating in the Gulf of Eilat, crossed the Negev, camping in Beersheba. This would feed their animals and then later to rest, Hurián; his son bring music to dance to the ninth lunar position, almost hidden in the hills front. How they danced with her feet, which often could not lift by the dominant slavery...? .

  Upon arriving at Jerusalem like an overflowing river rows coming out of the walled city. The Babylonians, withdrew their last belongings of their illegitimate domains. They stayed two days in the new tranquility in the warmth of his land.

Would Leave to Nablus, as is Moses with his flock to meet the Migdal. In the way when they were about to take the animal oil the wheels of the barouche; They watched the game from the clouds, like a giant flower with its petals blowing their ***** faces, to define clear the haze of the city of Afula, where he split his brother Nameshki. This would go to Nazareth and his brother and his wife Sada Afad to Migdal, the city that saw for the first time feel the talent and attachment to redeem himself of the Gods of War.

Hurián and Miriam, with her quiet temperament would work on the construction of a paralyzed work when they were conquered by the Babylonians ... "The Tower of Migdal" which eventually would remove the planes in the light of the glorious bugles to dive into the abandoned tower.  Nameshki Afad architect brother traveled from Nazareth sky bluish to reddish strip of Migdal.

 Would Begin the magnum opus in 618  b. C., the the would bring stones of the hills vigor of Magdala, in endless lines of oxen took twenty years to build, to be opened just on the anniversary of Migdal, the new rebuilt city in the 598 b.C.- In the courtyard Afad house, damasks and flourished house always smelled of pure essences.

And the evening of the ninth day after being rebuilt solid tower, Nameshki goes up to the top floor of the colossal architecture supports reviewing large windows, giving full weight of the beam with nails and joints that crossed; falling sharply from the thirty-four meters from the stated tower. Aridity faced his tragic end with unfair trade that left him separated from all their loved ones. What purpose it seemed the stomp of Moloch, which..., opened its subclavian veins, to enter the annoying turret in minority  supposedly irreducible magnum opus ...!. With the awful noise of drums and cymbals, and to that respirable bathed sacrifice blood of Nameshki because the Babylonians who lived here; They had the habit of making their offerings subsidiaries sanguinary.

Afad ran strongly from home, where he was dining.
Afad ...:  "The death of Nameshki ... born giant mine ..."
If your heart would betray him falling off his brother. Sada, Míriam and Hurián ran to lift him, took him to the doctor, it succor him immediately detecting that suffer no risk of death, but his life would pass still half of his body.  The dire situation of his father, Hurián decides to travel to a nearby country; Jordan. Because his father disabled, he could not work depriving him of plying his trade. Before leaving, he will pray to the tower and includes vaporous clouds over Magdala, then says goodbye to his mother Sada and Míriam that were in the tabernacle praying silently. Outside light winds hit the roof.

Sada and Miriam, were in charge of his father, cutting his hair and beard from time to time. What a beautiful left after being rejuvenated, and his aquiline nose pointed toward some event in the earthy streets!.
Nor cease to work, only the stunner overcame fatigue, although Míriam continued its work with Tarim; the owner of the tavern Kvish Gadol, it responsible business manager.

TLACAELEL
            Two hundred years have we known only strife,
            Kept innocent of peace, to fortify
            Huitzilopochtli, our grand god of conquest,
            Who hoists aloft our death-denying sun
            And handsomely escorts him through the east.
            Such toil demands the selfless sustenance
            Of that most precious sacrifice, our hearts;
            Small, hot, red gems- we grant them gratefully.
            Our god need not stand waiting for affronts
            Or hissing disrespect to rattle arms.
            No, rather let us seek convenient markets
            Where our Blue Prince of war, when whimsy strikes,
            Might carve downed captives to refresh his plate
            And tie his bib with dead men’s winding-sheets,
            As if he strolled through cheap tortilla stalls,
            And clutched our legions for his currency.
            To this emporium shall we caravan,
            Procuring crocks of blood and priceless hearts
            By bartering to swap our solvent lives.
            Oh, let it be Tlaxcala, gentlemen!
            For if we pitch this depot to the north,
            The taxing hike to those unconquered tribes
            Should prove an inconvenience to our troops.
            Besides, the tough and stringy flesh of those
            Bare-bottomed grunts, rock-knocking savages,
            Must strike our god as stale as sandal-leather.
            Then let Tlaxcalans be his board of fare:
            Moist cutlets, fresh and steaming from the range,
            Shall furnish forth his sanguinary feasts.
            We must not waste these others totally,
            But make a handy pantry of this foe,
            For war- alone undying- must endure.

CUITLAHUAC
            Bravo. I’ll side with you to storehouse them,
            So that we hamstring their free trafficking,
            And thus declaw our sole belligerent.

TLACAELEL
            I’m pleased your verdicts are adaptable.

HUNGRY PRINCE
            Either to weaken or to waste this threat,
            You’ll have my armies at your hand.

TLACAELEL                                                   That's nice.

MOTECUHZOMA
            Now, Hungry Prince, let’s brace for weighty words. . .