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PNasarudheen Feb 2012
Mary plants stems of roses
Happy is her sensuous senses.
Rosy roses reddish ,yellow
Dribbling dews on petals glow.
Sandy was her piece of land ,still
Mixing humus made she fertile.
Grow up mango, cashew trees now
Hellish heat around falls low.
All the birdies, human beings with
Rolling breeze’s blessing grew forth.
Nurture Nature for our future
Save our culture agriculture.
Greenery is her granary giving
Honey, money, feeling pleasing.
Waves on beaches softly recede
Crawling ripples crippling proceed.
Do you know? lives here sustain
Only through eternal restrain.
Gain for all lies where interactions
Divine hold our honest actions
=============================
Saša D Lović Sep 2014
1

gledao je dugo svoju sen
zakrvavljenim očima
  grlo mu se grčilo

sekiru sa zida da ponese
u šumu
  šta bi drugo

inače često dovodi sebe
u takvu situaciju
  ne zbog nečeg patološkog

ne zbog neke skrivene želje
već zbog šume
  ona je i ovog puta kriva

usne su mu drhtale
šumom odzvanjao njegov dah
  drveće počelo da vrišti

suze cerove kvasile humus
no to ga ovog puta ne pokoleba
  ovog puta otići će mnogo dalje

na sekiru pade zrak
i ona umi njegovo telo
  svojim sjajem


2

mala fide
dim se vije mehovi nadimaju
  čekići biju

znojavi kovači brkove suku
piju vodu metal stenje
  pod serijom teških udaraca

crveni se još nerođena sekira
u agoniji nastajanja
  sijaju se oštri zub i uvo tupo

pa je utom zgrabiše klešta
sve zaneme
  sve sačeka prvi vrisak

susret sa vodom
mala fide
  šta avaj nastade


3

u početku beše raka
i on je plesao oko nje
  poslednji ples

uma atrofičnog
udovi mu leteli sekli etar
  bale kvasila mu lice

očiju zakrvavljenih
ni glasa da pusti
  zmije su stenjale upregnute

niz amove otrov se slivao
raka poče da biva jezero
  drveće spustilo grane

i sve više grdilo mu lice
o boli
  ples je bivao sve sporiji

ptice su sve tiše rikale
iz tame poče da se rađa tama
  grđa i crnja

muve su naokolo zujale
drveće počelo da vrišti
  suze cerove kvasile humus


4

i kako je plakala sekira
naišavši na kamen
  vatrene suze prštale naokolo

kamen se vrteo kamen je jeo
vatrene suze
  i zub oštriji postajaše

svetlost njena poče da izjeda tamu
grđu i crnju
  od one pređašnje

pade zrak na nagrđeno lice
i stade sa plesom
  zmijama skide jaram

umi udove svoje u jezeru
urlik zapara galamu oko njega
  i nastade tišina tišina tišina

kezio se njegov lik
sa mirne površine
  progledao je


5

u početku beše i šuma
prašuma beskrajna
  u umu njegovom atrofičnom

i u njoj on i ona u njemu
podjednako
  plakao on plakala i šuma

jeli jedno drugo
grlo mu se grčilo
  udovi sušili crni dani behu

anđeli su sletali
kljucali mu oči
  koje su bile voda

donosili vatru u prašumu
da sagori um njegov atrofični
  vatra se gasila

donosili i vodu vodu mutnu vodu bistru
belu crvenu zelenu bilo kakvu
  voda se gasila


6

išla je sekira iz ruke u ruku
brzo i sigurno
  kroz vatru kroz vodu

padale glave
padalo drveće
  zub oštriji uvo tuplje držalje crnje

od krvi od zemlje
sekira je kružila
  tog su dana žene crno mleko muzle

ah nesreće
ptice su sve divlje rikale
  muve su zujale

pauci se razmrežaše
između prstiju njegovih
  ključala je lava u grudima šume

kezio se njegov lik
sa mirne površine
  jezera


7

sa rukom stopila se sekira
skameni se dah pogled znoj
  kidao je dronjke od odeće

bale kvasila mu lice
konji su bili nemirni
  anđeoskim hučanjem šuma ga zvala

lišće je padalo sa drveća
magla proždirala etar
  ptice behu odletele

rožnjače mu se zabrazdiše
srce poče da kuca
  sekira urliče

anđeli behu odleteli
samo su muve zujale
  on penio

šuma hučala
jezero ključalo
  tišina


8

na kraju beše svetlost
prasvetlost beskrajna
  u umu njegovom atrofičnom

i u njoj on i ona u njemu
podjednako
  smejao se on smejala se i svetlost

jeli jedno drugo
grlo mu se širilo
  udovi listali crni dani behu prošli

demoni su izranjali
kljucali oči
  koje su bile vatra

donosili gmazove u svetlost
da opogane um atrofični
  gmazovi se sušili

donosili pegaze sa rogom
bele crvrne zelene bilo kakve
  krila im otpadala


9

stajali bi sekira i on stopljeni
u agoniji
  svetlost zaslepi oko njegovo

iz rožnjače kapala je lava
tuga poče da izjeda svetlost
  grđu i crnju od pređašnje

zub tuplji uvo oštrije držalje istrošeno
pade tren na nagrđeno lice
  i poče sa plesom

zmijama jaram na vrat
kezilo se njegovo lice sa dna rake
  progledao je


10

granulo je sunce i nesta svetlosti
zmije su strašno siktale
  upregnute

gledale kako se otrov iz jezera
pretvara u oblak
  oblak zakri sunce

i njegov um atrofični
udovi mu leteli
  pogađali ptice

muve su zujale
očiju zakrvavljenih
  pusti glas planine su se tresle

vetar poče da duva
umrsi mu kosu koža mu se ospe
  iz tabana poče korenje da niče


11

sva se magla upi u njega
on spusti sekiru u raku
  u raku doteče lava

i ne bi više zuba oštrog uva tupog
šume prašume svetlosti prasvetlosti
  jednostavno ne bi

na kraju beše
on
  u agoniji

postojao je
Sa Sa Ra Oct 2012
Nostradamus and sleeping prophet's One lost image of the singular Eye

Re(ad(d): No worry
To, Love Our Sun :).

Signs like Gemini is to air
Sagittarius is to fire a pair
in this crossing with Pisces
to water is Virgo for earth
too We are the mutable ones!!
Sunny is however we coin the calling spiraling too
EYE of the One generation transmutable souls of soil ARE
to earth; 'hues EYED like a butterfly, here to sample many flowers
connected within a Great Spirit invoked as in wilds if peopled or things'!!!
We do feel it within or without the actual considerations of the ultimate doings;
'letting go and taking the risk of trusting and depending on another'!!! One by one!!! :)
EYE of humus hued in spirit and love fused to the stone's twirling and of the ruse's tolling
So many of paths we traverse here as on earth the singular EYE knows out on the HORIZON
The great Eye is too glued on Sunny Sun's ever evolving viewing's as hued spirits cross          EYE'S
Our blinded one eye's longing to Lyra's lyre, great musician Orpheus winging, whose           W
music tamed wild beasts, caused rivers to stop flowing and enchanted even gates                    S
to the Lord of the Dead Hades, the softly lit fire singing inside linking heaven                            A              
to earth viewed from outsider's hues waxing and waning of sleep wakened                              I N
so ode to the moon in the darkness of night gives but who takes her softer                               F USED
delight when One day halves by sun setting all ebbs in flowing as tides                                       B I           
to Great oceans moved like hearts breathe air to presence's emoting                                              STAR'S  
from magic to tragic we long of ecliptic traces cryptically erasing                                                      W
the blindness of memory and sight' majestic beast's floundering                                                      ­      I
a forever crisscrossed from the One Eye here now to Knight's                                                         ­       N
dear lost forbidden inner retreats from the East to God's lost                                                             ­        'S
children cast out to the land from blood pooling in spoils                                                                        O
as easily uncovered as readily as new western lands had                                 ~/ E \~                               N  
claim maddened ravaged savagely eagerly discovered                                 ~(:YES :)~                          G
fear still rocks this boat with hope still sailing onward                                (:FORGIVEN:).                       'S
***PS:PLEASE CLICK ON TITLE LINK* FOR CORRECT (or other)* FORMATTING!!!!!!!!!!!*** **

*Clicking the drop down link of 'continue reading' on common feed pages has the cryptic token-ed!!!

~What a trippy trip it has been and is otherWISE!!!!! ANUBIS!!!!!~~

PPS: If this feels unfinished it indeed is.** That is the point of Nostradamus's final renderings as it were. It finishes as we all put ourselves in as the contributors of what we will and meanwhile are willing to admit outwardly all we know within...the formatting spoke in diverging directions or so it seems!!! When the inner eye meets the renewed outer view new ventures in lieu of the long voyage we parted waters for a SINGULAR EYE OF HUES!!!
**PSSST!!! It was a snake hissing at first then disappears in the laughing!!!! (in part and my parting shot here now!!)

~ZODIAC AS OF 2000 AD~
-ARIES = APRIL 19 - MAY 13
-TAURUS = MAY 14 - JUNE 19
-GEMINI = JUNE 20 - JULY 20
-CANCER = JULY 21 - AUG 9
-LEO = AUGUST 10 - SEPTEMBER 15
-VIRGO = SEPTEMBER 16 - OCTOBER 30
-LIBRA = OCTOBER 31 - NOVEMBER 22
-SCORPIO = NOVEMBER 23 - NOVEMBER 29
-OPHIUCHUS = NOVEMBER 30 - DECEMBER 17
-SAGITTARIUS = DECEMBER 18 - JANUARY 18
-CAPRICORN = JANUARY 19 - FEBRUARY 15
-AQUARIUS = FEBRUARY 16 - MARCH 11
-PISCES = MARCH 12 - APRIL 18
http://akunakumara-akuna.blogspot.com/2011/01/13th-zodiac-sign-for-2012-and-beyond.html

Ra's lost Ka with Za's dawning;
The Lost Book of Nostradamus
http://www.history.com/videos/the-lost-book-of-nostradamus#nostradamus-methods
wordvango Feb 2015
Aidos was the goddess
guide to non-self enlightenment
ultimate submission
striking the pride of demons down
obedient I have become to Aidos wisdom.

I repress the misty view of desires
unworthy flattering
no longer my worth or view
as now I sit legs crossed
on the ground,
submit to
humility.
Akemi Feb 2017
Lily marked the gravestone. A white streak across grey cobble, the crumbling visage of a turning sky reflected in the puddle beside her. New dusk brimmed grey gold, a heady dust galloped with the rising easterly winds, a white streak across grey skies. Lily marked the edge of her notebook, nine-past-ten, the end of second period, a break in consciousness, then a tang of blood from her swollen gums. Lenin rose above the rooftops, a hand brushed her forehead as the paramedics left, a black bag.

The answer was heat death, compartmentalised energy, like fireworks falling into darkness. Burning rice, spilt coffee, Ain’s smile. Nights on counter, pad paper, day old rain. Lily fell into a nightmare, smooth black, a single light dissipating as the universe died. She spat blood, missed the bus and collapsed on the walk to school.

It was the anniversary. Setting sun, plumes of white, the exit sigh of a wasted day. Lily woke hours later. She returned to an empty home, suffocated in a dream and rose four hours too early for school. Climbing the roof, she watched the sun rise, grey and formless.

There was ash in the hallway to class, the remnants of the incense from yesterday’s memorial, pencil shavings from the forest, fingers blurring out of definition like the trees around her, the soft empty breath of loose soil. Ain came to the store on a night like this, wind gathered silent around her frame. They found themselves atop a bus shelter, lights rising from a sea of nothingness.

Eight-forty-five, the chalk felt heavy in Lily’s hand, white dash across infinity, city blackout. Everyone went to see the dam, cracked pavement, Ain dripping blood, Lily wreathed in ravens. Below the river, forest spirits wove among power lines, bird bones cracked beneath the soles of children, motes rose. Lily lost sight of Ain, the dam broke and children cheered.

Time passed. Ceaseless time.

Lily drifted through petroleum smoke, dashi, the burning husks of gods. She watched the river ryū sweep through her street, turbid with the broken heads of graves, mad with phantoms. She visited memories yet to form, nurseries of dust, cosmic return of the infinite perceiving itself. She cried, remembering everything, the smell Ain’s wet hair, ricochet of a glass bottle, Lenin’s dirt-smeared skin, the birth and death of the universe; mother unable to afford pad paper, sakura bursting the sky pink, couples riding past on too expensive bikes, father drunk on sake. Ribbons of light danced around Lily, a playful susurration, feeding her more and more memories.

Isn’t it beautiful? Existence burning through itself? A departure with no ending, no beginning, no becoming? Haven’t you lived a full life? Won’t you live it again?

Lily screamed. Split dam flooded the empty grave. The same smell of soy, dust and sweat every day. Lack birthed in the space between, like teeth, lacuna bleeding. Nightmares and old memories pouring out like a knife. Ryū stiffened, red streak across the sky, tail burying into the earth. Rice steam filled the air, a passing train carried Ain and Lily into the city, crowds of smoke, her crescent eyes reflected in a storefront, the eyes her mother loved. April awakening of the forest gods, cool spring rustled the hair around her neck, a humid breath descended from the mountain to the lake. Warm rain fell in sheets, city smudged out of focus, bokeh lights departing, Ain’s wet skin—

The city retracted; a whimper escaped her mouth; her fingers passed through power lines, wood smoke, pavement; seasons collapsed, superimposed like holograms, snow and humus; gyoza steamed, air sirens blared beneath the shadow of foreign planes; kodama rose as ancient trees reclaimed the land; volcanic blasts shook the ocean, AI sped to singularity; reality vanished like light falling off a mirror and Lily ceased to feel.

Space is illusory.

Lily.

It travels ceaselessly through itself.

Lily, stop.

And we don’t exist.

Lily grinned, rising from the reeds, a cattail in each hand. She sped towards a screaming Ain, who tripped on a willow root, and began bopping relentlessly.

“Lily!” Ain cried, squirming on the ground. “Lily, stop!”

Lily grinned, rising from the reeds, a cattail in each hand. She sped towards a screaming Ain, who tripped on a willow root, and began bopping relentlessly.

“Lily!” Ain cried, squirming on the ground. “Lily, stop!”

Lily grinned, rising from the reeds, a cattail in each hand. She sped towards a screaming Ain, who tripped on a willow root, and began bopping relentlessly.

“Lily!” Ain cried, grabbing Lily’s wrists. “Haven’t we done this enough?”
[3] time is a flat circle perceiving itself
/
[1] hellopoetry.com/poem/1554623/the-end-came-a-long-time-ago
/
[2] hellopoetry.com/poem/1798516/an-echo-of-ain
/
JM Romig Apr 2019
Scraping off
The smiling Santa Claus faces
Dim hope fading
With each metallic fleck
Flicked onto the kitchen floor

Yet, she will buy more
Always more
And always the same numbers
On the gas station tickets
She buys with a bag of chips

And gas-station humus
With gas-station pop,
In a gas-station cup -
Too large to hold in one hand -
That she fills to the brim

With hope
She never lets herself
Get to empty
She fills her soul with
Perpetual certainty
That one day, she’s gotta win
She’s just gotta

So she plays the game
Plays the odds
Fills her cup
Fills up her tank

Drives to two, three, four
Thankless jobs
And never lets her soul
Get to empty

She’s just gotta win
Fate has gotta give in
To her sheer ambition,

She knows it in her bones
Maybe not this time,
or next time
…or the time after

But soon
…definitely soon
Dedicated to my Mother In Law
Kenna May 2015
I liked when you sang me salty
lullabies, and kissed  
the leaves on my forehead.

When you bundled me
up in sand and soil,
carting me off the county fair,
winning an honorable
mention.

How I miss the parting
of your lips, the lurking
smile: always
there, always
hidden.

Make me a dandelion
crown, and shepherd me
through your shoulders.  

You can see the whole
world from up here--propped
up on the tombstone.
Lendon Partain Mar 2013
The writings on white sheets,
of paper, meander into corners of peoples troubles,
hopefully they taunt correct hemorrhages that will impulse something.

I hope that when I write some person is confused.
Or else I've created no symbolism.

Ive created nothing of worth
or
of
more than it is.

This sallow fickle body I traipse in.
It's got bones filled with osteocytic stones to shape it.
They are calcium degraded, then traded for rigid text.
This body is hard and hollow.
Like bird bones.
Like the bonds between atoms.
This sick cadaver is nothing less.
Our cells become separate selfish entities,
incapable of helping themselves.
Indigent children with no child hostels.
With no help for the homeless youth of our own corporeal phantoms.

When the Aids takes us all,
The cancer takes its toll.
When the whooping cough kills our hopes.
When we die to our dreams of home.

We die all on our own.

The skin becomes parchment.

Some day these bones can be the frame to a poem of worth.
Hung in a rich mans house.
On his wall awkward awards adorned.
Creating what I never could by a poet who was as perfect as the others.

Now the calcium lies in me,
as I lie between sheets of this meat,
of human humus before it disintegrates,
to make plants much more beautiful;
but that calcium, that carbon will make a page.
That bone will make a frame,
and my frame will stand tall like the last building left in the earth.
As there are no more humans alive to see it.

The last iris of the universe will be. A sun.
Recycling.
refresh mesh Oct 2018
depends on me for sustenance,
companionship, and reassurance.
she's like every other partner I've ever had

She comes everywhere with me
she walks around the lake with me
and loves to visit the strange mountains.
she leaves when i ignore the truth.

Today I spent hours
watching thick peels of clouds
raking shadows on one another
without crying,
then I told my doctor exactly how I feel.

My body scars so easily
but has never been broken
it's pointless to despair
no matter how old you are.

My nerves are alive, behind my teeth, in my tear ducts
i'm a shivering rabbit ready to bolt
seeing everywhere with my wide ears
for a sign of Danger, dressed in disguise.
her angry love emerges from the humus
whispering like a father:
"Lie down before you hurt yourself."
"Why did you try to lift so much?"
it replays all the stupid, lazy, selfish
**** I've done in the past 6 months
"Why are you still ******* around with that?"

Hold the door open for your friends
then give them some misdirection as they pass.
you must be the first genius in the world to think of it:
avoiding vulnerability by any means necessary.
all attempts to justify my behavior fall short of conviction.
i align my ethics with my actions when it's most convenient.
(and, as I'm reminded, only amidst the most detailed instruction.)
Danger knows I almost believe it.

But we both know I'm a hypocrite
i may never have stopped stealing from animals
without all the recipes other people have written.
the militant voice would've insisted, "It's Impossible!
humans didn't evolve to limit their nutritional pool!
and you're already shuffling half-assed through work and school!
Just think of something else to make you frown,
cut your losses and leave this large-small town.
They are nature's slaves caught unawares."

So who notices? And even then, who cares?
Dizzy, the rush
of thoughts incapacitate
synapses firing, neurons
    throttled, a crescendo
    of dendrites branching

Experience roots
inwardly, tearing the humus
           of pregnant dreams, scratching to see
                               the blood beneath the scab.

     The greater the itch, the greater
        the disturbance of sleep,
            bound by a tangle of vines,
            deafened by the cobbling-together
                of thrushspeak, the cry of clouds
                contorting into unthinkable
                     and suggestive shapes        

   Bleary-eyed, the lost wages
   of sleep gambled away
   on a ticking clock.
Draginja Knezi Jul 2021
press to distress
express disdain
dismay
say if may
dis is in vain

but there's rain in my veins
and through the pain
is where we gain
the whys and the eyes
for I's and the lies

I guess I got caught in the rot
but hey why not
leave like a leaf
live and relieve
weave and retrieve
humus is us and whatnot
16 July 2021
andrew juma Dec 2015
Oh universe
How you sustain all lives
Is so marvellous

Mother Nature
You constant watcher
You are not a quitter

The seas know their space
The sun sets in the west
And never loses that course

The trees  cleanse the air
Herbs with sweet smelling fragrance
And wild honey tastes so sweet

Oh universe
How do you manage this
With so many of us?

The hogs eliminate snakes
The pests  feed on wastes
Vultures take care of  dead carcasses

We all look to you when we need food
You provide it
We eat it

Every one of your dependants
Know their expectations
In  selfregulation
The eater and the eaten

Life never ceases
It only changes form
Rotting plants become humus
And sustain growing plants

Edible animals become part of man
man's DNA lives on in their descendants...
And then man grew a few beards

With his advancements
Interfering with all others
Breaking laws
Creating disaters

In the eco
thick smokes of toxic
chemicals that destroy flora and fauna
Massive deforestation

and then he turns to you
expecting you to produce
When he ploughs your soils
Looking up to the clouds

You used to give a ****
But now you feed them back their poison
And their lives shorten

Retribution for being stubborn
And interfering with you
Mother nature

You heard them talking of space exploration
Look for life in another planet as solution
You just laughed

They think that they can destroy you
And leave for another planet
You are the only One

Blessed among the stars
To sustain lives
They will come running to you
Like the prodigal son

And maybe the rebellious
Shall have learnt a few lessons

Oh Universe
Its so fabulous
that you sustain all lives
Lets all conserve and preserve the environment,from it we derive.
Lendon Partain Apr 2016
We are the forest of the dead.
We are crimson willow trees.
We are weeping in the woods,
Hanging bodies like chandeliers

Leaves,
Crumble,
Deep in.
Humus,

Body becomes soil.
Bleeding the forest.

Cold
Wet

Moss undergrowth
Drag down the bones

The beetles form inside,
Leave larval forms behind,
Above our heads they swing,
The wind blows bleeding trees.

The machinery of death.

Brings the forest life,

From suicide.
Dolores L Day Mar 2018
Those flowers spill out
Over the sides like your soul spills out of your clothes
Onto the floor in front of me
Where I watch in amazement because you're everything I've ever Wanted to be.
The smoke of your husbands pipe leads the way
Through the door past the kitchen
Into the room where you lay
With chickens and pottery
You tumble out of your chair
And I
Tumble into your arms as if
It was my birthday instead of yours.
I would drive a thousand miles to eat your humus and hear your words.

You have everything I've ever wanted to have.
Teach me.
I will bring you as many tall vases as you want.
Teach me.
I will bring will make you as many flower arrangements as you need.
For Tina
The mighty men of valour
Hate to possess the
Answer to thy beauty,
For as long as

Nature obey laws,
There shall not be
Any beauty like
Unto my darling,

Ah, questioning the past
Has opened a new leaf
Of this unquestionable version,
For as long as

Thou shine thy true
Blackness upon my sinful nature,
These happy days of mine
Will be lost without thy gut,

The persistent shrilling
Of the magic cricket
At midnight and the rustling of
The palm leaves in the sea breeze,

Makes me feel
Ashamed and proud,
For as long as
Great men are
Ready to bite the

Lioness for thy sake,
Thy power of beauty
Shall be the soul
Of thy flamboyant womanhood,

Never hid them, oh
My only true lover,
For as long as
Thou art fairer in character
Than the master’s daughter,

She that has no
Respect for the humus,
The nations shall behold these firm
Twain towers upon
Thy juicy sedate chest,

Children of Africa,
Look up straight
Upon the holy mountains,
For as long as
This blazing sun

Remains the likeness
Of her sharp big eyes,
The eternal honey dripping
From her faithful lips
Will be traded for life

Ah, my only falling rain,
The mother of many nations,
For as long as
Thy beauty remains prosperous,
The starling shall not cease

To express my sincere
Whims to imprison thee
In my heavy heart,
I love thee Obaahemaa,
Thou art Cleopatra indeed.

© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com
heavy bored Feb 2013
they say everyone has a personal hell on earth
will you laugh if I tell you mine is a bathroom
because the peeling white wall and concrete floor
close in and whisper “more more more more”
as I shove a plastic spoon down my throat
salad, carrots and humus, cheerios
unplanned nibbles and a full stomach
send me down the stairs into the quiet empty room
where the window is blurred
just like my eyes
as they fill while I empty
“these are the depths”
I tell myself
this is the place where I find new lows
and just when I think I finally reached rock bottom
the toilet responds with a shovel
“keep digging”
an empty stomach and dead eyes
smiling but only my mouth muscles twitch
an odd sensation, an odd response to the compliment
“you’ve lost weight!”
I am more naked in this prison
than I ever am undressed with nameless boys and forgotten faces
as *** replaces carbs
and more “friends” like my photos on facebook
because I never have to sleep alone
but one minute in my Siberia feels like lifetimes of solitude
that no gently touch
or quick ****
can ever compensate for
where is the key that lets me out?
I’ve searched my esophagus but it only leaves me with ****** noses
it must be somewhere else inside of me
unrelated to the number on the back of my jeans
for I feel it in me
something is telling me to stop
it’s like a lump of innate love
that shakes its head every time I bend over
the demons (my demons) are drowning my mom’s voice
“I pray it gets better” she cries over the phone
but your rosary beads are choking me
because there is no God in this incandescent purgatory
but sometimes
I see myself reflected in the shallow water
which reminds me that I am more
than what I contribute to the sewer system
I leave the bathroom still searching for the light
at the far, far end of the tunnel
Don't read if tyring. Don't think this is absurd. Don't don't love me.
My grandmas hands were gentle as the skin was raw from water. I loved her.
Now you know me. She loved me. always. wanting me to wear a cap not to freeze deep. I always beat up my brother at chess if we play slow.
Clocks bounce me out of my natural rhythm. My thought processes are sheer speed as light and love is. Now you don't know me. The best ice cream I ever had was in Köppenhagen. The best strawberries are from the nearest forest. Not there. Aaaapchoooo.
                      We posses only the internal first right to grow

To become longer and thirst. . . for each other to be subjected to
                                       heart throat belly sweet feet wrenched longings and the Psyche subtexted and restored on our Path
                   saved from the diaries of diabolic old id

Awww the crazy romantics overlaps my reason frequently thinking of you
overflooding my boiling red rivers, being genuine blooe blood blooms

                          The Enchanter Neptune is here within this perfect I am entwined making love to my Venus and the Arrow of Eros flies impeccably from the bow's tangental string long before it hit me in the core of my radiant formidability
                            formatting the infinite flowers open from the rose bleeding             tears of honeysuckle nectar alluring even the still air around us
              
                      breeze deep lovers
                         our written diaphanous dreams untangle this fluent love of fluctuations - "madam i'm madly intoxicated with thou love" - spinning
                    mind to body
                             pinnin' up our glowing souls to the edge of the nearest galactic centre approaching as a dark unforgettable symphony
                        attractive spirits permutating
visages, forms and visions
                          zebras, donkeys and magnificent horses stampeding
to the shores of passionate burning collision    

I have had this most magical dreams of different creatures emerging out of the ocean waves forming in the foam of their peeks, or as large as mighty waves when they grab you and swing you on their amplitudes. We are all velocity swimmers, for others we dive, for me you floaat above the mundane... I love your thoughtful elegance This style of a heart budding into ions of ineffable revelations
I was walking under ancient palm trees and healthy pines . . . on the Riva dressed in linnen summers dress . A humble content joyful human being Castaneda's legacy dreamer ... A spectator of energy waves on the real coloured gem deep dark azul and deep blue see . . . emerging flamingoes and pelicans transforming into dolphins, fish, little birds, turtles, lions, whales  
                          each other merging
as a cluster of maidens in Roman bathtubs waiting for Turkish honey to be massaged and soaked deeply into their bronze white skins as they were a perfect medium for younger mystics : As they are tempted to be untamed from untainment again
What I do  know
         is that        magic is floating all around me and I don't convey this simple fact with exact assurance in no time : are we sinking or gliding as a spectre of wave lenght

My friend din't love Aurora Borealis. He's too much of a loner and I felt that the triangular topography of my electro charged notebook
was a magnetic love tale from the enchanted forest. I was mistaken. I could . .  in my utter..  the immediate intricate love crush occured

Unintentionall y
for The Northern Exposures went surfin' south. From here we switch easily from one Galaxy to another. Easily! Come! Choose wise, my inspiration, my
Nebulae
    before the cosmic wind rattles my green bones and crush them into nonexistence, brawling and wavering the micro humus for the next generations.
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic Shore
antipode Nov 2010
There was the day that the stroke --just a stroke--
freed her from that dreaming,
lightning freeing the pine
from its impossible salt air climb,
cleaving it to the gravity.

Do we dream of puncturing the salt air, or
do we dream of
the strike, the stroke
the fragrant humus that waits within
to passively, piously
become salt,
electric?
chimaera Jan 2015
In a angry windy day,
an ordinary tree grizzled away:

- Unlucky me,
grounded to this soil
of such poverty, all it gave me
is this unattractive
dim green!


- You fed on me,
tree,

- rumbled the grounded
humus -
*but it was up to you
to lively up your green
if a green foliage
should be yours.
11.1.2015
Jayanta May 2018
Something wrong somewhere?
River is supposed to carry water not silt!
It supposed to bless us with water and humus!
But not with sandcasting!

Something wrong somewhere?
Forest is supposed to encompass us with diversity of fortune not with weeds!
It supposed to bless with wilderness of life and opportunity to learn relationship
But not with generation of threat and depreciation!  

Something wrong somewhere?
Road supposed to provides us way to transfer,
Transfer of goods and services of our toil
Transfer of knowledge, idea and skills for betterment!
Not to transfer all the venom of destruction!
Destruction of nature, culture and people!

Something wrong somewhere?
Ruler suppose take position for welfare of all
Not for material gain, congregation of power and arriving at fame!

Something wrong somewhere?
People supposed to stand by the people in joy and in misfortune!
Suppose to stand for brotherhood and posterity
But not to abuse and overthrow!

Something wrong somewhere in the commencement
We unable to learn
‘How to learn and make decision!’
Because every decision spoils our dream, robbed our mammon of life!

Something wrong somewhere
Need to start it again from the beginning!
d w Stojek Jul 2018
Nature adorns her vacuums:

               Eden, in lieu of Gardener or Keep, overdrives the breach;

    garland wreaths, julep leaves, Clover carpets

          the well-dint of the fleeing heel,    

             just as Vitality, from Lushness, deserts to humbling Humus.      

                                     I bargain that We will        

                 be survived by teeming hosts of white Chrysanthemum.        

  Our grim miracle resembling, so, fish and loaves;    

                of Manna eked of Woe.



Staid amatory shall cater the craving of a brood;    

        from our tears rich elixir brewed,      

          our tender flanks yielding stew.    

         Scarcity is Her own aphrodisiac,    

      abused in company of more than two.      



    But sure as Man, worms lapse at their hour      

      and they, their own kind, must consume  

            giving back Space, where is room.      

        So, must we, our own Passion’s devour,

   that made manifest they replenish their expanse,      

            as when a hand replenishes a glove--      

     it first breathes upon the absence of Absence.    

           Let us, then, dine. Let us then, Love…
Jamison Bell Jan 2023
I never knew you, I never met you, I never saw you.
I never heard you, I never touched you, I never felt you.
And yet, somehow.
I’ll never forget you.
Nel paese di mia madre v'è un campo quadrato, cinto di gelsi.
Di là da quel campo altri campi quadrati, cinti di gelsi.
Roggie scorrenti vi sono, fra alti argini, dritte, e non si sa dove vanno a finire.
La terra s'allarga a misura del cielo, e non si sa dove vada a finire.

Nel paese di mia madre v'han ponti di nebbia, che il vento solleva da placidi fiumi:
varca il sogno quei ponti di nebbia, mentre le rive si stellan di lumi.
Pioppi e betulle di tremula fronda accompagnan de l'acque il fluire:
quando nè rami s'impigliano gli astri, in quella pace vorrei morire.

Nel paese di mia madre un basso tugurio sonnecchia sul limite della risaia,
e ronzano mosche lucenti, ghiotte, intorno a un ammasso di concio.
Possanza di morte, possanza di vita, nell'odore del concio: ne gode
la terra dall'humus profondo, sotto la vampa d'agosto che immobile sta.

Nel paese di mia madre, quando il tramonto s'insaguina obliquio sui prati,
vien da presso, vien da lontano una canzone di lunga via:
la disser gli alari alle cune, gli aratri alle marre, le biche all'aie fiorite di lucciole,
vecchia canzone di gente lombarda: "La Violetta la vaaa la vaaaa... "
LJW Nov 2015
pumice
peat
mulch
humus
leaf mold
clod
loam: a rich, friable soil containing a relatively equal mixture of sand and silt and a somewhat smaller proportion of clay.

marl:  Geology. a friable earthy deposit consisting of clay and calcium carbonate, used especially as a fertilizer for soils deficient in lime.

argil: clay, especially potter's clay.

bole:
noun
1.
any of a variety of soft, unctuous clays of various colors, used as pigments.
2.
a medium red-brown color made from such clay.





clutch
kaolin
loess: a loamy deposit formed by wind, usually yellowish and calcareous, common in the Mississippi Valley and in Europe and Asia.
slip
till: a stiff clay, a glacial drift of clay, sand, gravel, and boulders
Fah Aug 2013
the steady  undertone of darkness
that i see in me in you
mama ocean's star fish

i knew that i was lucky to see this but i better high tail it out of there fast before mama gets angry - you be steppin on her babies

her babes - all she cares to tend is the babes and she will not stop until they are taken care of
you have no idea

you have no idea , how much it hurts when you **** a child
any thing with a heart beat is sacred

sacred ground that has been birthed from the very earth we pillage from ,

we are killing ourselves
forget killing each other, we are killing our own children -
we are killing the future before it has even begun - making time ,

i , am a woman of nature -
you are a man of nature -

we are the nature that holds steady and rocks hard
we are the star children of mama earth and we are not happy when you squish the creativity  

we won't punish you but mama will
just and fair

Earth MAMA
thank you for your abundance and your care and your energy that pervade the all clearing seeing humus of life
(environmental interested minds - hola!!!)
*humus - top layer of life
da creame  dela dream and the scheme dela scheme , rough drafts , first drafts
droughts we went without - we are survivors with style
all the natures compete to survive
how do you?
everyone is beautiful our here in the forest
drums beat , least there be faires ahead and sprites who would bind you in doubt
we feel your way for you and guide you home
the true - home of the heart

self , selfs full hall .

quite an expanse when the within becomes the without - we don't mess about i will tell you only so many more times, we have reason and we have rhymeeeeee in short we have magic flowing in our veins..
we follow the deep sea explores to unheard of shores
ruby space ships
how streamlined can we go with wind as sail

i built this playground with the help of my friends
we play it well
but for us , it's even not easy
life has taken on a whole new *intergalactic* feel to it.
airships pervade the sky

spiders slip stream darkness engulfs and drinks the blood of all known fly on the walls

we know who is watching us , but ourselves through bionic eyes

the development of the camera allowed human kind to perserve artefacts of themsleves in time thus adding up to lots of saved up time ,
memories captured
images transfered
suddenly one can be anywhere when looking at the silver screen - video picked it up a notch
suddenly we were the people

but that ****'s not so hot for your brain so we wear shields to protect us from the unruly glare view

Rule number 36 of the club ,

Love thy Self.  
( DATED 19/08/13)
Echo Murmur Dec 2015
My self born of soil
Pulled
Falling backward
To the earth   
My fat grows
My ****** is wet
My mind is empty
I am one with black humus and dust
Kingdom of my
This strange eyes
What they are doing?
Always growing, looking up
Thoughts like blossoms
Angels of the grass
What they are searching for?
Hope?

Happy soil
Seeing Him
Lost the chance
(Again and again)
Everything was open
Burning
Sky
Sun transformed
Thoughts
Ken Pepiton Dec 2020
Waking with a will to do some good,
for some body,
this one I'm in, first. The body of living
matter being reader to my writer,
finding selves aware of worth,
with no grave weight
in consequence.
-- Boom… with

sci, SCI itself, ence, hence con-science,
know… ah, wait… who first knew?
Lichtenstein vvvery inter-esting,
dots what I am seeing,
RGB dots and CMYK dot
If there must be an idea for any matter to argue
reason, what is first reasonable in reality,
given what we have onboard?
This is 2020, spaceship earth, the only planet,
in the zone where mortal minds make reasonable
arguments prove life worth living, while
living and learning,
some things are evidently known as hows
without my knowing why.
Add water.
Water.
Yes, that's the trick,
mud,
without shape or form
thought matter, dream-stuff, fun-da-mental pass-time,
words of wonder, watch us
flow, fly, paint the patterns pareidolic,
get the idea in getting anything in all the realms
for the poor.

The primary material needed for the process
of humification are plant materials.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humus>

Anthropo - of mankind,
all varieties based on humus-frames.

Of a mind to,
in a mood to, take a chance,

flip the lid, look inside, breadbox-sized holder of more-knowing,
like carried over from earlier news,
old stories restricted around
arguing old men, wombed and un,
all aware the other know nothing
of the mystery
of being me in an I state, interesting,
trust me
true rest is the reason happiness is imagined
worth the effort to pursue.

---
Is there a manual? Are there rules and regulations,
asks the ****** diving past my ified
light in the night of some soul
matter unresolved…

what is this fusion within our ifery;
ahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa are
we words as wise as words were once?
May we mean the magic power,
boo once held?
Boo, right, scared you, triggered that fabled
flight or fight? No?

****, not fight. Stay put. Become stone,
edify the dust in the dry, thirsty realms of reason,

come, let us argue for the truth you know.

Wait, I have a Phrygian cap.
When I wear it I know why.

Why? I think, I know, I know, I am humus, being
formed from the surface dust of all before,
fitted for a task far in the future,
past the edge of Anthropocene piles of fallen
forms of re, reminders, realities, redone redundance,
thump thump thump

secret means to sacred make, set aside.
Single use,
lock and key. See,
open-minded other wise,
wish you knew,
and know, as per the plan, adjusted for flaws
inherent in the aftermath calculation
of weight as a measure, after
gravity was conceived as
fixed force functioning after the strange force
fixed the imbalance and set an edge,
discernible by raw ideas wishing to matter in the after
all,

desire to know, wish to hide, which is safer
now?

---------------
In a very set apart state, quarantined with my muse and two dogs, 3days, so far while Watching Warnock on Youtube.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
You can say that again, later, it is -time
lace up the daily bag and pass it
for all private interpretation
removal, from the rumen, to the next
- gaseous we, Huxley called us, 1957

No, this ain't show business, this
is living, made in a made up mind,
being finished doing, just
living.

Making up reasons to dispute liars.

Maybe not a good living, but it's free.
Or paid for, any way.
Bought with a price
my grands won't be forced to pay.
- divided attention makes
- ads obliviate into the mercantile
- classification, in attention econ 101
It's free - this living
in the way well fed children do,
in America, outside the cities;

Joy pursued and grabbed in happy
fistfuls that fill laughing memory bubbles
to store for when these become
the olden days.

No, this ain't show business,
its sacred duty,
work of a thing,
made from a boy who looks
into flies eyes, gazing up
from the bottom of the cup,
a little glazed, perhaps,

owing the fly an easy escape, look away

Tricae,
tricae
"perplexities, hindrances, toys, tricks,"

The collections of thoughts,
the access to held thoughts, knotted
messages
to you
private moments,
time alone, as a mortal human being,
humus built, auto-repairing thing being

being, eh?
One-like, only, or
on-like, only going on and on and on,

becoming fruitful
becoming useful
becoming less and less useful, but
becoming more and more curious
becoming full enough to become superfluous.

Lay preachers can create cushions
for lazy wishers wishing to be comforted,
but the weighing of the worth of comfort,

lay preachers seldom do, to my knowledge.

Terminus gnosis, all I know, my bubble of knowns;
this is it…
a thousand stacks of sensible lines, atop precepts,

strewn beside the trail.
Heavy
heuristic heretical how-to do as I dones,
published by faith in the thousands, litter
the little hills the psalmist asked,
why they writhed and twisted,
as in a dance of anger wishing,

clear channel, me and the truth, today,
just/instance, this/ now.

Free am I, by the faith in me, but you
already
knew that,

don't you?
Don't you know, there is a musing mind,
we wear to bed, some nights,
we lay on memory foam, some nights.

Thinking sorted thoughts, untying lying links,
links to educated guesses fed you as new reasons

to be ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the faith,
the laughing faith of a child, leaping
into the sky

- my grandson, I just learned,
- asked for more math.

No class common man, that is what I am,
on the cusp of next, looking back,
at the mess I left, like a cyclone,
randomly distributing seeds of kindness, specs
by which an idle word can activate troves
of ancient autoresponders, each guessing
what if, what if not,
what if, what if not,
what if, what
if
not now, when. Pop.
Bubbles of been, leave go, go on, think it

through, and passed through, into
the now
where we formed, letters, letting words wait,
sit still, ready
for the reader, ready
to steady the quivering fearful thing,
lost in thought,
stuck in stacks of holy orders, hearer only,
only ordainded doers do the trick,
intricate, folding to make not a paper swan,

too, easy. Make a protein. With no model,
just the idea in the word applied to science,
proper pose, super knowing, proto-life-ish thing,
that is digestible using an infantile nourishing node.

What tricks do you know?, the magi aske Moshe.
Snake from a staff.

From the crozier of goatherd, sure,
we can all do that. What else?
---
Allusions to ever knowing, knowing as old
as knowledge given girls at their flowering,
as old a mystery as any orphaned mother may tell
her great grand daughters,
nobody told me any thing,

but I took it as normal,

As the patient potency prefecting
effectual
fervent
prayer, dramatized, made big as all
art
any
bubbled artifice holding essences,

essential bits of the daily grind to gloss
the leading intellect's reason for being
so shiny,
Klimt golden, as that one kiss I recall,

yes, a facsimile, a memory evocation,

a kiss, golden in that moment, infected
with a feeling
dramatized to be offered to all who see,
intricacies,
khipu twists and loops and bundles and beads,

accounting for dues,
instructing kaballah, pass it on

Excuse me, are you in the right realm,
we feel pluralized,
but you don't fit,
we are uniform,
uninformed,

excathedra, listen up, all eight billion now living, are destined
for certain death,
it is a matter of time, dying once,
can happen anytime,

and if there is a second death, so far,
I never saw any body do it twice,
once truth makes what I am free,
we stay free,
amen,
reception accepted kaballah, et al,
take that greasy grace, feel it,
as the oil ran down Aaron's beard,

and there were no poor denied
starship rations,
until the comet hit and all
but a single mind
blew, into this
a complete fiction,
or another compleat guide to fishing

Imagine the magic of the sailor's accounting book,
envision the magic of levers, and pulleys and cogged
wheels feeling the weight

ping
2023 Gravity driven or gravity powered, is it
one
or the other, when it come be to inspire
first fears
to frame wisdom pools,
at depths we learn
to believe,
prove each participant,
worthy of keeping,
the secret.
Salt of the earth, deep down dehr dat
Caribbean Sea,
shore line fracture,
follow the riverwise road,
any thing you think you must bear,
don't blame,
sometimes it pays, to bend.
Grasshopper Locust practice, for the mind
of an ant.

Wisdom harnessed the fear of God,
put it down,
in other words,
when there was nothing
but E, mass and time being assent
esse, sentient, in sentient and ex
insentience, sapient over lay,
- honeycomb tripe pattern, say
- why not ruminate enclosed
- in a beauteous inner digestive
- recluse-exclusive-sub-science con
ified, tied ligously, fi,
to witty means, and ways we prove
gravity is our friend, driven power for all life,
strong as earth itself, but, we are

in the burning phase,
let me bring you down,
cause being accused, does that
to a stranger
being
entertained, or entertaining, on an aitia
let me
reason,

have you come for more, or do we have
too much
of too many things
to make too much
sense
of any particular reader/writer ifery algorithm,
if then,
else is this, current, slow, nodding, flux,
capacitance
loading axially,
if each mind thinks right once,
today, we have enough,
let's save the world.
- that easy, eh?
global restoration, Christ, yes,
that is the plan.
As the planet was.
Prior to Peleg's days.
Intended to have a single
dry land mass,
Wisdom pushed
for plates meeting
and using ice
at the top
of the world, as seen polaris up,
spinning
in a slow wobble
through four
seasonal positional hot-cool-cold-warm
gyre drivers, saline liquid epicycles, sisters
of the four winds
as a flywheel effect
in the telling times… a little imbalence leaning helps
with the wobble,
in the event,
slim to none,
the odds, but,
Don't Look Up. It could
reoccur, and shall, if
Nietzsche's epicycle

has wheels. Graham Hancock, on clocks…cosmic

Mindspacetime, the elite flight,
secretshitistic, it is, most certain, it is
fantasmic imagining
E not equal any thing, mere words
-jello-timingoooisht
between me and thee,
no point, not one, between the we
we become,
in the final analysis, if you wish,

might
you wish,
long, lazy river readers, re-mind
their lost selves, how innocense felt.

The worth of an unsold story, given
as a gift, as a poor artist might
attempt
a portrait
of their daughter's children

- "that little thing"
Done. As best he could, he believed,
at the time,
as it is
with
everything being as is when we arrive,
we adapt
or become the insane opposition,
to anything,
just
be the counter weight on the pendulum,

keep things swingin'

feel time slide
into the real deal,
at the crossroads
in the wayback seat,
sayin' honey, you ain't here
after what I'm here after,
y'gonna be there, after I'm gone, as  asong
that was
once a joke ended you gonnabe here
after I'm gone, but

seemsayin' eye
squint, see,
way back
when,
we were otherwise involved, affirming
sacred oathes, we swore as children learn
IT being life, whatever,
it don't mean
nothin'
is not a joke, it's ahint, to readers, ready
writing is key to reading,
vertical eyed
qwerty keying is learned,
phone wide,
natural, feels familiar
style adaptation
as cuneiform once was,
years of hearing the same words,
said and resaid, story after story stacked
in
time, measured by stargazers, called, by god,
eyes like eagles, these minds expand, and see
the order of the cosmos,
and the chaos of the collective sub-science

locked by a generational curse on oathes
under the God those kids had in mind,
September, 1954, first day of school,
all across the Wyatt Earp of Nations,
each child not religiously exempted,
stood, right
hand on heart and repeated, as a national
student body, K through 12, a pledge,
local time 9 a.m. nationwide,
not unlike
a true Tenant's pledge of fealty,
as recorded in
The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
- buzz nod what instance… seven seconds
Sorry, Under God, was added to the pledge
that year, that affectionizes those exposed,
we meander under god, think it not strange.
It’s a legendary trait, we'll all be remembered a bit.
- default modemod is always beguiling temptation
- for temptation sake, win a game, get the rush.
of chasing hares
to where the conies hide,
feeble folk, but they live among big rocks,
reason enough,
use what you know is right,
hide from things that eat you,
that evolves
in nations
with no elders, constant defence mode
peace makers seem
feeble folk,
who knew,
and fell away, impossible to renew,

whoah, zeke play me that riddle,
'bout scrublands being humbly blissed
so long- wayback, anchoring the authority
17
that's me, I
fiddled around
and blew the clearwater revival
to kingdom come, Muddy Waters, aight
and there was hippies, ever whar, swanee,
so I do, I swan no no no no mo
lie like the devil for the sake of church heritage,
holy warrior sworn, heart torn, tears shed, tongues
spoken.
You know, when gravity is taken
in, your weight, sunk
into the reasoning
swung wide
in progress, no aim, past the cloud,
for crying out loud, this is louder than ever,
listen, no
silence
all that
noise, is natural
to persons genitivally, ok, cross
shadowed animus anima imitation,
in your cultural genes, cowgirl
seeing the world a yingyang thang,
with gravity and the E-magnetic shields
allowing systems to com-uni-cate locally,

scarey
indeed

too much,
the scope
of any thing one might think
or ask,
as in what was that rule
of LAW once?
I read
Compleat Fisherman's Guide U recall led
to , yes, The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
is on Google books, masterfully typeset

Feel free to learn all you will, 'tis all in the Common.

as, by now is much that may have been, otherwise,
in needier times,
less riches, more sorrow,
less sorrows, more riches, peace.

Made that my after all battlefield task,
no mas win or lose.

My side, on the scalar models is gravity empowered,
heavyweight, ancient concept,
gradient slopes
with long lazy loops
on the downhill side,
listening
to kids make all the noise they wish,
two chalk walls away,
in the bubble we all breathe.

To this day, whatever it took, it worked.
Life gets as good as you can make up a mind

to accept, as
this is it,
this is my bit. My close up. To the exact point
where I breathed that bubblierised wedom-opinion

opinion opinion opinion okeh, settle years ago, okay
we all say okeh here, holy ground,
entire collection of recollection on that victory alone.

Okeh, is still the proto voice model, ok.
If you like it, I'd love if you shared it in whole or in part, it is a whole chapter in a novel form of literature, native to the internet age,
type set for vertical receivers
Peter B Aug 2014
The boss at christmas is named John
He runs a church festival on the church lawn
His staff doesn't know the difference
What? They ******* refference?
Between a platter and a plate
And I don't know what the hell I ate?
One Shishkabob and rice
Ain't that nice
Humus was so gross
From your heads to your toes
Taboule is suppose to be some kind of salad
Won't someone make this into a ballad?
Overpricing
and that's the icing!
Belly dancing
And people prancing
A band and A DJ
and that's okay!
What else more can I say?
After all these years he's still cheap
Leave a message after the beep!
The Boss at Christmas was written in the 80's and made American Poetry Anthology book in 1984 Fall/Winter vol 3 book 3+4 page 412 About a cheap boss that didn't want to buy his wife a present on Christmas now he runs a church festival Are you kidding me So it deserved a sequel many years later lol!
Miss Honey Dec 2012
They’re trying to shove tinsel under my skin cause they said I don’t shine.
They clasped open my eyes with peppermint-flavored coffee and strung my hair with cranberries.
They forced glitter down my throat, because they thought my insides were ugly. Then they wrapped ‘em in a box and tied it with a red bow.
I’m sorry you don’t approve of a heart filled with humus and flowers.
I’m not asking you to pack up your Christmas spirit, I’m asking you to listen.
Christmas doesn’t mean anything to me.
Winter means something to me. The perfect destruction of a windstorm and a cold that pierces your skin.
Put praises of frozen earth on my lips. I want to create my chapel in the rain and worship the stillness of December.
"Nilus nil " a écrit Hérodote
Sans le Nil l'Egypte n 'est rien.
Mais même si je ne suis pas pharaon
Porté par un éléphant de guerre
Escorté de chattes et d'ichneumons
Feulant tels des sphinx dans la fange
Je bois aux eaux noires d'Isis
Je bois aux sept bras de son delta
Je bois son ***** chaude
Je bois son or baptismal
Je me tatoue de ses crues tumultueuses
Je suis ivre de ses dix-huit coudées et dix-huit doigts
Je ne suis rien sans ses eaux noires, ses méandres
Qui grossissent au solstice d'été
Et alors pendant cent jours
Je m'abreuve de ses eaux tortueuses
Et je m'épanche de toutes ses embouchures
Je bois aux sept pis du ventre de la vache
Longs de plusieurs milliers d'orgyes égyptiennes.
Je tète jusqu'à plus soif
Je tète sa bouche pélusienne
Je tète sa bouche tanitique
Je tète sa bouche mandésienne
Je tète sa bouche phanitique
Je tète sa bouche sébennytique
Je tète sa bouche bolbitine
Je tète sa bouche canopique
Je suis Thoutmôsis réincarné
Et je sculpte mes savons d'humus.
Onctueux comme crème
Sensuels comme parfum
Je taille dans la boue le buste de Néfertiti
Je sculpte la fille de Typhaïa la Jouisseuse
La chienne en rut du harem
Je sculpte la catin du Nil
La fille lascive du Aulète,
La fille nue des Lagides
Je sculpte Isis et ses ailes déployées,
Je sculpte Aphrodite Anadycmène
Je sculpte Cléopatre la Septième
Je sculpte, je taille, je moule, je peins
Et ce faisant je frotte le dos de Palmolive
De ma muse qui m'abreuve
En fredonnant un cantique antique
De l'eau de son bain de mousse nilotique.
laika Sep 2014
I knew you
I knew you when we were young
our roots barely held us in the loamy soil
our pale green leaves gently, tentatively unfurling
toward the sun
toward each other
but now we're old
and decaying

With each year, we shed our skin
sloughing off bark
dropping our brown withered leaves
slouching into winter
we hunker down

And each spring
the call to bud and renew is quieter
our trunk and stalks creak with the waking effort
we decay

there is no escape from entropy
and one day the loam and humus that birthed us
that even now feed and lift us up
will reclaim us

button caps will push their tendrils into our flesh
forcing apart our fibers
to let silverfish crawl within
West of a mutilated day, wormwood salts are scattered for some wild-chinned Controllers on a high pinnacle with viva vox in the Mandrake, Vernarth's house of Orion:

Saint John the Apostle says the proverbial Psalm: “In the lofty Cage, Gregorian sylphs, with skillful gestures and mania for cheering, are graced for coming to the Way of the cheap and venerable souls that are made up of the bodies of the evil-born on their railing. , in quagmire of swallowing spittle where the cold winter is banished, to jump from the cold oriental, having to walk with the elbows, and with the daring screams of the Sylphs that shake themselves among the foggy and fleshy tangle with rags and fur cloths flying smoothly through the tops of the oak trees in smoke to purge for Vernarth! Gospel, gospel in the barn of the delicate humus was felt, and that it was refracted in the refined forest with philosophical sacred love. Lord, all of us who are because we are, are you Lord ..., all in my exercises of loving gaze, are channeled by the indexes of my thumb to the little finger at the bottom of the sea, and float again from the little finger to the bottom of the surface. Waving in the transience of the world and holding back, Father God thunder, this with laryngitis when he outlines himself with the vast earthly sight, he covers with his right hand, the phlegm of ***** that made him drive an empty tremor, in my lack of security he testified by singing thousands and millions of choirs at this auction. The first ring of the profile will be carried by Jesus light, rubbing his back with some eyelashes of a drunk beetle, while the beetle will collect water between its extensions that will wail real needs of every morning albi - rosaceous that will travel in a circle towards the auditory of the Last auctioned saying: "As I have not to be where I was and was ..., if at night my beloved morning row impulsively and goes against it so as not to stumble into the night ...". Each cut piece of the dermis will have to be auctioned, I had Faith and the screenplay, encapsulated and embedded in each hope of the ramshackle flock, the impiety-weary ogre needed to stow his empty viscera with the cloth of the celestial kingdom, which at auction was beginning to squeeze and vanish when regurgitating smoothies and disintegrated spaces of belonging of the devotees of Vernarth. The writing is signed with lupus, this Lucia emanated from the morning resentment of skin envy, and from the massif drenched in anarchy and city archeology, lying hesitantly ..., as if the forest gave it some indication of rebirth, under the shadow of twinkling doubt, from the high front where they were nuanced over the engendered banners of truth, elucidating the forbidden and true matrix.

Adelimpia, Vernarth's grandmother, was squatting cutting the drool from the dwarf tree that lost a forage, at around 6:30 p.m. on the 39.9th day of a supposed 14th month of another dimension, almost winding up in a tangled series of productive hesitations and rituals, taking her victorious chariot in Lent where the teacher without felt traction, weave sprinkles of forgiveness on her distributor, starting her shaft and not her running engine, she already knew herself as a commoner with the wake of a ship without knowing where to go. Those who did not see themselves more backward intrigued to be part of the central bar of the rocker of the nymphs in their stadium, with a yawning lip where no one was invited. Mega-watt snitches go to the sacristan, breaking speeds of intangible entities that abide by her law, as a sage vilified in her secular realm, even in nowhere, the atmospheric larynx hissed widening through the flakes of the auctioned field, Joshua leaping with her. Cranky black horse Equus, with his anthropomorphic hooves, accelerated with action that put him among the lost belongings of the plateau, whose east limited him to two half-quarters of each other, and two-thirds slowing the sunset from ruby to ruby, brightening in the shades of green and green. Vernarth  Bernardolipo's father swallowed crops, from whose movements were born out of place gestures of residence, parturient fairies appeared emerging at once, or perhaps not emerging, the afternoon crushes the unplayable sun, Hugh and Anne covered their supra orbital eye areas, more towards a hillside where thousands of repertoires were being knocked down, and copious tableware with caked sugar, which seemed to reduce the acoustics from the beginning in what seemed solidly to fade to postulate in new shades of the weary rubbed rainbow, like thousands of shades doing the times of zascandil  in a curled comb, re-sprouting certain storm deities in the natural bow of the wind entangled in each stratus, sprinkling on the hectares of Possessions, standard deeds, sales orders, mutual funds, bonds ... the coffers and the earthly decomposed. Before each onslaught, a highly dense fog arose, highly ignored, anti-critical, and more disparaging of amassing a high scarcity with a local, in his quintals of his last bread for the flock. Lashes that exceed the grammage, foliage from leaf to leaf, from today until tomorrow, in a traveling satyr of dry leaves, "The Sphincter of the World will need Purgative ...".

Marathon of poisonings,… Lord, you have looked me in the eye; with your boat I will follow you, to your privileged perspiring cinnamon dock with various vociferous songs. What fared more than seven zeros, now they will be eaten by rodents, Lord attend my prayers, the pink mast has been sailing at several knots from the north, and it is rapidly losing its polar location, between verbs never traveled or driven, I dared to show off that the path of the gospel in small distant fragments will abound in infinite space, only the one that predominates will glide over my forehead with an accumulation of everything seen and that today in this sale; where everyone you own and care for, like a baby in front of a dissimilar kinship of good adventure and progeny that will leave your hands. "  

Etréstles says: "Soft and mellifluous presumptions ..., where do I have to look if nothing is heard? What is proposed and permeates the law of possessing and not, perhaps the strap reaches an infinite house, where the sun breaks down ..., the spout of my minimal rebirth slowly turned it into my reoriented defined cell. My grandfather Joshua fertilizes the new sales every day with his hooves bandaged with hemp, the sebum stones since they were so are already spirited circles, the hand of the maker is being compared with his tactile sense, Kaitelka's lungs, full of phosphate residues and sulphated, for the first time they milk in medium drops on their udders, although saying and what they prefer to assert of a worthy Down! If it were not, for his regal model of cetacean ostentation, he would not be in the Horcondising taking from today, towards the end of the curtain in the regular blushes, to create the great detachment, so necessary for the pulsating plain and purge his master Vernarth . The night covers it with sulfur oceanic satin, with the spauto of its jet and a magical moving game. Everyone was distracted when she circled over the routines of well-magnetized charms. More than two subjects were deprived of their well-placed jaw, when the overtime ran not crossing in the entire field in which she lived. It was time to unmask the interveners, the boatswain of the alfalfa field had been eating almonds with oil from the sole of a Joshua bototo shoe, she folded her wings at halftime to take a modest breath, to resume weak paths, deprived of confidence and not. To know who they would obey and to whom they would yield the fruit of their old and stock market work in the garden. Chaos for them, light of Lights, for those affiliated with the ruler who is Joshua, who will live behind a makeshift Patagua tree, erecting  aquisus tents and the dogmas of tomorrow. The magnificent concessions in the Horcondising massif continued to fall precipitously; some rummaged through their accounting almanacs, distanced and squandered their exquisite profits. The stagecoach is moving away, and the barrels of water were scarce, the aroma and tastes of roasted beef comes out over the bushes, the stores sway in a naive wind of blooming daisies, the sales were coming against the owners themselves, the taste of the laughter degraded their own present absence, the paraphernalia of the little birds on the carpet of the mountain plateau were, they began to do mercy of the tip in the exposed beams, the hundred feet with calluses came down from the semi-incinerated poles. Nothing smelled of pride anymore, just the last shadow of Joshua's Chief Sheriff; Vinicius, who thinned out the spotlights of the semi-strongmen still trying to collect his heavy wealth, now that among clouds of heavy cargo they went to give him only one habit to try to fit his body, just to wear his outfit. They looked, looked and kept looking at his octogenarian tearful sapro- genito dream, where the first dream ends, and his exile begins. Vinicius, locks the door, and starts drinking mate tea; while screams of those bad jackals were heard fighting for their inherited evils, in manners of not conquering those who lose a dream of their patriarchal courting-love, under the shadow of the most powerful bush for the rest of their lives in groves. Crumbs come off the beards of Joshua, his galvanized knife cuts multiform slices, to feed everyone equally and continue the purge of Vernarth "

The most desolate deity came; he walked in full sun, shelled and unattached, full of elongated bridles and with haste in his eyes. But not in its strides, thousands of years passed, and it brushed with my lost zeal in the quarrels of the Argolica, in the salinized and rotten feces of Eurymedousa, with its snowy and tricolor feet, hooded with its goods! , therefore, unable to sustain its own air from its nasal socket, dropping it likes brave foam that fell in the fired distance. Bad cooked fruit, with the flavor of a sleeping cinnamon stick, mitigating in its kind balsam, frayed wind yielding 360 and so many more suns, before the last one that I carry on my limbs ends. The end of the End began, in the seven ends adorning my steps. The obscene deities came, with their rebuilding geo music, breaking endometriums of goddess’s mobs and their almost massacred Pillan Mapu, among thousands that were, thousands of nowhere they are ..., in a today already anesthetized. He lies in the stench of the corrugated floor, in the wooden handles and rods stacked on the floor gesturing; the god Pillan Mapuche, under a generic vault of sleep falls into lethargy on the faces, leaving his unintelligible hollow free; and its unbalanced environment, crossing the basaltic moraine that circulated one day from the placenta of the fatigued cemetery. Dreams in kilos everywhere of pressed ducks, with dense covering and grasses on the hooves of bucephalos, crucible, living trident and extraordinary flowers ***** in floating skirmish, with dosing globules, thirst that is born from the whiteness of the first day in confessional liberation, cell of white with a looted look, shields of osculation, like icy air that transpires his ninth life and that is born from his ninth death, splinted in the face of death that mutilates his fingers when crossing his genes of perfidious and monkish plot of a life bypass. I sing or I do not sing, I lack my throne from where I observe the glances with time and impudence, possessing everything behind the back of the macabre time in counter-steps of tender golden plague, in foreign skin growing on my right blanket, from so much passing lights with cracked night outings, walking towards me, between roads and between Monday nights with faces of long and sinuous unctuous branches, with great step and size. Now I have to draw the curtain, on light lying in the shadow of an opening scattered in warm beets. With sincerity ..., and mistake there is no will to germinate in them, I will be born without being with them, to be meaningless without them ..., and that it is above other absences, with great eloquent and numerical weight on absent.

They are still plastered, washed out and with the frizzy pigments of a parnassus Paradise, where it has been intervening over its bloodless headers. Joshua walks thousands of steps on with his Equus skull, like a meridian slipping off certain rods of decay. Thus they all floated in the cephalous porous airs, with great airs of Cain collapsing on Abel recomposed in reserves of a millennium that fell twisted and stunned, captivated by an ominous word. Sendal covered themselves in bandurrias that covered the melodious icebergs of exulting individuals and swollen with passion, with their rummaging and thunderous noises going along with their flowers to the sea dissipated. My paternal grandmother was delimited; she paraded from the openings with cough-covered mounds of the frozen volcano, growing reflective slits of dense gradation in the nervousness of the overhang and angry sighing heat, in all the vertiginous and venerable spirits numbed by the darkness of so many sorrows on their bluish heads. Eurymedousa, already ill-fated to continue in Rhodes, appeared on stilts and with agonizing lights and yielding to the crossbows of the centaurs gagged by the Beauties; they consisted of their seesaws before the agreement with the Master, who gave us her Hellenic manifestos, and no less to others. My uncle King Arthur carried news of the locked consonants of his string and with a riding crop for his steed, tangled in rows that tore his face into small abscesses on his face, which were superimposed on those capillaries of the sweat of Heaven. Blessed Lord, the knee had grafts of golden steel, the horns of the radio sol brego that were broken in its metaphysical pregnancy, and its food collector that had solid gold baths towards a tabernacle fussing through its mucous orifices of alfalfa with the a flavours of irradiated cattle . He paraded with his loving mount flying down his track and kept clueless, at times he ran so swiftly that he crossed evil omens with Joshua, he was seen as weak and white in insulting slanders, Tamayo; his friend, who was a Talamite native, followed him on horseback, his son rode the sheep every summer, passing wool of pure holy insignia of a healthy man.
Along the banks of the reeds, he came riding on a donkey, Edward my paternal uncle, the third of Adelimpia, came three steps before his donkey, and he counted three times before riding him with provisions for good waters, wrapped in an energetic fire of Saturday tobacco in his mouth in mourning, who lovingly watching over himself, looking at today towards a peak for his sheep, looking at them for a manger of borders and tiny hunching phrases of black song about legends of the offender, which tempted to show off invading their fields. He is to the right of his mother Adelimpia, and under the rib of his father Bernardolipo overflowing, giving sugar to the colt Dolly in the sunsets, bequeathing affection with syrup, and a thousand compliments in December of 9,900 AD, Joshua, I remained in shreds of pageantry and endless lives, I always said, my lady, here I bring you a peasant's soup in flower of primed twisted canvas, in this three-year period I must call them to dinner in past lands with sweet potatoes to eat and candlesticks of flying seeds, with eager candies of a crack and their thirsty mouths. Gentlemen, I am Edward, their son, I want to sleep in your arms, after escaping from my worst perfidious toothless bite that still hurts inside. After eating great cholesterols from all over the world, amidst the tools of my children I am, always putting a tobacco leaf caught in the scrawled pieces and in great coinciding strokes, in circles dancing to throw away the bad and broken places badly thought and done. When I get to the end I will cling to the Joshua habit and shout not to leave me alone in the middle of this world, without toasted flour, cheese and tobacco. I am not a malignant man, I am only like those of us who are far below, feeling footprints on my spine, and I do not tell my wife Molly, so that she does not lack chickpea flour for our children wrapped in regrets and ***** with hunger and light blue in goodness, like saints and media, but in the end with clear blue water in my glasses. I invite everyone to my table to dine on oceans and worlds of clear celestial light, because with this hand I break this piece; I am the Son of Adelimpia and the supplier. They brought me in anemone branches when the Lord's headache invaded him, when he felt nails in his hands, to the east of Eden, without steps or turgid edges and a rough runaway palfrey”

The Horcondising massif turned into a great mountain, Edward was in the limestone of some potters and followers of Joshua molding him, they began to bait the rope that merges the mountain range, with the valley at the foot of all the mapus, mud flowing from the monastic floods , here they polisonated in the stony atonement of each lamentable trunk. They say;… faramalla  demonion, would be with a Silfife facing the mass of the vital obstacle, with faded coffee fiber, smeared in wine and bread, with eternal vintage vine. Luccica, Vernarth's mother, tackles familiar corners, with anointed frames of fiction in irrational ergonomics…; in numerous steps that will reach your distinguished heart. An ocean of doubts has fallen due to the inheritance that has precarious injuries, of battered egos and scrubbed by undue ignorance. Mountain delusions and manias, which run through the fibrillated vigils of some soft ropes and their abundant bristles like the choppy of an echidna escaping as it tingles by my twisted temples ”. The Horcondising  tam tam modulates through its crater and its pale face of a perpetual cell. Towards the forgiveness of the primordial ones and the commiseration of the orb burying itself in creation, this sacred and over the pale Sudpichian region will rest, in the roots growling in capillaries of the carbonated earths and in its badly wounded footprints. Horcondising is in quarantine, the elevation of the constellations are hyperillusionible, they migrate Along with Albalalhue and Carnivorous, the succeeded nymph that extracts exudation from a flushed match in the palm of some ideas on rollers, higher up and on angular from other right angles. Toiling with her hands, and rubbing possessions with her mazote and her patronage full of rakes.

Etréstles says: “Beyond all metal of hatred of every god not heard, beyond all evil of timid hatred I have not heard. I hold the playful phrasing of Edenic song, which calls us in voices full of long journeys, especially on this day fading. Through the hollow, belts and picket rings breaking the timid lights of the last sunset.  Cardinals in envelopes of fragile strengths, mountains with borders and deposits in the last voluminous plagues on the mason's eye.  Binding themselves in a pile, with saffron nails in their ears, with moths that run through the unforgivable morphologies. Do not lose life, abandon all noisy fight in coalition with the uninhabited *** of coins, there are forty days left to say goodbye to the god Faramalla, who lies with closed tec, limps to his lost pupils, and the sky swirls over his day when nothing not fit for any drinkable air with light bulb. Horcodising loses millimeters within minutes and rising, towards harvests to harvests, they lose merged schedule of a time without a past, reviling themselves from a present of consanguineous evil with an abstinent future. Luccica; Vernarth's mother, she is a sylph dragged by the tempest moraines, being detached to a contemplation and intake of life. The membranes of the accordion burst, and between brittle passageways crying without union, succumb to the teachings of foolish fate, Luccica as a portion owes its origin to the sea, taking its physiognomic bark from a seal specimen of aqueous flattery, to frize it on a similar surface umlauts on the "u", with phosphorescent and indeclinable forges, making it a beautiful maternal nymph, like the beautiful female picking up a moon in her arms, clinging to a new hallucinatory satellite to engender. "Live and talk with your peer, her dazzling sneaks in and laughs at this prominent queen, to exhale on those who observe her."

End Ellipsis Chapter XXXI
Horcondising  Castle Reign - Sudpichian
Transversal Valley  the Ferments - Parapsychological Regression
Mandrake, the Wild Auction
Matt Feb 2016
Wow
To live in America
To eat California golden raisins

To have humus
And Greek yogurt
And apples

And a gym to workout in
And an iPad,
iPhones too

Amazing
And I am grateful

One day perhaps
I will meet my female friend

Hope everyone has a pleasant evening

— The End —