A warrior speaks through a vulnerable state
Through heartache and pain
A broken smile can be strange
Her passion and love for music and dance
Has given her life a second chance
Never seeking for pity just the awareness to spread
Of this broken piece inside her head
The music, the lights, the love, the friends
Has built her up and restored her again
The lights go down, the curtain raises up
The first note blares as the fog and lasers turn on
Her smiles fills the stage
Her passion can be seen
She is a warrior
Even behind the scenes

Stay Humble
Stay Strong
Stay You

She is a warrior who gets a second chance at doing what she loves to do

What do you see
When you look inside me?
What do you see
When you look in my eyes?
Can you see
The scared little girl
I was growing up?
Can you see
All my insecurities?
Can you see
All my secrets?
What do you see
When you look at me?
What do you see
When I stand all alone?
Is it a girl
So lost and afraid
She can't look you in the eye
and ask for help?
Is it a woman
Strong and confident
In who she is
And what she wants?
What do you see?
What do you see?
A strange mix of both?
Neither?
What do you see
When I finally,
Look you in the eye?
Can you see
All my broken pieces?
All the scars?
All the things
I've tried to hide?
Can you see it all?
Or
Is that just
What I see
When I finally
Manage to look at me?

No moon tonight,  only the depths of a fathomless darkness, pitched black,
and in such bleak emptiness, the sound of the swirling wind becomes my focus,
whistling through the trees, rattling gates and fences, skimming rooftops,
strange noises as if the nights very teeth were chattering with fright.
Now, the warmth of bed becomes my sanctuary, sheets pulled over a weary head,
yet within such secure confines, the nights rampant breath punctuates my slumber,
sounds of ghostly whispers carried on ethereal waves, names of ones long since departed.  
Sleep eludes the hypnotic lure of the ticking clock, yearning for the distant glow of morns new light.

He watched her walking through the night
Into the darkness of life
To the ever changing days
She glanced with the words trailing
You can’t see me
In the night all cats are grey
It’s always been that way
Did you see the sign
Walking towards
Like death walking towards that point
But going no further
Not when the gravestones scream
Injustice
For the mourned
They watch in the night
For that glimpse
As the rising mist
Touch her aura
In a strange way
We rejoice
Watching her walking through the night
Whispering
You can’t see me
In the night all cats are grey.

red pen in hand....
i critique people's thoughts
and dreams

six years at university,
to become a god....
who moulds minds
and delivers future prophecies, ready for unwrapping.

who creates bell curves,
of fail to high distinctions.

that the undergrads,
follow like dancing, pavlovian dogs...

the posts...have slipped
the leash and ...
leave thoughtful piles of...extruded work, in the academic yard.

six years at uni...as a dog
nine years at uni ...as a god.

it is amazing,
how the garnering
of parchments
and strange hats,
can transpose a person's world.

Don’t talk to strangers
     You said

Don’t talk to the followers
Of strange gods
Or to voices
With words in foreign tongues
And skin
Like burnt toffee.

Don’t talk to strangers
     You said

Don’t talk to the man
Hobbling between cars
With outstretched palms
And a sign that reads:
‘Hungry children at home
God bless your day’

Don’t talk to strangers
     You said

Don’t talk to your uncle
Whose husband waits
Watching the evening news
With a glass of red wine
And steak
Cooling on the stove.

Don’t talk to strangers
     You said

Don’t talk to the reflection
In the mirror
That smiles at you
Like an old friend
Whose face
You cannot recognize.

Don’t talk to strangers
     You said

The piper coming from far away is you
With a whitewash brush for a sporran
Wobbling round you, a kitchen chair
Upside down on your shoulder, your right arm
Pretending to tuck the bag beneath your elbow,
Your pop-eyes and big cheeks nearly bursting
With laughter, but keeping the drone going on
Interminably, between catches of breath.



The whitewash brush. An old blanched skirted thing
On the back of the byre door, biding its time
Until spring airs spelled lime in a work-bucket
And a potstick to mix it in with water.
Those smells brought tears to the eyes, we inhaled
A kind of greeny burning and thought of brimstone.
But the slop of the actual job
Of brushing walls, the watery grey
Being lashed on in broad swatches, then drying out
Whiter and whiter, all that worked like magic.
Where had we come from, what was this kingdom
We knew we'd been restored to? Our shadows
Moved on the wall and a tar border glittered
The full length of the house, a black divide
Like a freshly opened, pungent, reeking trench.



**** at the gable, the dead will congregate.
But separately. The women after dark,
Hunkering there a moment before bedtime,
The only time the soul was let alone,
The only time that face and body calmed
In the eye of heaven.

Buttermilk and *****,
The pantry, the housed beasts, the listening bedroom.
We were all together there in a foretime,
In a knowledge that might not translate beyond
Those wind-heaved midnights we still cannot be sure
Happened or not. It smelled of hill-fort clay
And cattle dung. When the thorn tree was cut down
You broke your arm. I shared the dread
When a strange bird perched for days on the byre roof.



That scene, with Macbeth helpless and desperate
In his nightmare--when he meets the hags agains
And sees the apparitions in the ***--
I felt at home with that one all right. Hearth,
Steam and ululation, the smoky hair
Curtaining a cheek. 'Don't go near bad boys
In that college that you're bound for. Do you hear me?
Do you hear me speaking to you? Don't forget!'
And then the postick quickening the gruel,
The steam crown swirled, everything intimate
And fear-swathed brightening for a moment,
Then going dull and fatal and away.



Grey matter like gruel flecked with blood
In spatters on the whitewash. A clean spot
Where his head had been, other stains subsumed
In the parched wall he leant his back against
That morning like any other morning,
Part-time reservist, toting his lunch-box.
A car came slow down Castle Street, made the halt,
Crossed the Diamond, slowed again and stopped
Level with him, although it was not his lift.
And then he saw an ordinary face
For what it was and a gun in his own face.
His right leg was hooked back, his sole and heel
Against the wall, his right knee propped up steady,
So he never moved, just pushed with all his might
Against himself, then fell past the tarred strip,
Feeding the gutter with his copious blood.

*

My dear brother, you have good stamina.
You stay on where it happens. Your big tractor
Pulls up at the Diamond, you wave at people,
You shout and laugh about the revs, you keep
old roads open by driving on the new ones.
You called the piper's sporrans whitewash brushes
And then dressed up and marched us through the kitchen,
But you cannot make the dead walk or right wrong.
I see you at the end of your tether sometimes,
In the milking parlour, holding yourself up
Between two cows until your turn goes past,
Then coming to in the smell of dung again
And wondering, is this all? As it was
In the beginning, is now and shall be?
Then rubbing your eyes and seeing our old brush
Up on the byre door, and keeping going.

On a large,
Dead and cold
Stone,
Burned by emptiness.
Which is capable to influence the seas.
You
Feverishly whisper magic spells
In hope to change everything.
Our destiny went in cycles
By the nauseous drama scenario.
The oblivion holds our values and dreams in its teeth.
They
Considered that it is an illness -
To run towards tails of comets.
Maybe they were right after all,
Because our force disappeared,
We slowly descend into "nothing".
Air in our space suits comes to an end,
Our bathyscaphe is drowned in abyss.
Do you remember?
Those coward laughed and called a "bravado"
Our desperate flight to the moon?
You...
You call me "the last",
Life - a box of sweets.
Those, others, who believe in nonsense and brands,
You forgot, as if they were never existed.
I don't know why we laugh.
To see the truth - is it a gift or simply a defect?
I don't know,
Why all of us are fighting,
But only against our selfs.
Musician
Untuned a guitar.
On a scene he is drilled by a stare of abyss.
All of their books and stories is just an useless chronicle
of apes.
Strange,
Those who were invaluable were sold,
They ran on an aimless road and their armor have broken.
Those "Bandar-logs"
are seated and looking
On dances of mighty Kaa.
I hold you,
And stars laugh.
And space laughs loudly, hiding the book of secrets.
For them - we are only people
Comers from anywhere
And left in nowhere.

Reposted for a friend.

My Prayer

Oh, dear Lord,
Please give to me
The graciousness
Of an apple tree.
It shares its fruit
With all in need,
Regardless of their
Race or creed,
And spreads a
Dappled shade of gray
For weary travelers
On their way.

The courage of a badger,
O doughy soul!
You'd see a *BEAR
Running from his hole!
He has a faith
I do not know...
Without a Bible
To tell him so.

The conscience of
A growing pearl,
The greatest gift
In all the world.
It gets yet larger
With each day...
Although it has
No mouth to pray.

The gentle acceptance
Of deep grass,
Which bends to allow
Your winds to pass,
Then stands again
With stately grace
To look once more
In Your sun's face.

The freedom of
A flock of birds,
For they have surely
Heard Your words.

The cheerfulness
Of a laughing brook,
Which will pass a
Boulder without a look!

The industry of
A little bee...
The good of his fellows
Is all he sees.

The patience of
Eroding wind,
It'll carve out beauty
In the end.

The humility of
A daisy flower,
It knows it's beauty
Will last but hours.

The love within
A mother bear.
To the end
She'll always care.

The resounding strength
Of a mountain range.
To these the centuries
Are not strange.

The wisdom of
An ocean deep,
Which will, forever,
Its secrets keep.

All these things,
I do believe,
My spirit will,
In time, receive.

It is Your will
I must accept,
As I do the kingdom

*YOU HAVE KEPT.

Don't wake up,

Don't wake me up,

Don't drag me from the only place I feel nothing.

Sounding alarms, a wretched voice,

telling me I can't go back.

Weak bones push a barely functioning body up and onto bruised feet,

cracked back- I go through the motions

I pretend to eat

I dress in the slop in front of me

I look to the mirror and pretend to like what I see.

I drag myself to a car nearly as broken as I

and off to banality.

I hardly breath

I hardly speak

My mind is elsewhere,

a where they'll never find me.

Fatigue overhwelmes me,

I taste the need.-

It's already sixth period-

what happened to the day?

I don't remember,

it's rare that I do.

Long hours curled in a ball

hoping their eyes pass right over me.

I sleep walk through the day,

a ghost to all who glance.

I'm home again,

where no one has the chance to see me,

I hide behind usernames

and craddle their comments.

With no voice and an empty belly.

I mindlessly tap away at an electric screen.

It's not really me.

I turn my thoughts to things so strange

and much much older than me.

Wasting away the hours,

maybe the more fantasy I watch

I'll forget about where I really am.

It's 2am-

I no longer bother to try and sleep

I can shut my eyes

and wait all I want

still nothing but darkness

and a quiet house-

why is no one ever home?

Not that I care, of course,

I'll go to the dark but comforting

corner of Tumblr,

and wait.

4:30am

like clockwork

I sleep,

dream of dark things

much older than me,

and quietly beg to never wake up.

I see you upside down lying on great
High captain's house ceilings circa 1920
Strange babe you look down on me smiling
Quell my desire like what snowy night
Bus ride did I take to some bleary eyed
Character now too long dead like those
Cold empty nights we used to meet
Walking back alone long miles
Thru bitter wind east coast wind
Thru bitter east coast powder
How sad he seemed then as if he knew
And I knew  too but really knowing does
No good except through our brief
Shared solidarity experience not alone
That same look I now see on yr. twisted
                               Head

So I guess we know now too that really
I don't care for you and you don't love me
Tho we feel like this our last chance
What more chance left our tattered souls
               (If you believe in that kind)

Why speak words no words to wax
I pack up few paltry possessions
You keep old sea captain's house
Now ruined for me like pet geranium
Bloomd once then died from neglect hiddn
I cried 'why did my otter die
                     Why do they do that

I find one bedroom flat
Look over city lights holding cheap beer
Quiet dread you can smell like pheromones
Here staring walls eternity sleep
Cold drafts in bones
                Tho windows sealed shut

PRELUDE - THE SEE THROUGH HOUSE

a child sings from an open window
a sweet song serenades an angry sky
escorting the sun home soft and mellow
so many years have now drifted by
visiting my old home here on Vatersay
Western Isles have their own genetic blends
I made the wee trip over from Castlebay
all that was left to see - two gable ends!
As my eye resists a lonely tear
I walk alone for a while on the sand
memories hark back to yesteryear
my Parents couldn't tame an untamed land
unrelenting hardships too much to take
the summer rain and then the winter snow
remnants of a failed dream in my wake
endless crashing tides screamed we had to go
but now I've lost myself in time's assuage
smoke billows forth from a happy fire
forgetting the gales and their howling rage
just the birds and lambs of nature's choir
but then the Cuckoo sang a confused song
Oyster Catchers didn't know which way to fly
no more childrens laughter all day long
Father leans on his staff and starts to cry
I visit my childhood home this one last time
bookending my days, a kind of crescendo
a strange thing I know but surely not a crime
for an Old Lady to sing from an open window.


PART - THE FIRST

New Scotland, old Scotland it was all the same
the clearances were a distant memory
and the two thousand mile journey that took weeks.
They settled on Nova Scotia's East coast
time and circumstances made them one flesh
as they embarked on love's difficult journey
they were blessed with a sweet child, Ishbael
they both loved her tho no longer each other

at night Ishbael would sing out the open window
she would sing to the moon, she would sing to the stars
she imagined that she was a ballet dancer
and dreamed of being such when she grew up

Mother eeked out a living from the tired land
Father spent most of his time on the fractious sea
She stood motionless at the front door each night
He checked the lobster creels under a salty spray

the spode China would be laid out on the table
strategically placed on the driftwood surface
cups stained brown with tea, coffee and nicotine
and on the outside with smudges of lipstick
it was the most treasured family heirloom
it was somehow smuggled across in the boat
it was passed on to them as a wedding gift
it was the only item of value they ever had

night after night Mother watches the sea
in the distant field, Sheep murmur like Bees
the bog cotton waves like a myriad hankies
as sunlight dissolves under cumulous cloud,
his bent over figure would surely soon appear
whistling a sea shanty walking up the track
but like a novel, his script came to an end
the storm weathered body was never found

outside on the lonely pebbled shore a Curlew sang
the net curtains rose and fell to it's bleak strains
wind rattled the windows like the beating of fence posts
they drank hot milk from Spode china for the final time
their family had creaked under the stresses and strains
that night a tall poplar tree crashed through the roof
storms wrecked their home like they wrecked their marriage
a perfect marriage of howling wind and frigid air

a lifetime of memories carried toward the sea
yet that old enemy was soon to be their friend
like a crush that would simply not go away.
Veiled by wrinkles Mother responds to the calling.
Larks cavort up and down in their unyielding plot
while they are bound for a far and distant land
the land was in their blood the blood was in their kin
the Isle of Vatersay, they were going home.


PART - THE SECOND

Old Scotland, new Scotland it was all the same
but she could not ignore the similarities
she looked across the ocean, it was all the same
two thousand miles of Atlantic anger
wind driven waves like a Tiger on a lead
but the tide died, the sea had peace like a child's hair
this reminded her of her kind Step Father
he would lean on his staff and cry when things went wrong

a storm took this house too, only they were not in it!
They settled across the water in Castlebay.
Time was unveiled as she relived her childhood,
withered fence posts and rusty wire that kept the joy in
brushing aside the nettles the hearth warmed her heart
window fames were as firm as ber Father's hand shake
she carefully scraped away the moss of time,
darkening seas awakened to her silvery voice.

She scurried along the beach with a youthful gait
reminiscent of her ballet dancing days
then the tide of her heart rose like a mountain within
down in the marram grass, she stared in sheer disbelief
her body all a quiver she picked up the fragments
with cupped hands tears were mingled with Spode china
she raised her eyes heavenward and screamed...
"nach eil sin italicired"
which when translated means 'how wonderful is that!'

tears rolled uncontrolably down her face
she stood still shaking the fragments in her hands
it made a lovely tinkling sound like cow bells,
two thousand miles of Atlantic anger
had softened the edges and smoothed over her memories.
She looked fervently at the long deserted croft
the wind erased her footprints in the sands of time
and then the sun went down.


EPILOGUE - THE END

when your poems fail to rhyme
when your watch runs out of time
when you feel your fate was sealed
we were on the same level playing field

when clouds slowly start to fill your sky
when the ocean gives it's final cry
life's pathways they did wind and wend
we were all equal in tbe end

we all had good times and hope'd they'd last
but time went on rolling on by far too fast
that lady in the window she's still singing
not about 'the end' but a new beginning.

To me there is no better night
Than the dimming of the lights
And tuning into American Idol on my T.V.

Tonight's no different to tell the truth
As they give another loser the boot
When I noticed something strange in how Ryan Seacrest blinked

Mr. Pretty Boy was blinking in Morris code
Right underneath America's nose
He was passing off top governmental secrets

So his front has all along been a lie
Ryan Seacrest, international spy
Don't know why before I didn't see this

He uses that cute little baby face
And day old beard to hide his disgrace
As he obviously communicates with the underworld

From one side of the globe to another
Talking in code with his Rooski brothers
Why this just gets my patriotic ******* in a curl

Just when you think you know someone
They go and pull this traitor stunt
I suppose now your going to tell me Mom doesn't bake her own apple pies

Then I find out it's some imposter named Mrs. Smith
I'm not sure I can take much more of this
Who next will I catch living a lie

Then I see Ryan run off stage
With the strangest of looks on his face
Seems all along there was stardust in his eyes

Funny it wasn't Morris code
Who's embarrassed now...me I suppose
Ryan Seacrest international spy?
Uh...nevermind

quick. slow & simple.
with a structure delicate
mammoth composures
wound warmly & fit perfectly.
effortlessly,
but, a strange wind slices
tearing strange ribbons
from themselves.
how could the small
inherit the earth &
fall asleep?

What if I'm right..
and the  strange things  I do
(that seem so "cruel" to you)
are the only way that you can finally
become  able  to  truly see?  
What if what you once felt  to be cruel
entended up being the most  loving
thing you've ever experienced?  
I'm not downplaying what I've done
  or trying to minimize it
or justify my actions in any way at all..
I am just trying to tell you that the
original damage went into you with
severity and it's own form of selfish
violence.  

Breaking that severity can never be a very pretty thing.

What if my love for you,  and the
strange way that I do it
is the only thing that would have
  ever worked

to help you to finally have a chance?



I am broken too.. and  the only way I
can truly enter into your brokenness

     is when your  brokenness


b re a k s



              against mine.

INDEX


                            Foreword

1  Despertación of Etréstles 13

2  Constitución New Government . 22

3  diabolic Intromisión 25

4  Kanti, the Corcel . 28

5  Ante the Council 30

6 Inauguración the Monument to Botsaris . 36

7  Losas abandoned 41

8  Satagénesis and Deidagénesis Four. Five

9   Enviados to Deidagénesis / Lepanto 52

10 Drestnia in Kalidona 56

11 Etréstles returns Lepanto 64

12 And the fourth cemetery 71

13 Top of the flight of Lucifer 79

14 In the crypt of the patriarchs 87

15 Etréstles part Valplacci 98

16 Etréstles fleet in the Ionian Sea 114

17 Near Messolonghi 120

18 A new era begins 123

19 Universal Era breaks 129

20 Goodbye Messolonghi 135

21 At the beginning of a new millennium. 141

Epilogue. 153








FOREWORD






Mi theme concept concerning Cemeteries, has been maintained for many years under a remarkable process falls recoup credibility. Unknown worlds which we do not know what to believe, are usually put into question.

Constantly let the silent fields where lie the dead, but it is not, rather that me thinks so. Undoubtedly, the Quantum Theory indicates a basic unit of the whole universe, showing that it is possible to decompose the world into small units of independent existence. This theory shows that the dynamics in the art is such that, solid objects are in constant motion entramando relations between different parts of a unified whole.

As we believe that matter is inherently sterile, we think the cemetery is in the same condition, and therefore inert bodies are also only turned into a pile of bones scattered.





7

8 Etréstles


My conception of the world of subterranean acting, aims to support the theory of Quantum, because at first glance it seems that under these moles cement there putrefaction and eternal solitude. Well, I, I do not think so, I think there is tremendous activity, above all tends to seek fulfillment in a world that concerns him, and also has the infinite grace of thanks from all lurking diseases that shake us. That is, each inhabitant of the subterranean acting as a Franciscan Noble receives worship existence, and not faints by the destructive effects of all known diseases.

Near the garden of heroes, they are the remains of those who died in this output. It was a legendary struggle for libertarian revolution of 1821 in Greece, exactly Messolonghi. Markos Botsaris's tomb and the statue of Lord Byron great Hellenophile found in this garden.

Once, I was looking for a book, and this was inevadiblemente of oriental trend. I used to remind my teacher, the monk talking Virajánanda Given the processes of time, yesterday, today and tomorrow; all at once were a pure unity. That physical death had to be spiritual satisfaction, so that the spirit can not disconnect your disposable body. Child saw my family to go to leave flowers garden home to their loved ones. But I am noticing that my grandparents were still alive, and then would leave, looking for ways to inhale the smell of the earth to prepare the farewell that someday would come from the dark beyond. It never was painful to see them

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 9


from, because I've always been with them. In addition always our body, which would be living in a merger with vague spirits, to vague minds that do not hold their interest in spirituality as a way of life, tend to make us climb through dark passages of ignorance.

Etréstles, the protagonist; It has place at a lineage that marks limits warriors of ancient Greece, since fought with neighboring nations. Thus, generation after generation, he meddles in successive reincarnations that are to be transported in time by different spaces.

Its Vitabión and Regma Mother, father and as Staktos and Esaedt, both from different eras. His monogamous romantic company is coyuntada with the presence of Drestnia; woman who had to pull out of her womb, better said from his rib, emulating the biblical account.

While it is noteworthy that the secondary characters are related to Greek mythology such as Eurydice, and real characters like Markos Botsaris, who was a great hero who drove the Turks. The famous Florentine sculptor and architect Lorenzo Ghiberti, is present in the action, so that his image is immortalized in an eternal cemetery. Similarly we should mention Asurbanipal king of Assyria (667-626 C), the Auriga; the coachman and truck driver where he had his Herreros over time to release the Hellenic descent.

Other memorable as Aristotle, Hesiod, Praxiteles, which are knowledge to every reader of Greek literature. The judge presiding over the classroom

10 E tr é stles


sesionaba time to time, trying to revive the rituals and reject the stubborn efforts of Lucifer, who was trying to have a place on earth, then God expelled him from heaven.

In the chapter of the onslaught of Lucifer, he is accompanied by his minions Heosphoros and Phosphoros; they are the ones who brought Lucifer from heaven to Messolonghi. In addition Mesopotamian demons appear hostile world, these were the Annunaki who were the jailers of the dead in hell. The Etimmu, were the ghosts of all those who had died unhappy. The Utukku lived in desolate places or cemeteries; they are all part of malignancy presence as oppressive form and manner of presence to the exuberance of good all-encompassing.

Kanti Botsaris steed, is nothing more than his superconsciousness, wearing it as a link between the different physical and oneiric dimensions. It should be noted that Kanti is a Cretan horse and belongs to the fallen in battle, as Botsaris.

Eulalia and Zultina, both courtesans who spent their lives together with Ghiberti and Botsaris.

And it could not ignore the Menopausal, puerperal and Enamorada, as they like female members suffer alone beyond the earthly life that had consequences that affect the desolate silence of death camps.

And to finish, arrival at Valplacci, where it meets a world and a rare man in an unknown dimension by Etréstles. subsequently arriving at Patmos, where St.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi eleven


John the Theologian, to regain some of its lost soul by the intrusion of Lucifer. Here manages to discover that there is no need to fight warriors who always talk about physical war, because many of them tend to succumb to the same battlefields. discovering, mind mentor as the best ally to overcome any difficulty, wherever it is that the human race is found, or infra-human.

Finally, Etréstles is discovered in a way that would open a new numeral cycle, to start a new era and a new physical space where the projection Messolonghi be situated; nothing less than Nineveh, Ashurbanipal land where the winds blow, as a priest in his exsufflation it does to remove the demons that inhabit the world.

The "Zero" is the initiator of a new era, from whose base the only means available to the new life that awaits the residents of escombroso Messolonghi, after the invasion of Lucifer appears.

My concept of the cemeteries, while seeking an answer to approximate I think now that enormous efforts are made to understand fully. Cemetery remains for me a scenario of hideousness and terror, seen from the observation point that everyone has it, however, I think that in a strange world where you're not supposed to govern ethics, aesthetics, law , and the professional, economic and social status; It is where more wealth is the multiestimulante vitality, "I think

12 E tr é stles


nowhere inhabited earthly souls, will be able to find more life here in the

Messolonghi cemetery ".


José Luis Carreño Troncoso San Antonio, 1997




1





Wake-up of Etréstles



Dfter sleeping a thousand years fell on my face greater light current Solar. I slept without smiling at the crowds inhumaron smearing me my only bones.

The search of that hubbub, made me celebrate the porous bodies and pelusientos arañosos falling on my fingers, delighting my humble tributes to the beetles that accompanied me to direct my view to the nearby burial vaults me. Some were swollen with a semblance augury despertativa; like starting today, with the ominous words They moved from today, the paddling of my fleshless jaws.

Among gravestones of Floreas esmeraldinas dinosauric, in a clear blue autumn, some birds refregaban on edges of the carved stones. Meanwhile, mustards was riding on dry leaves leaves clavelinas. The white-clad looked up Drestnia slab that closed their senses, remained behind bars with his hands crossed as evolving body


13

14 E tr é stles


to attend a new era of geography and different technology. On his chest he would run the living vertiginante wind up the corporeal hint in the light of Koumeterium Messolonghi; that housed over a thousand years ago, at Etréstles of Kalavrita.

This huge palace and flat, it is nothing more than an asylum, where the worst plague that began with the death of the sentinels of Lucifer, who dropped this place with its beautiful golden layers originated; whose satagénesis emerge the burning soil to ten fossilized cemeteries under the Messolonghi.

He walked slowly dragging my old body, the tenth floor, and that teenage girls pointed stones would break my nails; as such if they were claws of a mammal trapped by lava from a volcano. In each advance I awaken in my armor patriotic my last fight, and his enternecedor observe how parents tilled by the conglomerate caste, fighting in underground elements.

Etréstles awakening ...:

Etréstles ...: Which of all columns erected is able to open all columns built in the pavilion of these moles without form or color ... just vitalizing lung diaphragm Eólico my daydreams, is who I think would ...?

To all who are runaways and trapped underground Messolonghi, I bring you good tidings ... Auriga with its Herreros come from the region of the Dodecanese to loosen the bars you father

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi fifteen


Staktos lucid and my mother Vitabión well that in a thousand years, has been damaged her beautiful body. Since my birth in Ayia Lavra, I was being buried for the ninth time in the Ninth Fossilized Cemetery. Whose archpriest with holy oil trickled down my wall, pretending to be a dance of water generated at the bottom of the Ionian. Between the arches of the temple columns running down my mother Vitabión; outward sacravertebral bathe in the water of my past christenings. My past lives were providing mandated by the Auriga their previous lives. And your mother ... A day tried the weight of my recycle ... ?!

Beyond you., Comrades of wars, pilgrimages sacrosanct, lush gauzy baths civilization in the Olympic and equestrian fields.

To you. That you lie here, as is my death in my last life in the hands of a Spartan soldier. Pcs., Blood of my blood, I feel inside me speak your need ...

And in the postrería Drestnia, which by its sixth rising from here from Messolonghi, between bars sealed thy grave situation for the Hellenic indeterminar.

I had to drink from the Pinosa resin to speak here, with my bony hands to touch the others are like yours ...

... Drestnia, my rib still preserved, I will be reborn placating the domain of collective wishful thinking, which prevents your freedom.

My rib you return to your present life, whose cold, flower seeds esqueletizaron the perimeter of your life ...

16 E tr é stles


Etréstles was with them into the Koumeterium Messolonghi, to about 1800 meters zenith direction.

They were to be the Necromesolongui Council to define the minutes. -while music with winds adorned arrival-. Just at the moment, came the Auriga with its blacksmiths, they came to liberate Drestnia with its multiconciencia. What happiness to Etréstles! He ran through the underground halls, to the oldest Koumeterium, the first fossilized. Where thousands of years ago, with many now extinct species, Etréstles came to them resoundingly good news.

While the Council inveighed promulgating the divine sarmiento spray fields Dodecanese in producing seeds of Markos Botsaris.

Judge…: With my lameness, I have to advocate the reintegration of outstanding Markos Botsaris, that once we free them of the Turkish occupation!

Asurbanipal ...My Sirio reign, full of dynamism, placed on their doorposts the powerful image of South-west wind, in honor of his victorious from Kalidona.

Etréstles brought Drestnia just walking the Council and thousands of harmoniums undermined doubts Manor invoking the hero. They all stand, the Council at its octagonal table with his assistants left empty vine glasses to welcome, to the last surviving female first Koumeterium Messolonghi.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 17


Harmoniums, as Apollonian rubies widen the dimensions of the cavernales vaults. She sit and ends the music. Drestnia with some leaves on his shoulders, adorned the new escenáculo, which would sit by the new future.

Asurbanipal ...: To you gifts Oh, the universe, you are welcome to this Council, where one day they brought me to praise my contributions from the entrance of Humanity!

But the issue for today, will await the arrival of Markos Botsaris as you who have reached this border, thanks to the generous Auriga.

Charioteer…: ***** wax Orion; Eternal fuel, donated them strength to my steeds pairs, that were raised over distant lands, to reach my Herreros desoldering the bars of Drestnia.

Blacksmith…: Our eyes closed every hundred kilometers, but Eurydice with your calendar, made the aphelion arrimara us this feat.

Ecos ...: Dust ..., Mito ... Dream ... illusion ... have swirled galloping millennia, wearing gray Borrasca ...!

What dark words illuminate the hopes, just below, it is well known that there is much to do, because there is more activity on the surface ...!

Judge…: Etréstles, Drestnia ... past, present, or future will speak of you.

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You Drestnia ... !, how long dream ..., defied your gothic vision, not move my neck to your neighbors, loved ensepulcrados in the first Fossilized Koumeterium.

Vitabión ...: Messolonghi lives up to all cemeteries in the world, where they loved their near them. But they do not know life here is more dynamic than in the world of their own.

Menopausal women ...My husband cry on my slab, because his infidelity caused me a bad venereum, which today has removed me from his life. The cries and cries for me ****** decline, all for being with another woman condemned me.

one curtain rises and leaves Funebrio; concelebrating priest all recent deaths ...

Funebrio ...: Woman when you cry my black clothes, cry black tears ...!

Your husband remains static, no movement, despite many kilometers to their own devices. Forbidden habit becomes, how tempting. But contestataria Mother Nature pours us their punishment.

Staktos ...: Friends kisses you give yourself, Where have posted ideations ...?

O dais to scatter everywhere the osculaciones they meet other mouths.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 19


Etréstles ...: Everyone I ask do well to prepare your labors. Even so, his desire to hold my naughty pleas heart in this hour by the arrival of Drestnia.

The judge asks adjourn for the recess could then discuss strategies for future deaths.

Sepulcrero ...Lord Judge at the stepped eastern sector have buried an architect. We could ask your cooperation to Botsaris monument.

Judge…: All in good time. It will be done, does anyone want something narrow ...? -Drestnia raised his hand and asked ...:

Drestnia ...: With Etréstles in the last minutes of our lives, which extortioner once it is finished this monument, where our souls will be destined to remain here temporarily ... Messolonghi?

Judge…: General demented wars, take Etréstles the field of Lepanto, because there are stubborn souls who defy the vanquished souls ...

… and as for you, the benevolent Auriga take your soul colors of the sunset, to divide megatons of the Romantics, who along with Ghiberti, on some trunks of beautiful minerals, will anchor his best poems and hiperestésicas forward to outshine their suicides groups.

After the meeting, the attendees are removed, and Drestnia with Etréstles go to spring the celestial napa

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with its golden glow waiting to sail to Tangier and Morocco. In their ships were concurrent, Etréstles woman carrying her ribcage navigation oriented towards the sound of the oars that were the femurs of a Diplodocus itself.

Drestni

She might need a change,
her life is at a rest.
She sits and ponders over
If she’ll change for the best.

Will she change for “sake of change”?
In a life that has faded
Maybe she’ll change on the surface,
Her soul still just as jaded.

Now she sits and laughs emptily,
thinking that in every shape and form
change is somehow constant,
and that change becomes a norm.

Will that change control her?
As change succeeds each change,
*Every changeless constant
to her will now seem strange.

Exiled, a stranger in a strange land with hope for life
But we have locked our doors to keep him out
For the life of the World unless an inconvenience
One in the image of God disallowed human decency at our action
Hands and feet of the Lord Jesus, lest it be easier to pretend the problem away

Now has come the time for our repentance;
Forgive us Father, for we have sinned
We have not loved our neighbor as ourself
Rather, we have loved ourselves and only ourselves
We are the sinners we pretend not to be

They come seeking refuge from terror and evil
We slam doors in their faces
They come hungry for food to eat
And we stuff our mouths full, claiming to have none
Can we really call ourselves People of the Lord?

They sit on the side of the road begging for  our spare change
And we pretend as if we are poorer than they
They freeze to death on the sidewalk
And we cross to the other side like the priest and Levite of old
Have we reason to call ourselves the hands and feet of Christ?

Mightn’t there come a day when we are hungry with no food to eat
Did the Lord not command us to feed the hungry, and give to the poor?
Have we shown the love of the Lord to even our closest neighbors?
Mightn’t we show love rather than fear, generosity rather than persecution
Else we might no longer rightfully call ourselves the People of the Lord

Those days when I relished candy floss
And for each petty matters gave a toss
Always kept a bet with the friend
Bribed till the end
When won felt secured
When lost insecured
Childhood memories strange
Often appear and enstrange
Playing with marbles
When cold invited gargles
Playing in puddles
Eating noodles
Those days have gone
Pleasant to remember bygone

my friends all say
"you're in love with him"
and i smile
and say
"no, i am not in love with him"
but
sometimes
i smile
and say
"i am so in love with him"
and the truth is
i do not know
how i really feel about you

you changed my life
that much is certain
and you'll never really know
just how much you've done for me
because
we're just
too different

you don't understand me
and i don't understand you
it's like we're two different planets
suddenly caught in orbit together
and it's strange and different and hard to deal with but
i like it

i do not dream about kissing you
but i dream about you choosing me
out of all the people, all the girls
i wish i was what you wanted

i think it would work out nicely
i know you pretty well
and i think
i would stay

i wouldn't leave if you got distant
i wouldn't get mad at you for
being exactly who you are

but then again
there's that minor detail
that i like to forget
you will never want me

so it does not matter
that i don't know how i feel about you
because
i know how you feel
about me

as a dreamer, in a particle splits the path of thought,
like mud under my fingernails and crystal shells.
Arkansas is driving me insane
come one come all she's the
fare-st if you fall.

neck burned as a fingerprint, itches sore in trash days,
conspiracies and deputies
looking still more strange.

can determined minds build a staircase of reason?
up to a future, teasing
me out in the open
with your temper words.

climate on the change icebergs on the melt
all around the world the change is being felt
the world is not the same as it used to be
climate it is changing as we all can see.

floods are getting worse stronger than before
flooding overland over sea and shore
things are not the same everything is strange
nothing we can do about the climate change

We’re the kids your parents warned you about,
We've lived more than most adults.
We scoured sensation,
Soared high across the planes of elation.
Society’s scared of us,
Can you blame them?
People cross the street
just to get away from us,
Strange, we're ubiquitous.
Jealous?
Come join us;
I implore you
to explore you.
Find it within yourself
to go out and find yourself
(among us), should you so choose:
Realize you're alive,
Make something of your time.

Take the plunge,
Throw yourself into the thick of it;
Into the breach.
See things no one could ever believe
in the deepest dreams of REM sleep.

We sell dreams at a cheap cost to the young, and the hopefull.
Handing them out, but allowing very few to actually achieve, and once you reach the real world, or the guerilla warfare plagued hallways of your local high-school...the dreamers suddenly turn into the outcasts.
The "foolish few", so to speak, but before you ever scoff at someone with a dream...think back to a time not long ago, when you were young, starry eyed, and ready to take on whatever this strange world threw at you, now ask yourself this...what happened?

Missing you is like a tornado in Kansas
Tumultuously whirling past barren grass lawns,
Shattering the glass windows of old, forgotten
Convenience stores and local barber shops,
Twisting and teasing the warm, summer air
Until it finally gains momentum enough
To come tumbling down upon unsuspecting
Rosemary bushes and rusty metal fences,
While I'm sitting here,
Trying to make sense of how I'm supposed to feel about it all,
On a beach somewhere between Monterey and San Francisco.
It isn't that you don't exist, or that you aren't occurring,
Destructively whirling your mixed intentions
Across the pavement
That once gave way to my strange, unrestricted heart.
It's not that I don't care about you,
Or that I don't notice
When you make your presence all but unnoticeable,
But, maybe I don't see you anymore.
You're sentiment can't reach me here.
The harsh tornado winds aren't quite strong enough
To blow across my indifferent face
All the way from Kansas.

How interesting
They treat me like I'm strange
But act just the same

There's a bad stretch of road on Route Sixty-Six,
  that I've often heard truck drivers say,
is silent and bare, with a chill in the air,
  where travelers have oft' lost their way.

And the birds never fly in its overcast sky--
  the air always seems strangely still.
The dogs never bark and the moon casts a strange
  eerie shadow across the mill.

Most truckers avoid accepting a load that
  would cause them to pass through or near.
But I've never believed and refuse now to heed
  tales of superstition and fear.

Back in October of seventy-three came
  an offer I couldn't decline.
For a truckload of brew would be soon overdue--
  if no driver was found who would sign.

Having hard luck for cash, I took the dispatch,
  with no reason in my mind to fear.
I'd carry the load past that bad stretch of road
  and folks there would all have their beer.

With my cargo all sound I was soon out of town,
  on the road that led to the mill.
I felt happy and free--I'd received half my fee--
  I left bad luck behind on the hill.

Then a lightning bolt flashed with a thunderous crash
  And the sky turned a strange colored hue.
The clouds poured out rain in a world gone insane
  And a chill froze my flesh through and through.

I drove through the storm feeling sad and forlorn,
  then I rounded a hazardous curve,
where I got a surprise, as a sight caught my eyes,
  that caused me to veer and to swerve.

At the edge of the road stood a lady in white,
  with her thumb out to ask for a ride.
I hit the brakes hard and I slid to a stop.
  The girl eagerly climbed up inside.

I popped her a beer and the lady began
  to talk, as she sipped at her brew.
From the words that she spoke, it was clear she was broke
  and had missed more meals than a few.

So I took her to dine a little past nine
  at a cafe we passed on the road.
I watched as she ate all the food on her plate.
  then she smiled, as her story she told.

She sought a new life to escape all the strife
  of a past she could barely endure.
She'd left all to be free from her past misery,
  taking naught but the clothing she wore.

She told of her schemes to build on her dreams--
  to someday be a nurse wearing white.
She was nobody's fool--she could breeze through the school--
  and she'd work as a waitress at night.

When I got up to go she told me goodbye--
  said, "I know there's a place here for me."
She thanked me and smiled as she told me her name,
  "Just call me Nurse Nancy," said she.

So I paid off my tab and got into my cab feeling
  glad to be back on the road.
I soon reached the mill and delivered the ale.
  I was proud to be rid of that load.

The storm had now eased to a mild autumn breeze
  so I turned back the same way I came.
I hummed an old song as I rambled along
  and I wondered Nurse Nancy's real name.

I reached the cafe at the break of the day,
  so I pulled in for coffee and eggs.
When a waitress came by I said, "Tell Nancy hi!"
  And her hot coffee scalded my legs.

I had startled her so she had let the *** go
  and the glass shattered over the floor.
The poor waitress said, "You dishonor the dead
  making such jokes inside of this door."

I was sorely confused, feeling some sort of ruse
  had made me the **** of a scam.
But the glances and leers and the waitress's tears
  gave me cause to ask her to explain.

I could see her surprise by the look in her eyes
  that a trucker like me hadn't heard
Of a girl who'd been slain, named Nancy McClain,
  who'd been dead now for nearly ten years.

A man had came in from out of the rain
  to attacked her here in the cafe.
Shot her twice in the head and left her quite dead.
  then he somehow had gotten away.

She had worked for six years saving tips in a jar--
  "To pay for her schooling," she said.
But Nancy the nurse had left in a hearse;
    Nancy now rested safe with the dead.

There are poems that say in a lyrical way
  every thought that a man may employ.
But what lies in a heart one can only impart by the
  music a song may enjoy.

For music rings clear when it reaches our ear,
  bringing tears and laughter and hope.
It can sound the same as the autumn rain
  and say things that mere words can't emote.

There is music that's born in the heart of a storm,
  amid flashes of lightning and din.
Its a rushing sound of floods coming down,
  like the marching of ten thousand men.

It can sound the same as the cold autumn rain,
  saying things words can never explain.
Its a score so sad it can drive a man mad--
  so I cried as I drove in the rain.

There are things I believe and things that I know
  there are some things I just can't explain.
But I've driven that road with many a load,
  and I never saw Nancy again.

Death may come,
to some sweet souls
we know this -
much too quickly
there in a flash,
- in a heightened dash-
perhaps not even sickly,

Oh how that fate-
so mercurial,
it doesn't tell us -
so often why,
as we gaze in daze,
upon our solemn dead,,
an throw our hands up to the sky,
we ask of our dear stars above,
just why'd they have to go an die?

As we are really sad for only just ourselves,
we're just not ready to be done,
so stuck there in our bad goodbye,
still looking for the shining sun,
parting is such sweet sorrow
when it's with the only "one",

To leave the lovely Earth,
a blinking eye,
before to grasp a changing thought,
to look up in a changing sky,
for the answers dearly sought,
or even only wonder why,
it wiped away a life so fast,
and suddenly-
it seems for naught,

Her people they not with her now,
as she lay so broken and forlorn,
until the strangers come to call,
her death-
it was perhaps just a chance to warn,

To expire in a cul-de-sac,
as they circle 'round her now to grieve,
watching as they march as one,
to see the only way -believe,
believe me,
they come to only bid farewell,
not to punish or a bone to cleave,
as the body fails,
gone away - a binding heave,

As a rolling tube of rubber brings
about the ugly severed end,
and a hard black inflated reality,
it comes around the final bend,
barreling down on a tiny female life,
no hand to hold-
not one to lend,
but the birds they came,
with a message we should send,

Harbingers come in the quietus here,
they come to dance in sacred feather,
an some say rare and very strange,
and predictors of the coming weather,

I think that might be true, I do,
but what do circling wild birds
really tell?
circumnavigating the dead of Earth,
while in the sadness do not dwell,
and still I'm sure they are afraid of those tires,
but those fears they only quell,

They circle round to pay respect,
an she an enemy in their eye,
still they only ferry her,
an wish her home
a last goodbye,

A ritual of death and life,
performed before the alter,
a spirit sighs -a soul she dies,
her body could only falter,
death may come,
they fear it - not,
and I believe they still-
believe no hell is hot,

How?
How do these wild wild birds,
understand better than we,
some how?

Ma Cherie© 2017

Fern leaves mirrored light is bent
Dewdrops glistening heaven sent
Dry lands drinking sky borne rain
Again the echoes sound so strange
To be tomorrows yesterday
Sitting quiet living in today
No past no shadows now of grey
Wondering now what made us stray
From things so common to the plan
Altered fabrics change of brand
Voices echo through the night
Stalled by sunrises warm soft light
Ash damped down by dying fire
The hopeful press and never tire
Spurred on always by lifes hope
Seeing always the ways to cope
Mirrored images waterfalls pass
Crystal pinned diamonds on the grass
The seasons casually spinning wheel
Meeting lifes terms meeting lifes deal
Seeing things for truth what’s real
Heartbeat constants knowing feel
Believing now it’s worth the cost
Warm sunrise banishes night’s cold frost

(GE2014) (C) Reserved