Shaped from earth’s crust, our form is dust,
made alive by the breath of God,
known if we choose love over lust,
whence drowned in His light, we are awed.
The ‘we’ referred to, is ego,
which in truth has no existence
but since we refuse to let go
God humours ego’s insistence.
Self as God, is within asleep,
dreaming as it were, lost in trance,
till taking a consciousness leap,
we make erect, our soul’s stooped stance.
Maya, the veil of forgetting,
though arising from God’s power,
a web of desire abetting,
causing fear, making soul cower.
When all seems lost, love shows the way,
cradling all hearts in a bliss mist,
Whence ego dies, we cease to sway,
desireless, with no to-do list.
If we would be free, thoughts must cease,
that as pure presence, self-aware,
demons of darkness we release
and with God’s heart, seamlessly pair.
Though ego dies, it never was
and by its death we then reclaim
light of Self, putting thoughts on pause,
in one light, in each heart the same.
ON AIDING AND ABETTING WAR
(A Perceived 5-7-5 Perspective)
Children begged for food,
They gave them bullets of death:
Starvation aided:-
Murdering children,
Is sanctioned in times of war:
Even by parents!?
Being quiet is
Aiding and abetting war:
Let’s get to screaming!
PythonPotamus, "Abaddon" Quetzacoatliciously rises from the pit.
Helliopolis' ruins remains; "in the thick of it."
Ra, "Familiars the breeze" a God-imposter, sedicious, piece of Set.
Set Ing the diodes of scene.
All the same, on demand-
quid pro troll for human sacrificing...
icing in their assumed, -
exhumed names of representation-glands,
Idols in strange hands.
Decorating blue,
filling with strangers to one's own land.
Paradise Lost, seeking ills, -ills, ill gotten gains.
Kismetic Frosts relations
of cover-incestuous-religions
summoned in symbiotic trends,
of the means of the end.
On Alien soil, Ra, soon to return
to asphyxiate freedom's change, of wind,
whisping death's-bloom.
DeCoffinated break, drink !
Skywriters, Contracting...
Watching in aiding abetting, the elites.
The discreeted
scuttled upon the otherworldly-
Chariots called PleasureCrafts and Triremes and Juggernautivity Nets.
Lasers to strain in loom, everything you say or do-
you... buy, sell, eat, drink, breathe, think?
Utopia, Trojan Whores Riding a Beast.
LET ME NEVER stoop to disavowing the truth
Neither “looking lovingly” askance at a hurtful lie
NOR OF PEOPLE “sleeping soundly” from an anesthesia
Called purposefully abetting, forgetting to evade the shiv
Of justice wielded with forthright insight, you see,
For without “judicial justness” it is clear our nation
Cannot long endure, much less, I must confess, heal
And continue to be the nation we laud as our country.
FOURTH PLACE WINNER
Written September 6, 2022
Submitted to “The A’s Have It” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
[End Word: HEAVENLY
Alphabetical Order: LET ME NEVER and NOR OF PEOPLE
Alliteration: “looking lovingly,” sleeping soundly,” and “judicial justness”
Internal Rhymes: abetting/forgetting; forthright/insight; and less and confess.]
M idsummer castaway
E nchanted by a spell
R avished by a sea temptress
M aiden with the raven hair
A balone were her eyes
I dyllic elixir sweet her voice
D ownstream she led the castaway
S eabirds followed the seductress
E astward once the sailor was bewitched
R ocking to the rhythm of the waves
E merging lost at the other end
N eptune’s curse abetting the nymph
A dieu lost star-crossed captive
D reamworld is your final destination
E ntwined in the arms of your seafaring goddess
AP: 3rd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2022
Nature in it’s utmost,
has no wont of haste.
Time has little meaning,
and there is no waste.
One year or a million,
matters not at all,
everything that lives,
eventually will fall.
Ashes turn to ashes,
and dust goes back to dust.
All Flora and Fauna,
are building up the crust.
So death is there abetting,
something else to live.
Everything that breathes,
some day will die to give.
Yet in the few short years,
man on earth has faced.
Through the eyes of greed,
mismanages his waste.
He thinks he’s here forever,
even though the rivers die,
the soil is full of poison,
pollution fills the sky.
The earth will be a sewer,
and won’t support the curse,
that stole the pristine beauty,
that it was meant to nurse.
So nature in its wisdom,
will balance without haste,
and in five million years,
will manage its own waste.
The cold morning air kisses my fingertips
with incognito apology.
A wraith swimming among ghost town
touching base to find reason
for the days the Universe changed.
The elements scuttle to find their new place.
The people lament and seek sanity in mirrors face.
A half removed remorse- caught within
digital distranslation of binary-
binding to an alien language
abetting at the core.
In the setting up of stages in a New ?? disOrder.
A requiem sequim seeking
also the dew of entangled remorse :code:
a+(be)="e"(shared) ::PROGRAMMING::
EXE.Levermore?
Don’t display, they will quarantine.
Runaway escape the quarantine.
• Don’t worry, just a few days till it fades.
This will keep your family and society safe.
I don’t believe in social distancing,
Solitude is something I hate!
• A carrier infects all, around.
If we don’t kill it, it will hound.
I am young and strong and immune.
Keeping me in won’t be a boon.
• If virulent patients don’t survive coz of its stepping,
And if Grandpas and grannies die, you would be abetting!
How will I survive, this makes me dread!
Who will give me butter and bread?
• You will get your wage,
There is no reason for such rage.
• Just for few days we are all banned.
The government has your back, together we shall withstand.
What if people die, it’s their own fate!
Better, you get it straight!!
• We are a family and each one is priceless,
Empathise, don’t leave your niceness.
Let’s stand together through this crisis.
A woman in travail, to give birth,
above her head a crown of twelve stars.
Clothed with the Sun,
the moon at her feet.
The day the Universe changed.
The day the water broke,
the banks.
Of Evermore.
The Manchild to come.
Restore.
Come to overtake the gamblers
abetting against Heavens ranks.
Waging wages against its humble
and poor.
How Absurd it Seemed
Ah, those memories, so well refined, reworked, revised to meet the failings of memory – or the shame of remembrance. Tinged now with humor’s hubristic insolence, fleece covered shards of broken lives reassembled in a grotesque collection of stained glass pleading with the moment for forgiveness. Time, imprisoned for aiding and abetting the fugitives, providing refuge for the tattered transgressors, disguising the thoughts, denying the actions, suffering the consequences of eternities amnesia.
how absurd it seemed….
…in a family of black sheep
…to be the black sheep
John G. Lawless
©7/16/2019
The sounds of a summer night ring out;
a firefly air ballet performs,
as young eyes embrace the tale;
played out by blinking lights.
summer’s magical;
churning waters
abetting
nighttime
choir.
Days drift by with seeming haste,
Time to fill or time to waste.
Minutes spent can’t be replaced;
They aren’t worth regretting.
Memories are often based
On moments that our minds have traced
To joys or sorrows interlaced
With reasons for forgetting.
Thus, as seconds tick, we’re faced
With weeks appearing closer-spaced
For age makes time seem faster-paced,
Technology abetting.
On a shelf above his bed,
Looking like a fountain,
Henry has what has become
A little tissue mountain.
Each tissue gets one wipe or blow
And then it joins the pile,
A mound that had been growing
For much more than just a while.
When asked if I could clean it up,
The answer I keep getting
Is an emphatic No; I guess
I'm aiding and abetting.
It isn't really gross because
There's not a lot of issue
Allowed to make its way upon
Each single 2-ply tissue.
And Henry laughs when I point out
His tissue mountain's growing,
An impish twinkle in his eye
Which he delights in showing.
In the end, we were there-not there,
two present absentees
sharing an apartment vacated by a relationship
and the worst kind of loneliness -- feeling solitary next to someone --
partners in the crime of abetting mutual misery,
though neither of us can really be linked
to the crime scene, can we?
We’ve got each other’s alibi.
EPILOG TO VIC’S PLACE
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
I’m an alcoholic and no one seems to care
My woman enables me due to her own despair
If she really loved me, she would take up the fight
To keep me from becoming the neighborhood blight
But you see, she’s addicted in her own way
She puts up with my antics hoping I won’t go away
I’m free of worldly pressure after a drink or two
She justifies her existence no matter what I do
No doubt, we are both losers in this pathetic relationship
Aiding and abetting each other in a moribund partnership
It’s a vicious circle with no end or beginning
Continuing downward til the final inning
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