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Long poem by Gary Bateman | Details |

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

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

The Final Days:  Rosalia’s Death and Destruction
In the wake of such evil, debauchery and depravity what can be said now in the case of Rosalia?

Now in her mortal form the old black witch no longer had the unspeakable power of hell-spawned evil at her instant command. In spite of the victory of the power of goodness and light and the attenuation, if not the dissolution of witchcraft in the Harz, the memory of who Rosalia was and what she had done could now begin to be eased somewhat from the minds of local people and the clergy. But the memory of Rosalia and her evil could never be forgotten.  How could it be otherwise?

After three months of confinement in the dungeon at the Burg Worlerede, a fortress castle, very near to Cloister Marten in the Harz, Rosalia was eventually tried and convicted in a special church court convened at this castle to try cases concerning witchcraft and sorcery, which were beyond the normal jurisdiction of civil courts. Monseigneur Wolfgang Augustus Hardenberg of Cloister Marten was the residing church chief judge with four priests in his assistance serving as subordinate church judges.  One civil magistrate judge from the local Harz provincial government participated, in an advisory capacity, with the five church judges in these special judicial proceedings against Rosalia.

Everyone in attendance at the witchcraft trial of Rosalia knew what the outcome would be. With that said, the testimony of her victims on public record dragged on for several weeks, to include the final interrogation and confession of witchcraft and supreme evil doings by Rosalia herself.

In her rebuttal statement to the assembled church tribunal, Rosalia actually gained some of her old fire back as she spoke to the group—in a taunting and derisive manner. Rosalia showed no remorse whatsoever for what she had done and perpetrated upon others. She still renounced the Almighty Lord God and did not ask for his mercy and forgiveness. Her love and passion for being and existence was still with her god, Lucifer, who had forsaken her at last in her hour of need during All Hallows’ Eve and the Black Witches’ Sabbath. 

As easy as it might have been at that moment to pity such a pathetic and revolting creature, Rosalia’s hurtful words in complete defiance of God and her taunting mockery and snickering at the victims of her black deeds were beyond the pale of any shred or strand of human decency.

At the conclusion of Rosalia’s rebuttal statement, Monseigneur Hardenberg announced the verdict and sentence of the special church court:

“Rosalia, Black Witch of the Harz and Purveyor of Lucifer’s Evil on this Earth, you are hereby adjudged by this special court of being guilty of the practice of Witchcraft and Sorcery, and the murder of untold numbers victims over the centuries to this present one, and for the malicious corruption of your victims’ souls as they died in torment and faced the reality and agony of eternal damnation. And your acts even against young children and babies are so unspeakable and abominable that they readily defy any iota of rational understanding in our human society here on Earth. All these actions reflect your absolute depravity and lack of regard for human life, and they defy directly the teachings of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. All of your transgressions have been entered into the final record by this assembled court.”

“As a priest and a man of the cloth, I would normally ask the Almighty Lord God to have pity on you and your soul. But you have no mortal soul since you have been in very long service to Satan himself. Once more, you have committed the ultimate sacrilege by renouncing the Almighty Lord God yourself.”

“Therefore, there can be no plea of mercy or divine forgiveness rendered for you by this court on your behalf.  Your final fate and disposition beyond the reach of this court lies ultimately with your master—Satan.”

“It is therefore the judgment of this court that you Rosalia—Black Witch of the Harz—be taken on the next morn’ at dawn to the gallows specially constructed here at Worlerede and this is where you shall be hanged by the neck until pronounced dead, and then your mortal body shall continue to hang for three days on public display, for all to see, and then your mortal body shall be burned by fire while it is still in its hanging position. Your mortal body shall burn until it disintegrates into nothing but fine burnt ashes.”

“In God’s name, this is so adjudged and it shall be done!”
 
As Monseigneur Hardenberg finished his verdict and sentencing, before Rosalia was to be bound and shackled for her departure from the court, he asked her if she had any final words for the court.

At that very moment the wily old hag became extraordinarily animated, and in a wild-eyed uncontrollable manner, jumped high into the air with an energy she had not possessed in a while and made this very provocative pronouncement to the Monseigneur and all concerned:

“Monseigneur you may have me hanged and burned into nothingness, but I will once again triumph with Lucifer’s will and power behind me for I lay eternally in his bed and seek not Jehovah’s forgiveness and the rapture of Heaven. My Master will restore me once again and resurrect me to return and execute his evil deeds once again here on Earth. It is I who renounce you and all the people assembled in this court. I renounce what all of you stand for. I curse all of you forever, and I will be there at the very Gates of Hell awaiting the day when I can greet all of and condemn you to eternal hell fire and damnation on my Master’s behalf. A curse of death and eternal damnation be upon you all, and all of the relatives who follow you for future generations to come!”

End of Part Seven

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


Long poem by Gary Bateman | Details |

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

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

Rosalia’s Instruments of Evil and Debauchery
Rosalia needed certain tools or instruments of evil and debauchery to successfully pursue her nefandous plans of bringing the people of the Harz countryside under the dominion and control of the Devil. The following instruments could be construed as weapons in and of themselves and were integral to Rosalia’s practice of Witchcraft and Sorcery, and were central to her fervent desire of accomplishing this dastardly goal as she actively sought to corrupt and destroy the souls of her victims. Her bright gems of evil and debauchery included:
 
Necromancy  
As Rosalia expanded her power, control, and influence among the people she became involved in Necromancy, that is to say, the art of predicting events by communicating with the dead. She would use her channeling efforts to enter the spirit world, and in an act of true malevolence, would prompt her spirit contacts to conjure evil dreams and have them pervade the consciousness of her unsuspecting victims. She would, at times, summon Lucifer himself in the midst of all of this to directly maximize her channeling efforts.      

Moleosophy and Wartology  
Rosalia had mastery of the arcane art of Moleosophy and Wartology, whereby she could divine the temperament of people and surrounding future events by spiritually sensing and reading the moles and warts on men and women in a stream of consciousness. Beyond this divining and sensing aspect, this power was also amply reflected in the use of her Black Wart and the use of its bile liquid contents to inflict irreparable harm on her victims and engender absolute fear.

Witch’s Broom  
Rosalia had a Witch’s Broom, serving as her primary mode of transportation for traversing the Harz and for frightening and wreaking utter havoc on her unsuspecting victims.

Black Hen’s Blood
Rosalia used a Black Hen’s Blood gruesomely obtained by beating a black hen to death, and then smearing a small portion of the blood on her human victim or the victim’s clothing— in effect, to transfer the agony of the hen’s death to her intended victim. 

Magic Wand
The Magic Wand made of hazel is another invaluable weapon used by Rosalia as an instrument of indomitable evil force and power as personified in its likeness as a phallic symbol.  Rosalia’s mastery of her Magic Wand enabled her to instinctively react in casting black magic spells on her victims and conjuring an aura of evil spirits to plague and ultimately destroy her victims’ families.

Black Potions
Rosalia brewed alchemic poisonous potions to a horrifying hideous effect,
using them to startle, stun and paralyze her victims with unending fear
while unmercifully taunting and tormenting them with equal evil effect,
and using Witchcraft to destroy once innocent souls and harvest fear.
Rosalia employed her alchemic masterpieces to great effect in gaining control of her victims’ will or desire to resist her evil intentions. Rosalia sometimes used her Black Potions to immediately subdue and poison to death victims who had insulted her and driven her anger to an insatiable lust and frenzy.

Witch’s Dagger   
Rosalia’s Athamé was her special coal-black-colored ceremonial dagger, of course, with a double-edged blade, but in her instance totally black to include the actual blade itself, with the sign of the Pentagram firmly engrained into the dagger’s handle. This was Rosalia’s magical dagger, her tool which she used for ritual black mass ceremonies and to direct psychic energy and to even exact both torture and murder—beyond the normal expected use of such a dagger in a witchcraft ceremony.  

Black Cat   
Whereas a vampire has the power to command his or her “Children of the Night,” and to take the form of a wolf or a bat, similarly, Rosalia could transmute her human form and soul appearance into that of a Black Cat, or on occasion, into that of a White Cat to better mask her nefarious activities and evil intentions.

Black Witches’ Sabbath
Given her power and authority from the Dark One (or Satan himself), Rosalia was so anointed to conduct a Black Witches’ Sabbath two times a year:  April 30th on the Great Sabbath of Walpurgis Nacht and October 31st with Halloween (All Hallows’ Eve). These were the events during which Rosalia summoned the “Goat of Mendes” by which Satan would appear in physical form as a goat or a ram. Rosalia used these special witch coven gatherings on Walpurgis Nacht and Halloween as defining events by which she would give over the souls of her trusted disciples to Satan. She would also recommit her blasphemous Faustian eternal allegiance to the Dark One made over centuries before when she existed in other evil reincarnated soul being forms before becoming Rosalia.

Black Mass 
Intoning, in a shrill repetitive manner six times:  Rosalia recited the Satanist Prayer (Our Father, which wert in heaven . . .) during monthly Black Mass celebrations and the Black Witches’ Sabbath with her Coven. Rosalia used the transformative power of these events to further energize her disciples and to call directly on Satan to inform him of her evil activities and seek his continued influence and support for her acts of terror, torture, and debauchery—all in his name. Tragically, all of Rosalia’s disciples were lost souls and faced eternal damnation because of their continued association with her.  At the end of the Black Mass rituals all of Rosalia’s disciples were left in a state of unfettered “Humicubation,” whereby they lay on the ground in a state of submission and penitence to her for ever having worshipped the Lord God.

End of Part Two

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


Long poem by David William Breidenthal | Details |

The Insane Lane

You healed me…you saved me with a kind, kind heart of sympathy
With well-spoken words (and you deleted the history of my endless rage)
Of empathetic wisdom and positivity…erasing the negativity and rehearsing accord in my mind of past grief and poverty
My tension releases like a billion birds (out of his ribcage)

You dragged me down with bad news…
You had everything to lose…
I had so little to win for…
But, you made me have this bruise
In my heart…you hit me to the core…
With cheerfulness and affection 
In my young, hopeless, genuine heart,
You are my illuminated night – show me some direction!
I was that dim light bulb from the start

Catch me before I fall
To tell you the truth, I have tried to stand tall
And give it my all…just answer my call
My heart is pounding in appall

Pound to the rhythm of my heart x8

Oh, I am going insane
Anxiety and curiosity brewing in my brain

Going insane…
Driving in another dark lane
You were loved
In the bottom of my heart
You were in chains in my heart
I tried to smile bright tonight
I wish you were gone in my life
I tried so hard…to take wing in the light
I wish you the best in life…
I pray for peace to murder the strife

You’re my – 
You’re my sunrise
You are – 
You are the one I prize
I am – 
I am the sunset in your eyes
I am – 
I am the nightfall before your eyes…
I unveil my beauty and I memorize
Every word you utter…
Your words – as smooth as butter 

Catch me before I fall
To tell you the truth, I have tried to stand tall
And give it my all…just answer my call
My heart is pounding in appall

Pound to the rhythm of my heart x8

Oh, I am going insane
Anxiety and curiosity brewing in my brain

And now I’m…
Now I’m…
I can’t say it…
I’m chained to this pit…
Of shame…
Without a name…

Going insane…
Driving in another dark lane
You were loved
In the bottom of my heart
You were in chains in my heart
I tried to smile bright tonight
I wish you were gone in my life
I tried so hard…to take wing in the light
I wish you the best in life…
I pray for peace to murder the strife

I’ve lost the race, 
I haven’t passed the test
But I’ll keep trying (trying)
Though, I’m frankly dying x3 (flying)
I’ll make it up to you, radiant friend of mine
Wipe off the grime from my face…this anger and envy becomes serpentine
To my heart…to my young, once-innocent heart

Pound to the rhythm of my heart x4
I tried to keep pace with the rhythm of my heart
Pound to the rhythm of my heart x4
I’m rolling in the deathcart…into the abyss, I go…take heart, foes that drag me down to the ground heartlessly… vicious night hunts me down like I’m its next prey…I pray x3 my life won’t transform into strife…blooming blasphemy in my young, anguish-whelmed heart 

Catch me before I fall
To tell you the truth, I have tried to stand tall
And give it my all…just answer my call
My heart is pounding in appall

Pound to the rhythm of my heart x8

Oh, I am going insane
Anxiety and curiosity brewing in my brain

And now I’m…
Now I’m…
I can’t say it…
I’m chained to this pit…
Of shame…
Without a name…

Going insane…
Driving in another dark lane
You were loved
In the bottom of my heart
You were in chains in my heart
I tried to smile bright tonight
I wish you were gone in my life
I tried so hard…to take wing in the light
I wish you the best in life…though it slits you like a jagged knife
I tried to search for you with all of my remaining might
I pray for peace to murder the strife…to end this miserable, chaotic life
Death isn’t in this grand land of ours 

Close the corridors of your blue eyes
Tell the truth and sift out the lies
I was black and lonely,
But, now I’m white and carrying with me the attitude of gratitude
I’m wearing an upside down frown of sunlit glee
In my heart…you hit me to the core…
But, you made me have this bruise
I had so much to win for…
You had nothing to lose…
You uplifted me with your good news

Your priceless words gave me ecstatic happiness
Your helping hands brought me out of the abysssssss
I was gravity-bound in the chambers of my mind…I was once numb…and she spit me out like tasteless, gross gum
Can’t help, but wish for God’s kingdom to come x4
You dug deep into my soul of anguish and cheer - thank you kindly for your empathetic words of wisdom


Long poem by Cyndi MacMillan | Details |

TURNING WENDIGO

                        CEO of the Schizophrenia Society of Canada: 
                                    If you ever got out of the Selkirk Mental Health Centre, 
                                     what would you do?
 
                        Li: I hope to leave one day, but I have to make sure it wouldn’t 
                             happen again. That there would be no voices. 

                             I would change my name to be anonymous

________________________________


There is a darkness that we can not see for it lies behind the eyes,
as stark as bone under a harvest moon, masquerading an appetite.

We sit side by side with darkness, oblivious to its plans, its hunger,
and on a July night in o eight, a monster took a long bus ride

across the Trans-Canada Highway. It walked up a tight aisle, then
it sat beside Tim McLean, a young man on his way home, a carnie

with many friends. His mother was waiting for him, eager to see
his eyes, that bright smile. Vince Weiguang Li had bought a ticket

for Thunder Bay. He was once a computer software engineer in 
Beijing, well rewarded, but immigration punished. As an Edmonton

resident the educated man delivered newspapers, served french-fries.
There is an article in the paper he delivered, a story about the legend

of the Wendigo ... and I wonder if the journalist is haunted, I wonder 
if that writer wakes at night in terror, thinking of Li turning pages,

reading of evil, its want of flesh, the taste of blood. Li sat beside Tim,
not one word was spoken, the witnesses reported. Li is big, strong, and

young Tim was listening to his ipod, texting that he’d soon be home. 
He did not see the butcher knife that Vince concealed. The rampage 

was unexpected. Li stabbed the youth over and over; the Greyhound bus
stopped, people ran for the door as arterial spray splattered the old vinyl. 

Li came undone and beheaded his victim; the legend was reborn for
he consumed Tim’s eyes, swallowed the good soul he saw there, and then

he opened that bloody chest, gnawed a heart full of exuberance. He hacked 
off a nose and fingers, placed them into bags to savor later, he became the

Wendigo ,no, no, he’ll forevermore be Nian. Eventually, the police tazered
him. Not Criminally responsible, was the final verdict, due to mental illness,

hospitalization, not prison, and a mother’s tears savage an unjust stillness. 
Li was granted supervised day passes and walks the streets of Selkirk.

Four years, only four years, for devouring a life without provocation,
and a family struggles to pass Tim’s Law in a system that has gone mad...

There is a darkness that we can not see for it lies behind the eyes,
as stark as bone under a harvest moon, masquerading an appetite.






*Wendigo is an aboriginal evil spirit that is said to possess humans and turn them into cannibals... there have been communities in northern Alberta which have reported that people believed they were "turning wendigo." 

* The Nian is a Chinese mythological demon that hunts people and a part of the Chinese New Year tradition. 

*Tim's Law would ensure that people with mental illness who kill are kept institutionalized for life, without exception.

**The quote on top was taken from an interview with Li this year.

This is a true story. The Greyhound murder/cannabilism took place in July 2008.
May 2012 he was granted daypasses. The clock is ticking... it is only a matter of time before he is fully released... unless Tim's Law is passed.

May reason prevail.



FOR ARTICLES ABOUT THIS STORY

http://www.cbc.ca/fifth/2009-2010/bus_1170/timeline.html


http://www.vancouverobserver.com/city/crime/2008/08/15/tim-mclean%E2%80%99s-terrible-murder-and-its-strange-aftermath

http://cnews.canoe.ca/CNEWS/Features/2008/08/11/6413481-sun.html

http://news.nationalpost.com/2012/05/22/greyhound-bus-beheader-vince-li-i-dont-hear-voices/



Long poem by Cyndi MacMillan | Details |

THE SHINING

The old Overlook Hotel has a tradition of sin and devilment,
souvenirs of the rich. Lovely, yes, but its vista is farseeing,
its death grip far-reaching, and certain rooms stay secretive.
A caretaker axed his pretty daughters, now two changelings 
prowl the opulent halls, somberly stare. Stale air is redolent
with slaughter. Something malevolent welcomes strangers.

Jack Torance, writer, is hired to loosen winter’s stranglehold 
on the isolated, closed resort. Jack’s gifted son, Danny, reviles
his disturbing visions and he quakes at bloodbath predictions.
Wendy, Jack’s loyal wife, fights for family, for their welfare
Jack hurt Danny but is now sober. Promises were exchanged.
Kind Mr. Halloran, the chef, sits with the boy and secretly

tells him of the shining, how some detect the sorrow-secretions
of those departed, how the dead replay roles in the strangest
ways. Avoid room 237, he warns, what is there won’t change.
Danny pedals his big wheels fast down the halls of the devil
as his father somehow disappears, going faster and farther 
than the river of blood only the boy sees, a flood of deep red.

Jack is cruel, unstable, and he frightens Wendy. With dread,
she reads his meaty manuscript, horrified by a revealed secret,
knowing they are miles from help, Oh, dear God, they are so far
from civilization and Jack has retyped duplicate words, strangely,
page after unhinged page. Jack returns, says things that are so evil
that she strikes him with a bat, shocked by this psychotic change.

Wendy drags him into the pantry, locks it, praying he’ll change
back. She rests, but Danny screams and he has scrawled REDRUM 
on the door. The mirror deciphers the word, MURDER, as evil
arrives withan ax. What awful things the heart can keep secret,
He has sabotaged the Snowcat; they are powerless and stranded.
Wendy helps Danny escape through a small window, run far,

she weeps as Jack makes kindling of brittle wood, a plot farfetched 
yet one she must face. The mouse she has been for years changes
and she stabs his hand. Heaven knows, the soul is omnifarious,
Halloran comes, Jack leaves to plant the ax, a hero’s chest blooms red.
Danny watches what is left of his father die, cries out from his secret
hiding place, a chase ensues in a frozen maze; good outlives evil.


        So beware all wayfarers, avoid that next interchange
        for secrets fly in the dead of night, traveling the red-eye
        and evil can call home the lost, the touched and the very strange. 







*This is the a very contemporary sestina. It follows a free verse format with plenty of enjambment. The six end words are manipulated to such a point that the 'core' word is  often barely recognizable. 

I decided to challenge myself, show a sweet poet here that a sestina is only as dull as a scribe ALLOWS it to be, that we can stretch the limits of a form, retain most of its nerve system, but give it as much muscle as we wish! Another lovely poet here said to me recently, we write outside the box because there is NO box! 

I like to keep the box. The box is useful. It's a base. I cut windows in it. I paint the box and add a door. I put things I like in the box. I can happily sit in the box and dream or leave the box whenever I choose because it is MY box. The box is not a bad thing, but it IS only a thing...

I will be posting a blog about contemporary sestinas and the development of this one.

So, this is not the best poem I've ever written. LOL. It is actually a B MOVIE. But, I do think that I at least have written a sestina that is not boring and overly-repetitive! 

Hugs to you, Andrea... so, you likey? Or not so likey?

:D 



Long poem by David William Breidenthal | Details |

STAY - dedicated to people who go through Separation Anxiety

Stay with me and you'll find happiness
I guess I'm the one to ignore like leftovers getting thrown away
Oh, i thought I was the one friend that  could make your day an illuminated day
Sorry to say, but my heart's sinking in dismay
it has been a busy day for me, but I want you to be willing to hang around me and stay
Our friendship bond between us is wrecked up and weak - 
It's not setting us free from the strange encounters in captivity
I know I need to be self-controlled and merely meek!
Venture into our mind's eye and we'll find liberty... temporarily

Ch.: What can I say today?
All I have to do is be in solitude and pray...
Pray that you'll answer me tonight...don't worry about me - I'm feeling okay
Despite being ignored by others day after day
I'm handling it alright...I just want someone to talk to...I want them to simply listen and stay
Stay...stay...stay...don't stay away
Just stay...stay...I won't lay my problems on you today
For my mind drifts on like a cloud that passes away

I didn't ask for the night to murder the day...my High spirits are fading away and I'm one with the color gray
So stay...stay...stay for a while, won't you, friend, for one more day
I promise I'll behave and stop bugging you, okay? Okay?
Say what you have to say...But I beg you to please..please...stay

Ch.: What can I say today?
All I have to do is be in solitude and pray...
Pray that you'll answer me tonight...don't worry about me - I'm feeling okay
Despite being ignored by others day after day
I'm handling it alright...I just want someone to talk to...I want them to simply listen and stay
Stay...stay...stay...don't stay away
Just stay...stay...I won't lay my problems on you today
For my mind drifts on like a cloud that passes away

Just stay with me one way or another - you're turning the wrong way...me too...don't fret - everything will be OK
As long as you stay by my side today
I'm tired of living this lie in my head...I have many prices to pay
Emotional debt is not easy to pay off...I just need to obey
I need to obey God and pray that you'll stay 
I will soon be positive like the fervor-blossoming day
So, please, please stay

Ch.: What can I say today?
All I have to do is be in solitude and pray...
Pray that you'll answer me tonight...don't worry about me - I'm feeling okay
Despite being ignored by others day after day
I'm handling it alright...I just want someone to talk to...I want them to simply listen and stay
Stay...stay...stay...don't stay away
Just stay...stay...I won't lay my problems on you today
For my mind drifts on like a cloud that passes away

I like you, friend - I must say!
Are you okay? How was your day today?
I will cheer you up till the end...
I don't mean to offend
I don't want our friendship to end

Ch.: What can I say today?
All I have to do is be in solitude and pray...
Pray that you'll answer me tonight...don't worry about me - I'm feeling okay
Despite being ignored by others day after day
I'm handling it alright...I just want someone to talk to...I want them to simply listen and stay
Stay...stay...stay...don't stay away
Just stay...stay...I won't lay my problems on you today
For my mind drifts on like a cloud that passes away
 
Search for God and He can give us pure, true FREEDOM for eternity
All I want you to do...all I need you to do
Is to stay with me - do me a favor a-and-
And relieve me from the love flu
That's been killing me, do you u-understand?
Stray on your own will lead to further distress...


Long poem by David William Breidenthal | Details |

Starlit Fantasy - Spell-BOUND

I look up at the ebony, starlit sky…I’m gravity-bound…I’m awestruck 
& I don’t know why I feel stuck in place…I’m searching all over the place…the 
only thing I seek and prize is your striking face…but, my young heart is slowly 
breaking apart at the seams…I hear your echoing empathy…
While you’re soaring with your other bird buddies…you embraced vast grace 
and you stole my wings, but I got to get up and try, despite envying the fact 
that you’re “free in space”…I feel that there’s no space for me in your heart – 
mend my shattered dreams & have some sympathy…

There are countless stars in the ebony-indulged sky You ain’t foolin’ anyone with your sugar-coated lie I’m wishing your twinkling spirits won’t pass me by I wish upon countless stars To see you again – I am never waving goodbye – don’t add to my collection of scars You’re my starlit fantasy – so sweet, so neat…it’s such a treat
I look up at the nightfall-captivated, starlit sky…I’m spellbound & I don’t know why…
You’re a beautiful nightmare – you’re making me feel high You’re my beloved drug – we’re flying too high in the once aqua-blue sky I wish I can catch a glimpse at the stars as they serenely fly… I want to see you flourish like a fervor-blooming flower in the springtime It’s almost time to take off! It’s time to take flight – we’re running out of time You’re my starlit fantasy – so sweet, so neat…it’s such a treat
I look up at the nightfall-captivated, starlit sky…I’m mesmerized & I don’t know why…
I’m not falling victim or being brainwashed by your plastic, impious lullaby So, don’t even try to murder me with your callous words & crooked-sounding tune...my oh my… How time flies…I gottah go catch up with my sleep…don’t cry for my departure…don’t cry! Everything will be awright with or without me by your side – you are as sweet and luscious like fresh, homemade apple pie Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Since we’re happy-go-lucky, We should go on a train and go somewhere far, far away – who’s with me?
I look up at the nightfall-captivated, starlit sky…I’m spellbound and I don’t know why we’re ascending… Why are we flying extremely high? I can’t meet up to your standards…oh, I give up – I’m descending… Alright, look at me straight in the eyes – don’t you dare whisper your insidious lies in my ears… You make my cup overflow with cheers…don’t laugh at me…don’t jeer at me… don’t judge me…don’t reject me…don’t abandon me out of the blue or I’ll be sucking up abominable fears…my high spirit sears Look inside of me…reflect on me…deep down inside, though I don’t wanna admit it, you were my starlit fantasy…I know, I might sound crazy…twinkle with me like countless stars in the ebony sky, for you’re my beloved lullaby – believe in me…put your confidence in me…motivate me…relieve me from distress that I’ve sponged in for countless years…I was doused in dread Don’t hate on me…don’t spit on me or put me down for who I am deep down inside…don’t envy my potentials and talents…don’t smash me into smithereens…don’t invite the commotion and chaos – wipe away my bittersweet tears…I’m afraid of what lies ahead


Long poem by Scott Bronner | Details |

Creation, Curse and Promise

Since eternity past God the Father Son & Holy Spirit dwelled in unity and sweet fellowship.
Then Three-In-One decided to make a marvelous universe with an earth for life to dwell.
Creating an amazing array of creatures was the easy part – the risk was on the last made.
For unlike other creatures, man & woman were made in God's likeness with a Spirit.

That Spirit communicated with God, and harmony reigned as earth was well cared for.
Freedom to do was great – limited by but one tree that the humans were not to ear from.
At that tree, Satan disguised himself as an innocent snake and asked the woman questions.
Did God really say don't eat from this tree?  Well, that's to keep you from becoming like Him.

Look its fruit is beautiful and one bite and you'll know what God does and be Jehovah's equal.
Eve was confused, for this didn't sound like what Adam said God told her, but wouldn't it be grand.
If God is so good, why would he keep this secret from us of being able to be like Him – is He jealous?
The firm, juicy fruit was indeed delicious, and she quickly called Adam to taste, which soon he did.

A small act? Every war, family problem, anger, hatred, lie, killing, stealing, rape, abuse came herefrom.
The beauty of God's creation was now marred with sin that affected every part with death and decay.
God graciously gave Adam & Eve animal skins for no longer would they live in Eden's perfect climate.
From now on there would be sweat for the food they ate and exceedingly great pain during childbirth.
Even their firstborn would murder their second, starting the cycle of revenge and killing that's ongoing.

Yet God also made a promise that one would come who would crush Satan's head while being bruised.
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God" clues us in to who.
For God's Son Himself would come to teach, heal and offer His life on a Cross to destroy our death curse.
Our sins He would bear and in rising He's seal the promise of eternal life, so great we Jesus' love for us.

For Jesus the cost was unbelievably high, and for us the reward is incredibly great – if we but accept.
Accept that I am a sinner, I've done wrong and need God's forgiveness to live with His perfection.
Accept that Jesus can do what I cannot – change my heart, make my Spirit alive to forever live with God.
This being GOD, the promise of heaven and new earth is sure, though pain lies in between.  Choose now.

For GOD and all creation cry out – this is what life is meant for – to know and love One's Maker.
As humans we live eternally with or apart from God, and His great desire is that we choose with.
But just as an earthly Father cannot force true love, nor does our Heavenly Father – He waits.
Though He made all and knows beginning from end, he waits and yearns that we receive His love.

Then love and be loved by Jesus in life's harshness & delight, sharing that love with other lost children
To work in harmony with the One who made us, makes life new again as our spirit is filled with new life.
There can be dry days when we don't feel His presence, and others so full that we want to shout for joy.
The fact is Our Father GOD, our Savior Jesus, the Holy Spirit, are always with us and never will leave us. Amen.


Long poem by Jennifer Cahill | Details |

Prose

Shane walked to the back of the bar and found the door opened to an alley littered with the garbage of the bar and the restaurant beside it, the one whose neon sign had two lights blown out.


“Sally, we should leave through this door if the man I told you about comes in.”


“We can’t”.

“Why?” He seemed agitated, and unused to disagreement.


“The alley has no exit, except for a locked chained linked fence, and besides, we have nothing to be afraid of.” She says, rubbing his shoulders soothingly.
The bar was crowded, and despite smokers hanging outside, the air seemed thick, or viscous, with something that felt like dewdrops suspended: they almost could not breathe. Yet they felt warm within the crowd, and the frigid air outside was an incentive to stay put, at least for awhile.


Sally and Shane ordered two beers, and nursed them for twenty minutes before they started to discuss the real reason they were meeting tonight, on such a cold night in a seedy part of town.


“The money is with my cousin, actually distant cousin; he will bring it to my apartment tomorrow night, just as the sun sets.” Shane wiped the moisture that had left a mark on the counter. Sally swallowed the last drops of her beer. She ordered another; Shane was still taking shallow sips of his.


“Okay, then. Put the money in a laundry sack surrounded by linen and bring it to the laundry mat across the street from my apartment. I will meet you there at nine. It will still be quiet at that hour. We won’t be seen.”


“Okay.”
“

I will pay the woman who has helped others with this money, and the problems we have been having will go away. She never speaks of such matters to others, and her word is good.” Sally was finished with her second beer, and tying her scarf tightly around her pale neck and tucking the woolen red and blue scarf into her brown jacket. She took a deep breath and declared the matter settled. She did not see the man with the knit black cap, pulled so low over his face one could not see his eyes, a scarf wrapped around his mouth, come in and approach the bar.


“One vodka and tonic, please”.


Shane immediately recognized the voice and became afraid. He whispered to Sally about this man, and she frowned deeply, only to smile abruptly when she saw Shane’s fear.


“The woman who we are paying knows of him. He cannot harm us.”
Shane walked quickly to the exit, Sally behind him, noticing the streetlights outside flickering as he stepped outside, and, pulling his dark coat tightly around him, bid goodnight and walked quickly down the street, his footsteps echoing like the voices of long lost friends. Sally waited for her ride, and as the car pulled up, Shane turned and saw the driver was his wife and the passenger his brother. Shocked, he almost ran to the car, now leaving the curbside, and called out “Sharon! Bill!”


A blackness enveloped his senses after unbearable pain and he was unaware of falling.
The next morning, at a corner newsstand near where Shane used to commute by train to work, the newspapers sold had as a bottom headline, in small bold printing, the news of the murder of a man: the commuters ruffled through the articles, and then set the papers aside after reading of such events in a small brightly lit city.


Long poem by Gary Fields | Details |

Will A Divided House Stand In any Land

@one must have lived
on both' sides of
justice to be fully
exposed...gf


There are so many
     languages'
There are oh! So
many plans'
But, in this day of
confusion..
Can it really
stand....
     ------
Their are those who
live in the shadow
There are those who
are on top!
Many have faith in
the interest of
justice
I say some-times' it
is merely just a
plot!
   ----- Now think
about that ----
           
----------
Do you live in a
state of justice
Or in a state of
police...
Where your strife is
minimal
And pales' beyond
belief
           ---------
Can you go out at
   ? ...night!
With-out subscribing
of your plight
Hence:  the fear of
going out at night
            -------
This reflects' the
type of judgement
That which you
subscribe
too....

A issue shrouded
in black and white
A deadly combination
of the many social
wrongs' or
rights'...
         Where the
truth comes' to the
light
       ----
As a human body lay
riddled in the heat
and stench
of the night....
          --------
If you are stopped
in a store to-day
Do you expect to
make it home?
        -Or-
Are you subjected
to the night?
Where justice is
swift a constant
norm!
     - Only...
To end up at the
business end of
justice...!

To the end of
justice....!
contrary to
your life.... 

 Only to be pondered
upon as a
creature in that
laboratory of
life...
Where you your-self
have just payed
The supreme price
from a flash of
justice
That threatens' to
end your life...
         .......... 
Where some-one else
in his unique 
......since of
justice amend to
take your life
(Some-call it a snap
decision only... it
is
        .......not
such a snap to take
another life) later
deemed 
to be call a mishap
in the name of
protecting life
I still say' maybe
we are
acting on a little
bad advice
         -----
justifiable murder
In the name of our
Constitution....  
Needless too say,
Is this the best
solution?

Who's constitution
dare I choose?

Your life
choked-off,
filled full of
holes'
With a truth slowly
delivered....
only God knows'
just exactly
What has just
transposed...
     .... And the
reason why so many
should die....
          ------
Who's brand of
justice would you
survive...  In that
vain' instance
Just to stay
alive....
      -Or-
 which do you
care.... to defend?

Would it be
attributed to the
feat of justice 
Or will it be just
us?

Or to the
determination of the
life of just another
Young innocent
man..... Or that
breath of justice
From which he did
truly depend...

To abide and to
trust in....

The accomplishment
of man... Awh! Yes,

The truth depends'
on the end of the
sword
That which is in
your hand..... With
the meter
of justice that we
are
willing to
defend....

That brand of
justice that which
you may call upon
for the sake of your
fellow man!



Poet/Author
Gary Fields
Censored in Contrast







Long Poems