"solomon" poems - Hello Poetry

"solomon" poems

The ****** They say that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, however the ****** is a gold mine. Women do not even know what their possess many a nation have gone to war, because of this ugly beauty, the seven hundred wives of King Solomon and his three hundred concubines a great example of what the ugly beauty can do. Infidelity is on the rise, so many lies, since the ****** is an embarassing subject why men lie and killed for it, For this remarkable commodity A ****** is like a Van Gogh painting, it gets lot of attention. A weapon so powerful It can break a man down to his lowest it has a language of its own. silly words like sup, sup, sup. during loving making However, that was supposed to be the primary appeal of a beer to men. The ****** and a beer have so much in common they both get their men all the time, a smooth transportation, in addition, the lamentation, ****** you are surely number one! Men incredible dreams, No matter how destructive or fulfilling,. .

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Apr 20, 2010

Apr 20, 2010 at 3:23 PM UTC

darknbeautiful-1

The ****** They say that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, however the ****** is a gold mine. Women do not even know what their possess many a nation have gone to war, because of this ugly beauty, the seven hundred wives of King Solomon and his three hundred concubines a great example of what the ugly beauty can do. Infidelity is on the rise, so many lies, since the ****** is an embarassing subject why men lie and killed for it, For this remarkable commodity A ****** is like a Van Gogh painting, it gets lot of attention. A weapon so powerful It can break a man down to his lowest it has a language of its own. silly words like sup, sup, sup. during loving making However, that was supposed to be the primary appeal of a beer to men. The ****** and a beer have so much in common they both get their men all the time, a smooth transportation, in addition, the lamentation, ****** you are surely number one! Men incredible dreams, No matter how destructive or fulfilling,. .

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The pigeons are sad The pigeons saw that The future comes with bad The pigeons were telling that The prophets born here The prophet know that It is the land of kind , welfare and tied The religions at that land The assembly of religions The peace between nations Were established there Here was the prophet David Who the mounts the trees , The stones and the birds, Repeated his prays He governed with justice After him ,Solomon was gotten He governed with justice The welfare had increased And the peace with there The Romans occupied it And the injustice appeared The killing and the theft Were actually increased Here was born Jesus Who invited to peace At shortest and clear That was not admired By Romans or Jewish Who were there They planned to **** him The land became unfair The decreasing of welfare The increasing of fear Till the new nation appeared The new religion increased It called for justice It led to peace The Muslims achieved a victory As they built a great glory And they blockaded the land The patriarch man said," We didn’t give the keys Except to your leader Who is justice’s famous" They wore one of soldiers The smartest cloth They introduced him As the prince of Insurers as the caliph of Muslims The greatest patriarchs said," That is not the man we did Actually knew and have red At our book that mentioned Him actually as we saw awake." The leader of soldiers ordered To sent a letter to the caliph At bright city wide distance As he wanted to keep blood Out of bleeding He wanted not to **** The innocent people He didn’t want to bore His name over death His religion ordered them To save the innocent people To the caliph to came The caliph and a servant moved The leader of the greatest land At that time, at that moment From the kind and light city He read the yassin of holy Quran that equals twenty Minutes For riding the donkey And his servants walks only Then the caliph got off only And the servant rode the donkey And they read the yassin for away To count and know time And mention the God only Then the caliph and servant also Walked with their donkey To rest it also They keep reading yassin only Till they reached near the holy City that mentioned with holy In Quran with great respect The turn is on the servant To get that donkey rode And the caliph would walk He said," my prince! I must Get down and you must Ride that donkey" He said," then I will be called Injustice caliph led the insurers To be injustice at every talkers And it is your turn If the air came to me smelt With good smell than yours If the water I drink Have more delicious than yours If I created from mud Made of silver and gold I will rode that animal And you must go walker Ride it my good insurer" The soldiers saw him They did great clutter They wanted to salute him The patriarch said with amazed," See what is that noise? He looked and said That is him , that is him!" The patriarch went and looked He counted patch in his The cloth of the greatest prince Of the greatest Nation motioned At the ancient, at the present He said," you are who is mentined! You are the caliph "Omar" was the caliph He gave them the safe deal That mentioned by his name The patriarch gave him the keys Of Jerusalem to him The time for afternoon pray came The caliph prayed out the church The patriarch said Why you didn’t pray at that Place at the inner of the church Omar said if I prayed here The Muslims after that Say "Omar" prayed here And they took it To be a mosque indeed

0

Aug 1, 2018

Aug 1, 2018 at 4:38 AM UTC

mohamad-taha-safan

The pigeons are sad The pigeons saw that The future comes with bad The pigeons were telling that The prophets born here The prophet know that It is the land of kind , welfare and tied The religions at that land The assembly of religions The peace between nations Were established there Here was the prophet David Who the mounts the trees , The stones and the birds, Repeated his prays He governed with justice After him ,Solomon was gotten He governed with justice The welfare had increased And the peace with there The Romans occupied it And the injustice appeared The killing and the theft Were actually increased Here was born Jesus Who invited to peace At shortest and clear That was not admired By Romans or Jewish Who were there They planned to **** him The land became unfair The decreasing of welfare The increasing of fear Till the new nation appeared The new religion increased It called for justice It led to peace The Muslims achieved a victory As they built a great glory And they blockaded the land The patriarch man said," We didn’t give the keys Except to your leader Who is justice’s famous" They wore one of soldiers The smartest cloth They introduced him As the prince of Insurers as the caliph of Muslims The greatest patriarchs said," That is not the man we did Actually knew and have red At our book that mentioned Him actually as we saw awake." The leader of soldiers ordered To sent a letter to the caliph At bright city wide distance As he wanted to keep blood Out of bleeding He wanted not to **** The innocent people He didn’t want to bore His name over death His religion ordered them To save the innocent people To the caliph to came The caliph and a servant moved The leader of the greatest land At that time, at that moment From the kind and light city He read the yassin of holy Quran that equals twenty Minutes For riding the donkey And his servants walks only Then the caliph got off only And the servant rode the donkey And they read the yassin for away To count and know time And mention the God only Then the caliph and servant also Walked with their donkey To rest it also They keep reading yassin only Till they reached near the holy City that mentioned with holy In Quran with great respect The turn is on the servant To get that donkey rode And the caliph would walk He said," my prince! I must Get down and you must Ride that donkey" He said," then I will be called Injustice caliph led the insurers To be injustice at every talkers And it is your turn If the air came to me smelt With good smell than yours If the water I drink Have more delicious than yours If I created from mud Made of silver and gold I will rode that animal And you must go walker Ride it my good insurer" The soldiers saw him They did great clutter They wanted to salute him The patriarch said with amazed," See what is that noise? He looked and said That is him , that is him!" The patriarch went and looked He counted patch in his The cloth of the greatest prince Of the greatest Nation motioned At the ancient, at the present He said," you are who is mentined! You are the caliph "Omar" was the caliph He gave them the safe deal That mentioned by his name The patriarch gave him the keys Of Jerusalem to him The time for afternoon pray came The caliph prayed out the church The patriarch said Why you didn’t pray at that Place at the inner of the church Omar said if I prayed here The Muslims after that Say "Omar" prayed here And they took it To be a mosque indeed

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Every blue patch on the sky keeps an eye, cherishing clouds dancing, hovering over. The songs of deep blue ride the heady air, only to be stunned, all of a sudden, at the first sight— sung down on a perfectly placed mural. The Queen of Sheba tiptoes this way; King Solomon leans to the ground, only to find seas of silent blooms musing, dipping in sun-kissed dews— on gently tilted roses that will not fall, not from this picture-perfect, navel-high! Velvety, the rose rises from the ground; the forever-green Earth hangs low, in the dew on the rose that will not fall. Blossoming, eyeing an acute high, evermore hopeful to scale upward, toward the faraway, awaiting heaven's pool. There, the spotlight does not move— neither north nor south, nor up nor down— until Queen Fathima, the Queen of Heaven, steps on the "as above, so below" slope. There, the newly resurrected Earth will be primed, its minted atoms vibrating beyond bounds, rising, for the first time, atop the navel-high. Perfectly wrapped, the atom's circle finally turns on— the stepping stone that holds no pi-decimal hole. Pure Scientia hangs on the door of Paradise, awaiting the numerically perfect Queen Fathima to step. God willing, she will work in beauty: the most sought-after, perfect works of art— the lost masterpiece, not in translation, but hidden within the pi-decimal abyss of Earth's depth. Lo, the gleaning Sleeping Beauty peeps, trailing the role model Queen. Fathima—the first woman to enter Paradise— walks the walk: perfect, straight, numerically precise. As if she always knew, back from the Earth, of the murals ahead, hanging on Paradise’s wall, mathematically exact! Mirrors of imagination, new wonders on Heaven’s way, etched in the murals at the golden section, navel-high. She zooms past the ever-spinning atom’s perfect span, cemented at the entrance of Paradise. Yet leaves no footprint— for she never did, even on the sublunary Earth. A new wonder blooms in the classic old eyes: oh, Pi, still irrational, still pondering, at the measured, eternal navel-high!

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Oct 31, 2018

Oct 31, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC

Earth to Heaven: Navel High

Every blue patch on the sky keeps an eye, cherishing clouds dancing, hovering over. The songs of deep blue ride the heady air, only to be stunned, all of a sudden, at the first sight— sung down on a perfectly placed mural. The Queen of Sheba tiptoes this way; King Solomon leans to the ground, only to find seas of silent blooms musing, dipping in sun-kissed dews— on gently tilted roses that will not fall, not from this picture-perfect, navel-high! Velvety, the rose rises from the ground; the forever-green Earth hangs low, in the dew on the rose that will not fall. Blossoming, eyeing an acute high, evermore hopeful to scale upward, toward the faraway, awaiting heaven's pool. There, the spotlight does not move— neither north nor south, nor up nor down— until Queen Fathima, the Queen of Heaven, steps on the "as above, so below" slope. There, the newly resurrected Earth will be primed, its minted atoms vibrating beyond bounds, rising, for the first time, atop the navel-high. Perfectly wrapped, the atom's circle finally turns on— the stepping stone that holds no pi-decimal hole. Pure Scientia hangs on the door of Paradise, awaiting the numerically perfect Queen Fathima to step. God willing, she will work in beauty: the most sought-after, perfect works of art— the lost masterpiece, not in translation, but hidden within the pi-decimal abyss of Earth's depth. Lo, the gleaning Sleeping Beauty peeps, trailing the role model Queen. Fathima—the first woman to enter Paradise— walks the walk: perfect, straight, numerically precise. As if she always knew, back from the Earth, of the murals ahead, hanging on Paradise’s wall, mathematically exact! Mirrors of imagination, new wonders on Heaven’s way, etched in the murals at the golden section, navel-high. She zooms past the ever-spinning atom’s perfect span, cemented at the entrance of Paradise. Yet leaves no footprint— for she never did, even on the sublunary Earth. A new wonder blooms in the classic old eyes: oh, Pi, still irrational, still pondering, at the measured, eternal navel-high!

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Colombia needs hellopoetry Comoros needs hellopoetry Congo, Democratic Republic is in need of hellopoetry Congo, Republic is in need of hellopoetry Costa Rica needs hellopoetry Côte d’Ivoire needs hellopoetry Croatia needs hellopoetry Cuba needs hellopoetry Cyprus needs hellopoetry Czech Republic needs hellopoetry Denmark needs hellopoetry Djibouti needs hellopoetry Dominica needs hellopoetry Dominican Republic needs hellopoetry East Timor (Timor-Leste) needs hellopoetry Ecuador needs hellopoetry Egypt needs hellopoetry El Salvador needs hellopoetry Equatorial Guinea needs hellopoetry Eritrea needs hellopoetry Estonia needs hellopoetry Eswatini needs hellopoetry Ethiopia needs hellopoetry Fiji needs hellopoetry Finland needs hellopoetry France needs hellopoetry Gabon needs hellopoetry The Gambia needs hellopoetry Georgia needs hellopoetry Germany needs hellopoetry Ghana needs hellopoetry Greece needs hellopoetry Grenada needs hellopoetry Guatemala needs hellopoetry Guinea needs 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Dec 21, 2019

Dec 21, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC

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Afghanistan needs hellopoetry Albania needs hellopoetry Algeria needs hellopoetry Andorra needs hellopoetry Angola needs hellopoetry Antigua and Barbuda needs hellopoetry Argentina needs hellopoetry Armenia needs hellopoetry Australia needs hellopoetry Austria needs hellopoetry Azerbaijan needs hellopoetry The Bahamas needs hellopoetry Bahrain needs hellopoetry Bangladesh needs hellopoetry Barbados needs hellopoetry Belarus needs hellopoetry Belgium needs hellopoetry Belize needs hellopoetry Benin needs hellopoetry Bhutan needs hellopoetry Bolivia needs hellopoetry Bosnia and Herzegovina needs hellopoetry Botswana needs hellopoetry Brazil needs hellopoetry Brunei needs hellopoetry Bulgaria needs hellopoetry Burkina Faso needs hellopoetry Burundi needs hellopoetry Cabo Verde needs hellopoetry Cambodia needs hellopoetry Cameroon needs hellopoetry Canada needs hellopoetry Central African Republic needs hellopoetry Chad needs hellopoetry Chile needs hellopoetry China needs hellopoetry Colombia needs hellopoetry Comoros needs hellopoetry Congo, Democratic Republic is in need of hellopoetry Congo, Republic is in need of hellopoetry Costa Rica needs hellopoetry Côte d’Ivoire needs hellopoetry Croatia needs hellopoetry Cuba needs hellopoetry Cyprus needs hellopoetry Czech Republic needs hellopoetry Denmark needs hellopoetry Djibouti needs hellopoetry Dominica needs hellopoetry Dominican Republic needs hellopoetry East Timor (Timor-Leste) needs hellopoetry Ecuador needs hellopoetry Egypt needs hellopoetry El Salvador needs hellopoetry Equatorial Guinea needs hellopoetry Eritrea needs hellopoetry Estonia needs hellopoetry Eswatini needs hellopoetry Ethiopia needs hellopoetry Fiji needs hellopoetry Finland needs hellopoetry France needs hellopoetry Gabon needs hellopoetry The Gambia needs hellopoetry Georgia needs hellopoetry Germany needs hellopoetry Ghana needs hellopoetry Greece needs hellopoetry Grenada needs hellopoetry Guatemala needs hellopoetry Guinea needs hellopoetry Guinea-Bissau needs hellopoetry Guyana needs hellopoetry Haiti needs hellopoetry Honduras needs hellopoetry Hungary needs hellopoetry Iceland needs hellopoetry India needs hellopoetry Indonesia needs hellopoetry Iran needs hellopoetry Iraq needs hellopoetry Ireland needs hellopoetry Israel needs hellopoetry Italy needs hellopoetry Jamaica needs hellopoetry Japan needs hellopoetry Jordan needs hellopoetry Kazakhstan needs hellopoetry Kenya needs hellopoetry Kiribati needs hellopoetry Korea, North needs hellopoetry Korea, South needs hellopoetry Kosovo needs hellopoetry Kuwait needs hellopoetry Kyrgyzstan needs hellopoetry Laos needs hellopoetry Latvia needs hellopoetry Lebanon needs hellopoetry Lesotho needs hellopoetry Liberia needs hellopoetry Libya needs hellopoetry Liechtenstein needs hellopoetry Lithuania needs hellopoetry Luxembourg needs hellopoetry Madagascar needs hellopoetry Malawi needs hellopoetry Malaysia needs hellopoetry Maldives needs hellopoetry Mali needs hellopoetry Malta needs hellopoetry Marshall Islands needs hellopoetry Mauritania needs hellopoetry Mauritius needs hellopoetry Mexico needs hellopoetry Micronesia, Federated States is in need of hellopoetry Moldova needs hellopoetry Monaco needs hellopoetry Mongolia needs hellopoetry Montenegro needs hellopoetry Morocco needs hellopoetry Mozambique needs hellopoetry Myanmar (Burma) needs hellopoetry Namibia needs hellopoetry Nauru needs hellopoetry Nepal needs hellopoetry Netherlands needs hellopoetry New Zealand needs hellopoetry Nicaragua needs hellopoetry Niger needs hellopoetry Nigeria needs hellopoetry North Macedonia needs hellopoetry Norway needs hellopoetry Oman needs hellopoetry Pakistan needs hellopoetry Palau needs hellopoetry Panama needs hellopoetry Papua New Guinea needs hellopoetry Paraguay needs hellopoetry Peru needs hellopoetry Philippines needs hellopoetry Poland needs hellopoetry Portugal needs hellopoetry Qatar needs hellopoetry Romania needs hellopoetry Russia needs hellopoetry Rwanda needs hellopoetry Saint Kitts and Nevis needs hellopoetry Saint Lucia needs hellopoetry Saint Vincent and the Grenadines needs hellopoetry Samoa needs hellopoetry San Marino needs hellopoetry Sao Tome and Principe needs hellopoetry Saudi Arabia needs hellopoetry Senegal needs hellopoetry Serbia needs hellopoetry Seychelles needs hellopoetry Sierra Leone needs hellopoetry Singapore needs hellopoetry Slovakia needs hellopoetry Slovenia needs hellopoetry Solomon Islands needs hellopoetry Somalia needs hellopoetry South Africa needs hellopoetry Spain needs hellopoetry Sri Lanka needs hellopoetry Sudan needs hellopoetry Sudan, South needs hellopoetry Suriname needs hellopoetry Sweden needs hellopoetry Switzerland needs hellopoetry Syria needs hellopoetry Taiwan needs hellopoetry Tajikistan needs hellopoetry Tanzania needs hellopoetry Thailand needs hellopoetry Togo needs hellopoetry Tonga needs hellopoetry Trinidad and Tobago needs hellopoetry Tunisia needs hellopoetry Turkey needs hellopoetry Turkmenistan needs hellopoetry Tuvalu needs hellopoetry Uganda needs hellopoetry Ukraine needs hellopoetry United Arab Emirates needs hellopoetry United Kingdom needs hellopoetry United States needs hellopoetry Uruguay needs hellopoetry Uzbekistan needs hellopoetry Vanuatu needs hellopoetry Vatican City needs hellopoetry Venezuela needs hellopoetry Vietnam needs hellopoetry Yemen needs hellopoetry Zambia needs hellopoetry Zimbabwe needs hellopoetry

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I passed a small boy named Solomon Woods deep in thought with a book He licked a finger, turned a page too engrossed to give me a look I met a young lad named Solomon Woods humming a gentle tune He smiled and waved, shook my hand and wished me a good afternoon I danced with a friend named Solomon Woods while he sang me one of his songs What he lacked in skill he offset with zeal and insisted I sang along I sat with a man named Solomon Woods glad of his still, gentle manner His reliable smile and kind wise words drowned out the usual clamour I walked with a gent named Solomon Woods glad of his confident stride I knew for sure he faced the world trusting God as his strength and guide If you meet a man named Solomon Woods he'll certainly stop for a while If you have the time, he'll sing you a song and leave you with a smile

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Jan 28, 2018

Jan 28, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC

I passed a small boy named Solomon Woods deep in thought with a book He licked a finger, turned a page too engrossed to give me a look I met a young lad named Solomon Woods humming a gentle tune He smiled and waved, shook my hand and wished me a good afternoon I danced with a friend named Solomon Woods while he sang me one of his songs What he lacked in skill he offset with zeal and insisted I sang along I sat with a man named Solomon Woods glad of his still, gentle manner His reliable smile and kind wise words drowned out the usual clamour I walked with a gent named Solomon Woods glad of his confident stride I knew for sure he faced the world trusting God as his strength and guide If you meet a man named Solomon Woods he'll certainly stop for a while If you have the time, he'll sing you a song and leave you with a smile

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Drip yourself into a cup Fill up your body with antiquity Let the collagen insist An allegory of Capricorn Memories crystallised Settled in Forevers harvest Insensitive Misconstrued chemical Collective symmetry's sin A condition, livid Fleeting in Human imagery Ships break Loop our tongued Hands, tossed in Dramamine Whittled in a succession of malleable fashion Talent spilled spread in supper Collate our atrophy And drink from baroness Flavours tarnished Super-collider Blood soaked in Gematria A garden of totality High brow comparison Entitled in your vacuous stigma Forever burning In the lesser key of Solomon 28 daemon Tessellation in trigonometry Temperance towards an infinite Champion of mind, complex

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Sep 12, 2014

Sep 12, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC

Drip yourself into a cup Fill up your body with antiquity Let the collagen insist An allegory of Capricorn Memories crystallised Settled in Forevers harvest Insensitive Misconstrued chemical Collective symmetry's sin A condition, livid Fleeting in Human imagery Ships break Loop our tongued Hands, tossed in Dramamine Whittled in a succession of malleable fashion Talent spilled spread in supper Collate our atrophy And drink from baroness Flavours tarnished Super-collider Blood soaked in Gematria A garden of totality High brow comparison Entitled in your vacuous stigma Forever burning In the lesser key of Solomon 28 daemon Tessellation in trigonometry Temperance towards an infinite Champion of mind, complex

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The child alone a poet is: Spring and Fairyland are his. Truth and Reason show but dim, And all’s poetry with him. Rhyme and music flow in plenty For the lad of one-and-twenty, But Spring for him is no more now Than daisies to a munching cow; Just a cheery pleasant season, Daisy buds to live at ease on. He’s forgotten how he smiled And shrieked at snowdrops when a child, Or wept one evening secretly For April’s glorious misery. Wisdom made him old and wary Banishing the Lords of Faery. Wisdom made a breach and battered Babylon to bits: she scattered To the hedges and ditches All our nursery gnomes and witches. Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves, Drag their treasures from the shelves. Jack the Giant-killer’s gone, Mother Goose and Oberon, Bluebeard and King Solomon. Robin, and Red Riding Hood Take together to the wood, And Sir Galahad lies hid In a cave with Captain Kidd. None of all the magic hosts, None remain but a few ghosts Of timorous heart, to linger on Weeping for lost Babylon.

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The child alone a poet is: Spring and Fairyland are his. Truth and Reason show but dim, And all’s poetry with him. Rhyme and music flow in plenty For the lad of one-and-twenty, But Spring for him is no more now Than daisies to a munching cow; Just a cheery pleasant season, Daisy buds to live at ease on. He’s forgotten how he smiled And shrieked at snowdrops when a child, Or wept one evening secretly For April’s glorious misery. Wisdom made him old and wary Banishing the Lords of Faery. Wisdom made a breach and battered Babylon to bits: she scattered To the hedges and ditches All our nursery gnomes and witches. Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves, Drag their treasures from the shelves. Jack the Giant-killer’s gone, Mother Goose and Oberon, Bluebeard and King Solomon. Robin, and Red Riding Hood Take together to the wood, And Sir Galahad lies hid In a cave with Captain Kidd. None of all the magic hosts, None remain but a few ghosts Of timorous heart, to linger on Weeping for lost Babylon.

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the gallon of arizona green tea that you only drank a fraction of. the salt and pepper potato chips you meant to eat, but only did so in the dream i had last night. the unmade bed that was still unmade when you flew back home, the one i still cannot bring myself to make. the dyed green hairs i keep finding around the house. the way you always pronounced 'mosquito' as 'mosk-it-toe' on purpose, and how you pronounced my cat's name 'sullumun' instead of 'solomon' on accident. the partially closed closet door from the morning i drove you to the airport. the faint smell of your sweat on my pillow left because of your hyperhidrosis. the flannel you wore and the longsleeve shirt you doused in your aftershave, that is three sizes too big for me to realistically wear. the empty taco bell cups in my car from your fourth day here. the empty shopping bags from our impromptu mall trip. the polaroids you really wanted to keep, but we couldn't find when you packed. the pieces of you that you never meant for me to keep that i keep piecing together as though, like an alchemist, i could make you appear again though i cannot, and you are not here, you are gone.

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Sep 21, 2018

Sep 21, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC

fragments of you

the gallon of arizona green tea that you only drank a fraction of. the salt and pepper potato chips you meant to eat, but only did so in the dream i had last night. the unmade bed that was still unmade when you flew back home, the one i still cannot bring myself to make. the dyed green hairs i keep finding around the house. the way you always pronounced 'mosquito' as 'mosk-it-toe' on purpose, and how you pronounced my cat's name 'sullumun' instead of 'solomon' on accident. the partially closed closet door from the morning i drove you to the airport. the faint smell of your sweat on my pillow left because of your hyperhidrosis. the flannel you wore and the longsleeve shirt you doused in your aftershave, that is three sizes too big for me to realistically wear. the empty taco bell cups in my car from your fourth day here. the empty shopping bags from our impromptu mall trip. the polaroids you really wanted to keep, but we couldn't find when you packed. the pieces of you that you never meant for me to keep that i keep piecing together as though, like an alchemist, i could make you appear again though i cannot, and you are not here, you are gone.

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This ***** ****** They say that beauty is in the eyes of the Beholder, so does this ***** have eyes? the power of evil and bad, Today we see what it can do Many a nation have gone to war, Because of this ugly beauty, many family units has been tread apart Because of its evil doings, The seven hundred wives of King Solomon and his three Hundred concubines was a great example of what the ugly beauty can do: Infidelity is on the rise, so many lies: so many shortcoming, Lucy ****** is an embarrassing subject why men lie and killed for it? this remarkable commodity: with ****** is like a Van Gogh painting, It gets lot of attention: the baseline dimensions is still a mystery: A weapon so powerful It can break a man down to his lowest It has a language of its own. silly words like sup, sup, sup. the same sound effects of a cold beer going down the gullets: the smoother, the esophagus: pleasers The ****** and a beer have so much in common they both get their men all the time, a smooth transportation, in addition, the lamentation, ****** you are surely blissful: Men incredible dreams who wouldn’t want to own the team? No matter how destructive or fulfilling: ** Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent.” ― Roman Payne** Quote

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Apr 29, 2018

Apr 29, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC

darknbeautiful-1

This ***** ******

This ***** ****** They say that beauty is in the eyes of the Beholder, so does this ***** have eyes? the power of evil and bad, Today we see what it can do Many a nation have gone to war, Because of this ugly beauty, many family units has been tread apart Because of its evil doings, The seven hundred wives of King Solomon and his three Hundred concubines was a great example of what the ugly beauty can do: Infidelity is on the rise, so many lies: so many shortcoming, Lucy ****** is an embarrassing subject why men lie and killed for it? this remarkable commodity: with ****** is like a Van Gogh painting, It gets lot of attention: the baseline dimensions is still a mystery: A weapon so powerful It can break a man down to his lowest It has a language of its own. silly words like sup, sup, sup. the same sound effects of a cold beer going down the gullets: the smoother, the esophagus: pleasers The ****** and a beer have so much in common they both get their men all the time, a smooth transportation, in addition, the lamentation, ****** you are surely blissful: Men incredible dreams who wouldn’t want to own the team? No matter how destructive or fulfilling: ** Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent.” ― Roman Payne** Quote

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Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy! The nose is holy! The tongue and **** and hand and ******* holy! Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an angel! The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is holy as you my soul are holy! The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy! Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas- sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering beggars holy the hideous human angels! Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the ***** of the grandfathers of Kansas! Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana hipsters peace & junk & drums! Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the mysterious rivers of tears under the streets! Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell- ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles! Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria & Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow Holy Istanbul! Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch! Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina- tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the abyss! Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours! bodies! suffering! magnanimity! Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent kindness of the soul! Berkeley 1955

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4.3k

Footnote To Howl

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy! The nose is holy! The tongue and **** and hand and ******* holy! Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an angel! The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is holy as you my soul are holy! The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy! Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas- sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering beggars holy the hideous human angels! Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the ***** of the grandfathers of Kansas! Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana hipsters peace & junk & drums! Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the mysterious rivers of tears under the streets! Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell- ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles! Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria & Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow Holy Istanbul! Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch! Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina- tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the abyss! Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours! bodies! suffering! magnanimity! Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent kindness of the soul! Berkeley 1955

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Museums as art Art as museums Sail the trail to my mausoleum Psychopaths and physicists Psychiatrists and philosophers Philanthropists and pilots and painters  Declare now, that these are our days – Our hours, and our days These are our city, our hours Our time, our days.  This is our world – At 14:92 I landed here and claimed it And searched it and found it wanting Of civilization that I could so easily supply By means of wounds and iron And brawn and truth (and just a tiny touch of influenza darling) By means of our Lord, Who grants us all that we desire If only we **** enough of those he did not choose. This is our world – And we shall make it what we will Make it in our own image Teach it that innocence is not knowing the difference between right and wrong Raise it to hate no one But to love itself so deeply That all other love seems hateful in comparison. This is our child, love Yours and mine.  Here the first shall be last And the last shall be first But once the first are last they shall be Last Last Last And once the last are first They shall make it so they can never be last again This is our primitive accumulation Of necessary materialism Let’s cultivate matter To make objects that we can place on shelves And in cases – These are our cases And we love them as we love ourselves  Museums as mass graves Mass graves as museums Kiss me in my mausoleum Priests and prisoners Prostitutes and prophets Pioneers and pilgrims and pagans  This is our time – And we are dispensing it in spendthrift increments Buying threadbare bandages for our cavernous canyons Buying ample earplugs To seal in the silence So we can somewhat say “look there is peace – Look we have done it In our time it is accomplished” –   This is our peace – And we know it by the signs The lions and lambs lay quietly together In our brass-barred zoos For as long as shelves and cases Are intact and the first are first And the last are last And the civilized are organized and holy There is peace – Oh, look We made peace! And as for Solomon and Socrates – We take their words to weave through our new wisdom And when we re-chart the constellations We shall give them each a star And salute them once a year When they come around the universe Oh, look How wise we are! Mass graves as art Art as mass graves There have been no better days There has been no greater time Politicians and pornographers Professors and pirates Psychologists and pastors and pianists  This is our time – And we are doing with it the very best we know how The last are toiling and trying And the first are trying to think to try – But there is a shortness in our hours And a violence in our peace There is inherent foolishness in our wisdom And disease in our cities And there is death upon our shelves and in our cases. This is our world – We crafted it and declared our truth to be true We sculpted this, our colosseum Please inscribe my mausoleum With “we know not what we do”

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May 31, 2015

May 31, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC

ariel-evangeline-baptista

of dissolution and mausoleum blueprints

Museums as art Art as museums Sail the trail to my mausoleum Psychopaths and physicists Psychiatrists and philosophers Philanthropists and pilots and painters  Declare now, that these are our days – Our hours, and our days These are our city, our hours Our time, our days.  This is our world – At 14:92 I landed here and claimed it And searched it and found it wanting Of civilization that I could so easily supply By means of wounds and iron And brawn and truth (and just a tiny touch of influenza darling) By means of our Lord, Who grants us all that we desire If only we **** enough of those he did not choose. This is our world – And we shall make it what we will Make it in our own image Teach it that innocence is not knowing the difference between right and wrong Raise it to hate no one But to love itself so deeply That all other love seems hateful in comparison. This is our child, love Yours and mine.  Here the first shall be last And the last shall be first But once the first are last they shall be Last Last Last And once the last are first They shall make it so they can never be last again This is our primitive accumulation Of necessary materialism Let’s cultivate matter To make objects that we can place on shelves And in cases – These are our cases And we love them as we love ourselves  Museums as mass graves Mass graves as museums Kiss me in my mausoleum Priests and prisoners Prostitutes and prophets Pioneers and pilgrims and pagans  This is our time – And we are dispensing it in spendthrift increments Buying threadbare bandages for our cavernous canyons Buying ample earplugs To seal in the silence So we can somewhat say “look there is peace – Look we have done it In our time it is accomplished” –   This is our peace – And we know it by the signs The lions and lambs lay quietly together In our brass-barred zoos For as long as shelves and cases Are intact and the first are first And the last are last And the civilized are organized and holy There is peace – Oh, look We made peace! And as for Solomon and Socrates – We take their words to weave through our new wisdom And when we re-chart the constellations We shall give them each a star And salute them once a year When they come around the universe Oh, look How wise we are! Mass graves as art Art as mass graves There have been no better days There has been no greater time Politicians and pornographers Professors and pirates Psychologists and pastors and pianists  This is our time – And we are doing with it the very best we know how The last are toiling and trying And the first are trying to think to try – But there is a shortness in our hours And a violence in our peace There is inherent foolishness in our wisdom And disease in our cities And there is death upon our shelves and in our cases. This is our world – We crafted it and declared our truth to be true We sculpted this, our colosseum Please inscribe my mausoleum With “we know not what we do”

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~for RK, for now~ Until you have bent your ear to Shakespeare's sonnets, Till you have laughed with Ogden Nash, Wept with Frost, visited Byron's ghost, Read the songs of King Solomon, And once you Despair of being their equal, Shed your winter coat of worry, ***** your courage to the sticking point, Begin to write then with reckless fearlessness, Unfettered abandon, make a fool of yourself! Scout the competition. Weep, for you and I will never surpass The giants who preceeded us, and yet, Laugh, cause they thought the same thing as well...

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May 25, 2013

May 25, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC

Do Not Put a Poem Here Until You Have Bent Your Ear to Shakespeare's Sonnets (May 2013)

~for RK, for now~ Until you have bent your ear to Shakespeare's sonnets, Till you have laughed with Ogden Nash, Wept with Frost, visited Byron's ghost, Read the songs of King Solomon, And once you Despair of being their equal, Shed your winter coat of worry, ***** your courage to the sticking point, Begin to write then with reckless fearlessness, Unfettered abandon, make a fool of yourself! Scout the competition. Weep, for you and I will never surpass The giants who preceeded us, and yet, Laugh, cause they thought the same thing as well...

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I am The Shoes of Shoes, which are Solomon’s. Let him polish me with the oil from his brow, for his gloss is better than sunshine. Because of the fragrance of thy ointment buffed upon me, thy name is Scent Shine, therefore do the ****** shoes love thy feet. Stretch me, with your Shoe-Tree, and I will run & rejoice with thy feet through gardens & woods, and across mountains alike. I am leather, but comely, O ye Daughters of Shoeshopingham, as The Pile Beneath the Prophesised Viaduct, and as in the abundant bottom of The Wardrobe of Solomon. Look not upon me, because I am leather, but put me upon thy feet for I am thy soles. I am the Rose of Shoe, and the Lilly of The Laces. As the strong shoes among thorns, so is my love among The Shod. As the tongue that tightens to the fruit of the foot, so is my beloved among The Shod. His left foot is in my left purse, and his right foot is my right, tight. The Polish of My Beloved, behold, cometh glinting off llyns, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, with both of me tight on his feet. Looketh fourth through The Round Window of Wisdom, through The Lattice see him shoeing himself with my flesh. Take us the socked foxes, the little foxes that chew & spoil, for our shodding is tender. My Loved Shod’s feet are mine and my leather is his. Until the day break, and the unshod shadows flee, turn my Loved Shod, and be thou like the shoe young on the mountains. Behold, thou art fair, my shoes, behold thou art shoes as fast as a flock of goats over the Mountain of Shoedon. Thy laces are like soft strands of moss, which have been spun & woven in the Workshops of Acorns by The Grubs of Oak. Thy eyelets are like the sweet slots in which nestle the seeds of the pomegranate. Thy tongues are like scarlet leaves fallen from speaking trees, and thy squeak as I walk in thee is comely. Thy heal is like the shield that should’ve been fashioned for Achilles. Thy two toe caps are as sleek & pert as the twin otters that fish among the lilies. How beautiful are thee, shoes for feet, O Goddess’s daughters, the joints of thy soft foot-slot smooth as the gleam of jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning cobbler. O Solomon set me twin shoes as seals upon thy feet, for Love is as strong as The Road to Dead we must follow. O my Loved Shod! for every one of thy steps you make in me is my bliss.

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Feb 8, 2012

Feb 8, 2012 at 8:25 AM UTC

I am The Shoes of Shoes, which are Solomon’s. Let him polish me with the oil from his brow, for his gloss is better than sunshine. Because of the fragrance of thy ointment buffed upon me, thy name is Scent Shine, therefore do the ****** shoes love thy feet. Stretch me, with your Shoe-Tree, and I will run & rejoice with thy feet through gardens & woods, and across mountains alike. I am leather, but comely, O ye Daughters of Shoeshopingham, as The Pile Beneath the Prophesised Viaduct, and as in the abundant bottom of The Wardrobe of Solomon. Look not upon me, because I am leather, but put me upon thy feet for I am thy soles. I am the Rose of Shoe, and the Lilly of The Laces. As the strong shoes among thorns, so is my love among The Shod. As the tongue that tightens to the fruit of the foot, so is my beloved among The Shod. His left foot is in my left purse, and his right foot is my right, tight. The Polish of My Beloved, behold, cometh glinting off llyns, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, with both of me tight on his feet. Looketh fourth through The Round Window of Wisdom, through The Lattice see him shoeing himself with my flesh. Take us the socked foxes, the little foxes that chew & spoil, for our shodding is tender. My Loved Shod’s feet are mine and my leather is his. Until the day break, and the unshod shadows flee, turn my Loved Shod, and be thou like the shoe young on the mountains. Behold, thou art fair, my shoes, behold thou art shoes as fast as a flock of goats over the Mountain of Shoedon. Thy laces are like soft strands of moss, which have been spun & woven in the Workshops of Acorns by The Grubs of Oak. Thy eyelets are like the sweet slots in which nestle the seeds of the pomegranate. Thy tongues are like scarlet leaves fallen from speaking trees, and thy squeak as I walk in thee is comely. Thy heal is like the shield that should’ve been fashioned for Achilles. Thy two toe caps are as sleek & pert as the twin otters that fish among the lilies. How beautiful are thee, shoes for feet, O Goddess’s daughters, the joints of thy soft foot-slot smooth as the gleam of jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning cobbler. O Solomon set me twin shoes as seals upon thy feet, for Love is as strong as The Road to Dead we must follow. O my Loved Shod! for every one of thy steps you make in me is my bliss.

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“Seldom we find,” says Solomon Don Dunce, “Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once As easily as through a Naples bonnet— Trash of all trash!—how can a lady don it? Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff— Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it.” And, veritably, Sol is right enough. The general tuckermanities are arrant Bubbles—ephemeral and so transparent— But this is, now—you may depend upon it— Stable, opaque, immortal—all by dint Of the dear names that lie concealed within’t.

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3.6k

Edgar Allan Poe

“Seldom we find,” says Solomon Don Dunce, “Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once As easily as through a Naples bonnet— Trash of all trash!—how can a lady don it? Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff— Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it.” And, veritably, Sol is right enough. The general tuckermanities are arrant Bubbles—ephemeral and so transparent— But this is, now—you may depend upon it— Stable, opaque, immortal—all by dint Of the dear names that lie concealed within’t.

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It's oh in Paradise that I fain would be, Away from earth and weariness and all beside; Earth is too full of loss with its dividing sea, But Paradise upbuilds the bower for the bride. Where flowers are yet in bud while the boughs are green, I would get quit of earth and get robed for heaven; Putting on my raiment white within the screen, Putting on my crown of gold whose gems are seven Fair is the fourfold river that maketh no moan, Fair are the trees fruit-bearing of the wood, Fair are the gold and bdellium and the onyx stone, And I know the gold of that land is good. O my love, my dove, lift up your eyes Toward the eastern gate like an opening rose; You and I who parted will meet in Paradise, Pass within and sing when the gates unclose. This life is but the passage of a day, This life is but a pang and all is over; But in the life to come which fades not away Every love shall abide and every lover. He who wore out pleasure and mastered all lore, Solomon, wrote "Vanity of vanities:" Down to death, of all that went before In his mighty long life, the record is this. With loves by the hundred, wealth beyond measure, Is this he who wrote "Vanity of vanities"? Yea, "Vanity of vanities" he saith of pleasure, And of all he learned set his seal to this. Yet we love and faint not, for our love is one, And we hope and flag not, for our hope is sure, Although there be nothing new beneath the sun And no help for life and for death no cure. The road to death is life, the gate of life is death, We who wake shall sleep, we shall wax who wane; Let us not vex our souls for stoppage of a breath, The fall of a river that turneth not again. Be the road short, and be the gate near,-- Shall a short road tire, a strait gate appall? The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.

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3.5k

Christina Rossetti

Saints And Angels

It's oh in Paradise that I fain would be, Away from earth and weariness and all beside; Earth is too full of loss with its dividing sea, But Paradise upbuilds the bower for the bride. Where flowers are yet in bud while the boughs are green, I would get quit of earth and get robed for heaven; Putting on my raiment white within the screen, Putting on my crown of gold whose gems are seven Fair is the fourfold river that maketh no moan, Fair are the trees fruit-bearing of the wood, Fair are the gold and bdellium and the onyx stone, And I know the gold of that land is good. O my love, my dove, lift up your eyes Toward the eastern gate like an opening rose; You and I who parted will meet in Paradise, Pass within and sing when the gates unclose. This life is but the passage of a day, This life is but a pang and all is over; But in the life to come which fades not away Every love shall abide and every lover. He who wore out pleasure and mastered all lore, Solomon, wrote "Vanity of vanities:" Down to death, of all that went before In his mighty long life, the record is this. With loves by the hundred, wealth beyond measure, Is this he who wrote "Vanity of vanities"? Yea, "Vanity of vanities" he saith of pleasure, And of all he learned set his seal to this. Yet we love and faint not, for our love is one, And we hope and flag not, for our hope is sure, Although there be nothing new beneath the sun And no help for life and for death no cure. The road to death is life, the gate of life is death, We who wake shall sleep, we shall wax who wane; Let us not vex our souls for stoppage of a breath, The fall of a river that turneth not again. Be the road short, and be the gate near,-- Shall a short road tire, a strait gate appall? The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.

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you said i was exotic, and i said ooo what do you mean? exotic like a fruit?, like i don’t know what tropics you think i came from, was imported from, but you read my skin like the label on a flavour of coca-cola you had never been offered before and i was refreshing, and different. and you liked the way my coke-bottle curves felt beneath your fingertips, said you’d never tasted caramel like me before, you said i was exotic. like i was a work of west african art, even though my mother’s from the east, like i was from a storybook like 1001 african nights, like, you saw my cover and you were hooked, never did think to look beneath the jacket, just wanted stories like the ones scheherazade sold, i was your sheba and you my solomon. we rode lions across the sands, your kiss was salt on my lips, i needed to quench my thirst and you offered me the brand new flavour of coca-cola. you said i was exotic, like a pretty foreign thing, some mail-order thing, special delivery just for you, a flavour of coca-cola that you had never tasted before.

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Nov 19, 2016

Nov 19, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC

you said i was exotic, and i said ooo what do you mean? exotic like a fruit?, like i don’t know what tropics you think i came from, was imported from, but you read my skin like the label on a flavour of coca-cola you had never been offered before and i was refreshing, and different. and you liked the way my coke-bottle curves felt beneath your fingertips, said you’d never tasted caramel like me before, you said i was exotic. like i was a work of west african art, even though my mother’s from the east, like i was from a storybook like 1001 african nights, like, you saw my cover and you were hooked, never did think to look beneath the jacket, just wanted stories like the ones scheherazade sold, i was your sheba and you my solomon. we rode lions across the sands, your kiss was salt on my lips, i needed to quench my thirst and you offered me the brand new flavour of coca-cola. you said i was exotic, like a pretty foreign thing, some mail-order thing, special delivery just for you, a flavour of coca-cola that you had never tasted before.

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Solomon indulged In the witchcraft of poetry The magical rites of nature He broke the yoke Of wasted hopes And became a woman chaser Words form spells The seeds of dreams Dark verse light The earliest memes Songs of songs Building grace Magic is attainable In the Poet's case ..........................

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Aug 7, 2018

Aug 7, 2018 at 8:36 AM UTC

Solomon indulged In the witchcraft of poetry The magical rites of nature He broke the yoke Of wasted hopes And became a woman chaser Words form spells The seeds of dreams Dark verse light The earliest memes Songs of songs Building grace Magic is attainable In the Poet's case ..........................

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There's a hidden sweetness in the stomach's emptiness. We are lutes. No more, no less. If the soundbox is stuffed full, there is no room for music. If the brain and the belly are burning clean with fasting, Every moment a new song comes out of the fire. The fog clears, and new energy makes you run up the steps before you. Be emptier and cry like reed instruments cry. Emptier—write secrets with the reed pen. When you're full of food and drink, an ugly metal statue sits where your spirit should. When you fast, good habits gather like friends who wish to help. Fasting is Solomon's ring. Don't give it to some illusion and lose your power. But even if you have, if you've lost all will and control, They come back when you fast, Like soldiers appearing out of the ground, pennants flying above them. A table descends to your tents, Jesus' table. Expect to see, when you fast, this table spread with other food, better than the broth of cabbages. ~Jalal ad-Din Rumi

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Feb 28, 2017

Feb 28, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC

On Fasting - by Rumi

There's a hidden sweetness in the stomach's emptiness. We are lutes. No more, no less. If the soundbox is stuffed full, there is no room for music. If the brain and the belly are burning clean with fasting, Every moment a new song comes out of the fire. The fog clears, and new energy makes you run up the steps before you. Be emptier and cry like reed instruments cry. Emptier—write secrets with the reed pen. When you're full of food and drink, an ugly metal statue sits where your spirit should. When you fast, good habits gather like friends who wish to help. Fasting is Solomon's ring. Don't give it to some illusion and lose your power. But even if you have, if you've lost all will and control, They come back when you fast, Like soldiers appearing out of the ground, pennants flying above them. A table descends to your tents, Jesus' table. Expect to see, when you fast, this table spread with other food, better than the broth of cabbages. ~Jalal ad-Din Rumi

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from a dream ...My student's name is Ari and he's dying... “No serious talk today!” he warns He wants to laugh – and so we do He wants the Patriarchs and Prophets on this tropical island He names them doing something funny and I pick up where he leaves off-- with the second line: “Elijah, with his ravens on a blow-up raft...” “...Ascends with ham sandwich, sipping wine!” “Jeremiah throwing mud ***** “...at Zedekiah's white garage!” We rewrite the Old Testament laughing till we cry “Now that's what I'm talkin' about!” He's pumped and kicks that rebel trashcan 'cross the room ...and suddenly shouts out-- “For everything there is a season...!” I do not finish this one.... “I'll tell Solomon you said Hi” ________________ ...and in that moment half aware... _________________ I'm wearing a grass skirt in someone else's dream I'm on Instagram and I don't know how I got there I have coconut halves for my **** but for the life of me – can't figure how to keep them on So I let them sway with my grasses to the languid freedom of marimba music toes clutching warmth of sand No one here to see but Instagram? Nagging in the background: How did I ever get here? Dreaming like this... right?

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Dec 27, 2017

Dec 27, 2017 at 5:04 PM UTC

elizabeth-balise

The Tropic of Patriarchs

from a dream ...My student's name is Ari and he's dying... “No serious talk today!” he warns He wants to laugh – and so we do He wants the Patriarchs and Prophets on this tropical island He names them doing something funny and I pick up where he leaves off-- with the second line: “Elijah, with his ravens on a blow-up raft...” “...Ascends with ham sandwich, sipping wine!” “Jeremiah throwing mud ***** “...at Zedekiah's white garage!” We rewrite the Old Testament laughing till we cry “Now that's what I'm talkin' about!” He's pumped and kicks that rebel trashcan 'cross the room ...and suddenly shouts out-- “For everything there is a season...!” I do not finish this one.... “I'll tell Solomon you said Hi” ________________ ...and in that moment half aware... _________________ I'm wearing a grass skirt in someone else's dream I'm on Instagram and I don't know how I got there I have coconut halves for my **** but for the life of me – can't figure how to keep them on So I let them sway with my grasses to the languid freedom of marimba music toes clutching warmth of sand No one here to see but Instagram? Nagging in the background: How did I ever get here? Dreaming like this... right?

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Who's that I hear?—It's me—Who?—Your heart Hanging on by the thinnest thread I lose all my strength, substance, and fluid When I see you withdrawn this way all alone Like a whipped cur sulking in the corner Is it due to your mad hedonism?— What's it to you?—I have to suffer for it— Leave me alone—Why?—I'll think about it— When will you do that?—When I've grown up— I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it— What's your idea?—To be a good man— You're thirty, for a mule that's a lifetime You call that childhood?—No—Madness Must have hold of you—By what, the halter?— You don't know a thing—Yes I do—What?—Flies in milk One's white, one's black, they're opposites— That's all?—How can I say it better? If that doesn't suit you I'll start over— You're lost—Well I'll go down fighting— I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it— I get the heartache, you the injury and pain If you were just some poor crazy idiot I'd be able to make excuses for you You don't even care, all's one to you, foul or fair Either your head's harder than a rock Or you actually prefer misery to honor Now what do you say to that?— Once I'm dead I'll rise above it— God, what comfort—What wise eloquence— I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it— Why are you miserable?—Because of my miseries When Saturn packed my satchel I think He put in these troubles—That's mad You're his lord and you talk like his slave Look what Solomon wrote in his book "A wise man" he says "has authority Over the planets and their influence"— I don't believe it, as they made me I'll be— What are you saying?—Yes that's what I think— I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it— Want to live?—God give me the strength— It's necessary...—What is?—To feel remorse Lots of reading—What kind?—Read for knowledge Leave fools alone—I'll take your advice— Or will you forget?—I've got it fixed in mind— Now act before things go from bad to worse I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it.

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3k

Francois Villon

The Debate Between Villon And His Heart

Who's that I hear?—It's me—Who?—Your heart Hanging on by the thinnest thread I lose all my strength, substance, and fluid When I see you withdrawn this way all alone Like a whipped cur sulking in the corner Is it due to your mad hedonism?— What's it to you?—I have to suffer for it— Leave me alone—Why?—I'll think about it— When will you do that?—When I've grown up— I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it— What's your idea?—To be a good man— You're thirty, for a mule that's a lifetime You call that childhood?—No—Madness Must have hold of you—By what, the halter?— You don't know a thing—Yes I do—What?—Flies in milk One's white, one's black, they're opposites— That's all?—How can I say it better? If that doesn't suit you I'll start over— You're lost—Well I'll go down fighting— I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it— I get the heartache, you the injury and pain If you were just some poor crazy idiot I'd be able to make excuses for you You don't even care, all's one to you, foul or fair Either your head's harder than a rock Or you actually prefer misery to honor Now what do you say to that?— Once I'm dead I'll rise above it— God, what comfort—What wise eloquence— I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it— Why are you miserable?—Because of my miseries When Saturn packed my satchel I think He put in these troubles—That's mad You're his lord and you talk like his slave Look what Solomon wrote in his book "A wise man" he says "has authority Over the planets and their influence"— I don't believe it, as they made me I'll be— What are you saying?—Yes that's what I think— I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it— Want to live?—God give me the strength— It's necessary...—What is?—To feel remorse Lots of reading—What kind?—Read for knowledge Leave fools alone—I'll take your advice— Or will you forget?—I've got it fixed in mind— Now act before things go from bad to worse I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it.

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We're all just a massive mess of energy A beautiful, massive mess And that's just the brilliance of it! Times and times retold of our divinity, Of our ancestors painted by the stars, Of glory untold And oh the glory! That you may see it Or even hear the echoes of its glorious memory resound across the heavens And the loftiest of them all being our mind Singular, not plural For we have but the same mind That we are moved by the same passions That we are subtly subject to change Oh, our malleable souls! That we aspire for the Heavens So we may get to soar freely And yet dance to tunes of a heathen kind Such is the hypocrisy that we've been raised to uphold as daily norm None being the lesser! For had it not been so, then with God you'd be this very moment As Master, nature springing to your tunes That you'll master all as Did SoloMon Tense just being one of our many creations So through this wake up call, I beg all of you to arise from your deep slumbers Your virtual realities whose bounds you artfully set with decided deliberation upon your mind Wake up and see that you are infinite! Wake up and see that you are divine! Wake up and see that you are gods!

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Nov 26, 2014

Nov 26, 2014 at 5:30 AM UTC

We're all just a massive mess of energy A beautiful, massive mess And that's just the brilliance of it! Times and times retold of our divinity, Of our ancestors painted by the stars, Of glory untold And oh the glory! That you may see it Or even hear the echoes of its glorious memory resound across the heavens And the loftiest of them all being our mind Singular, not plural For we have but the same mind That we are moved by the same passions That we are subtly subject to change Oh, our malleable souls! That we aspire for the Heavens So we may get to soar freely And yet dance to tunes of a heathen kind Such is the hypocrisy that we've been raised to uphold as daily norm None being the lesser! For had it not been so, then with God you'd be this very moment As Master, nature springing to your tunes That you'll master all as Did SoloMon Tense just being one of our many creations So through this wake up call, I beg all of you to arise from your deep slumbers Your virtual realities whose bounds you artfully set with decided deliberation upon your mind Wake up and see that you are infinite! Wake up and see that you are divine! Wake up and see that you are gods!

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Honey meets tongue, Leaves taste buds stung and mouth melting violently versing vows, Spilling out fermented Thoughts caught aloud Dribbling down toward where they ought not Time stopped us In a clockmaker shop Cooking empty pots of dead doves in forgot sauce Some day in december's When Plans were dismembered For the scent of Butter bubbling curiosity Found horse hungry, So, suddenly he broke free Trampling Predictable logic. chasing her tail to town When, I, sir pain, thought id taught again, then again the art of invading castles, Without being found. Trolling, rolling through The inner out of bounds A shoeless, shoreless yet Very sure way To get around None catching on of course Till swordsman number four Split with silver This world on wheels we made With a crash left some Birthday suit vision Standing stunned stupid Abashed with a gun to the mirror Which crying, stammered: If you let them dear, Just let them, They will Listen, To your chime, chiming Bells inside, Rhyming you dread hearing songs from" Said defense: "Who wants to play each blow to the heart With lawless abandon to The head?" "letting harsh light burn holes and leave marks wherever they feel" Don't think so Solomon!" Vision laughs, reflection kneels, Hands praying And In the periphery, as a way to break scene here we see the mailman Crying tears on a map Who once watched little Ms steel-sturdy put on her full act. Wood chips flew thenmsky went black Pupils dilate to her shell-shocked state Of Before, before hell bent on Withholding, before Taking hostage of clowns who are all tied up with Lilith, the queen The state that led our wayward siren to begin driving round in Some man-made beast She calls Ed.

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Oct 6, 2013

Oct 6, 2013 at 7:22 AM UTC

How to invent a Trojan War

Honey meets tongue, Leaves taste buds stung and mouth melting violently versing vows, Spilling out fermented Thoughts caught aloud Dribbling down toward where they ought not Time stopped us In a clockmaker shop Cooking empty pots of dead doves in forgot sauce Some day in december's When Plans were dismembered For the scent of Butter bubbling curiosity Found horse hungry, So, suddenly he broke free Trampling Predictable logic. chasing her tail to town When, I, sir pain, thought id taught again, then again the art of invading castles, Without being found. Trolling, rolling through The inner out of bounds A shoeless, shoreless yet Very sure way To get around None catching on of course Till swordsman number four Split with silver This world on wheels we made With a crash left some Birthday suit vision Standing stunned stupid Abashed with a gun to the mirror Which crying, stammered: If you let them dear, Just let them, They will Listen, To your chime, chiming Bells inside, Rhyming you dread hearing songs from" Said defense: "Who wants to play each blow to the heart With lawless abandon to The head?" "letting harsh light burn holes and leave marks wherever they feel" Don't think so Solomon!" Vision laughs, reflection kneels, Hands praying And In the periphery, as a way to break scene here we see the mailman Crying tears on a map Who once watched little Ms steel-sturdy put on her full act. Wood chips flew thenmsky went black Pupils dilate to her shell-shocked state Of Before, before hell bent on Withholding, before Taking hostage of clowns who are all tied up with Lilith, the queen The state that led our wayward siren to begin driving round in Some man-made beast She calls Ed.

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on the 6th day of January a baby boy were born namely Solomon E. Sicio, he was the 7th child as recorded too. 5 years later,,,he learned how to write,sing and the eagerness to listen 1 day,,, bcoz of his thirst and hunger..he roved around to the kitchen HEY ! WHAT ARE YOU DOING ? voiced over by his eldest brother Oh Kuya come and look,how should i cut this lime? I GOT WONDER! kuya Sonny took the knife- begun to talk and started to demonstrate. so he'd enlightened from then on and used to love playing such a mind game, times gone by,he uses 2 nickname--"Sol or MON" on his 3rd grade. But he hates the feeling when he is already 8 years old.Less than a decade .............has just past again-he decided to grew up and be matured enough! Until now----out of 9 of his brethren ,,,don't know his caliber for being tough ,,,,but 4 of his best-friend really knew how he draw the character named san Goku and he finally entered to the nation of hp world,,and want to say............ HOW HE LOVES AND HATE TO PLAY THE GAME SO CALLED ...sudoku

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Nov 18, 2015

Nov 18, 2015 at 7:00 AM UTC

TanglawatPanglaw

on the 6th day of January a baby boy were born namely Solomon E. Sicio, he was the 7th child as recorded too. 5 years later,,,he learned how to write,sing and the eagerness to listen 1 day,,, bcoz of his thirst and hunger..he roved around to the kitchen HEY ! WHAT ARE YOU DOING ? voiced over by his eldest brother Oh Kuya come and look,how should i cut this lime? I GOT WONDER! kuya Sonny took the knife- begun to talk and started to demonstrate. so he'd enlightened from then on and used to love playing such a mind game, times gone by,he uses 2 nickname--"Sol or MON" on his 3rd grade. But he hates the feeling when he is already 8 years old.Less than a decade .............has just past again-he decided to grew up and be matured enough! Until now----out of 9 of his brethren ,,,don't know his caliber for being tough ,,,,but 4 of his best-friend really knew how he draw the character named san Goku and he finally entered to the nation of hp world,,and want to say............ HOW HE LOVES AND HATE TO PLAY THE GAME SO CALLED ...sudoku

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****** means "sheath". Oh, how tiresomely sexist, this utility. **** is a sharp word, but it will only ***** you if you so insist. And ********** means "to stand in for the Goddess" -- both Mother and ***** Fertility cults of Babylon hailed Ishtar, the young Sophia. In Sumerian times they did call Her Inanna, who shed Her jewels. Solomon the Wise did wed Her in his temple, and wrote Her a Song. At Her temple gates await the harlots, smiling: yours for but a coin. Sacred silver thrown, a rite of passage. Some wait. Some wait longer still. Wisdom works through them. The hierodules of Heaven beckon, honeysweet. "Come to the temple, let us dance the timeless dance, my Lord Dumuzi!" Rosy cheeks and lips, shamelessness in Her power. Passion at its peak. Too **** for words. Men feared Her and wrought cages, misdirected blame. Mary, the chaste one, is an abomination. Half, and the lesser. A neutered Mother with a ****** for swords, a scabbard for men. The Grail was stolen from between Her holy thighs. Paul was such a **** A **** who feared Her, Mystery of Death and Blood. Much more than a sheath.

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Sep 30, 2013

Sep 30, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC

misadventuresofcrow

****** means "sheath". Oh, how tiresomely sexist, this utility. **** is a sharp word, but it will only ***** you if you so insist. And ********** means "to stand in for the Goddess" -- both Mother and ***** Fertility cults of Babylon hailed Ishtar, the young Sophia. In Sumerian times they did call Her Inanna, who shed Her jewels. Solomon the Wise did wed Her in his temple, and wrote Her a Song. At Her temple gates await the harlots, smiling: yours for but a coin. Sacred silver thrown, a rite of passage. Some wait. Some wait longer still. Wisdom works through them. The hierodules of Heaven beckon, honeysweet. "Come to the temple, let us dance the timeless dance, my Lord Dumuzi!" Rosy cheeks and lips, shamelessness in Her power. Passion at its peak. Too **** for words. Men feared Her and wrought cages, misdirected blame. Mary, the chaste one, is an abomination. Half, and the lesser. A neutered Mother with a ****** for swords, a scabbard for men. The Grail was stolen from between Her holy thighs. Paul was such a **** A **** who feared Her, Mystery of Death and Blood. Much more than a sheath.

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SANG Solomon to Sheba, And kissed her dusky face, "All day long from mid-day We have talked in the one place, All day long from shadowless noon We have gone round and round In the narrow theme of love Like a old horse in a pound.- To Solomon sang Sheba, Plated on his knees, "If you had broached a matter That might the learned please, You had before the sun had thrown Our shadows on the ground Discovered that my thoughts, not it, Are but a narrow pound.' Said Solomon to Sheba, And kissed her Arab eyes, "There's not a man or woman Born under the skies Dare match in learning with us two, And all day long we have found There's not a thing but love can make The world a narrow pound.'

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2.6k

William Butler Yeats

Solomon To Sheba

SANG Solomon to Sheba, And kissed her dusky face, "All day long from mid-day We have talked in the one place, All day long from shadowless noon We have gone round and round In the narrow theme of love Like a old horse in a pound.- To Solomon sang Sheba, Plated on his knees, "If you had broached a matter That might the learned please, You had before the sun had thrown Our shadows on the ground Discovered that my thoughts, not it, Are but a narrow pound.' Said Solomon to Sheba, And kissed her Arab eyes, "There's not a man or woman Born under the skies Dare match in learning with us two, And all day long we have found There's not a thing but love can make The world a narrow pound.'

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