Nobility divine fills gaps of transcendence,
    Soars to and from the throne heavenly,
Exalts morals near the king of ascendance,
    Patrolling the good, and sons of the seventy.

A duty forgotten, replaced with dependence,
    On prayers rarely heard, and logic of a herd -
Divinity is far in absence; man in attendance,
    The book is a third, and teachings are blurred.

Andeliviuan corruption supposedly erased:
    The creation rotten of Sariel, wanders gaily.
The holy and fallen angel’s doing embraced,
    By the clay beings caressing evil like a frailly.

By God not, who from heaven him displaced.
    Yet, the legacy of the wrong stands humanly,
In Thailand, America, Palestine, and all graced -
     A grace of sinfulness celestial and worldly.  

Religion is the poor’s only ultimate truth,
     the rich’s side hustle, and the rulers’ tool;
It is the loss of power that defiles the sooth,
    The one the poor has not, but does the fool.

Robbers’ servants, bread crumbs consumers,
    Toothless **** dogs, emaciated lost tramps,
Little blind pawns, vultures’ puppets, tumours,
    And wrenches they are, the upper hand’s lambs.

If only Raguel’s judgements fall upon man,
    Raphael’s punishment beautifies this existence,
Gabriel’s wrath makes not all humans ane,
    And Michael saves us, the Sarahs, in assistance.

In the heart deepened with old repression,
   That mounts with plenitude of filtered feels,
Resides a universe yearning for expression,
    In a meat clay who feeds on calories of meals.

Man, in the genesis, in the light, in the dark,
    In prosperity, in turmoil, triumphed with vices;
vileness, abuse, wreckage is our sole mark,
    On this planet whose population is in slices.

I thought I was good, but as I age
The more I see my human ways
I am deserving of God's fierce rage
Look and see how far I've strayed

Streaked and marred, let down my guard

Knowingly, walked into darkness
Foolishly I thought
I'd never be caught
And night would hide my sinfulness

The light of God was blinding
But sin is the real binding
I preferred His hand in mine
To the crossing of the line

Wicked darkness
See His kindness
When knowing what He spent
How can I but repent

The story takes place on a September day
back in that simplistic time of freshman year,
drenched in the sun and sweat
of late summer in the afternoon,
voices calling and adolescent bodies intermingled,
the stench of hot lunch and ****** conversation.
All of us, stuck and contained
in the most undesirable place to be
on an uncomfortably sunny day.

There were seagulls scavenging
and circling overhead above the Quad,
picking at garbage cast aside, scattered along the floor,
or stranded around nearby trash bins,
as if our school wasn't filthy and ghetto enough.

In a bored state, I sat
and watched them from within the cafeteria
occasionally looking over at Russell, Pokemon cards in his hand,
as he conversed with his nerd friends in nonsensical terms and phrases
and as the tediousness of the situation mounted
my patience did just the opposite
so without a word, I picked up my things
and left.

Now, before this sudden turn of events,
I have to mention
that you and me,
we hadn't spoken to each other in a long time,
not since school began,
which sounds like utter blasphemy to me now,
but this is what I remember
and this is what I realized that day
and if it was otherwise, I don't think
seeing you again would have made my breath
catch in my throat
or my heart palpitate excitedly
to the extent that it did.

Do you remember those benches in the Quad,
encircled by small trees and draped in their shade?
Many times after this very day,
I would stand on the other side by the cafeteria
and find myself gazing across the stretch
at where I knew I would probably find you,
distracted by a desire so tremendous
to be where you were.

Perhaps chance had wanted me to stumble upon the place
or luck found in itself the need to grace me with its presence
enough to allow me
to spot my two friends headed toward those benches
as soon as I walked out of the cafeteria doors.
And so I hurried to them
as relief flooded through my system
because I wouldn't have to endure being with Russell
nor have to walk around for the remainder of lunch
friendless and without a companion;
so thank goodness Russell decided to nerd out that day,
thank goodness I had not developed a love for Pokemon
or had even a vague, minuscule knowledge of its terminology.

As I approached those benches for the first time,
nostalgia filled the atmosphere in waves
and it mingled with the draping heat of summer
so that the result was electrifying.
My eyes glanced over all those I had seen so frequently
during our middle school years
but had not seen as of late,
and then I spotted your curly-haired head
and forgot everything--
all the events that had culminated to that moment--
because suddenly, there you were.

I staggered ahead to greet you,
leaving my friends behind without so much
as a glance.
And then all at once, I was swathed
in your quiet murmurs
and magical blend of words.
Smiles and laughter inflated my lungs and
seeped into my thirsty veins
as I felt time wrap upon itself
so that it became one single, solid, whole piece
and I could not believe that,
for about a month or so,
we had not spoken;
that the profound sinfulness of such a thing
never once crossed my mind.

After the bell rang
and we parted to go our separate ways,
I found I needed to see you again,
I definitely had to see you again
because I had not been touched by words
that warmed and tickled my insides
like those that escaped from your lips
in an incredibly long time,
nor had I felt so fresh, so at ease in anyone's presence
as I did in yours.
You filled me with a gentle, sweeping sense
of happiness and joy
that I came to crave intensely as much as I did your being
which is just a more embellished way of saying
that I realized I loved you that day.

Maybe after sighting
Each other buck naked
That ends the fighting
About whose is bigger
Or whose are real.
There ceases to be a trigger
Of envy, or competition,
As being clothes free
One is in no position
To hide behind frippery.

It is difficult to be snobbish
About your fabric and style
When all you are wearing
Is a sun hat and a smile.
Acting like you are a ****
Of taut body and shape
Wearing nothing but a sock
Makes you a target of japes
About getting over yourself
And maybe even getting real.
It really is that kind of situation;
That basic kind of reality deal.

Most of what is artificiality
Disappears when you’re ****.
It gets easier to face reality
And much harder to be rude.
We quickly see that we are
We are sisters and brothers
And we do not need to live
By rules of fathers and mothers.
They were taught to be afraid
Of body parts called ‘naughty bits’;
Words like ‘nasty’ and ‘stop that!’
You adults can say, ‘I want none of it.
I’m through with thinking my crotch
Is something evil, sick and twisted.
Take my genitalia out of the book
Where you have sinfulness listed.
I exist as nature has made me
And it is wrong of you to correct
The natural person as I was born
Being a ***** is just a side-effect
Of being raised by people who
Were never raised quite right.
Maybe if everyone were ****
That would end the need to fight.

Fay fingers
the black beads
prayer laden

Hail Marys
Our Fathers
her father

listens near
don't forget
he suggests

to mention
your recent
sinfulness

Fay listens
to his words
but then asks

what was that
sinfulness?
you're being

with that boy
who is not
Catholic

he tells her
why sinful?
she asks him

I say so
he replies
you're too young

for a boy
you are just
eleven

so is he
Fay replies
seeing then

Benedict
walking up
past the pub

looking out
the window
of the flat

sitting room
it's a sin
anyway

her father
informs her
walking off

from the room
Benedict
has gone now

from her sight
passed the bridge
where steam trains

often pass
leaving steam
but she has

Benedict
inwardly
in a dream.

Earl Jane nagley:

If only thou wouldst truly knoweth mine sweet Earl Jane, mine evident love for thee, mine treasure, mine all, mine gem, mine queen. If thou wouldst knoweth when I awaketh its thee I seeketh to hear. It's thee, who soothe's mine fear's. Yes, thou doth knoweth to an extent mine amour', mine affection's. Yet, if thou couldst seeith in mine heart and soul, the love, happiness, and peace, and wholeness thou hath brought me, than thou wouldst understand all mine pet. The all, thou hath given me. Thou hast given me a home, as I feeleth more than at home with thee. In all honest speaking, thou art mine home, mine residence, in which this blood floweth through. Thou art the lamp-way God Gaveth me to leadeth me beside the still water's, that the earth doth not give. Thou art the cloud nine; man seeketh to find. Thou art the diamond, the gold, that every miner looketh to get. Thou art that Ruby, hidden from men, seen by God, noticed by angel's, concealed, for celestial purpose. I am but a sinner mine love, a sinful peasant, blessed more than to hath received thee. As tis daily, I'm privileged, to even be in thine presence. As tis they sayeth, when one maketh one better, and maketh one want to do better, that is the one for thee. As thou maketh me want to do better daily, as yes, im a sinner, a man who hath done much wrong, against God in mine life, and mankind, and daily despite mine foolish sinfulness, and way's, thou hath given me a new renewed hope. As god put that hope into mine hand's, and sight. That hope, being thee mine Reyna. That hope is thine smile, thine laugh, thine happiness. Which, so thou knoweth, when thou art not happy; Mine pain's I feeleth from thy sorrow is immeasurable!!! Life, isn't life mine love, unless thou art in it. Unless thou art there next to me. And daily, daily I thanketh god, for such an angel to cometh and SAVETH ME. From mine foolishness, from mine way's, mine anguish. I kneweth not happiness; until thou hast came..As I always sayeth love, God brought us together for a reason. For me to learn thing's about mineself, through thee. And to learn thing's from thee about all thing's. As tis the same for thee amare, to learn from me. As to be guide's to one another, and if it take's a million generation's to get to thee, I wilt do it. Love is not scared, nor afraid mine love, or fearful. In love, as ourn God taught, the greatest thing is to lay ourn lives down for one another; in love!!!! As tis, laying mine life down for thee I wilt do daily, if good, or bad times Earl Jane nagley. I wilt be there, Maby not physically for the time being. But in thine soul, spirit, thought, dream's, in thee........ As thou art  in all of me. We art more than real as thou hath said love. MORE THAN!!!! As tis, nothing, nor noone, canst ever break preordained soulmate's up. As we look around love, and see the world throw the word love around as if some cheap store bought item. We aren't store bought queen Jane; we art creation's of God's own hand's, under his preordainment, and destiny for us. As in life, I liveth for thee, earl Jane nagley. And in death, as thou knoweth, we all hath destination's, and I wilt meeteth thee there to.......as I canst not thanketh thee enough, for saving mine life, mine being, mine happiness, and thou keepeth me alive...... And thou sayest that thou art no angel? Thou hath saved me......
I sayest that is MORE THAN ANGELIC... As thou art God's angel,  and mine messenger, who hath come to save me, as I thou....

Mine Reyna
Soulmate
Best friend
Lover
Amour
Filipino rose
Mine sweet earl jane nagley....


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley/Filipino rose dedication

Corroding off in wreckless control
Repeated lines stretching infinitely in ambiguity
Sharp muscle relaxant mistakes
As we career off the road
Into a ravenous singularity
We are unforgiving, cynical yet synthetically joyous
Quick to pardon
Whipped with a gold leash
Delicate, leaves, Celtic music
Rubik's cubes in our throats
We're ready to let love in, willing
Nova tech, drunk masks and indication
Indignation, we clutch, we fail
Partial to conditions
Stones out of focus

Accelerate
Engines bleed borders
You are the free way
Impotent with quartz remnants
Ruins to our fantasy
You hide history
Covered in my burrow
Braking until necks break & bags burst
Powdered hair, liquid lips
Let's drive home
Go beyond the limit
Break each others bones
And crush our entities
Suffocate on suffixes
Her explanation acquits the doubt
As we appear closer than we may actually be
Industrial stacks stretch towards invisibility
Letting go of their concentrate
Gelatin mind
levitate into connection

Cups turned upside down
Entrapping ego in near vacuum
Aqua ducts bouncing off feline eyes
2 & a 4
Perfect air in a foreign atmosphere
Spinned on axis, ways to conduct
Your supply
Secede madness
Eternal order
Lungs sharply inhale with uncertainty
Hydroplaning your attempts at adultery
Decision was never your thing
Unmoving at every turn
Passion with objects
Reactions flicker between humility

It gives gifts
Your skin melts to the touch
Chocolate in magma
Molten sound deafens drench
Jealous mess, dividend
Hugging and dripping black with stability
Back, holy scripture written with integration
Sealed with treachery, acetate photography
Capturing clear innocence
Boredom and sinfulness
Spiked militant
Pencil drawn neuroses, veil
Bow down to schematics, we're radar
Sonar structure solar
It's all part of the process

Walking through days as a zombie
Begins to remind you that nothing is as it was
And never will be again.
Numbness entraps me
Pick up my lifeless body
With your bare hands, I beg you
Darling don't let go.

Sinfulness no longer feels exciting or dangerous.
Sadness is no longer sadness.
Happiness is illusive.
Life has the tendency to lose its beauty
Because I cannot feel.

So why not take
One more cut to my wrist
One more sip from the glass
One more drag of the sweet smoke of forgetfulness.
One more dose of your potent love
Or your homicidal lust.
You were my *******, my addiction.
Consume me once again
And let me infatuate you once more.
So that I can stop feeling so dead.

Written approximately1890-1899 by American poet Will Carleton, and is shown as it appeared in the Sacramento Daily Union Newspaper on July 15, 1899. Even in his elder years, my grandfather, Odis Riddle, could recite this word for word, and not skip a beat, mesmerizing all of us grandchildren that had gathered around his chair for the performance.

Enj­oy

"If the weary crowd is willing, I've a little word to say of a lightning-rod dispenser that dropped down on me one day; with a poem in his motions,; with a sermon in his mien, with hands as white as lilies, and a face uncommon clean. No wrinkle had his vestments and his  linen glistened white, and his new-constructed necktie was an interesting sight; Which I almost wished his razor had made red that white-skinned throat, and the new-constructed necktie had • composed a hangman's knot. Ere he brought his sleek-trimmed carcass for my women folks to see and his rip-saw tongue a-buzzin' for to gouge a **** in me.

But I couldn't help but like him, as I always think i must, The gold of my own doctrine in a fellowheap of dust, When I fired my own opinions at this person, round by round, they drew an answering volley of a very similar sound; I touched him on religion, and the hopes my heart had' known; he said he'd had experiences quite similar of my own. I told him of the doubtin's that made dark my early years; he had laid awake till morning with that same old breed of fears; I told him of the rough path I hoped to heaven to go, he was on that ladder, only just a round below. I told him of my visions, of the sinfulness of gain, he had seen the self same picters, tho' not quite so clear and plain;

Our politics was different, at first he galled and winced. But I arg'ed him so able, he was very soon convinced. And, 'twas getting toward the middle cf a hungry summer day, There was dinner on the table, and I asked him would he stay? And he sat down among us, everlasting trim and neat. And asked a short, crisp blessing, almost good enough to eat; Then he fired upon the mercies of our Great Eternal Friend, and gave the Lord Almighty a good, .first-class recommend; And for full an hour we listened to this sugar-coated scamp, Talking like a blessed angel—eating like a blasted *****.

\My wife, she liked the stranger, smiling on him warm and sweet, (It always flatters women when their guests are on the eat), and he hinted that some ladies never lose their early charms. And kissed her latest baby and received it in his arms.

My sons and daughters liked him, for he had progressive views, And chewed the quill of fancy, and gave down the latest news: And I couldn't help but like him, as I fear I always must, The gold of my own doctrine, in a fellowheap of dust.

He was spreading desolation through a piece of apple pie, when he paused and looked upon us with a tear in his off-eye. and said. O, happy family! your blessings make me sad: You call to mind those dear ones that in happier days I had, a wife as sweet as this one; a babe as bright and fair; a little girl with ringlets, like that one over there; I worshiped them too blindly! My eyes with love were dim! God took them to His own heart and now I worship Him. But had I not neglected the means within my way, Then they might still be living, and loving me to-day.  

.-.• One night there came a tempest; the thunder peals were dire; The clouds that tramped above us were shooting bolts of fire; In my own house, I, lying, was thinking to my blame. How little I had guarded against those shafts of flame. When crash! through roof and ceiling the deadly lightning cleft. And killed my wife and children, and only I was left. Since that dread time I've wandered, and naught for life have cared, Save to save other's loved ones, whose lives have yet been spared; Since then, it is my mission, where'er by sorrow tossed, To sell to virtuous people good lightning rods—at cost."

" With sure and strong protection I'll clothe your buildings o'er, 'Twill cost you fifty dollars (perhaps a trifle more), What little else it comes to at lowest price I'll put, (You signing this agreement to pay so much per foot). I signed it, while my family all approving stood about. And dropped a tear upon it (but it didn't blot it out).

That very day with wagons came some men, both great and small; They climbed upon my buildings just as if they owned 'em all. They hacked 'em and they hewed 'em, much against my loud desire, They trimmed 'em up with gewgaws, and they bound 'em down with wires:

They trimmed 'em and they wired 'em and they trimmed and wired 'em still, t And every precious minute kept a-run-nlng up the bill. My soft spoke guest a-seeking, did I rave and rush and run; He was supping with a neighbor, just a-three mile further on. "Do you think," I fiercely shouted, "that I want a mile o' Wire, To save each, separate hay-coclc out of heaven's consuming fire? Do you think to keep my biuldin's safe from some uncertain harm, I'm going' to deed you over all the balance of my farm?"
He looked up quite astonished, with a face devoid of guile. And he pointed to the contract with a reassuring smile. It was the first occasion that he disagreed with me, But he held me to that paper with a firmness sad to see; And for that thunder story ere the rascal i finally went, I paid two hundred dollars, if I paid a single cent. And if any lightning rodder wants a dinner dialogue. With the restaurant department of an enterprising dog, Let him set his mill a-runnin' Just Inside my outside gate, And I'll bet two hundred dollars that he won't have long to wait.

the men in their shiny arsed suits
gather close to the door
inhale the incense, the mothball aroma of their neighbour’s Sunday best
endure the droning of the priest,
who denounces the idleness of men
the sinfulness of women
they feel ferocious thirsts building
their minds have wandered  
to the pub where the publican is pulling pints of porter
letting them stand, almost full, on the bar
foaming, settling, forming voluptuous heads
waiting for the appreciative lips, mouths, tongues of the restless church bound men.
one breaks ranks, sidles out the door
the others look sheepishly at each other and sidle, dribble
across the road to slake their thirsts
knowing that they have, barely, done their duty for the week
they can, with an almost clear conscience
drown their sins in the landlord’s best beer.

You left me without remorse and hesitation.
I stayed in exhaustion in bedding of ice.
I see your ghostly outlines.
You are like polar ice cap in distant horizon.
I can not stand insulation.
I reached irreversible aspects of survival.
Little heat of my body has left.
My whole body embraces the numbness to the core of bones.
Dark hallicunations penetrate my mind.

You left me without remorse and hesitation.
Maybe unconsciousness will rescue me from pain.
My heart will stop functioning soon.
I wish I could do something to save myself.
I need anesthetic of your kisses,
your sweet morphine of saliva.
I barely close my eyes to sleep.
I tremble and search for answers
why you left me,
why God allows for loud cry,
why destiny walks dark paths.
Will mountain of ice in you crumble?

You left me without remorse and hesitation.
Nothing makes sense.
Haviness is growing inside of me.
I try to speak with flames of grief.
I try to play with them
but soon I will stop breathing.
Inaudible lullaby lulls me to sleep.
You are my attacker now, my conspirator.
Obviously you feel innocent and blame me
for sinfulness which I carry with me,
for lies that were not spoken.

You left me without remorse and hesitation.
I am waiting here in pain for your endorsement.
I vowed to be with you forever.
Promises fade away in the cold
from lack of heartbeat and breathing
as I now died here for you.
After this initial death may come  
second and third death
until I wake up with you
staring into the ocean of your  eyes
like a shore waiting for waves.

You left me without remorse and hesitation.
Without you all parts of my body screams in pain.
I am churned sea wishing calmness,
lost molasse on your journey through world,
underwater sounds not heared by anyone.
My thoughts are inquisitive for your words not said.
I am kneeling in beseeching prayers.
Maybe this will save us from disdain and sorrow.
My confusion is mixed with panic attacks
that I will never kiss your eyes again,
that love floated like frightened bird,
that world would die with my dreams.

I am a refugee from the City upon a Hill.

My homeland once a resounding light to the nations; has become a convulsing black hole, threatening to devour any semblance of civility.

My City, once a radiant promontory of enlightenment, its illumination of liberty’s searing torch revered, it’s practical striving for democratic wisdom shaping the long arc of the moral universe emulated by people of good will across the globe; now lies in state as a mordant corpse, serenaded by a funereal chorus of laughing griffins, a dead patriarch surrounded by the ruins of a once opulent now sacked city, a bygone home to the scattered disassemblage of a once noble people.

I recoil from the rancor of extreme partisanship, the gerrymandered apportionment of citizenship rights, the buoyant vindictiveness celebrated by small minded ignorance.

The blind allegiance to jingoistic nationalism, the adulation of Blueline authoritarianism, the fealty to imperial militarism and the dangerous trajectory of it’s awful consequence yet to come, enthralls me with dread.

Compelled patriotism enforced by threats of faux patriots, amoral ammosexuals, their small hands stroking quick triggers of long guns, genuflecting in mastabutory glee to the preeminence of 2nd Amendment atrocities, angling crosshairs of resentments to firmly fix a promise of ghoulish body counts, a rationalized apocalypse a captive people must suffer to underwrite profiteering gunrunners who blindly defile the constitutional tenets of life, liberty and happiness, the blood splattered keystones of our true exceptionalism.

Xenophobia and racialism, are stoked and celebrated by the City’s chief executive, his impish smile mouths Blood and Soil sloganeering, he solemnly salutes the Confederate flag while cheering torchlight processions of enraged White Nationalists marching to the drum of the Grand Republic’s midnight dirge along the once hallowed trail of Jeffersonian Democracy and a sacred place of secular enlightenment and higher learning. His gleeful decrees tweet the destruction of families and his police agents mouth holy scriptures to justify the imprisonment of children.  These vandals rhapsodically paint images of phantasmagoric nightmares trampling and mocking democratic ideals, resurrecting long settled conflicts, terrible tests a once great City rose to extinguish, now swelling numbers of craven citizens ardently embrace Klansmen, insurrectionists and ****’s as righteous brethren.

The madness of chauvinism and racial supremacy has fully metastasized within the body politic, polluting the mind, infecting the bloodline with a virulent strain of a white blood cell disease coursing through the veins of republican citizenship.

A City stolen from the Native inhabitants, ethnically cleansed and its former inhabitants remanded to the prisons of reservations, a City constructed on the backs of chattel slaves, erected on the graves of exploited wage laborers, provisioned by the ruthless denigration of the earth’s bounty, law and order mandated by criminalizing the marginalized, repressing the civil liberties of outliers and subjecting women to a perpetual status as the second *** underclass; has failed to repent and steadfastly refuses to make reparations for its sinful past has made the City uninhabitable.

The embrace of tolerance and diversity is the balm, the curate that can salve the oozing sores crippling the City. Nativist prejudice is a long protracted path that City citizen’s find impossible to exit. The malevolence that consumes the mind and moves the soul of a desperately spiteful people, who take delight and find it necessary to dehumanize and imprison alien races and creeds to maintain vapid notions of superiority, profane the ideals of a republican calling. They ruefully ignore the beacon of light warning of the dangerous shoals that lay ahead. The ideals of the great democratic experiment on course to be dashed on the jagged rocks of ignorance, fear, and anger. The doomed City has set a course that endangers its embargoed citizens. Travelling in steerage, a captive body, believing they are on a course for the rebirth of the City’s greatness are emboldened and chained by the delusions of their self destructive steadfast resentments.

My home City has become unknown to me.  I have become a stranger in this strange land. What was once beloved has become insufferable. What was once treasured has become burdensome. The familiar has become fully alien. A terrible avenging apparition haunts and mocks people of good will. My heart is disheveled. My spirit bruised. My body literally aches from the wounds exacted from the deconstruction of my beloved metropolis.

I stand stranded at the border of incivility. Bewildered I peer through a protective wall of concertina wire, eyeing the imprisoned haughty souls of fully enfranchised citizens, bellowing self righteous psalms, singing interminable lamentations of terminal ignorance.

Condemned by their belief in the salvation of violence and recrimination, secure in their faith that their moat of self righteousness shelters them from the gulags of perdition they eagerly proclaim for others, feeling recused from the bane of sinfulness by meager tithes, tumidity and scriptural specificity and the sweet delusional conviction they are the chosen tribe of God’s favor; their aspirations viscerally dashed in blizzards of metaphysical illusion strewn like meaningless confetti onto a passing parade of barbarians who have taken the City as its grandest prize.

Sadly I must withdraw from my beloved City. I retreat to a refuge where the barbarians dare not enter. Their ignorance and stasis weds them to a place far from my sanctuary of choice. May my sanctuary restoreth my soul!

I find refuge in the temples of jazz. I sing arias of lucent improvisation. The freedom of unbridled expression reinvigorates the mind, alighting the emanation of our better angels. The music calibrates my soul with the syncopated beat of an irrepressible life force, the humanity of my welling heart swells on the sonorous oxygen of a lyrical free spirit.

I take refuge in our vanishing mountain wilderness. The natural world offers a solace of solitude, a unrequited impression of scale and a transcendent communion immune from the trampling cacophony of gleeful vandals running rampant through the streets of the City. In winter the summits are capped in crowns of viginal snow, spring awakens a dormant flora, autumn leaves shout the chorus of a seasons glory and summer flowers bloom in multitudes of brilliant colors marking a startling contrast to the fifty shades of gray tattooed onto the City’s restive souls by the purveyors of power.

I find respite on the friendly banks of rivers and breeze swept ocean shores. The perfume wafting along a rivers streaming eddies or a briney snort gulped from the foam of a cresting wave invigorates the lungs, strengthens the heart and clears the mind. The flow of living water heals lifes wounded spirit. It quenches a thirst for justice and nourishes the hope of freedom for all incarcerated souls. The ceaseless roll of the ocean waves prove the enduring power and inevitability of liberty.

I find a good refuge in books. Here I discover a fleeting glimpse of our forgotten love of knowledge and pursuit of truth and rational thought. Enlightenment is the plot of every storyline.

I take refuge in art. I escape into the multiple dimensions of aesthetic beauty trouncing the twittering banality of fad, pornographic affectations and consumer fethishism. Glimpsing beauty while beauty is there to behold and the diligent practice of its creation is an answer to a higher calling.

I take refuge in my dog. Unconditional love and trusted friendship are values at peril in a transactional world; virtues nobily demonstrated and freely given by our canine and feline friends.

I take refuge in late night comedy. Working the midnight shift, whistling past the graveyard with a hearty laugh helps to while away the desperate hours. The rancid fruits of our labor leave a bitter taste in our mouths, humor is the bread of life that clears the palate and makes the terrible sufferable.

My lasting sanctuary is the stronghold of faith, forbearance and tolerance. I trust the long arc of justice will bend toward the righteous and offer a pathway of redemption for all desecrated souls.

I take refuge in the Blues. Let my lamentations turn to songs of joy and deliverance.

I take refuge in prayer. May my places of exile restore and heal my denigration. May God deliver us to a good destination. May our generational wanderings in the desert of desolation end in the discovery of a good place of habitation.

In the solitude of prayer may I experience catharsis, may my petitions find an open ear, may I achieve clarification, may my pious supplication be genuine , my conviction firm, a direction found, a decision made, a call to action clear.  May I become a healer of the breach.

May Your grace be sufficient for me.

I declare my exile over. I will return to my City. I will attempt to rekindle the extinguished flame of liberty to dispel the darkness enveloping my City.

Selah.

Mark Almond: The City

Puyallup
6/30/18
jbm

Heaps of her across the deserted plains, oily fingers reaching up and over the horizon until all of the numbers fill her pockets, her father worried, and her muses covered with goat-head's thorn. Where does she start to fuse her needs with the weapons in their suburban corolla of lilacs and wanton redolence? It's the opacity in her finger nibs and the dozens of names she felt closing over her legs sideways, until she awakens in the night to take the blood dripping cotton tissues off of her face, off of her bed-side dresser table. She can't even paw forward or undress her wetness in haiku. Everyone she knows doesn't know her. Everything she's seen, doesn't seem to be there for her anymore. That's the trade they told her to barter for, the golden seals and vitamin needs she's gobbling up by the palmful every morning by seven.

Seven for the circus or the mimes, seven for the cloves hanging from the door and seven for the queries that strike back her abcesses and cost her seven by the quart and seven for the plastics. Seven dancing backwards towards a rook or a *****, seven inside her chest playing guitar with David Bowie, seven at the doggerel, and seven for the stitch and the obtuse- only a creature of seven might go for her, in a spot of doves, crank, and soda it is poison, seven is her ***** line, her sexuality, her sinfulness, and her latitude over and over again. Seven makes her want for tomorrow, seven takes tomorrow and throws itself up against the wall, pledging a game in the summer, seven to a trip of caramel and dukes, seven for the prince and the painting of the two of them, seven for the winter, and for the shadows that stretch curiosity past the breath of a summons', seven for the day and seven for the evening, seven scratches her ears and pulls out her hair, seven is the ring and the blue phantom buried somewhere far, far away, green is what's left, but seven knows which way the rain comes and who is going to follow it through.

There is a numbness that radiates on the fringe, a tickly discomfort not even a narrator could let out or down to a name on the mountains near the **** plateau that conquers her nuance, and shakes the both of them to core of the fight. This is not a flag that costs us in coins or in dollars. This is the worry chiseling our shapes and our buttery hips, a stacked set of crazy in a photograph off the leash of only a few. And it calls them to the night when it's only three of us left, until every cord is untied, until every verb is set in its caste, or ringing out to the tremolos of rapture, and the musicianship of pepper-jacked sneezes in the ambers and umbers that although startling, we've all learned to convert our averages in order to swing under the storm, and baby each of us with an elixir of myriad captures, images, and violent abuse.

While the words can yield, and the festivities can hoard each of the simple new experiences against travels of women, and pictures from Mussorgsky riling up soft drinks and evocations towards the center where all of us sometimes will let ourselves, let loose. Something horrendous and cold plugging into the sugars, something quiet, nearly a friend of reminders, crustaceans and ocean making this top-down beach of faces for all to shake and roll with or set forward a cacophony of abuse. Until in a breath she calls for the infinite intuition sheltering her and our window from the pain of misuse.

That is the photograph where we have been looking to live, here is the memory we spent our minds trying desperately to relive in the shade and in the snafu, against the bark and the piano keys treating our rise. Within our skin and our pupils, our silver bookends and/or the mammals we don't use names for but for whom we've been introduced to.

Unclose my fallen, lost soul,
unclose my greedy, loving mind,
unclose my unsaturated, fastidious heart
with demolition of me on the particles of you,
with your shameless nails under fragments of my skin,
with your hands embracing me in anticipation of fondling,
with your playful mouth saying unprintable suggestions,
with your accelerated breath mixed with my breath,
with tempting taste of your saliva.

Stars in imitation of us kiss one another.
The rays of the moon belong to us.
In the darkness your skin whispers to me its enigmatic metaphors.
We write with touch legend of our bodies.
There is bold discussion between our adorned in sparkling details souls.
Half-embracing we sail to the edge of inspiration hungering hearts.
It's you and me in this sheets, in this bed, in this apartment.
We ran away from the hustle and bustle of the world,
from vulgarity, from obscenity.
We are beyond time , beyond sinfulness.

I have waited for your enticing, alluring gestures
since the first time I saw you.
I paint on your skin in the moonlit glow of my promises.
In your soul I have graven rite of passion of our hearts and bodies.
Everything we do stems from the insatiable hunger avid for ecstatic unity.
My heart tears in chest when I think about long nights
without your lecherous thighs, *******
and soul innocent, tiny like defenseless child.
I've been waiting  for you forever .
Now when you are next to me
spring is coming in December
and dead volcano of lust exploded.
I burned past to ashes
and I live staring at the motion of your sensual lips.
Separation atomized with every moment of fiery intimacy.

All I need is my invisible friend
Although I must say
That lately he has been absent
The favours he used to do
Like splitting seas
And sending plagues
And the occasional help
With burning desires
And itching sinfulness
It has decreased
Brought back to an absolute minimum
Making me wonder
If now is the time to move on
But He and I
We go back such a long time
From when I was a kid
And He a couple of thousand years old
So it’s hard to imagine
That it was just my imagination all along

Dens, devils dark alleys
Apart from the quiet disco beats
The house-techno-electronics melodic
Or timbres of the naughty riddims rhythmic
And the dim coloured alternating disco-lights
Else, Dens are blurry dark
With all addicts-of ***, narcos or gins

In there no one sees no one
Just the silent talks of sins around
The usual businesses brought them there
In the mixture of multicoloured lights
So no one will talk of anyone once lights returns
Yet they shared something in common
A gal maybe, a cocoa puff or a shisha vapour!
A cigar smoke or a ***** tot and danced it ***** to dawn

In there are naked nudes-
Dames as well as few muscled-dudes
Teasing silent seated decent dressed
Stripping, selling their worth or wealth
To these willingly seriously immerged
In the occults of the immoral ****

Some are seductively rolling with the podium poles
Their greased groins incised on it metallic luster
Grating-grinding-dancing dirtily down
Its silvery smoothness in timed tempting
Slow spicy synchronic, slutty slides  
Watching the salivating seated
Erotically elated shift in their chairs

Some, skimpily skinned are snaking their boneless bodies up-down
In caressing zigzags of mastered dancers ***** arts
Immorally exposing their mostly expensive parts in bits
To tempt and trap these blind corrupted moths in their Lucifer’s lights
Forcing them to dig deeper their posh pockets to pay to be bemused  

Business here is crooked, dark!
Like ***** and her Gomorrah
Or Tyre and her Sidon
It begins with the fall of the night:
The extinguishing of the day's light
And ends with moments to dawn’s bright

In there all night are all dealers of immoralities
Of dark arts, of *** or of drugs  
Goons as well as criminals of government deals
And the corrupt business billionaires sandwiched
Richly enjoying the **** of the sinfulness-
Sharing, wasting, the rapacious richness
Of their easily gained supernormal profits
On these salacious naked nudes, free to feel

In there in the masquerade of these rainbow lights
No one sees no one, no one will say of anyone
Just cash exchanges hands
You got it, you get what you need
All the services you want-its all at your watch
With just a snap of the finger, all easily you acquire
You are the master, everyone else your servant slave-
At your disposal to your utmost attendance

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.

"What happened to Isaiah?"
"He was killed by a bunch of wild pigs"
"In fact, there were several others that were
injured by them."
"Really! What happened? Why were those pigs....?"
"Why were they running wild?"
Remember that crazy man that lived up there
in the cemetery?"
"Oh you mean that old demean possessed man? I
heard that he had been chained down and he just
snapped them apart like breaking a small twig."
"Yeah, that's the man. Well this man called Jesus, went
up and talked to him for a minute or so, found out his
name was Legien or  something like that and than in
a real adhortative voice demanded that those demeans
come out of him, but at first they didn't want to, but then
ask that Jesus man to put them into all those pigs, and that's
what made them so wild."
"Yeah and I heard there were hundreds of them, maybe thousands of them, and when those demeans went into them
they ran like crazy down the hill, ran over some people, killed
ol' Isaiah  and injured a bunch of others and ran right into
the sea and drowned because pigs can't swim."
                             SPIRITUAL APPLICATION
There are several spiritual applications contained within this acct of Jesus casting out the demons from this man.


1.When Jesus first encountered the demon possessed man,
the demons cried out through the mouth of him, recognizing
Jesus as "The Son of God, most high" (Lk.8:28)  That shows
more reverence for Jesus than many do today.

2.They feared Him, knowing they were defenseless against him, ("I beseech thee (I beg of you) torment me not." Vs. 28) once again showing more fear for the power of God than many today.

3.No man could tame him; nor can man by himself, change
his sinfulness - Rom. 3:10 We are saved from the consequence's of sin, not by our works of goodness, but by the power ad grace of God.

4. In bookof Matt. the demons said "Torment me not "before the time". Rev. 20:10 tells about a time that Satan and all his co-harts will be cast into the Lake of Fire to be tormented day and night for ever and ever. This is also true of all who died unsaved, unbelieving in Jesus Christ as personal Savior. Vs. 15 "And whosoever was not found in the Book of Life were cast into the Lake of fire."

5. He lived among the dead. Dear readers, all of us before we believed in Jesus Christ as our sin-bearer and Savior, we  were "dead in trespasses and sin"- Eph.2:1 "You were dead in trespasses and sin"
   a. I have a preacher friend who would say when I greeted him -
     "How are you today?" He would say, "Well I'm still living among
       the dead."  As opposed to, living among the living in Heaven.
   b. The majority of humanity, are dead in sin, just a heart beat away
       from a tomb in a cemetery. At the same time, all men. women
       and young people are just a prayer away from a mansion
       in Heaven.
  c "Dear God, please be merciful to me a sinner  and save me for
       Jesus sake.
6. He was naked, "He wore no clothes" Matt. 8:27
   a. In the Bible, nakedness is synonymous with sinfulness. Adam &
       Eve had no awareness of being naked until after they had
      disobeyed God's commandment about the tree of good and evil.
    b. Ex. 22 is the record of the Israelites dancing and partying
        naked.
    c. Lam. 4:21 associates Associates drunkenness's with nakedness -
    d. I'm just showing how nakedness and sin walks hand in hand.
    e. Nakedness and righteousness doesn't grow on the same tree
       or in the same garden.
. 7. After the demons were commanded to leave the man's body and
     mind, they requested to be cast into a herd of swine Mark 8:32-33
     which Jesus graciously permitted.
   a. Two questions often ask,
        1. Why did the demons want to enter into the swine?
        2. Why did Jesus grant their request?
   b. Question #1. They preferred to be cast into the swine rather than
       into the "deep" i.e. the Lake of Fire, Rev. 20:10, 14-15.  
  c. Question #2 Because God is gracious and sometimes does
      answer the prayers of the unsaved.  
    (1a.) Cain -Gen. 4:13-14
    (2a.) Hagar-Gen. 16:8-13
    (3a.) Personal testimonies of unsaved.  
8. The man desired to be with Jesus, which would be a  natural
    desire after being freed from demonic control, but Jesus exhorted
    him to go to his family and tell them what great miracle Jesus
    had performed.
a. He not only told his family, but told the entire city. He did what
     Jesus last commandment was to all believers, just before His
     ascension -"Go into the world and preach the Gospel to every
    creature."







He was naked -
He was clothed was quiet
He desired to follow Jesus
Jesus told him to tell others

In repentance and salvation
we are given a new heart,
our old hearts having been reduced
to nothing by our sinfulness.
Then God does what He did
that first day of creation.
He creates something new and good
ex nihilio,
out of nothing!

©2013 Michael S. Davis

People dissolve feelings dissolve
I'll dissolve this city will dissolve
Those people with liquor
Those people with sticky lips
While with other sit and sip
They claim it is ichor
That runs through their veins
Liquor is just a chain
That grips their brains
At night into false blissfulness
But when sober they know sinfulness
People dissolve feelings dissolve
When will I dissolve
Will i dissolve before i find resolve
Will i feel unfinished in life
And left like a ***** knife
For sinners
To eat with over dinner

Remnants of life scattered afar
Heart broken, burnt and charred
Fragmented thoughts, emptiness
Desolated by others sinfulness

Mole hills turn to mountains
As light turns to night
No one hears me shouting
As I slowly lose the fight

Desolation is my name
Betrayed in stormy rain
Wrapped in the devils chains
It always ends the same

Only for now will I remain
In someone else’s game
Slowly my life begins to drain
I can't take this emotional pain

Desolation remains my name

Forever...........

5/11/2015

into the depths of your sinfulness
as far as you can go
the depth of love reaches there, and beyond,
there is no depth love cannot reach
indeed go as deep as you may
love is already there, waiting..

I want your skin, as I want my life back.
I want your touch, as the world need the sun.
I want you, just to let my inner savage human out.
Let us ignore the world and fall for the sinfulness,
love bird that we are.

The irony of the situation is
That to know I love you
I had to become this woman
And yet,
Because I am this woman
I cannot afford to love you,
The way you deserve to

Starting from the beginning,
Of our meeting;
An indistinguishable flame in the distance
A hand in another, palm meets palm
The most holy of Psalms
In actuality an abyss of sinfulness
Not that I believe in all that,
Religious nonfeasance
A reason for my existence
Grows stronger when kindled by conversation
And it shines, ever as bright
When I should be thinking
Of the one who lays beside me
Tucking me into bed each night with tenderness
Intrigue in all its forms holds a risk,
But what's a simple friendship?
A kindred feeling, every word beckoning
Me to listen to all of your stories
lend an ear, share similar experiences
With each passing syllable
Defined my very reasoning
Affirmed the pull, tightened my heart's strings
I felt the urge, And then, It all fit.
A happiness I couldn't amiss
...And then, without hesitance or
Resistance,

I felt your kiss

I mean, like, fireworks
Bing, bang, booms
Reverberates, and sets everything ablaze
Inside of me is an explosion.
*******.
It's the real thing, chemical combustion
All is in a dream and rooted in reality
A vision of beauty and spectre
But sparklers are easier to handle
And the only possible disaster a burn
Instead of missing a limb,
A piece of me left reeling from
A temporary collision.

But now?
Every part of me aflame,
In your gaze
Yearning, longing
I've shared too much of myself to reverse it.
But I can't allow myself to fall into you
I'm preoccupied with trying to heal
His brokenness.

The raft inside of me
the parting of the red sea.
This civil war is painting
once happy memories, sharp as a dagger.
The once joyful voices now echo in disgust.

The broken skin, a horror-filled reminder.
My body is a battlefield.
These poetic lines are my arrows.
My thoughts are the cavalry.
The field of white daisies, disguised as roses.
Holiness to sinfulness,
****** to blood.

the truth of my sinfulness comes as a sharp pain
- but helps to keep me sorrowful
and open to sweet love forever forgiving my error
- dispensing the healing balm to my wounds.

If you're looking for me
I'm not here anymore
Go back to the place
You found me before

It's all in the details
I heard somebody lied
All I heard was a hiss
Now I'm dead inside

Can you find me
Can you find me
Can you find me
I'm hiding here

Now it's been so long
Waiting to be found
I might as well be buried
6 feet under ground

I am feeling you digging
You better be find me soon
Cause my death is growing
And it will soon bloom

Can't you find me
Can't you find me
Can't you find me
I'm dying here

If I ran to the ends of the morning
You would surely be there
But I'm covered in the black of the night
And it feels like you disappear

Where can I run from your presence?
Where can a mere mortal hide?
When you took all my sinfulness
And laid it bear on the cross crucified

There you'll find me
There you'll find me
There you'll find me
I was forgiven here

If you're looking for me
I'm not here anymore
Go back to the place
You found me before

In the bluest of light the moon bloomed tenderness
I do to you what the silverlight does to the night.
And our needs came home again from the wilderness.

In feathered light we quiver in gentleness
Heat and passion burns deep in delight
In the bluest of light the moon bloomed tenderness

And our hearts became one in our togetherness
Skin upon skin in the silvered night.
And our needs came home again from the wilderness.

Such passion is beyond all sinfulness.
In trembling skins we feel so right
In the bluest of light the moon bloomed tenderness.

Fires raging within with passions measureless.
We lie content in heaven's sight
In the bluest of light the moon bloomed tenderness
And our needs came home again from the wilderness.

Forty year's pass.
Then and now the same.
I don't recall the differences.
Emotions never change.

From boy to man.
Him and I unchanged.
I won't repent my sinfulness.
Mistakes of which I'm made.

Tom Lefort 2023

Between the eyes and on the temples,
the untold things in detail,
are engrafted in the language of pain,
sprung from the involuntary locomotion of thoughts.
The ghastly moments in horror stories I read
in childhood become innocuous and comforting.
They come and disappear into
the disorderly paraphernalia of guilt
and sinfulness, typical of the young minds,
embracing a horrific algorithm
spun around nights and days, and days and nights.
Very many things rave and rampage into there–
they knock and pull and strain and hurt
in restive sleep of howling gusts and gales.
How long will the storms numberless rankle it?
These are not futile cravings– cease,
CEASE the ruction of this smallest land, yet
as enormous as the volume of the universe;
moving or what?
Lull the sleepless pupils on the hearth, lead them
to the lush and tranquil island.
Is a fabled nowhere your resort? How will the
crumbling sinews react to this? I rose and found
a noisy market, where plies a train everyday,
vague and vacant.