"soothsayer" poems
Sprawl of the nazarene toothslayer,
Nucleotide bombast explosion;
***** of the eftsoon soothsayer,
Pyramid galaxies implosion:
Breathing quintuplicating matrix
Somersault to ceaseless meiosis,
Goldbeating phlanx initiatrix:
Amphimixis apotheosis.
Lifen gyrovagues aerolitic:
And fixate Atlas telescopic!
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
coffee in the night wakes me for the evening,
sipping as I listen to cool tunes
from the lady strummer sooth,
oh the taste of a nice fresh brew,
potent and dark, the caffeine streams
through blood to the brain,
nice quick buzzbuzzbee
in my head.
reprieve from the shop to the abode no one knows,
down the road curved heavy I strode
and sank deep into muses sweet song,
echo ear to ear soul soothsayer,
calm coffee nerves,
trade lines of rhyme
in a compact black
notebook of wonders belonging
none other to d-bake,
spirit of the sun, wandering peace beast
with worthy words and steady grooves.
come midnight go and its time to depart.
come home to dark demons
seeping 'round corridors and corners,
peeking for a sight of frightened prey
to pounce on invisibly,
startled through and through,
spooks steering to insanity, must
seek shelter **** covers with sleepytime tea.
long discussions over late telephone,
with lady of dreams come true,
of one consciousness such that no puzzle piece
stands apart and one love
binds the confines of it all ,
mind shatteringly simple yet
most don’t seem to see
the beauty of all infinitely one.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 10:34 PM UTC
I have come humble to seek your knowledge
With exhausted feet and weighing burden, I bear my heart
I have travelled far to arrive at the world's edge
Ready to receive what wisdom you will impart
I'll set myself cross-legged on the opposite of you
I see you peering, examining my physical entirety
With one good eye, you gaze right through
Makes me uncomfortable, if I may... But I'll hold steady
I notice you muttering but no words could be heard
Your hands hovering over a glassy globe with an ominous glow
You turn to the left, as if conversing with an invisible third
Whispering secrets that I will never learn to know
Shifting your gaze now into the crystal orb
What do you see, Wise One, in that ball of yours
You shudder upon it's touch as though it's power you absorb
Tell me, Soothsayer... What lies for me in this course?
You swiftly pull your hands behind your back
I flinch with a start at your sudden display
You bring back your hands revealing cards out of a stack
You tremble in spasms, dropping the rest leaving one for play
The card you place face down, right in front of me
You motion for me to pick it up and flip it round
I see the card bore inscriptions and ancient runes, quizzically
You ****** the card and begin chanting in odd sounds
Reciting your incantations, in a tongue I do not understand
They sound like curses rather than the answers I seek
It all ends almost as soon as it started... I can't comprehend
You then place your warm palms gently touching my cheeks
Your features softened as you stared into my sullen eyes
A connection like eternity trapped within seconds never going astray
Then you turn away to fetch a bundle roped in knots and ties
You hand it to me hastily before ushering me on my way
I am now perplexed much... What does it show?
What did you see, what does my future hold?
Please enlighten me what you've come to know
From all of that, what could you have foretold?
Bundle in hand I turn to leave your rundown shanty
As I leave, you speak in your voice, different from before
Soft yet raspy you say, *"Do not open till the end of journey"
"Open only when in house, behind closed door"*
Moon is up illuminating, as I make my way up north
Armed in hand a strange, scented, tied up bundle
Leaving with the same questions with no answers, I amble forth
Wondering if in the bundle I may find the missing pieces of the puzzle...
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
tropical breeze waves washed upon a
soothsayer sand beach whispering love poems between each sigh
seagull clouds baying from above
lustrous sunshine massaging with temperate beams
beneath the waves, turtles twist in tubular turnabouts
bright coral and jaded fish teem in the reef
shimmering sunshine shining through waves
casting shadows and light amongst an oceanic spectrum
we flit through the ocean as foreigners and locals
tiny air bubbles pressing from our lips
unlike the denizens filtering through the reef
we press up to the surface and break through for breath
exiting the ocean of life, we wash upon the shore
driftboards sewn together in matrimony
our clam shelled hands interwoven in the fabric of our souls
sand pressed between to make a glistening pearl
i sit up while you lay down on our thin towels
falling asleep with an upward curve on your lips
i trace my finger down your back like pencil to paper
drawing each crevice, perfection, and blemish
on the landscape of your body
a faint breeze ghosts through the swaying palm trees
dolphins nonchalantly diving through the air and ocean
***** scuttling along the precipice of the sea and sand
waves washing the crooked edges of stones
amongst this equilibrium we are infinite
soaking up this portrait life like a sea sponge
in these moments we are infinite
moments we imagined we had
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
Sitting in labyrinths of cobblestone intestines
I’m learning to eat the entrails of sacrifice
only domestic, never hunted.
pick up spoon. put down
put down. put-down.
pick up. um . spoon.
um… putdown.
there are motions for eating and I do them.
soothsayer, look down
pay attention to positions, shapes
knife. butter. um…
bread. no. breadth.
better. no. butter-better. focus.
knife. better. bread.
knife, knife of haruspex. knife breadth.
okay… deep breath.
I have divided the livers
and the watchers of victims.
I have written on
the anomalies in my bronze living,
what I should look for,
what they should allow for.
my protruding viscera,
my ancient autopsy of starving.
Starving made me easier to tie.
easier to lift. made me feel
gutted out like finished
ice-cream containers
but, starving made me
full of household gods.
made me divine. made sheeps fly.
made days disappear and made cold cold cold seem like
simmering. made staying out of sight a piece of cake.
cake. starving made me rich when I found little
boys betting quarters for eating bowels of
goats. made me small enough to fit through
playground gates so I could swing
swing in earthquakes, and portents.
now, I listen to Memor, a man
who knows nothing of starving
talk about how starving I am.
tomorrow I have to advise
tomorrow I have to weigh
tomorrow I have to swallow
tomorrow I have to
tomorrow I have
tomorrow I am half
and starving made me whole.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
Sometimes it is, poor Sylvia,
that we cannot find the answers. They're
not to be found clinking about in the stars,
blowing about in the August wind,
or blooming among the tea flowers, no matter
how scented. No charlatan soothsayer discerns.
No pull of the cards deciphers. If answers come
at all they'll be found deep within yourself, only.
Don't we all prove that countless, wretched
times? But know this, dear Sylvia, even though it's too
late for your sanity and your life, your daddy didn't
die because of you, for you, by you. Death simply
drew the line and pulled him across.
What were you to do when life puzzled you
to the limit, when all poems disappointed,
when the ink failed to flow smoothly,
the pen tore at the paper and the paper
turned to ash before a line could be written down?
What to do when your child's smile failed to ignite
motherhood, when Daddy's image floated in and out, when
emotional pain dragged you terrified under its
black cerement, that cold, wet, smothering grave cloth?
Fear, oh my God, fear, and the doubt that you had,
the whirling about of a shattered mind, bouncing
from this trap to the other - your muted, stifled inner
screams unheard, or worse, unexpressed. Yes,
you found a solution, poor Sylvia, but suicide
doesn't always equate with an answer. You found a
sad poem, a dirge to be exact, something that moves
us, but there is no rhyme to it and the ending is an
enigma, a great puzzle yet to be invoked, understood.
----
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 4:51 PM UTC
(Scene 1)
Everything was all in slow motion after getting the call
Preparing myself for what it is I will witness next
Suddenly I find myself slowing my walk to a crawl.
I read it over and over through the graphic text
Precised detailed instructions with vivid accounts
Chapter nineteen was written in words that were perplexed.
In the protective cushion of my mind
A hidden secret that is buried deep starts to come alive
Am I awake or am I am asleep?
So confused for I'm beginning to think,
When I dream is it real and when I'm awake is it a dream?
I now feel something starting to trickle and secrete inside me
In the base of my skull I feel the pain.
A pine cone shaped gland is now convulsing and quivering
It causes me to dream at night and it always showed me the truth
It gave upon me the gift of prophesy
and all the answers to life's many mysteries
also in my transformation it turned me into a clever soothsayer.
Why me, why was I plagued?
I know it will happen for the last time in my life
A pleasant and peaceful journey it will take me
As soon as I give up the fight and race through the dark tunnel heading to the light.
An imaginary horror movie now begins to play
Given me visions of what I will see before the end of the day.
I know where I am going; I know what I am going to pick up
Yes I have a clue on just what I am getting into.
A dog whistles sound I hear the constant ringing in my ears
I always see the vapors around my face
Drifting like smoke in my peripheral sight I see them all dance.
I'm I hearing voices in my head or am I going insane?
In an instant blink I am catapulted into a cold room
Thirty nine bags deep in there frozen slumber they laid
No matching numbers with tags could be found
Through another set of double doors I enter
Exposing another four all sprawled out on silver tables.
My eyes now become fixed on the bizarre hollow sight
Of the one's with the harvest of their spongy matter.
Absorbing all the sights and smells
I now found what I came looking for
In a rush to see what’s in my grab bag
I race now to get him out the door
and to stop stepping on with my new shoes,
All the blood that is upon the floor.
To be continued.......
(SirCARSr. 10-24-12)
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 12:17 PM UTC
<>
Freya sparkles as she smiles
setting off brown eyes so dark.
Pools inviting a peek within,
captured in the middle of a spark.
Freya shines as she speaks
soft lips form words so clear.
Sounds inviting a pleasant smile
for anyone who cares to hear.
So hear these words from an old Soothsayer,
Your heart will be warmed when you meet Freya.
<>
© Pagan Paul (29/06/16)
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
There was a woman with an ecclesiastic body.
I found out I was just one member of its congregation.
She was a soothsayer when the lights were down,
When she proved she was a succubus -
But what the **** I've never been a saint.
She put the screws to me.
She used to belong to another man.
Now she's putting me through my paces.
If I had paid attention to the signs,
I could have seen my fate before it happened.
There was this dude I knew who was hard pressed.
I thought I might could offer him a place to crash for awhile,
So he could get his **** together.
Apparently demons have an appetite for gutter ****
They took a ride in my ride,
And didn't forget my checkbook.
They didn't neglect to clean my house
Of nearly everything inside.
It was just a reminder,
Cause it really ain't no surprise.
That there's a burning lake
And gnashing on flesh,
Yeah, it's nothing but any empty, cold black well.
It's a Godless place,
You're on your own.
There ain't no honor among thieves.
Remember this,
There are no friends in Hell.
There are accusations to bring me down,
It's like I'm already dead.
They throw down their gauntlets,
They make every pledge.
I don't trust a word they say.
They're liers and deceivers.
All they want is whatever they can get.
They prey on fools and their believers.
They'll prophesy, then pass you by
Unless you've got an edge,
The dusty demons, dryer than a dessert segde.
They took a ride in my ride,
And didn't forget my checkbook.
They didn't neglect to clean my house
Of nearly everything inside.
It's just a reminder, but it really ain't no surprise.
That there's a burning lake
And gnashing on flesh,
Yeah, it's nothing but any empty, cold black well.
It's a Godless place,
You're on your own.
There ain't no honor among thieves.
Remember this,
There are no friends in Hell.
She never failed to cause me woe.
But, I'm not an innocent soul.
I guess what goes around,
Comes back around.
When it's harvest time, they'll know,
They done ****** with the wrong one.
Everybody reaps what they sow.
They took a ride in my ride,
And didn't forget my checkbook.
They didn't neglect to clean my house
Of nearly everything inside.
It's just a reminder, but it really ain't no surprise.
That there's a burning lake
And gnashing on flesh,
Yeah, it's nothing but any empty, cold black well.
It's a Godless place,
You're on your own.
There ain't no honor among thieves.
Remember this,
There are no friends in Hell
There is no such thing as kindness here.
I'll save troubles for another day,
They only multiply.
The more I see, the more I know
That strumpets belong with urchins.
They never will know,
Until they are each other's paroxysm,
But even then, they won't care.
No good deed is without a price to pay.
They took a ride in my ride,
And didn't forget my checkbook.
They didn't neglect to clean my house
Of nearly everything inside.
It's just a reminder, but it really ain't no surprise.
That there's a burning lake
And gnashing on flesh,
Yeah, it's nothing but any empty, cold black well.
It's a Godless place,
You're on your own.
There ain't no honor among thieves.
Remember this,
There are no friends in Hell.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 3:02 AM UTC
What if I let you read my poems?
A window to my prowess
The edible part of this eccentric fruit
The beauty of this beast
The justification of this tongue-tied pride
What if I let you see me?
In an unexpected lightning
Caught off guard
No consciousness for good or bad
No apology, no self-regard
A mind without dogma or dead ends
No societal influence
Juried by mere conscience
So much love, so much violence
Hasty vengeance by the ARTLESS
Derailed from logic and peer reference
Governed by wimps and impulses
Nutrition and ***********
Nutrition and ***********
Mankind’s infamous purpose
Now..
Now let us go back to the green hill
The good soothsayer's teaching
The shackles of our being
Let us close our eyes... and Breathe
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 6:28 AM UTC
A personable person propogated passion
Beneath my heavy heart
Alas, cried the caterpillar
You are not dead!
Though I have spent hours molesting your windowsill
Rapeseed!
Huckleberry!
Gingerbread Pie!
All these things and more have I maliciously misunderstood
But the lies of the soothsayer are frequently true
They are passionate pomegranates from me to you
The obelisks of oppression overpower your heartstrings
And there's nothing you can do
My villain!
My thief!
The princess of my misery!
The fiery orb and the blasphemous pirates!
Staring at your shoulders I see only my reflection
Turning on your heel my eyelids sparkle and linger at your doorstep
It's Goliath's head
Salmon and bread
Those deathly ideas which you purposely said
Tic tac guru
Just what is he to you?
And which of my words have you read?
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 6:24 PM UTC
Take my passion into consideration,and value
How much love I have for your beauty in grace
How much I love you point is not to argue
Where ever,whenever I see I see just your face
What I have in your image that is worthwhile
Whatever I carry along that is but world treasure
I carry along from mile to mile beautiful smile
You made my love like a wonderful soothsayer
I see God in you You are my beautiful universe
I like your beautiful style, all graces and all charms
I am no more in me you are wonderfully diverse
Please embrace me my love just come in my arms
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
Armed and rightly dangerous
religious and slightly pugnacious
on the sidewalk the talk's of the testament
the rent being due on a Sunday.
Molly, the soothsayer tells me
that heaven is mine if I could be
an acolyte of the almighty.
My fiance is the goddess I pray to
she's the light that I see
when the day's through and
the hope that I seek and
I cling to.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 2:57 AM UTC
What's in the meaning
of my reading of a red sky?
Certainly no soothsayer am I
neither do I prophesy
Clearly I'm merely a measurer of
who, what, when, where, how, or why
And so, I surmise
the skies dyes
a guise
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
I will be your caged bird.
I will sing to you in sunshine.
You can put me in my place,
I won't take up much space,
and I'll only say words
you teach me, that's fine
I will be your caged bird.
I will sing to you in rain.
You can try and cover up my squawk
but you must still hear me talk
and I only try to heal all of your pain.
I will be your caged bird.
I will sing to you in laughter.
You can lay down newspapers
and I'll be your soothsayer,
but tell me now, with a word,
should I whistle like this,
or faster?
I will be your caged bird.
I will sing to you in silence.
You can treat me like a pantomime,
pretend that I'm still here
and doing just fine,
and still I won't come to you with violence.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 7:58 AM UTC
Silver-tongued soothsayer
with a voice of gold but
breath like mercury,
sing me a future full of
blue nights
&
days that seem to always
sit at the horizon.
Feed me opiates through dreams,
through tubes
down the back of my throat,
where I turn them into
poisons for my body to feast on.
Force them into my genetic make-up;
let me replicate a beautiful nightmare
out of my marrow and exhale
careless sociopathic lies
to ******* strangers and
********* with first names
I don't need to remember.
Let me be Ohio's last astronaut;
my head is past clouds,
my body, beyond earth.
Sympathy will be reserved
for those who have lost
their hearts, their hope,
their homes, their minds,
their control,
their bodies,
their functions,
their...
Yes.
Their dreams.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
Lingering above this desert the first rains of winter,
streets greasy with oil/water/rubber cocktail.
Vegas spruces for the tourist onslaught,
bettors eager to lay their Superbowl favorite.
For a weekend the nation marches to a singular drum,
hotels swelling with the faithful to this Neon City.
The Champion stealthily concealed behind the mirror
through which no tout, nor soothsayer may perceive.
The press have lain out every faceted interview,
now only the true believers need worry beads.
This poet shrugs: for him the game has little meaning,
he looks instead to the clouds overhanging the valley.
Bring on the sacks of Sunday, the pass of ******* objects,
there will be snow upon the Redrocks to chill that morn.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 2:03 AM UTC
The soothsayer only smiles and whispers,
stays anticipation and decays til you kiss her.
Leaning in:
Posture is, as much as
a broken back,
lacking.
Caught,
stiff and bare,
in a stare.
"I'm not acting,"
I'm retracting my opinions
backtrack to begin again.
Pinioned by inclusion;
on the right foot, left
to my conclusions.
If it's a game,
then i'm losin'.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
One man can rule over all
Rome, the greatest City of all
The Empire of the World,
Ruled by one man,
Julius Caesar
His passion for power was huge,
His empire, even bigger
But some where not so kind,
Others wished him gone,
And so they plotted,
Plotted a plan,
Plotted his assassination
The day then came,
From returning from one battle,
To be greeted back home,
Before the next great battle arrived,
But he was warned to flee
“Beware the Ides of March”
The Soothsayer said, but he didn’t listen
He continued on his route to the Senate
His wife saw blood, his own blood,
And the faces of enemies bathing in his blood
But even her wise words couldn’t persuade him
He still went to the Senate
Where the murderers were waiting
How much more did he have to endure?
Through the torment of the power struggle,
To please the Mob, or his friend?
Brutus made the choice, his choice,
The choice that changed the Empire
“Et tu Brute”, and Caesar fell
The battle determined all,
The rightful ruler over the Empire
And the traitors fell,
By their own swords
Oct 27, 2009
Oct 27, 2009 at 8:04 AM UTC
don't look, I
run with the wind, amok gilted hands
fast lacing,
i've only got six fingers saved for
dead kachinas, and I'm
wheeling rough
through the underbrush;
mixed Wiley yellow, willow
peering in on my schemes, paint
pallet dragging leaves
over the hills and holes of
my body's deepest grief
so brush up the tic
and wipe off the blood,
if i'm treading through this
horse hyde, then lift
up my red dress
and sift out the weeds
bramble ramble, ramble
soothsayer hanging bones from
his swollen empty gut-- I
got a rain-stick, talking-stick
Yellow Wampum floating, bagging
sick sweat, for Appaloosa, holy, holy
leave, god anger ugly,
golden painted leaves
and if i'm too swollen, and if you're too
sullen-- i've got a bag of névé rocks for you
so hitch up the tobacco and wait
for tomorrow
my deer running, hoof trotting, snow
blowing legs will be comin' soon.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 12:45 AM UTC
Sliding down a savagely slippery slope
A downward spiral obstructed with fate
I found my Mechanism, now I can cope
Checkers before her, my soul chessmate
As cold as a glacier, shivering and frigid
I lay in the snow, halfway frozen to death
I was as stiff as a statue so hard and rigid
Her lips greeted mine with heaven's breath
It's now clear to me I was paralyzed before
A shell of myself, many layers left to peel
Standing still with deaf ears upon the door
You opened it and gave me ability to feel
I see the future in your eyes, just like an old soothsayer
Her smile won a nobel prize, for answering my prayer
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
Most days it is felt in the bones
Sometimes it moves to my
Soap, or my
Belt, or my
Lighter, I burn it into
****** circles in whatever page I scar
I feel it in my hands when it
Flows in peace, sweet release
I never feel it in my guitar, I thank
A harmless exoskelocreeper darts along the
Wall and the sick pit of belly says ******
But things have been so
Transparent of late I would hate to
Move and sad statue watches crawling, powerless
These stones we lug, do they make us strong?
My back sores with
More pain than progress
I feel it when they speak
The stinking breath of some
Who have never looked up
Or did and got dizzy frailneck
I feel it in the not now
I feel it in the dreams
Where waking comes after death
I feel it in the mornings
Planting palmonn wall to balance liquid lover
I swear, I went right
Through it like
I wasn’t even
There
Becoming less of something lately
Or, more of a slim
Quantum chance (?)
It is like we walk among the
Subterrain thinking we are
Open air, I can hear the
Footprints above, everywhere
And the true sky beyond imagination
I can feel it
When they haven’t
Flown
We reach and
Reach like emerging
Gravewalkers, desperate
For something
Sun on our hands, run them through
The breeze and think we’re free
When it rains, blind grasp
Turns out not the soothsayer
We question the water no origin exposed
I feel it in the mirror
And in groups
I feel it in the hairs on the back of my neck
I feel it in everything
My beautiful virus
Something
Is not right
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:06 PM UTC
The Benchwarmer with peeled eyes and a chip on his shoulder
Was all ears but under the weather
The Pick of the Litter told him to hold his horses and that he could not pass go to collect two hundred dollars
Bob his Uncle was down in the dumps that day
And ***** his Aunt's eyes were bigger than her stomach
But she had a punchline so funny it would rock your socks off then proceed to knock them off even though they fit like a glove
But somewhere in the crowd there we're various whisperers and a soothsayer who knew The Benchwarmer would win it big single-handedly that day
And they all shouted from the stands
"You got a good head on your shoulders, you little pain in the ***
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
universe, displace from me
this trauma in the breaking
of my father’s favorite scotch glass
for it is simpler to clear glass shards
from the dishwasher and laminate tile
than ventricular shrapnel from my chest
eyebrows
straight as a net
keep me serving lets
racquet, arm, the ball
is all i don't know
40-love
scoreboard soothsayer
divining the true value
of affectionate devotion
game, set, deuce off the bat
[wrong sport]
my serve is in returning
paper bags brimming
with your belongings
(our volleys never lasted)
game, set, match
[applause]
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC