The fireplace kindle in the moonlight.
I am along deciphering the mind’s eye.
God is here with me tonight.
The popping flame was a yellow reddish fire.
The wood burned and the smell was a delight.
My thoughts were ablaze to set the Devil afire.
Of course, I will let Lucifer exist.
He is confrontational to my holiness.
In that God is the omnipotent, Satan is the Devil defeated.
Insofar as the world is perilous, many; as I, must conquer their demons.
Rostrum our crusade as a battle won.
In India, primitive to the philosophy of religion, the reality is profound.
Deities are of one and of all.
There is such a thing as the Christian Satan.
They are enemies to Brahmans, god-giants.
Demons are devils, crackling vigor.
This campaign is of war not of battle.
The action plan is to deploy Christian powers.
Revelation statuses such.
The plague of our time is trinity.
Spheral by one Godhead, organizes the consecrated force.
The mercenaries are on the battlefield of and for the Lord.
With giants and demons how the monkey king detonates causing the wrath of God.
Demons are decapitated and bodies are slanged from here to yonder.
God bellowed, “We must behead the monkey king.
He is the demon of all entities.”
The lashes influence the giants lambastes.
The Monkey King’s demons had formed their attacks.
God’s giants’ impact condemns.
They beheaded the Monkey King.
Penned January 17, 2015!
The volatile excerpt reads “The behead-
ings that were carried out by the Isla-
mic State of Iraq and Syria, the
rage of hate is a control factor for
the power of the leader to be sup-
reme. Is this the measure of mankind?
The rigor-mortis that lay before us
is a terrorist creed dogma time clock.
None the less than government formed through doc-
trine of Qu’ran and Sunni stated to
be the divine order of all the land.
al-Baghdadi caliphate is mercen-
ary to the faith of the Middle East.
The rage of hate must be depleted now."
R oused was the first leader and destroyed.
a l-Baghdadi came on board.
G ruesome guerilla killed woman, man, and child for his caliphate.
E quality must be palpability today.
F ear that is caste by ISIS.
O ften is not considered by the people as a terrorist.
R egards are to the governess.
P opulations are nations
E volved to roam.
A spirations are not known.
C aliphate has formed.
E quity is commercial paper not shown.
Penned February 27, 2015!
This poem is a sonnet that is emphasized via an
acrostic for the desired effect on the stated form.
a time when war
became no more and time
stopped. Why reason?
a time when feuds
Life stops dead still...
Verlena S. Walker
Date: April 13, 2014
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Contest Name: THREADS OF SYLLABLES
This Casuistry is a paradox
Fallacious feelings repress
A Sophistry you ingress Chemically redox
Tergiversate under scrutiny. A misfit – an anachronism. Elusory emotions to express
My argument a confused paralogism Chicanery
Fugacious Piety worships AWAITING THE FALL
An elaborate machination Formation of
this Cabal To unravel this conspiracy
A mind poisoned by barricades
By questioning everything
Invalidity, obscurity, corruption
Plots of our Coterie
Worship the gun
Worship the steel
Pieces on the board are people
Playing for real.
They’re history and experience
In perspective reveals.
Cycle of manipulative
Starved in appeal.
Troubled Times of Turmoil
Coming back around again
Curses; always foiled!
My agonized and worried Brain!
Like an Army of Needles-
As Agents of Evil,
Stabbing every inch of me-
Tear my flesh; scar my Soul
Cannot run; cannot flee!
Leave me raw; leave me exposed!
Find me G-U-I-L-T-Y
Mind is F-I-L-T-H-Y
Kill me Q-U-I-C-K-L-Y
*Another old experimental piece I found
In time, days, months to years
Is the failure of relationships
In January to July to December
And the shallow of rivers
In July, August to September
The destruction by earthquakes
In January, February to December
The reshuffle of accidents
In lakes, roads and in air
The manufacture of acids, guns, and robots
In laboratories, industries and employment areas
The color of rainbows
Blue, green, grey
The personality of people
Conceited, gloomy, temperamental
The training of soldiers, students, and also religions
In academy, schools and institutes
The birth of children
Over years and years all over the world
The truth of lies
In homes, schools up to work places
on a dank cloudy day
in the cockpit of my plane
in the clouds I wait
for the command
to drop more bombs
give our enemy their fate
hours roll by
the radio is quite
not even static
something is amiss
the gauges have stopped
the sound is not right
in fact there is no sound
not at all
no sound from the engine
no explosions to be heard
I take a close look
the scenery is the same
it hasn't changed
but it's all wrong
it’s sitting still like it’s been paused
in the air they hang
like a photograph
along with the plane
if we won't end the war
than something else apparently will
moments become years
in the air I hang
something stopped this war
but gave it to us
Having Death open doors for you is like humping a fat girl.
It's a hell of a lot of fun until your friends find out.
On the one hand, there's the power, the rush like none in the world,
On the other is the criticism of the religiously devout.
Got servants, and secrets, and science and séances, too.
Blood-rush wakes me at the first hint of night's kiss.
Got forty-seven reasons to tell myself I'm better than you.
But I can't feel you, and I can't remember what I miss.
I'm an empty vessel on an uncharted and lonely course -
Grasping at the glow of life only to crush it in my cold embrace.
You look but only see the swiftly donned mask of remorse,
My hellish deeds writ large upon my soul, not upon my face.
I'd give it all back just to walk under a sunny summer sky,
Return the blood-lust and emotional abyss postage due.
'Cause I gotta live forever without my reason to want to try,
I gotta walk eternity looking for another one of you.
Then I heard her footstep getting closer.
READER BEWARE DESCRIPTIVE VIOLENCE FOLLOWS
This time she picked me up by my throat and pined me up the wall,
screaming at me, finger in my face while smashing my head on the wall.
Bashing my head in the air screaming "PUT YOUR BLOODY HANDS DOWN!",
again I was air borne, but this time I went flying into the lounge.
Curled up in a ball with my hands covering my head, I was crying hysterically,
she screamed again "GET UP RIGHT NOW, I'M NOT FINISHED WITH YOU YET!!!"
she pulled one of my arms and grabbed me by my ear, and up again I was.
screaming at me, PUT YOUR HAND DOWN, AND LOOK ME IN THE EYES!!!.
As I lowered my hands she started whacking my head screaming, "STOP CRYING"
over and over again.
Trying to summon the strength to hold it all in,
almost impossible, like trying to swallow soccer balls in my throat.
I managed to control it to like that hiccup kind,
Shaking and trebling hoping that I wouldn’t cry,
bearing in mind that I was still a child,
my emotions I still, couldn't keep under control.
So much pain, My butt stung, my hair felt like it had been ripped out,
all dizzy and daze, my head throbbed, and there was a burn in my eyes.
but I finally did lowered my hands and I look her straight in the eyes,
WHACK I few again.
This time my face was on fire my ear rung so bad,
a high pitch screech inside my head, I rolled over and over in pain.
This time when she said get out of my face,
I moved so fast I slide in the carpet and hit my face on the door frame.
Up stairs I ran, dived on top of my bed,
covered my face with my pillow, so my whimpers couldn't be heard.
trying not to cry, begging in my mind for it stop,
then I heard that sound….(Pacing) ….. my body shook.
I knew it wouldn't be long, before she worked herself up,
Pacing back and forth talking to herself,
justifying the reason’s I need more.
I just wait for the stomping to get closer to my door.
True to form it happened.
The poem I have just told is a true story, cause it did happen to me,
this was only one time, I'd had hundreds more before I hit my teens.
Back in my day family violence was never talked about,
It was happening everywhere, just about every house.
Family violence is wrong and it needs to be stopped,
but this will never happen, if you voice doesn’t shout out.
Don't be like me, riddled with fear and shame,
someone out there cares, just tell them about your pain.
M.Mahauariki © 2012