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Long poem by Darryl Ashton | Details |

THE RETURN OF PETER PAN 2014

THE RETURN OF PETER PAN…2014  

And Introducing 
The arch enemy:
((Political Correctness and Health and Safety))

Ladies and Gentlemen: boys and girls. Peter Pan is set to strike again.

 
A sequel to J.M. Barrie’s classic tale will be published in the very near future, in which Tinkerbell will be replaced by a male fairy named Firefly, the Darling little children are all grown up, Neverland is blighted by pollution and Nana the dog, is sadly dead. 

Darryl Ashton has obtained this exclusive interview with Peter Pan to find out what went wrong. Peter says: “What has the world come to when someone like me is no longer allowed in children’s bedrooms? OK, so at first inspection things don’t sound too great.
I am someone who climbs secretly through children’s  bedroom windows. I have a friend called Tinkerbell who is, yes, a ‘Fairy’. The two of us tell the little Darlings’ to forget about their parents and come away with us on a big adventure to Neverland. But relax, will you! 
Looking’ back I guess my problems really began when I started planning this return trip to Britain after some 100 years. Do you know how hard it is for a guy like me to get the paper work together? By the time Childcare Agencies, Social Services and The Criminal Records Bureau had vetted me, the magic was wearing pretty thin, I can tell you.

Was I self – employed? Or were Tinkerbell and I in a VAT – registered partnership? Did I have a pilot’s licence, which met all compliance standards? Did I have the relevant Visa for tourists from Non – EU countries? Questions, questions! Don’t all these regulations get you down? Anyway, as Tinks and I soon came to discover, Britain has changed beyond all recognition in the years we have been away.
Our first discovery, much to our horror, was Wendy, and her brothers John and Michael, were some time ago taken into foster care. We learnt that their parents, who were in the habit of leaving them in the care of Nana the dog, had been stripped of access to the children.

TV crews chased Mr and Mrs Darling down the street and a police guard had to be placed outside their door to prevent vigilante gangs from attacking them. Well, that was all too much for Nana the dog who was carted off to an RSPCA hospital, where she was soon being seen by a strange Australian man with a beard and a didgeridoo, who said he could make her a star, on, Animal Hospital.  

Nana said she’d rather be put down, so after a quick call to an assisted suicide group called Dognitas, the old dear’s now pushing up the daises next to Shep in Blue Peter’s garden. Such a waste, she’d been trained by Norland, you know. 
But I don’t suppose that means much these days.

Unsurprisingly, the Darling children went rapidly down hill from there. Shunted from one foster home to another, they fell in with the wrong crowd. Before long, Michael was wearing a hoodie and worse, hanging out with Prince Harry’s lot. As for little John, without any proper father figure to look after him, he found solace in a new faith, changed his name to Sinbad, and was last heard of heading for the Afghan hills for a spiritual vacation. Which is why Wendy got back in touch with yours truly.

So with no one else left to help her, Wendy closed her eyes tight and sent a wish to her old mate Peter Pan. I must confess, when her message first popped up on my Blackberry, I winced. Is there nowhere the office can’t reach me these days? Even Neverland? So I made a few calls, and whaddya know? Hookie agreed to help me out. Yes, I know he’s a rogue and bounder who has polluted the whole of Neverland, after swapping the Jolly Roger for a fleet of turbo charged jet skis. 

Big mistake. We’d scarcely set foot in London before the anti – terrorism squad and Hookie was carted off to Belmarsh. You should have heard him shouting when they took him away! “I am Hook, one time bosom to Blackbeard. The only man to send a shiver up the wooden stump of, Long John Silver. The only consolation for the poor Captain was that the crocodile never made it through the security checks at Neverland Airport”. The other passengers heard that clock ticking in its belly and said they would not travel unless the croc was chucked off the flight.

As for Tinkerbell, no sooner had she returned to her old haunts than a gay rights group called Stonewall said it was totally unacceptable for her old name to be retained. When asked for an explanation, they just threw their eyebrows to the ceiling, sucked in their lips like lemon quarters and gasped: Firely was so much more ‘now’. They even wanted Tinks to change her gender, but we’re still negotiating on that. The Elf’s trade union is pretty sticky on that sort of alteration.

The fairy costumes had to go too, something to do with stereotyping. But when I showed Tinks her new thong, her little pilot light went out altogether, and I’m afraid no amount of Polish plumbers can get it started again. So now I’m stranded and alone, with only my shadow for company. Even Wendy has cut off contact after getting a six – figure deal to appear on a Celebrity show---get me out of here! All of this I can tell you, is incredibly upsetting.

What has happened to Britain these days? I know Neverlands not perfect, but it’s a place where time stands still – and innocence is preserved and I like it that way. Today’s inspectors and officials all say that they’re only interested in protecting children. But by imagining the worst of people they are only wrecking the very innocence they presume to defend.

As I was telling the tooth fairy the other day: “You know Gums, sometimes I wonder if childhood itself is vanishing”. And do you know what she said in reply: “Sorry Pete, I’ve gone private. If you want a consultation, you’ll have to pay up front”.
How about ‘Pay – as – you – go? Sorry Pete, it’ll Neverland!


BY
DARRYL ASHTON                                                      

                                        


Long poem by Gary Bateman | Details |

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Four

Rosalia - The Evil Witch of the Harz, Part Four

Rosalia’s Date with Destiny and the Power of Light and Goodness
It is said that the Almighty Lord God works in very mysterious ways . . . 
meaning that even an all-powerful witch like Rosalia had her Achilles’ heel, and could lose her sheen of invincibility in certain instances which date back to the earliest clashes between Good and Evil at the outset of mankind.

With her perfect cover working in a local village Inn near the Brocken, Rosalia could plan, plot and scheme her witchcraft activities at will 
when meeting unsuspecting villagers and outside visitors alike—
giving her near-unlimited control in shaping the very course of events.
Fate would have it, however, that one event would challenge and alter Rosalia’s perfect cover forever . . . 

One day a young girl—named Aurelia, who was barely 15 years old,
visited local village relatives while traveling near the Brocken.
Aurelia, who was quite intelligent and mature for her age was also a 
close relative of the regional church Monseigneur, Wolfgang Augustus Hardenberg, and she was part of a traditional German catholic family. 

Aurelia was a rare child indeed, endowed with “Heavenly Eyes”
from her eternal soul at birth which gave her a unique, unusual gift 
of sensing and seeing the true nature of the men, women, and children
as they came into contact with her . . . without them realizing it. 

Aurelia, with this fantastic gift, was truly one of God’s children,
and the antithesis of Rosalia and the incarnate evil she represented.
Aurelia’s family was fully aware of God’s favor on their daughter
and all of the goodness and light she shared with them in the family.

Aurelia was also quick study; she was endowed with an unusual ability to absorb, understand and remember vast amounts of information and detail.
And while attending religious schools, she demonstrated an exceptional proclivity early on for learning and mastering classical foreign languages. 

Aurelia too was a centuries’ old soul like Rosalia, but whereas Rosalia embraced the Dark Side, and was the very manifestation of evil and debauchery; 
Aurelia embraced the Light and Goodness of the Almighty,
and was one of God’s angelic souls destined to do his bidding in the continuous titanic struggle against Lucifer and his Dark World minions;
she was truly a “Princess of the Light” and a “Precious Child of God.”   

With this in mind . . .
On visiting the local village Inn with relatives one afternoon for lunch,
Aurelia immediately felt the presence of a specter of evil and foreboding.
And this specter was, of course, none other than . . . Rosalia.
Beyond her perceptible sensing and feeling of pure evil,
Aurelia was able to make momentary visual contact with Rosalia,
and with her God-given heavenly vision glanced the true image of Rosalia,
which filled her at once with undeniable dread, fright and revulsion
at the terrible visage cast by Rosalia among her unsuspecting relatives.

Aurelia was in luck since Rosalia felt no reason to suspect her, thus paying no attention to the young girl with her relatives.

Aurelia’s God-given power shielded her from Rosalia’s attention,
at least for now . . .  
From the encounter at the village Inn, Aurelia knew that some of her relatives were already marked by the witch.

After the visit to the Inn, Aurelia immediately informed her unsuspecting parents of the evil incarnate she sensed and discovered at the Inn.

Time was fleeting and quick action would be required to corroborate this event. It was already Monday, and on the upcoming Saturday, which was All Hallows’ Eve on October 31st, Rosalia’s Coven was set to conduct The Black Witches’ Sabbath in celebration of the Devil himself. This evil Sabbath event was done twice a year with the one preceding All Hallows’ Eve occurring on April 30th on the Great Sabbath of Walpurgis Nacht.

The preparation of the Black Witches’ Sabbath would include black rituals and both human and animal sacrifices with the invocation of the Vespers’ Prayer Preparation for Black Mass, followed by a 24-hour period of preparation by the Coven for its next attack on the local villagers.

Riding horseback to the Cloister Marten in the Harz some 20 kilometers away, Aurelia’s father traveled there with two close trusted friends to inform Monseigneur Hardenberg of Aurelia’s unexpected discovery of the infamous and evil Black Witch of the Harz known as Rosalia. 

On hearing of the discovery of Rosalia and her masquerade in human form,
the Monseigneur instinctively knew that immediate action was required, 
and that the very lives of the villagers and their eternal souls were in the greatest of peril.

An immediate meeting with his council of priests at Cloister Marten was in order; there was now a chance that Rosalia and her Coven could be finally 
destroyed forever. This chance event had been a long time coming and the Monseigneur knew that they must not fail.

The Monseigneur also knew that God’s avengers must act smartly . . .
Rosalia was a virulent evil force not to be taken lightly nor underestimated.
Many priests and their parishioners had already succumbed to the Devil 
and his Dark World of eternal damnation, courtesy of Rosalia.

The Monseigneur would need Aurelia’s help in finding Rosalia’s Coven,
and he realized that he and his priests must prepare for the greatest test of their faith, as they contemplated their plan to destroy Rosalia and her spawn of evil.

The Monseigneur understood all too well that to face down Rosalia was almost the same as facing the very Devil himself.

The Monseigneur and his priests must be swift in their vengeance against Rosalia in the name of the Lord, and that a second chance may not be in the offing.

End of Part Four

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

Your Sanity

Stuck in place…
Free in space…
you’re insane 
I’m as sweet as sugar cane…
Whatever happened to your unique personality?
Whatever happened to your sanity? 
Has it transformed to insanity?
I like the way you make me feel
Oh, you don’t have to make it a big deal
I love the way you lie about me 
Right behind my back
I never needed you in the first place
I don’t want you back! I don’t want to see your hideous face!
You pushed me in the margins…and you threw me away
You took advantage of me as if it was another boring and laborious day!
I don’t want you back, 
So go ahead and run away with your pack!
I’m the last magazine, 
Left alone on the magazine rack
I don’t want you to see my cry a river…
Whatever happened to your sanity?
Do you see my ocean of emotion? 
Why are you sponging in melancholy?
Pray to God for forgiveness 
He’ll consider you His faithful child of serenity
I don’t want to bleed without you…
But you’re rather bittersweet 
You boast way too much – that’s just neat…
I hate the way you treat me – like B.S. literally  
You think you’re better than everyone else – 
I think otherwise, you stinging bee!
You are literally bad to the bone
Whatever happened to your sanity?
Do you understand what I’m saying? 
Do you consider my plea?
Pray to God for forgiveness 
He’ll consider you His faithful child of serenity
I’m a loner, talking to myself again, 
Walking all alone…in the streets of shame
My happiness is hardly ever shown – this feeling of rejection has no name
Feelin’ this shame without a name…
I know these feelings might seem lame,
But they’re real to me – 
I’m jaded corrupted
Am I the cause of your misfortune?
Am I a singer, singing out of tune?
I miss you, but at the same time, 
I’m happy that you’re gone
I’ve never grown out of my fears of losing you – that’s sublime!
But, it seems like I can’t move on
Move on…man…just move on with this life
Though I might be the victim of strife
Your envy and heartless comments stabs me like a knife
And you ask if I’m alright…
Good riddance, you weren’t my ecstatic delight! 
You disowned me 
You joined the pack…
You rejected me…
You never got my back
Instead, you stabbed me in the back…
Whatever happened to your sanity?
Do you even remember who I was? 
Your friend who would make your 
Heart jump with glee?
Pray to God for forgiveness 
He’ll consider you His… 
His compassionate child of jubilance
Am I of any significance? 
You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing
You will feel my loathing…
I’m gaining fruitful insight 
That you lack tremendously
Your thoughtless words 
Made me taste your envy and vanity

Whatever happened to your sanity?
 
Whatever happened to your sanity? 

What are you afraid of? 
Returning to your misery?
Pray to God for forgiveness 
He’ll accept you in His family 
We’ll all sing with merriness 
In our hearts, we’ll never let our passion 
Get in the way or our lament will stay
God is our Father and 
We need to honor Him 
And obey every single day
I’m surrounded by my enemies now….
Save me…deliver me from them, 
For they use their bullying ways
God will answer our prayer in His own time – 
It might take hours, it might take days…
Until He takes full action
But He wants us to have a cheerful heart, 
Beating vigorously with gratification 
My emotions are ganging up on me…yah see? 
Will you ever leave me be?
I’m fighting this battle for my own sake…
I will watch you suffer and slowly, but surely break
Don’t take it easy, you’re getting it the hard way
Whatever happened to your sanity?
Whatever happened to your singing, uplifting me?
Pray to God for forgiveness 
He’ll consider you His faithful child of tranquility
Tough luck, you jerk! You’re so berserk! 
You’re like a madman…
Bombing the city and doing abominable work!
 
Maybe you’ll find your courage another day
Do me a favor and unchain me free from my poverty
Maybe we’ll be in good terms 
And in the same demented boat
Whatever happened to your sanity?
Why are using uncalled for profanity?
I can relate to your eccentric insanity…
I need you to do me a quick favor and 
Pray to God for forgiveness 
He’ll consider you His faithful child of serenity
Pray to God for forgiveness 
He’ll craft His miracles of mesmerizing euphoria 
Free me from this abhorrent agony 
Keep on pressing on with your uplifting ecstasy…
You would win my heart 
If you’d be so kind to make me a root beer float
You are the opposite of gravity, 
Lifting me higher than the mountains 
That used to stare me down 
The morning will be brought back to life 
Sooner than you think
I’m not in the brink of total disaster – 
I trust you won’t break my heart 
Like you did in the past…
The past’s wicked adversaries reduced me to sorrow
IS there hope in store for Tomorrow? 
Please tell me if it’s so…or this envied grief and curiosity will grow…
You wouldn’t catch me before I sink 
I’d like to thank you – that was sarcasm
I’ll give you a wink that signifies my appreciation of having you, you little brat 
But, you and I have gone through hardships in our personal lives…
I should’ve not of trusted you, but you were as mysterious as a bat! 
You were as sneaky as a black cat! 
You are so deceptive…so corruptive…so inattentive…but I still love you 
Hey! Don’t even try to step on me over and over again like a mat!
I won’t let you stomp all over me like that! 
My faith towards You will never shrink
As long as You’re here with me…
That’s what matters most, you see?
I would like to visit you 
We’ll meet eye to eye one day with a smile on our faces – 
Not a trace of dismay is seen and we’ll share our embraces
I really don’t know what to do or say
I’m speechless, but I’m fatigued, 
So let me lay my head on Your shoulders for a while
I want Your relief to shed Your perpetual peace on me, 
Wiping away the despicable bile
Rinsing away the mixed emotions, piling on me for a while…
It seemed like a long time 
At least it’s all over – at least I don’t take pleasure in committing a crime


Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

Nowhere Man

Nowhere Man

Star dust, the stuff of a fool’s dreams.
Oh !!!, to travel upon star dust streams
- that glorious, never ending journey -
into the realms, the space of many.

This old spirit, seems, not to fit into any
mold nor on any rung of the social latter, 
that, I think, should not, ever matter. 
And so I have to wonder ?, 
as upon this planet, I wander.

Is there any place for me ?, 
where I might fit in – one day to see ?
In my youth, some perceived me to be 
Sall Minnio, even the King, 
- Elvis Presley, - this idea girls would bring
with them, in their pursuit of me.

As an adult, I came to be seen
– an Italian, a Greek, a Mexican – 
a First Nations is what I’ve been 
as folks do the best they can.
As people guessed at my race, 
looking and looking into my face,
the essence, the spirit, the soul of this man.

Yet nowhere do I fit - I belong to no place.
Nowhere do I find a fitting space
for this German, French, British, Native, 
gene pool, my heritage doth give. 
Plus the few – long forgotten – more 
that came through the genetic door 
– open for viewing the heart of this old soul – 
where there is reflection and getting to know.

There have been some who would pass 
this face of many – this face of looking glass 
refraction – to see truth – a Redman’s blood in the veins 
of this First Nation soul – the spirit which remains
for this old soul, the essence of my spirit, 
even in times when many would not tolerate it.
And so, it is not a wonder 
why this soul seems to flounder, 
cannot find anything sounder,

between the jagged, ragged edges 
of created, keen, sharp - wedges 
between who and what I am, and
where it is I could possibly stand.
There is not – it seems to me – a place
where I fit in, can stand, turn and face, 
see a possible niche – a place to belong,
before, my life is almost gone,
as I look back upon all the roads, 
- the stories, the tales, the heavy loads –

I have travelled, yet know not what will be told
of what rung, on the social ladder I hold,
what plateau to find shelter in ?,
what plane to fly above, be comfortable in ?,
what place to rest my spirit, my soul within ?,
what space can I find to forget all the sin ?
I have walked with the sane and insane.
I have talked with the educated and uneducated.
I have been in the company of intelligence and unintelligent.
I have laid with the secure and the insecure.
I have laid with passion’s fire and frigid’s cold.

I have known the moral and the immoral.
I have known those of faith and the faithless
I have known the killed and the killer
I have known those who have taken their own lives
I have known the givers and the takers
I have known the movers and the shakers
I have known the honest and the dishonest
I have known the psychic and the blind. 
I have known the truth sayers and the bullshitters,
The fast lane, the slow lane, the middle lane I’ve moved in.
The sober, the drunkard – I’ve been and been with.
The strong, the weak – I’ve been and been with.

The used, the abused  – I’ve been and been with. 
The users and the abusers -- I’ve known and know me.
The wealthy, the poor – I’ve known and know me.
Financial wealth and Spirituality -- I’ve known and know me.
The saver of a life -- I’ve known and was me.
The living and the dead -- I’ve known and know me.
Having a brush with artists has been my fate. 
Having acted up with entertainers has been my fate. 
Having had words with writers has been my fate.
Having become a rhymer, like my forth cousin, has been my fate.
I have played with players – strummed a note or two.
I have laid with singers-- sung a note or two.
I have laid with dancers – danced a step or two.

I have struck an arc alongside a welder – a time or two.
I have sprayed painted cars alongside a painter – a time or two.
Hammering out metal with body men – I have done.
Twisting wrenches with mechanics – I have done.
Busining along side business men – I have done.
Being a lover, I always thought, was my forte.
Being a husband, I thought I knew how to play.
Being a father, I thought I knew I would stay.
Being a friend, I thought was always my way.
To be a son – a child’s dream.
To be a brother – not to be it seems
as all the above drifts downstream,
leaving one to wonder, what life really means ?
Life’s journey can be a wondrous mystery !,
 
when one leafs through the pages of his history.
One’s life can also be a disastrous story ?, 
one of little hope, dim light and no glory.
So what is left for this old fool ?, 
but to carry on breaking the old rule, 
rules that make it possible to call oneself a poet, 
something I never call myself, a poet, and I know it !
I do the best I can
That is who I am !
Being a carny – traveling with The World’s Finest show.
For a couple of seasons – that is all I did know.
Being a dishwasher, a server, a busboy, a waiter, a manager 
of a restaurant, many dimensions of life. I was egger  
to come into contact with, to try and understand. 
As fate would have it, understanding never came to this hand.

Today, a bum – forty eight years ago – father said
“ the best dressed bum in town ” would be my stead.
What goes around – at some point in time – comes around.
There is some truth to this, that I have certainly found.
Even though I have touched the edges of many a life. 
Many places, pieces of each and everyone, not one has been 
a place for me, a place I felt I belonged, the places I’ve seen
do not leave pillows for my spirit,  beds to rest my soul, rife
with uncertainty, is my state, almost every day
I can find no place, no space for me to play.
Looking into this distorted collage 
I wonder if it is but a mirage ?
My flaws lie in the heart of my feeling !, it is my sin !,
this belief that there is no place, no space where I fit in.

B. J. “A” 2
May 1st 2004


Long poem by Mario DE PAZ | Details |

Canto XXVII Hell transalation

Already was straight up the flame and steady
To speak no more, and yet away it went
Being the sweet poet to let it ready,

When another, which followed in ascent,
Made us to turn our eyes to top from low
Since emitted sound with confused accent.

As the Sicilian ox first had to low
With tears of the one, and this was right,
Who it annealed before with his rasp though,

With the voice of afflicted bellow might,
So that, although completely of copper done,
It looked as was by pain speared wight;

So, having no way and outcome no one
Starting from fire, in its language thus
Were converted its wretched words to stun.

But after they ended their trip with fuss 
Up to the top, giving that wriggle dart
Which gave the tongue when were passing and plus,

We heard to tell: “O you whom I impart
My voice and who now as a Lombard spoke
Telling “you must go, no more I take part”

Even though I came with a quite late stroke,
Don’t mind to stay and speak a while with me;
You see that I do not mind, I invoke!

If you just now this lost blind world to see
Have fallen from that really sweet land
Latin for which of fault I pay the fee,

Tell me if Romagna has peace at hand;
Since I lived between Urbino’s hills there
And the mount where Tiber starts to disband”.
 
I was still down bent to hear him and stare,
When my duke touched me on my body side,
Telling: “This is Latin; you speak aware”.

And I, just having the answer implied,
Straightaway started then to speak to him:
O soul who are hidden down there beside,

Your Romagna was never keen to trim
Wars in minds and hearts of its oppressors;
But none was there when now I left its rim.

Ravenna is as were predecessors:
The da Polenta eagle there can brood,
So Cervia covers with its lessors.

The land which before suffered the long mood
And of the French the bloody bunch as well,
Under the green domain are just now viewed.

The old and Verrucchio new mastiff fell,
Who of Montagna bad disposal made,
There where they stay then use their teeth to swell.

The Lamone’s and Santerno’s cities laid
Under the small lion reign with white nest
Which season by season changes side grade.

And the one which Savio wets at west,
As it seats between the flat land and hill, 
Between tyranny and freedom lives best.

Now who you are, I beg you tell now will;
You ought to be less tough than others were,
If your name in world is well valued still”.

When the fire had bellowed much to blur
In its own way, it moved then its sharp tip
Here, beyond, and then this breath could spur:

“If I could believe that my answer grip
A person who by chance world could reach just,
This flame should then stay at rest with no flip;

But since yet never from this site cussed
Came back alive no one, if I hear true,
With no fear of blemish answer entrust. 

Man at arms I was, and then friar skew,
Sure, so encircled, to my faults repair;
And certainly my faith could success view,

If not were the great priest, blasted unfair!,
Who induced to my prior faults then me;
And you understand  how, and which, and where.

While of flesh and bones I had chance to be 
Which my mother well gave me, my work was
Not of lion, but of fox, I agree.   

The tricks and hidden ways a juggler does
I knew in full, exerting them so far,
That at end out of earth came out the buzz.

When I saw myself have reached not afar
From age where everybody should just
Drop the sails and the shrouds collect on spar,

What before I liked, I felt then disgust,
And repented and avowed I became;
Oh wretched weary! And it might adjust.

The leader of modern Phariseans same,
Having a war Laterano’s nearby,
And not with Saracens or Jews, for shame,

Since all his enemies were Christian by,
And no one had been in Acri to win
Nor in Soldano’s land a merchant guy,

Neither highest office nor holy skin
He considered himself, nor cord in me 
Which had used to make the girded more thin.

But as Constantine Silvestro asked to be
Within Soracte his leprosy to heal,
So this one asked me to give the key

To heal him the arrogant fever appeal;
He asked me the advice, and I was still
Because his words looked to me mad for real.

And then he told again: “Your heart trust will;  
Absolve you by now, and you teach to do
So Palestrina to ground I raze until.

I can close or clear heaven’s door to you,
As you just well know; but there are two keys
Which my predecessor didn’t care for true”.

I was then pushed by arguments as these
Where to be silent might be then the worst,
And told: “Father, since then to wash you please

The sin I must fall in which is cursed,
A long lasting promise with waiting short
Shall make you triumphant to the seat first”.

Francis then came, when I was dead by sort
To save me; but one of the cherubs black
Told him: “Do not abduct; Don’t do me tort. 

He must come down with my wretched track
Because he gave the  fraudulent advice,
For which I am called to his hair attack;

Since can’t be shrived who can’t regret devise,
Neither together can’t repent and will
For the contradiction which is precise”.

Oh painful me! How much a sorrow thrill
When he grabbed me sudden telling: “Maybe
You did not think I had a logic skill!.

He brought me to Minos; who enfolded me
Eight times with tail to my breast around;
And  biting it with rage, so hard to see,

Told: “This in sinners fire must be bound”;
Thus where you are seeing me I am lost,
And so dressed, while going, I am now downed”.

When he ended to talk this way at last,
The flame went away expressing his pain
By twisting the sharp horn also quite tossed.

We passed beyond, and I with my duke main,
Up to the rock until we reached next arch
Which covers the trench of sinners in vain

Whose fault of betting compels them to march.


Long poem by Isaiah Zerbst | Details |

A Poem of Ruth

The tears well up, and scarce could she not moan
When father, brother, husband, all have died.
She now has no possessions, neither home,
But travels to a distant, unknown land:
Once so secure, yet now compelled to roam;
Once rich in love, she treads through foreign sands.
Her weary feet move forward but by faith;
For all left to her name is mere belief:
Mind, heart so far away she seems a wraith-
Love, happiness- all taken by a thief.

When, sometime since, her heart had broke in two,
The path of life, once single, parted way;
Forsake she could, but this she would not do-
All else was gone- with mother she would stay:
"Intreat me not to leave thee," was her plea,
"For whither thou wilt go, there will I; pray
Forbid me not to follow after thee,
For where thou lodgest I would also stay:
"Thy people shall be mine, thy God my God;
And where thou liest, I will gladly lie
Beside thee, overhead the selfsame sod;
That even then thou mightest be closeby.

"And so they twain walk on, hand clasped in hand;
Both hold the only thing they yet possess:
The younger but a stranger in the land,
An enemy, a widow in distress.

She rose before the sun to find a place
Where she might gather barley ears and wheat;
A field where she might find some needed grace
To gather for their winter store of meat:
Then Boaz comes from Bethlehem, and see,
He tarries with the reapers of the wheat:
He comes to Ruth and says, "Hear'st not thou me?
Remain until the harvest is complete:
"Go not from hence, but in my fields abide,
And let thine eyes be on the field they reap;
Behold, these maidens thou may'st work beside,
And near the reapers thou may'st ever keep."
Then to her face she fell, and wond'ringly
Asked why to her, a stranger, was so kind;
And he replied that she unfailingly
Had cleaved unto her mother with one mind,
And left her father, mother, and the soil
Of her nativity, and kissed the dust
Of some strange land wherein she meant to toil;
Forsaking gods of Moab God to trust:
"The Lord," said he, "reward thee for thy deeds,
 And recompense thy labour and thy love:
The God of Israel answer all thy needs,
And make his wings a shelter from above."
 Then said the maid, "My lord, please let me find
Some grace and favour in thy blessed sight,
For that thou hast been friendly, spoken kind,
And I am but a stranger in the night."
Then Boaz said, "At mealtime here abide;
Rest in the shade, come, sit with us and dine:
So down she sat, a reaper on each side;
She ate her wheat and dipped her bread in wine.
Then Ruth arose, and to her work she leaves:
The master thus commands his servant men,
"Let this young maid glean e'en among the sheaves;
Rebuke her not, for she shall come again;
And let some handfuls fall onto the ground,
There let them lie for my sake and for hers
That she may glean and plenty may be found;
For reasons she has need of it are pure."
And as she worked, Ruth knew not what a sight
Of beauty and of diligence she made,
As in the golden field in sunset's light
She bowed her head and knelt as if she prayed.

It came to pass that in his fields she stayed
Until the end of barley harvest came,
When mother told the lovely little maid
To seek for his provision and his name.
She washed and dripped an oil filled with sweet
Perfumes of wild roses on her face:
She had not much; her beauty was complete
With but her finest clothes to seek his grace.
Her braided hair shone brighter than the gem
That never graced her soft and shapely form;
Her eyes, they sparkled brighter than the hem
Of gold and pearls that she had never worn:
Thus Ruth went down unto the threshing floor
Where Boaz winnowed barley till the night,
And peeked at him so shyly 'round the door;
She never let him leave her searching sight.
His workday done, the master ate and drank;
With happiness his heart was full when fed:
Then by a heap of wheat he went and sank
Into the furry robes that made his bed;
And Ruth, a while watching till he sleep
Kept vigil from a stone used as a seat,
Till when his eyes had closed and sleep was deep
She lifted up the cover from his feet
And softly laid her down and dreamed of brides
Until the watchman struck a dozen beats,
And being startled, Boaz woke and spied
A woman sleeping at his very feet:
"Who art thou?" queried he in sleepy voice;
"Thine handmaid, Ruth," was her unsure reply;
Then blessed he her for wise and kindly choice,
For passing poor and rich young fellows by.
"And now, my daughter, gladly shall I do
According to thy wishes, for all here
Consider thee as virtuous and true;
Howbeit, there is one to thee more near,
A kinsman who must duly have his say:
If he decline, then rest assured I will
Perform the part of kinsman." So she lay
Down at his feet, and both were quiet, still.

In grey of early morning she arose,
Before a face could be discernéd there;
To keep from what some people might suppose
And who might stand along the road to stare:
Then Boaz said, "Bring here the vail thou hast
Upon thy head and hold it in thy hand:
Six times the barley measure filled and passed
From heap to vail as much as she could stand.
Then Boaz went up to the city gate
To find the nearer kinsman, whom he sought,
To see if he would purchase the estate
Of Ruth, and she herself, but he could not;
So Boaz purchased all the widows' land;
The houses, barns, and fields, though overgrown;
And bought what pleased him most, Ruth's comely hand
To cherish and to make his very own:
Then Boaz went to find the handmaid, Ruth
And lift her from a servant to a wife;
To love her in all tenderness and truth
In every day God blessed them both with life.



[By Isaiah Zerbst. Published 9/7/14. Parts of poem have been removed due to soup's limitations.]





Long poem by Mario DE PAZ | Details |

Canto XIX Hell translation

Simon wizard, you poor under his sway
That all things of God, which then of good will
Must be always brides, and you birds of prey

For gold and silver adulterate still,
Now it's time that the trumpet sounds for you,
Because you in third circle just stay ill.

We were already, at the tomb next new,
Clambered up to the tall rock at that place
Where is the center above the ditch cue.

O supreme wisdom, how great the art base,
Which in heavens, on earth and ill world show,
And how much justice your virtue can trace!

On the banks and on the bottom I saw
The stone very full with of holes a lot,
All of the same size and each well round though.

These seemed neither be of more nor less slot
Than those you found in my Saint John church nice,
Where the baptizers their faith office got;

One of those,  few years ago imprecise,
I broke to help a guy just drowning there:
And this to testify truth and lie vice.

Out of the mouth of each hole leaned bare
Of a woeful sinner legs and feet too
To the belly, the rest down to the hair.

Both soles burned to all of them hitherto;
Their joints were strongly flickering so that,
They might be broken wacky as a screw.

Likewise the glowing of oily things fat
To move then up to reach the upper end,
So were there from the heels to tips just at.

“Who is that, master, who worries must send
Flickering than the others well much more”,
I told, “and whose flame has stronger its trend?”

And he: “If you like, we go to explore
Down there then to the lowest lying bank,
From him you can all about his sins score” 

And I: “So I like , as you like and thank:
You are my lord, and you already know
That your will is mine, higher is your rank”

Then we arrived at the fourth bank below;
We turned at left hand and well down we got
Just to the narrow bottom riddled so.  

Good master yet his side till end did not
Offer to me, and thus we reached this way
Where that one was crying with his foot hot

“Whichever you are, upside down then stay,
Mournful spirit who as a pole stuck are”,
I started, “If you can, your words display”

I stood like friar who confessing were
Perfidious killer, who, since stuck is,
Then asks him for death to stop his anger.

And he screamed: “Are you there erect faces,
Are you there erect , Bonifacius now?
For years about  the writing he lied has.

If you then to be full of goods allow 
For which you were never restrained from wile
To pretty woman, and then her torn sow?”.

I became as those ,who stay doubtful while,
Not understanding what herd as reply,
Almost confused, and no word is worthwhile.

Then Virgilio told: “To tell him try:
“That one I'm not, not the one you believe””;
And I replied to follow him thereby.

For this the soul his feet just ought to weave;
Then he,  sighing and with a crying sound,
Told me: “So what you want from me achieve?

If to know my person you are so bound,
That you for this down the bank now have run,
Learn that I had the great mantle around;

Really I was of the she-bear son,
So greedy well my puppies to wind on,
That up and here my assets were done.

Behind my head are here the others won
Who me preceded in simony the sin,
To the crevices of the stones put con.

There I shall fall also when will come in
The one that I believed before you were,
When I first asked you with agitation.

But for more time fire my feet incur 
And upside down longer I have been so,
Than he will be sticked with red feet spur;

Since after him then will come with worse woe,
From west, a minister with any law,
Such as is correct that he on me grow.

Novel Jason will be, of whom read raw
In Maccabees; and as to that was weak
His king, so to him whom France as king saw”

I don't know if I was with mind oblique,
Since I responded him just in this mode:
“Ah, tell me now: which treasure had to seek

Lord of ours to Saint Peter just before
Giving to the lordship of him his keys?
Nothing else rather than ”follow my core”.

Nor Pete nor others from Mathias seize
Gold or silver, when he arose by draw
To the place where his bad soul lost through these.

For this it’s right, you are damned by good law;
And now good care take of the money took
Which made you against Charles so proud with flaw.

And if I were not  hindered by the hook
Of obeisance for keys so highest then
Which you held in happy life but mistook,

I would use even more hard words again;
Because your greediness makes the world sad,
Crushing good people and lifting bad men.

Of you Pastors the Vangelist known had
When woman who on waters takes a seat
As whore he saw with kings in a way bad;

That who was born with seven heads complete,
And from five horns had power great indeed
Til hers husband could to virtue compete.

You God of gold and silver could concede;
How differ idolaters then from you,
But that they pray one, and you hundred feed?

Alas, Constantin, how  much harm could do,
Not your conversion, but that wealthy gift
The first rich pope of story you gave to!”

And while such notes singing I had to lift,
Either was bitten by conscience or rage,
Strongly both legs was pushing with strong shift. 

I truly think much liked this my duke sage,
Since he attended with so happy face
The sound of words with truth I could engage.

So with both his hands me had to embrace,
And after he had at his chest all me,
He climbed back the way then leaving the place.

Tired to hug me he didn’t seem to  be,
So he brought me up of the arch to top
Which from fourth to fifth bank is designee. 

Here weight to ground he could gently drop,
Gentle respect to rocks dirty and steep
That would oppose to goats  a severe stop.

Then I discovered a new valley deep.


Long poem by Mario DE PAZ | Details |

Canto XX Hell translation

Of new pains new verses must be composed 
To give matter for the canto twenty
Of the canticle first, treating sunk posed.

I just was inclined with desires many
To thoroughly look at the open deep,
Which was moisten of mournful cry plenty;

And I saw people in round valley creep
Coming to us, mute and weeping, with pace
Which do the litanies in world with weep.

As lower went directed then my face,
It appeared admirably subject to twist
Each one between his chin and the chest base,

Because their face was opposite to midst,
And then they were thus compelled to walk back,
Since the observing forward they had missed.

Maybe due to paralysis attack
Somebody was  twisted completely all;
But I never saw him, total his lack.

If God lets you, reader, in mind install
What you have just read, now imagine then
If in wetting my face could not befall,

The closest to us image looking when
I saw thus distorted, that crying eyes
Wetted his buttocks falling down again.

Sure I cried, leaning on a jut with sighs,
Of the hardest reef, so that now my guide
Told me: “Are you of  other silly guys?

Here the pity lives when it's well died;
Who is even more wicked than the one
Who to God justice is with pain complied?

Straighten your head, straighten, and see beside
The one whose eyes on Thebans’ ground posed were;
So that all were shouting to him: Where hide,

Anfiarao? Why war don't you concur? 
And did not stop to leave to valley down
Til Minos who can everyone deter.

Observe now the ones who acted facedown;
Because wanted only forward to look,
Now only look and walk at back around.  

You see Tiresias, who new face took
When from male to female became just,
The form of all his body thus to crook;

And before, then, to beat again he must
The two wrapped up snakes, with the magic rod,
So his male feathers he could adjust.

Aronta is that who womb tails in way odd,
Who there in the Luni’s mountains, where dig
Men from Carrara who live there and plod,

Had in the white marbles a cave big
As his daily dwelling, the stars from where
And the sea also he could see and twig.

And that woman who covers hers breasts bare,
Which you don’t see, with loosened tresses yet,
And has a skin full of  fur everywhere,

Was Manto, who searching many lands met;
Then she rested there where I then was born;
So a  bit I like that my words you get.

After hers father his life had lost worn
And after slave became the Bacchus’ town,
She went long time around the world forlorn.

Italy nice has a lake with renown,
At the foot of Alps which the Germans stop
Over Tyrol, Benaco is its noun.

Thousand sources and more, I think, from top
Twixt Garda, Camonica and Pennino wet it  
With water which stands there after its drop.  

Halfway a place trentin pastors admit
And from Brescia and from Verona too
Who could hail, if their way with place should fit.

Sitting is Peschiera, nice mean strong true
With the Brescian and Bergamask to deal,
Where the bank around is steeper and skew.

There the need of water falling is real
All that exceeds Benaco’s full indeed,
Becoming river down valley with reel.

After water starts running to proceed,
No more Benaco, but Mincio is its name
Til Governol, where Po river can feed.

Not long way has run, when it meets an aim
In which it flattens and becomes a slew;
Which in summer is bad deserving blame.

Just there passing the raw virgin knew
An ample ground, in the midst of mire,
Uncultivated and no dwellers through.

She there, all human beings to retire,
Stopped with hers servants practicing hers art
And lived, and left hers vain corps to expire.

Men who in near places were split apart
Joined that site, because it was clearly strong
Thanks to mire which encircled any part.

They built the city over those bones wrong;
And in hers honor who first chose the site
Mantua was called with no chance along.

Already dwellers be numerous might,
Before the foolish Casalodi’s craze
By Pinamonte was deceived onsite.

For this I instruct you, if in some ways
You hear misplaced the true source of my land,
The truth could win any fib which betrays”.

And I: “Master, your thoughts are indeed grand
And are so sure to capture my faith then,
Such as the others would be extinct brand.

But tell me, of those forward walking men,
If you can see any who deserves note;
Since only to this I use mind and pen”.

He then told me: “That one who now from throat
Poses his own beard on the shoulders dark,
Lived – when Greece of males was empty moat,

Such as remained for babycots almost stark-
As augur, and with Calcant then hint gave
In Aulis to cut the first rope as remark.

Eurypilus his name, which I engrave
In parts of my poems here or there:
Which you well know and then in mind all save.

The other one with flanks skinny and bare,
Was Michael Scotto, who really had
Of the sorcery frauds knowledge and care.

See Guido Bonatti, Asdente bad,
Who now to his leather and to his thread
He would like to attend, but late is sad.

See there the dreary ones who were misled
From needle, pin and spool to be divine;
They did then enchantments with herbs instead.

But come yet now, because reaches confine
Of both hemispheres and touches wave
Down Seville Caino and forms of spine;

And yet yesterday night full moon behaved;
You should remember it then now so well
Because in the dark wood your way it saved”

So he, while going on, kept on to tell.


Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

So Many Questions

(A both serious and fanciful encounter with God)          

1. There are so many questions that I have for God, 
Oh my love, don't you feel the same way? 
While it's true that we may just have met in this poem
You must know that I care what you say.
Like who made the Creator and then who made Him? 
To infinity this clearly goes.
But a 'whole universe' that 'exists on its own? '
It's orgasmic! And that curls my toes.

It seems possible God could create this strange thing
Which some atheists call 'the big bang, '
Which puts God the creator at source once again
'Self-creation' becomes boomerang.
In the end science usually makes simple right
And in this case that doesn't seem odd
For it's clear that although God explains 'the big bang, '
'The big bang' just can't explain God. 


2. Now some people think that for the Church to survive
That the Bible must 'un-airant' be
Though that leaves many liberals gasping for air
And I certainly mean to include me.
Didn't Christ turn established Church square on its head
And accuse experts of speaking trash
Their self-aggrandizements the flailings of the dead, 
Their pronouncements the value of ash? 

So where in the Bible does it claim to be true
That each man's take on it is Gospel? 
The foolishness of this thought clearly would make the
Deity of mere men possible.	
And Christ spoke in parables, while I am on it, 
While they may contain truth, are they true? 
Shifting sand's the ground literalists stand on, 
I don't want God's Church built there, do you? 
 

3. I suspect overall that our God is too small
Modeled after folks tied down with chain, 
A God that's too small is really no God at all
And our saying we know Him just vain. 
Today's Kingdom of Grace has become one of fear
As we try to trap God with His Word, 
Surely our doing battle with Father or Son	
Trying to save ourselves is absurd.

So what does it mean to believe in Christ Jesus? 
And how can I be cleansed in Christ's flame
I think it is clear you should be different from Satan
And he certainly knows Jesus' name.
In fact one could divine Satan knows Christ is real
A fact Satan will take to his grave.
But Satan's not willing to walk in Christ's footsteps
And that's whom God chooses to save.
 

4. Surely there's nothing wrong with our questioning God
For God commands us, 'Forbid them not, '	
'Suffer the little children to come unto me	.'
Does that sound like God's wrath is our lot? 
It is true of course, we know that God gets angry
But His essence still always is Grace.
It is not who you are, it is just what you do
That can make Him get into your face.

With Karen Armstrong now alive on the scene
It is clear that God's heart is still showing
When she says 'Doubt is not the opposite of faith...
Certainty is! ' A huge debt to God I am owing.
For certainty is certainly not my standard
And sometimes that does give me pause.
But the Grace that I feel in God's presence
Is what brings me to peace with His laws.


5. So now that we've managed to clear up some big stuff
Let's tackle some things that are fuzzy
Like Jesus would frequently call God his 'father'
But God could not have a thing, does He? 
I'm sure that some ladies will not be too happy
To hear that God's not one of their clan
Remember the Bible says God's church is His bride, 
Not much room there for doubt He's a man.

Women
'But if that's really true He's not me, more like you, 
No way could that ever be called fair.
Thanks a lot! Doesn't seem much like heaven to me
Woman still dragged around by their hair.	'
Men
'Hold on now, wait a bit: Please! let's not have a fit
Seems like men have a right to feel blue! 
Even though we are all getting married to God
Recall men are to be His bride too! ' 


6. If science and traditional faith disagree
Then it's clear that there is something wrong
One could ignore it but both come from God
So take care if the science is strong.	
Intelligent scholars of Biblical truth say 
Creation is six thousand years past
But science proves this wrong over 4 billion years
In one universally huge blast.

The Bible was written two thousand years ago
For folks who knew little of science.
When you speak to a child, you know he's not adult, 
And you use what we call common sense, 
Not hard to accept that the Bible is dated, 
Don't stew over it for heaven's sake.
This isn't a sign that our God would mislead us, 
He who died for you is not a fake.


7. And now for an odd bit, just where does Science fit
With God's gift of Grace for the many? 
'Seek, you shall find, knock and it be opened to you: '
As good a definition as any.
'Every good and perfect gift comes from the father.'
I am grateful to God for His Word.
And you devil's children who call God's gift evil, 
For repentance I offer a bird.

Our God's revelation to man is ongoing, 
With faithfulness through all the ages
The only requirement of mankind it would seem
Is willingness to turn the pages.
Not just pages of Bible but pages of stars
Which are surely God's heart written large.
Let us follow Him to where new worlds conquer fear 
And our service to LOVE so discharge.

Brian Johnston
December 17-19,2013

Poet's Notes:
Whew! This poem is another one of those 'where did that come from' poems. I want to let go of it, YET IT KEEPS  ON GROWING LIKE THE 'THE BLOB! '

So don't be surprised if I offer new stanzas.
Think I feel something else clearly perking.
I'm taking requests to so if you have a pet peeve 
Just forward on to me, don't be shirking.

Love in advance, 
Brian

PS: Thank you God


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

Inception: Tears of Bittersweet Sentiments - Collab with Mikey part 5

He lifts me up on cloud nine
I’m a lost sheep in godly sleep
He nurtures me like His child – I’m feelin’ fine
I’m a joyful sheep in godly sleep
Dead leaves of dried hope and fervor-lacking faith blew away with the wistful wind – this depression…no one can comprehend or they might reduce to tears…you might break or bend, so let me replace your fears with unsullied, heaven-made hopes and fill your cup to the brim with perpetual cheers
I have left this withering tree because my mind rehearsed double doubts
Voices in my head howled heartrendingly: “They haven’t left the time to mend me, so I’m waiting for my end…I’ve lived a happy life and now I got to face my demise that I’ve tried to avoid for one hundred and fifty y-years”
I have been pinned to the spot; I can’t get over the fact that she left me to rot…I’m choosing to walk countless routes
I was once a lost sheep
But, now I’m enjoying my godly sleep
I’m skipping to and fro
In God’s green pastures…I lie…
I sing …I grow…I wander off…I fly…
I float…in God’s still waters – 
His PEACE will never die! 
I grieved for you as I watched you slit your wrists in crimson regret - painted red with shameful lusts and remorse...and I cried...cried...cried...knowing that you lost your faith in the Most High – I’m bewildered beyond logic and belief…
I’m dying for His relief to drown away my disdainful disbelief…my lavishing grief…
Don’t be shy – call upon Him for help and support and I wish you the best in all you do and I wish you go through more good times to uplift you above the surface; let me hearten you with optimistic spirits and be crowned with splendid anticipation; but, I must be responsible and mild
For your loving heart and consideration are slowly fading and dying
Sick of pretending that I have the ability to keep on flying, but I must keep on trying to earn back my wonderful sensation that I’ve cherished as I wild child
You’re killing me softly…with thrilling possibilities in mind – I don’t wanna be left behind…I miss you and there’s no one else your kind
Possibly, there’s an open door of opportunity to open up the eyes of the blind
Save me if you’d be so kind
Believe in me…don’t desert me, but instead – f-find me
Reflect on me…don’t lose grip of the rope of hope or lose touch of the ecstasy that’s next to sea
You inflicted pain upon me and it truly hurts me to the core – your disloyalty is the only thing I receive from a so-called healer
I was once a lost sheep
Mourning night after night…
I used to forlorn day after day 
I’m alarmed and I’m yearning for Your light 
Your might…Your delight
To get through my plight…to fight the good fight
I used to weep bitterly in dismay 
You smoked me out like a cigarette…and I’m left on the street grounds like a cigarette butt – The moment you picked me up and I said yes for your sake, I submitted to the pleasure that it would give you and I, then I regret it and I became so upset
From your corrupting ways, I felt I had taken part of it and I hastily decided to fret
And now, I beat myself up for it...my mind is sky high with doubt and my body feels like a drought...dry with a lack of empathy and indulged in loathe and envy...I-I am upset
I was determined to win 1st place in this race of honor. I know that there are so much gold nuggets to find below the dirt of Mother Nature. It’s time to unwind. 
I was drunk off of your confidence, but I don’t know how to do without your motivation near my side – I don’t mind you pushing me towards my goal as long as I get out of my comfort zone. But, I couldn’t run fast enough and I submitted to my failure…I fell to the ground in disgrace and my heart ceased from beating…I’m in appall right now and I bet
I need to pass this test – I should’ve tried my best, despite you leaving me behind as usual. Tell me this, sweetheart – I ever cross your mind? 
Don’t stab my back with lies, but shed me the truth, so that we will be free from misery’s chambers. I found it hard to believe that I was on my own all along, but not alone; God is my backbone, supporting me along the way – I ignored the call of negativity and I picked up on positivity – it treated me alright and portrayed life in another magnificent light; it even traced me a smile of satisfaction for a while – I thought her awfully kind to do such a thing. I am Forever Confounded and Ambushed in your Lies’ Debt
It seemed as if no one could befriend a monster like me and I couldn’t help, but pray
That all hope, faith, and love would not perished from my sundrenched sight
It seemed like the end when I went through the dilemmas in my life – I remember being bewildered and going astray 
I am overwhelmed by the cost of losing you again…I searched all over for you day and night
Don't leave me to die...don’t stomp all over me like your doormat
I am not your pet...and there’s a reason why I said that
I won't take your orders
We're not crossing borders
Can you feel me when I cry bittersweet tears of sentiments? Do you even care to see the liquid lament, streaming down my universe, aquatic eyes? Can you release my tension like breaking open boulders?
You left me without any comforting shoulders…your words injure me – frankly, it tortures…
Nor does it nurture me with heavens’ light, but it makes me kiss the abyss of hazardous hells
On this perilous voyage, your hand you never did lend   
Now, I’m spiraling into the black hole of vibrantless farewells


Long Poems