Here's to the tired
And here's to the broken
To the poor and the needy

Here is to my 97 year old grandfather
WWII veteran
He has his caretaker
And the football games

Hard times they make us hard
Our spirits forged by the endless trials

We will not stop trying
We are the human race
We still go on

With hope in our hearts
We go on!

Behold, a ****** shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son,
And they shall call his name Emmanuel
Which being interpreted is,

God with us

2020 - day 193

Sunday, July 12, 2020
8:03 AM

Peer Gynt, self aware, self fulfilled troll-like
being ghostly,
projected before me, on the wall that is not there
- callin' all in, all ye outs, in free
- hear ye, hear ye
- the day of judging is this one called today.

See that pile of idle words, find the ones y'know,
use'm t'make sense
since you know sense, on sight, you re
co-gnostically be tuned to the same
signal. {soft call to be true to your self aware

you are so naked

but who knows?
right being you, not me,
selfless lost in the mix,
billions of bits being bet on yet
more
hope, faith and love
these
the trying trinity judging me...

can one tell one story, or must one,
take part in one,
as in the
one story being
the whole of all stories,
yours, as well as mine,
told in words we all know you all know

y'know waddamean.
tell me wha'd I say? Baby, be old,

turn and turn and turn
night to day, in time after time after
ever
ever
ever
being floods reality with
those three triers used to try men's souls,

attention, to the trained, means one thing,
stand up straight, eyes front, hup, now

to the beat march,
as to war...

We are off to meet the Manicheans who
swallowed all the hate once given
follower of Nicolas, in Antioch,

given hatred taken from the revelation,
interpreted by the time
stage acting as now,
the day... back when a hundred monkeys
were imagined able to use
a machine that made sense from chaos, over time.

ሴ

bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding

the dance of graphical images mages form
as words flow from fingers into magical machines
imagined
famously by a Huxley fellow, convinced life happens
on its own volition
using right, as opposed to non working trials
abandoned,
{when the band broke up, 1970, or so}

but the music never died
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding ding ding
writers of types of tales barred from publication,
suddenly appear

as it were from the type of word processors {Wangers}
that one Huxley envisioned responding
to a hundred monks who saw nor heard nor spoke evil
but
tapped, and at each tap a letter formed
to let a sound be heard
no levers stick, no carrying platens signal need to
advance
ding
tic, steadying sounds calling next from a habit
formed to the beat
tic tic tic
squeeks
as common, common conie-like rock squirrels

squeek squeek over the steady everthere sixty cycle
hummm

hear it, little dog, not too far away; adding music
to your day, which
grew from this seed, a little spore of living from
my state of being
informed
this day,

it was mine,
when first I noticed, this being the day.
I have power to live,
today,

I slept through the night, quite comforted, indeed.

Each new day
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
has a rythmn
sometimes it's steady, some itssteps stutter, some  say

sibalent whistles signal something, in the spirit,

sssssss

wait, too late, we made the story and let it fly.

ሴ ሴ

Lessoning myself in social graces,

I wash away my stains, my graffiti screams whispering
see me, see me, see me say

trolls exist in this place. Those who mocked knowing thyself,
and called evil good and good evil,
call fair foul and fould fair,
say sould souls were stolen, when we know the deal:

the price agreed was paid.
I insist enough
insisting for any rational troll,
knowing you are enough is enough, is part and parcel to
the act of being true to you as you
may say you wish you were,
free as truth in ever after...

- ain't nobody got no papers on me....

The sybils all told you , furies may come, but did you imagine


the wise principle thing promised riches beyond rubies,
for what a ruby is worth,
we have no clue.
What's a ruby worth to you?

Are you hungry? Here, eat a ruby.

Auto, self, did, done, act act, ionic become charged, my son.

Mama. ah. the old wounds we cherish.
Times before now, states of decay, shedding of skins to be
wise
as a serpent, like, that's a good thing, as good as
harmless
as a dove, on which poets rise in mind's eyes to see

sources of courses through the shallows near the shore

we all meander nearer now, swamped in ante
cipitation, capere, take it

take it, take it and move on. Live and learn,
follow the flow,
when you are snow, when you are precursor of coal,
go
on, no shortage of power,
like in America, where the power is always on.

Or was always on, in my future,
which is already
your past.
So fast,
but
its all realted,
it is all one idea, in the end, we each are given one last day,

to make up for everything, or make up everything.
The latter, I think,
today.
ሴ ሴ
ሴ

You men ideas, furious in your raging, sing to us of
Gracious slaves of justice,

wake the lost hope of truth in
misformed
messengers whose every efforts fall mortally short.

Leaven a lessoning of habits formed being as a binding,
tied to each part of any whole
re-li-gated, ifthenelse ifthenelse ifthen else
re-legate, make a rule,
you
too
late,
we was e-pluriblized afor you was
aware eveh had begun,

The Pax of Everest living radiant as ever was imagined.
Peace
on earth, good will to the kind having hearing ears and
seeing eyes and slich oily minds,

anointed minded ones,
tested,
proven to have survived up
pop this very mortal moment called today,
to then, when you became dear reader in this medium
of mass messaging
lacking
any organized haeceity of pure me, not thee, not
other wise

ways wise men walk, watch, watch the liars strut,
do wise men walk this way?

Live and learn, we always say,
when given a day,
to think about it,

before dying and knowing, or not, if the point
is ever made, or was
already made before I started trying.

ሴ ሴ
ሴ ሴ ... _ .

To the red hot fires who die every night as they put delights to bed
And cradle a crisp old secret
That reminds them of home

I pick you tonight
You unloved creature of passionless nights
I pick you for adventures meant for the prettier ones
The less afraid
I pick you for the happy ending
And while the other triers are pretending
I pick your plain spotty humourless expression
I pick your fear
I pick your kisses
I pick your stuttering goodbyes
And your stumbling hellos

I pick your crumpled up heart that you put in a bottle
And wistfully sent off to sea


I pick the shade were we can lie
As we promise to never tell another

next time you say you can handle all of my crazy,
baby, make sure you have a vacuum

for all of the lazy, broken pieces of those same words said before,
that have been smashed and smeared into my **** carpet,
so you don’t cut your feet walking backwards out the front door.

next time you say you can handle all of my crazy,
maybe make sure you have a vacuum

because my hair sheds like it’s perpetually ridding me of thick coated winters,
and leaving behind a shrine to our time together like forget-me-nots
so you will find pieces of me everywhere -
not just in the carpet, the bed sheets, the backseats,
but on the radio:
if not because my voice is still etched into your mind during the static silence
then because i knew the words to every song like i wrote them all,
and i wrote a lot of them about you, or people like you:
the previous liars and triers and vacuums.

next time you say you can handle all of my crazy,
remember space is a vacuum

and how you also said we are two stars intertwined
because we are not celestial beings but soft bodies destined to die,
oxygen deprived, with ruptured lungs in ten seconds time.

waking to Wednesday when you know that it's Friday,
the calendar has done got it wrong,
they'll try to convince me that it really is Wednesday
and that the weekend is still far away.

the world is full of triers, friars and
potholes and ****** calendars,
not even time for coffee number two
gotta go do what a mans gotta do
boo hoo

It was another lonely night
While holding on to old tears drops
of bits of rain, I always feel this pain,
I can still hear your voice
dancing into the night of fright,
sending me kisses of death,
this doesn’t make my night carefree
all it gives is darken dreams,
I see your ancient eyes looking deep into mine,
that triers to incense me with words,
To make traps for me to fall into your fake love,
In your senses of hateful thinking;
You tell me to come to you with an open mind,
To lite a fire deep into your empty heart,
but I know not to waste no more of my time
On an old ancient rhyme,
Oh, but how Dark Angel's words linger in my mind
Trying hard to play games on my heart,
Old desires make a big fire,
He would tell me all kinds of things
Like my heart is his home,
My soul is all he wants to make his own,
He would tell me over and over,
Oh, Moonlight, together we can be alone
And our spirits can run free,
All we need is each other in the life of a storm,
We can make love in the splendor of lust,
Oh, how swiftly life passes on by,
Come Moonlight, take my hands
Let me be your man with deep commands,
I can see your eyes telling me many things,
Your heart is graving with mine,
Come to me and let’s make many more dreams
Let’s write down in your own bloodstain ink
about you and me, you forever king,
our souls live beyond what others ever have known,
let me feel your heartbeat, my queen,
let me touch your silk hands, this is my command,
Oh, from far away I can hear the glass break
Where dark dreams are, being made
While souls scream to be set free,
Wish me well my queen,
while I take others down in a journey
of darken dreams with me,
Come Moonlight,
put your candle lite by your window
Let me feel your true delight
even if you’re not on my side,
I am torn by your politeness
It gives me so much madness,
But with the time you will see things my way,
Do you know you could never fix me?
So, stop trying to forgive me,
I will always burn in your desire
I will always linger around in your mind,
I am Dark Angel, your king in all your dreams,
Your heart will only beat for me;
Just Waite and you will see,
Oh, Moonlight, your heart is my home,
Your mind is my throne,
Your soul is what I want,
I will never let you go,
Together we can make many storms in history,
We will be written down in the beams
of the moonstones, together alone.

Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen of Darken Dreams Is Poetic Lilly Emery