for Susan O'Neill Roe

What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge

Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.

Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls

Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.

Whose side are they one?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to ****

The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ----

The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux ****
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence

How you jump ----
Trepanned veteran,
***** girl,
Thumb stump.

You never looked at me like that...

Together I see you
I try not to stare
That girl do you love her
Or simply not care

Attention focused
On one another
That boy do you love him
Or does it not matter

I don't care and it doesn't matter
Maybe you two will be happy together

For
You never looked at me like that...

Now I'd like to tell you of a liquid
And a beverage clearly divine
It matches the holiest spirit
And most blessed communion wine
But it's not to be found at the altar
Of the temple, the mosque or the church
You'll see it in glasses lined up on the bar
Wherever the pensioners perch

Oh Gin, Gin, fabulous Gin
Finest concoction there ever has bin
A knee to the crotch and a kick in the shin
To him that speaks ill of that heavenly Gin

I had a great aunty called Floris
Each morning she'd sternly arise
With a fire in the pit of her stomach
And a merciless scowl in her eyes
But thanks to a magical fluid
By the end she was quite the reverse
And her face was serene and so tranquil
As they bundled her into the hearse

Oh Gin, Gin, glorious Gin
Remover of troubles and varnish and skin
There's many a baby that wouldn't have bin
If not for a bottle of beautiful Gin

Edith was crippled with cramp of the back
And terrible gout of the thighs
Her walk was askew and her bottom had swelled
To a rather astonishing size
But with Gin in the morning, the noon and night
She was right as proverbial rain
She still couldn't walk but now couldn't talk
So no one could hear her complain

Oh Gin, Gin, medicinal Gin
Bracing your face with a permanent grin
Cleans up the silver but tarnishes tin
Joyous the juice of the juniper, Gin

Tis a regular modern elixir
And a kick in the liver to boot
It's companion for many a mixer
To the tonic or blending of fruit
Instilling a mighty contentment
And removing all traces of rage
Though it's mainly imbibed by ladies
Those of a particular age...

Oh Gin, Gin, magnificent Gin
Clean as a whistle and sharp as a pin
Puts hairs on the ears, the chest and chin
Of nannies and grannies all guzzling Gin

I am a fool who fell from skies,
caught up in a ride among stars.
I lost myself one summer’s night,
in the blue grey of your eyes.

We lifted off through timeless space,
unaware of friends and places.
Looking for moons beyond our own
and rising to the unknown.

But now my king has lost his shine,
as a knight’s armor tarnishes with tears.
Leaving me to feel
discarded, breathless and numb.

Only now I see, we were both alone,
as we stood in different places;  
me loving you
and you loving yourself alone.

Perfection can be deceiving
for a newly christened king.
But your queen neglected
to look inside…

the part that gives life
and love was gone,
the most important part.

P.S. a space and place for your heart.

"Great Scott"
Like Lucas and Nathan
Y'all ain't perfect but you're trying
Relying on something other than your name to take you far...
You're a star
But let you shine diminish as each person you thought you were close to,
Tarnishes what you hold dear
No fear sweetheart,
No fear
Claim what is yours
Speak loudly and proudly
So that the haters hear
Let them know you're here
And that nothing can stop you...
---
Back to the drawing board
Or better yet back to this blank canvas
familiar and inviting and yet I can’t help but wonder
how these words will create an image
I guess there ain’t no better way to find out
but to move onward
---
How ‘bout we search for some meaning
A little substance from the soul
I mean maybe I can’t sing but I bet you gon’ feel this
I’m just tryna be the realest
give my people something relatable
and also a fragment of me
writing about what I see
or what might be
the hopes and dreams
of a child in this restless city
gazing upon the night sky
pondering on his life’s importance
in comparison to the billions of stars that shine bright
could he possibly one day emit light?
give direction to those who might’ve lost sight
could he scheme up a dream as big as Martin did
and if so, would he reach the masses?
because lord knows in the days we live in
we need hope
but how does one cope
when hundreds of thousands of lives are being taken by dope or foots of rope
we’ve lost our way
a country that once proclaimed to be best
now stands on its last legs
and the people we elect to govern us
continue to dig us deeper into this hole
have we nothing left to show?

You come to fetch me from my work to-night
When supper’s on the table, and we’ll see
If I can leave off burying the white
Soft petals fallen from the apple tree
(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,
Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea);
And go along with you ere you lose sight
Of what you came for and become like me,
Slave to a Springtime passion for the earth.
How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed
On through the watching for that early birth
When, just as the soil tarnishes with ****,

The sturdy seedling with arched body comes
Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.

Forgiveness isn’t that easy,
Especially with wounds so deep.
After all,life is like a daisy,
Its beauty forever can’t keep.

Enemies backbiting innocence,
And even tarnishes your flesh.
But in us is God’s presence;
To forgive is to love also what is trash.

Therefore, I ask of a merciful heart,
That peace can enter to where it belongs.
Then I shall do my part,
Absolve others’ sins to me and love prolongs.

Lord, keep me at bay,
That I may be like you:
To love unconditionally is to stay,
Well,grounded as you do.

Never to see adversaries as pagans,
But as my own neighbor.
This is us,Christians,
Imperfect but we’ll never abhor.

When you look up at the ceiling,
As you lay in your bed,
What is it that you see?
Do you see the cracked and peeling paint,
The water damage stains,
The tarnishes of time and neglect?
What is it that you see as you stare upon your ceiling?
It has been days since your gaze left the above.
What are you looking for?
Are you looking for that one little area,
That is still pure in its color?
That is free of spoil and coated in care?
You lay there, motionless, staring.
Searching, in your own creation,
Agonizingly probing your aged canvas,
In fear that that's all you'll ever see.
Ever know.
But you search, and you search,
You scan every inch of that ceiling,
In hopes of a small, blank slate of plaster,
In which to smother yourself in.
In which to call home.
_

'10

It leaves its handprints on all that I see,
and tarnishes all I touch with poison
Feeds depression like a maggot, to deepen
this cursed mire that is my place to be
It snatches my thoughts away from all glee,
and I wish I would vanish, be hidden
And alone long for a secret Eden,
for a decade it has tormented me

It told me: ”You will never have a hand
to hold, nor starry eyes to madly love
Alone you'll stay, you're too broken, cautious
Your spirit forever burns with my brand,
there will be no olive branch, no sweet dove”
Thus spoke the cold, dead void called Loneliness

The hands that stretch, the feet that glide. The ability to see, the strength to withhold vision. 

I was stuck in shades of dark and filth. I was burning in the passion of the sun. I heard a truth that spoke life. I heard an angel say dive. I took a chance hoping I would fly. I jumped thinking I would bounce. The fall was humanity and life announced. 

I fell into an ocean of truce. I found creatures bad and good. It was a war, a fight for power. They were corrupt lifelings looking to be kings. They felt like gods eluded by the ring. The ring that controls all things. The orchestrators of lies that ****. **** the freedom of the mind. The orchestrators of a world that enriches so-called kings. Blasphemy is the order of this world. Pain this world brings. A world of treacherous kings but all nothing without the power. 

What was the power? 
A spoken idea 
a woman 
a lump of gold? 

It was the fear! The fear instilled in souls so to inhibit freewill and limit conduct. The power that tarnishes the human soul. The power that bars the mind and hides the truth that one must face. The truth is his identity, the success of his identity is serving his purpose. The realisation of his purpose is dependant upon his surroundings. Surroundings are walls that limit his will and remind him that all he can be is nothing. The fallacy that man is the illusion and the kings are the truth. 

Scaling walls, browsing I saw that they were fighting. Protecting an order. Fighting for a world of lust, confusion and weakness. Where the kings are gods and the weak slaves. 

I spoke once and said that I am the vision and the truth I speak to the weak that need healing. I have body armour but no weapons. I have a reason to fight but no weapons. I have weapons but no army. I have an army but the soldiers have tainted minds, no feet and only one arm. An arm that remains stationary, ***** and held together. It was the fist that represented the power to stand. The fist that represents immortality. I found hope, I found belief in the little weaponry that lay in my hands. The invisible truth I protect is the heart of my soul. Embracing I know I am what is real, Embracing I acknowledge the dangers of reel, Embracing the truth I know that I am the power and the power is me. 

I opened my eyes and saw the world as the waking of the day when the sun rises. I found relief in knowing that I am no longer hiding for this power is for fighting. Fighting for the will, fighting for man to be free. 

I leave the place that was confining, I leave the dust where souls burnt hide in, I scale these walls and glide, I use this power of liberation to display the truth that so many saints have protected. I allow the showers of the night to heal these wounds that leave me infected. I stand in refuge, I am a ghost, I am a soul, I am man, I am the power.

She dreams of the ideal man,
   but the suitor idolizes death in his soulful slumber.
She takes care of herself,
   though she cannot bestow her beauty to impressionists.
She falls in love,
   yet her delusional passions seethe her in disarray.
She finds new friends,
   but a ******* of overzealous poison tarnishes the relationship.
She cooks for more than one;
   ghosts accompany the reserved empty chairs.
She re-models her home,
   driven to impress; however, she is the only one impressed.
She longs for attention,
   craving for a taste of wanting to be loved.
She is she,
   and she is her own canvas.

"That Wicked Woman!"
Is a wicked utterance
From a wicked man
Clowning, who plan
To get every possible
& oblivious voter a fan!

A wicked man
Revoltingly believes
Women are wicked
Oblivious he is
Out to slaughter
His mother,sister
,wife and daughter !

What a trash
What a trash
A folly that leads
A great, all-accommodating
And democracy-upholding nation
To a lapse or a deadly crash!
A trash tarnishes image
While Hillary mollifies umbrage!

Culture Vultures dining on carcasses,
a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
or both no vote only the onset of mainstream socialist monarchism,
a subconscious stream of consciousness consumed by a constantly contradicting condition of consumerism,
an avalanche of retail therapy and the avant of avant-gardism,
doesn’t have to be a better product or improved edition,
just has to be better packaged and marketed,
sold our souls so we don’t own anything anymore not even our own cognizance,
just look what what the mass media market did,

our collective memories and ancient traditions all but forgotten,
designer jeans symbolize a degenerative disease like Parkinson’s,
want to end this madness but don’t know who started it,
so who can we blame but ourselves in all honestness,
as we absorb Virtual Reality and ignore Actual Reality creating an occultism of Oculus,
Rift we drift into thee abyss of dark indifferences…

Neglecting the blueprint everybody’s a studio gangsta these days just ask 50 Cent,
morally bankrupt lazy played daisies try to copy Jay-Z’s blueprint,
but no body has a DJ Clue or a Ty Dollar to spare still everyone’s got their two cents,
all opinions given with no wisdom taken from the Grand Architect,
what good is good advice if we don’t take the time to listen we just dismiss it quick,
showing off trophies donating charity checks,
acting like champions we bare and beat our chest,
wearing fool’s gold and blood diamonds but we’ve won nothing yet,
honestly feels like we haven’t even started yet,
still we feel exhausted from this rat race for dominance,
slaves of an alien race we pledge allegiance with our obedience and faux pas ambiance,

And it’s all almost over for our entire empire so every moment better cherish it,
white robes with Chipko flip flops we hold the reins to Her Majesty’s chariot,
whipping the 500 horses faster in the fast lane will get you buried quick,
so I try and pace it and not get too wasted still I feel very sick,
when captain screams “You move too slow sailor!”, that’a when it’s time to depart this ship,
but you can’t rush good art and I’m an articulating artist for all the artisans,
in a constant state of affairs is why I haven’t married yet,

which of course means no divorce from any or all of this,
so I continue to translate transmissions without prejudice,
love is star crossed colorblind and my wonder mind is in wonderland’s luminescence,
as I illustrate illustrious illuminations off every edifice in this hedonistic eden like Edison,
with an ample amount of ambiance this is this rebels renegade Renaissance,
I write light before I become just another martyr for the Martian’s master plans,
my words are honest sonnets on tablets of mono-cultured monograms,
mono-glyphs that shine like a beacon on the Tower of Babel atop a cavernous monolith…

This is all honest in all honestness.

Here at the docks with assorted Goddesses and narcissistic walruses,
way up down under not trying to be negative but the only thing I’m positive of is,

we are cultivating a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
so stay up and keep your eyes open because the games have just started kid.

This is all honest kid.

And I’m open to discuss everything except religion and of course politics,
so if you’re having issues then tell me what the problem is and maybe we can solve it quick,
and please don’t blame the Dalai Lama or Obama’s broken promises,
see we all have soiled wings just like these vultures that pick at our carcasses,
as we dine on Soylent Green served hot from the meting *** of concubine colleges,
wrong right black white day night see everything has it’s opposites,
so even the kindest animals will turn into carnivorous cannibals when all that’s left,
is blown kisses well wishes ***** dishes corrupt princes and spiritual paralysis,
this is the age of the dawning of Aquarius and the end of our passing genesis…

But what do I know I’m just a Son of a Gun on the run writing this mystic futuristic hit-list,
dressed to the nines with a bottle of moonshine and a bunch of empty cartridges,
in the Wild West with Clint Eastwood clean as a whistle mixin’ with ***** Harry’s pharmacist,
The Good Bad & The Ugly drink in acid rain and eat magic cactuses…

Howling at the full moon with peyote coyotes absent minded off the absinth mix…

Alive right here left for dead insane and out of practice with,
no clean water in the canteen and circling are the vultures just above us,
this teenage wasteland has no purpose with,
riff raft rats and religious rabbits in the crosshairs with deserted desert tortoises,
see these badlands will make the most professional professionals seem like just silly naive novices,
there’s nothing more to see here in this mirage except my rusty gun as it tarnishes…

my visions getting blurry bodies stopped but my mind’s still hurried this is what exhausted is,
and I’d escape if I knew a way out but instead I stay because I’m not sure what my other option is…

See I knew I would go I told you before everyone is targeted,
so soon it seems I’ll be just another rotting carcass that,
the Culture Vultures overhead dine on as their dinner when feeling peckishish,
terminated no terminator but like Arnold said, “I’ll be back.”, like I just started this…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

Worldwide Bestselling Poet

Suicide; society tells me it’s a ***** word

Blackens your tongue and brands you an

Outsider to your beloved community;

Tarnishes your dazzling reputation and

Takes a beautiful, cherished, short-lived, soul.

But why did society not raise me like the

Painstakingly adored roses amongst

Its garden of thorns; why can’t I be

That happy girl. Why have I been

Doused in fertiliser, a wretched ****

Amongst a garden of beauty, growing

Faster than lightning, roots of gnarly

Agony and shoots of grey, blurred hatred for

Every atom of my being- screams for the ****

Killer to embrace me by the neck, apply a-

Seductive dose of love-dripping pressure

And set this crow free; unchain my bruised wings

And I promise I will leave you be, I will never

Bring misery or misfortune again.

But suicide; is a ***** word, a cheek

Burning, soul smouldering, darkening

Shadow on the pretty plastic cases over our,

Mechanical hearts. Not for the great pain of

Losing a barely, blossomed flower- took one

Heavy dose of white-pain sunlight and

Wilted away into the black, bottomless soil.

Not for the gaping loss of a singular

Fertile crop in an endless year of draught and

Famine. Suicide, is not a tear-wrenching,

Palm-sweating word for the, heavy and huge hole

It leaves in society’s newly plastered walls-

But it is an unspeakable word for the pure

Shame. The surly shadow of unspeakable

Shame that it leaves like a, stain of red wine

On the pretty, sensible woman’s white blouse

Like a ****** tattoo on the arm of an infant.

We do not grieve their death. We grieve our pride,

Our bruised and bleeding pride at not preventing

The stench of failure as a race of people, in the death

Of one melancholy drowned person, we practically

Placed the boulders in their pockets and said drown.

And I am holding my breath; tight roping this

Misery that smothers me at sunrise, see I am

Permitted a feigned slumber of peace in the dead

Hours of night yet I awake to the,

Asphyxiation of pain, eyes bulging in terror of

What awaits me when I run out of time, oxygen fast-

Fading and the orange, pink of dawn lights a

Fire in the honey pools of my eyes- small, mocking fires

That sneer at my desperation to cease, at my plea for peace-

Tight, burning stabs that tingle in my throat and

I’m running low on air, on time, almost there-

Deliria, ecstasy, glee dripping from my limbs

And- the noose I fabricated in my non-

Functioning, disabled mind slips away, faster

Than I can catch it and refasten, and I am, cold

In my bedsheets once more. Welcomed again,

To the now bellowing daylight of, depression

Another flightless, fruitless day of carefully,

Hand-stitched smiles and sinfully pre-tuned

Laughter. The world tells me to stand on the

Pinnacle of misery with one broken leg and

If I dare fall, I am a branded shame on the surface

Of the earth, I am the centre of all failure in the

Universe so I, valiantly ride into no-mans-land,

A knight in shining armour except, I have no steel

And no bronze to, protect my heart from the cannon fire

Of pain, I have no shield to shelter me from the

Poison gas of self-hatred. But I am perfectly okay being

Defenceless in the brazen gunfire; I am still breathing,

The titanium arrows of misery protruding neatly from

My mangled limbs and my broken heart.

And that word, sombre and dark as ever

Flashes once in my head and I swat it away with

Deep-rooted disgust, and a dire hunger for such a desire.

Suicide;

Society tells me it’s a ***** word.

I wish to say my heart is made of gold,
but it's silver.

Because the silver has been tarnished by those around me,
trying to bring me down,
make me bitter,
steal some of my sweetness.

But you won't win.
Because deep down beneath the fade
I know that the silver is still here.
And I know that one day someone's love,
like a perfect polish will come
and wipe away my tarnishes.

Mangled, bony fingers, groveling
for lapping water, a dendritic rivulet
ceases its division for no one

I powder the amethysts for sand, for
only the sensation of opulence, anywise
the silver tarnishes in abundance

And what's the worst I'd ever seen
if not our maize sun ashen, drained of its
rise and incentive to foster grass

Son of A Gun in The Wild West

Culture Vultures dining on carcasses,
a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
or both no vote only the onset of mainstream socialist monarchism,
a subconscious stream of consciousness consumed by a constantly contradicting condition of consumerism,
an avalanche of retail therapy and the avant of avant-gardism,
doesn’t have to be a better product or improved edition,
just has to be better packaged and marketed,
sold our souls so we don’t own anything anymore not even our own cognizance,
just look what what the mass media market did,

our collective memories and ancient traditions all but forgotten,
designer jeans symbolize a degenerative disease like Parkinson’s,
want to end this madness but don’t know who started it,
so who can we blame but ourselves in all honestness,
as we absorb Virtual Reality and ignore Actual Reality creating an occultism of Oculus,
Rift we drift into thee abyss of dark indifferences…

Neglecting the blueprint everybody’s a studio gangsta these days just ask 50 Cent,
morally bankrupt lazy played daisies try to copy Jay-Z’s blueprint,
but no body has a DJ Clue or a Ty Dollar to spare still everyone’s got their two cents,
all opinions given with no wisdom taken from the Grand Architect,
what good is good advice if we don’t take the time to listen we just dismiss it quick,
showing off trophies donating charity checks,
acting like champions we bare and beat our chest,
wearing fool’s gold and blood diamonds but we’ve won nothing yet,
honestly feels like we haven’t even started yet,
still we feel exhausted from this rat race for dominance,
slaves of an alien race we pledge allegiance with our obedience and faux pas ambiance,

And it’s all almost over for our entire empire so every moment better cherish it,
white robes with Chipko flip flops we hold the reins to Her Majesty’s chariot,
whipping the 500 horses faster in the fast lane will get you buried quick,
so I try and pace it and not get too wasted still I feel very sick,
when captain screams “You move too slow sailor!”, that’a when it’s time to depart this ship,
but you can’t rush good art and I’m an articulating artist for all the artisans,
in a constant state of affairs is why I haven’t married yet,

which of course means no divorce from any or all of this,
so I continue to translate transmissions without prejudice,
love is star crossed colorblind and my wonder mind is in wonderland’s luminescence,
as I illustrate illustrious illuminations off every edifice in this hedonistic eden like Edison,
with an ample amount of ambiance this is this rebels renegade Renaissance,
I write light before I become just another martyr for the Martian’s master plans,
my words are honest sonnets on tablets of mono-cultured monograms,
mono-glyphs that shine like a beacon on the Tower of Babel atop a cavernous monolith…

This is all honest in all honestness.

Here at the docks with assorted Goddesses and narcissistic walruses,
way up going under not trying to be negative but the only thing I’m positive of is,

we are cultivating a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
so stay up and keep your eyes open because the games have just started kid.

This is all honest kid.

And I’m open to discuss everything except religion and of course politics,
so if you’re having issues then tell me what the problem is and maybe we can solve it quick,
and please don’t blame the Dalai Lama or Obama’s broken promises,
see we all have soiled wings just like these vultures that pick at our carcasses,
as we dine on Soylent Green served hot from the meting *** of concubine colleges,
wrong right black white day night see everything has it’s opposites,
so even the kindest animals will turn into carnivorous cannibals when all that’s left,
is blown kisses well wishes ***** dishes corrupt princes and spiritual paralysis,
this is the age of the dawning of Aquarius and the end of our passing genesis…

But what do I know I’m just a Son of a Gun on the run writing this mystic futuristic hit-list,
dressed to the nines with a bottle of moonshine and a bunch of empty cartridges,
in the Wild West with Clint Eastwood no Kanye clean as a whistle mixin’ with ***** Harry’s pharmacist,
The Good Bad & The Ugly drink in acid rain and eat magic cactuses…

Howling at the full moon with peyote coyotes absent minded off the absinth mix…

Alive right here left for dead insane and out of practice with,
no clean water in the canteen and circling are the vultures just above us,
this teenage wasteland has no purpose with,
riff raft rats and religious rabbits in the crosshairs with deserted desert tortoises,
see these badlands will make the most professional professionals seem like just silly naive novices,
there’s nothing more to see here in this mirage except my rusty gun as it tarnishes…

my visions getting blurry bodies stopped but my mind’s still hurried this is what exhausted is,
and I’d escape if I knew a way out but instead I stay because I’m not sure what my other option is…

See I knew I would go I told you before everyone is targeted,
so soon it seems I’ll be just another rotting carcass that,
the Culture Vultures overhead dine on as their dinner when feeling peckishish,
terminated no terminator but like Arnold said, “I’ll be back.”, like I just started this…


∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

silver tarnishes
in the rain
I almost won I
had one foot over
the line
but when they took you I could not stop them.

Get up and grind through time the mind
in and out intwine
the mind ablaze a puff of rays a smoke
I praise Omega, go ahead and poke

Broke, "loc" but just for today, NOT for Alpha
Has guided my ways, these days our family still
Finds a way so we grind till the dollar bills turns to rays.

Vaporized by emotion, commotion
Vaporized by the endless need to consume.

To regrow too, to leave our imprint so they know once we were here, can they hear?

Thoughts in the grind, a trance that it sears like fire and the infernos that touch as I move for the currency harden my skin and thy emotion 'till dreams path cleanse again and I know I awake to God here again.

Guiding my ways so I fear not destruction, cause in fires defeat I learn something, those ways that are shown take me there then taking me home where I learn from my Lord, Omega marching to Heavens door oh' how I adore the days again I praise thy Lord

knows my ways, my ****** BLASPHEMIES ways. Again I march as I pray, take me where I need to be in fires or in ice, freeze, in space where a black hole tarnishes my face, now my mind bleeds and recedes

back to you, Omega I know one day there will be proof, but will that be enough for some minding their truths.

Conquering the dollar.
Conquering the land.

There is truth being brought by you so take my hand.

As I grind through time the, endless march till destruction, picking up my loot as I go praising my Lord in my consumption.

I have no patience, worn away by time my resistance to retaliation now spirals into an unannounced era,

That selfish streak we inherited at birth  rears its fractured facade, rising high above my shadowed frame

Not just a lifeless machine but an entity of experience , a system of stimulation, the viscosity of the visuals  the nectar that soothes

But the light and sound can become just a bit too much, a responsibility this golden gift, bringing at times its own psychological rift

Something you hear, something you spy, burning your retinas, setting fire to your sanity,

But the calm must remain, the steady ebb and flow cannot be turned into a tempest, a beast of broken hearts , as war rages and smoke tarnishes blue skies, the sunset inside shines prolific, the smile of  innocence, always so erratic

So overwhelmingly full of life,
Elegant inside out
And still the highest form of aesthetic
Infinitely pure and untainted
Most resilient, most supple
Redefining every limit, every boundaries set
But running the smallest of errands unkempt

You, the fitting mother, sister, daughter, wife
You, who they worship, and on whom they take jibes
You, they educate, and who they ask to stay quiet
You, they adore, still look at with their ill eyes
You, for who they campaign with respect
You, who is on their tongue in times of distress
You, who stands like a mountain against every fall
But you, who is called weak and is prisoned to four walls
You, who protects life in its most subtle age
You, they say need protection at every stage
You, who has never had the strength to say no
You, who has accepted every challenge in one go
You, whose appalling smile mesmerises even God
You, whose silent tears are not valued at all

You, whose voice takes away all fear
You, whose voice is their greatest fear
Under whose shadow a man grows
And whose image he tarnishes with the abuses he throws.

You, lady.
You, the creator of life, of happiness, of bonding, of humanity
You, the goddess of beauty, of ecstasy, of strength, of feminity
Stay calm, but never stay quiet
Stay warm, but not elastic
Stay humble, but stay in their sight

You, remain undeniably superior
Though unaccepted
Out of sheer shame
Yet, the pretty hearts know
Every giant war for them
is for you
a fulfilling game.

Remember the time in which we were unstoppable?
can you believe those were You and I?
So in love,
So full of joy and endless hopes,
then steam tarnishes the glass,
Everything gets blurred.

My fault, maybe ours

“If the world to me seems lethal at times,
I must free from this my forlorn mew,
Before all I know succumbs and drifts forlorn,
It may take ardor of one to make things precise,

Before this life I vassal with tarnishes away,  
One that arouses in my art of poetic originality,
While others will batten for such virtue in life,
Times I affirm I can soar and reach to azure,

Grasp to find some love it may so betide,
Ardor works I will never stop presuming,
Things on the outside grow as I remain alone,  
I will never give up I will incessantly quest,  

One day I may close my eyes and seek love,
One that just always tells me they love me,
Love I poignantly seek will receive poetic love,
Possessing a sheaf of hopes to share with thee,

Afore we fall down may we seek the same island?
Our hearts will burn into one as we move forward,
In ascertainment this now our own refuge,
In our art of ardor”
By Andrew Guzaldo 08/17/2018

I am here with you
my brothers and sisters
isolated though we are
like islands in a vast sea
The poisons of our upbringings
need not taint the future
there is still time
there is no such thing as time
We were born into a lie
constructed of greed and blood
but the rich living mystery
it is incorruptible
It is waiting
fresh as the snow gathered on the lawn
In this cold Michigan winter
The time has come
to break the cycle of decay
of endless pain and insanity
to control the lust
which tarnishes
the gentle offerings of beauty & love
handed down by Nature
There is no better time to be alive
Than right now
In this moment

I can feel in my soul,
the howling wind,
I can feel in my soul,
that mankind has sinned.
The burning rays
of our raging sun,
mark the point,
where our suffering begun.
As sure as the water
always flows,
away our liberty and sanity
so easily blows

The nature of
our evolution,
has handed us only,
one conclusion.
Our time it is limited,
and divine,
our responsibility is to ensure
that our future continues to shine.

So easy it is
to presume
that this life
is a darkened room.
But history paves the way,
and our lives are deteriorating,
way beyond reason we will expand,
until there is no explaining

No code to decipher,
our actions, our deeds,
our depravity,
coupled with our grotesque needs,
the hand that feeds,
the furnishing of our greed

A flower that thrives
in a meadow golden,
the sign of a prosperous delight.
Watch as it wilts,
tarnishes this wonderous
unsurpassable sight.

See our dreams
and how they grow,
into the arms of desperation
they so easily go.
Taste the sweetness,
the nectar of existence,
indulge in addiction
its the common insistence.
Behold our infamous stature ,
a not so glorious rapture

In his own soft cocoon
of ever-coagulating, isolated
delirium, yodeling in the
company of himself alone,
a skull of mean bruised meat tarnishes.

Oh lover,
You bite your tongue until it bleeds
But you were never prepared
To bleed the truth.
The truth stains our relationship
Tarnishes it indefinitely
And like a sore scab begging to be picked.
I pick.
I pick and pick and I can't stop, I can't stop myself.
And lover,
Although it hurts the more I pick, the more I think
The more I realise.
You were never mine.
You belong to somebody else
You always belonged to somebody else, because that somebody else has you in their heart and in their head.

Lover, I care.
Lord knows I care too much, so much so I have to let you go.
To give myself the freedom to move on,
To give you the space needed to search for your soul.

Dear lover,
Know that I see you in every moon and star
I would give you the entire galaxy if I could
I hear you in every breeze like your sweet whispers
I feel you in every love song that breaks my silent heart.


Oh lover.

I just hope our paths meet again, lover.

ACT VI

EXEUNT  Hafez the Turk with Borbognoni.
Eratocles to Lesbia as he faces the other occupants:

    'Mad passengers on Life's untimely main
With boarding pass, who signal to the plane,
Such sad and paltry virtue as you're due
Would yet an airport's tower misconstrue;
That pilots and their air-controllers may
In congress, or in *******, delay
(Desirous yet of wings they fain possess)
To mount the air—with each bright stewardess
Their forms and then their maidenhood address . . .  

     Out, Out.  Such trash ennobles none but thee;

    'For craft shall ever land as birds must fly—
Checked luggage fill the hold when drinks are served;
And whether prey or falcon take to sky,
The crew must make our passage well-deserved;
Though lightning rend the night all 'round th'plane
And flame, as to a spleen, thy fevered brain.
Perchance you hope the pilot to dissuade,
Whose path through trackless wastes your flight directs.
Your shamming virtue tarnishes your blade
And though your flight be cut, it fain connects
That shining port of entry that you seek
Where love's most noble strength is rendered weak.'  

   'Away. Methinks the cabin crew I hear:     
      Fair Lesbia—have you my passport ?'