¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ The Humanity in deadly sleep
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ Emanation, the Spectre and its ¦¦¦¦¦ Shadow.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the Past, Present and Future existing ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
Before me. O Divine Spirit, sustain me ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
That I may awake ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
Like iron scourges ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ reasonings like vast serpents
¦¦¦¦¦¦ around my limbs, bruising my ¦¦¦¦¦¦ articulations.
I turn my eyes to ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ Europe
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ behold the Loom of Locke, ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ as those in Eden, ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ in freedom ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ in harmony and peace.
(Blackout of )
And now we come to the special cases:
You know, they are at the edge of the living,
Questionable that they fit the classification
Just a little red gristle at the articulations
Very desiccated, like pampas grass
Flopping like straw umbrellas
Non-speaking specimens,
What can they be thinking -
If anything?
Cradle one in your arms;
Isn’t it sad
What you think of them
Someone thinks of you
(Goliathus goliath music symbols and meanings.
Titanus giganteus articulations to rests
Scales are a set of notes ordered by
a combination of whole steps and half steps.
A small headline running below the main headline; also called a drop head.
A small headline running below the main headline; also called a deck.
The space running vertically between columns.
The Android receives a soul
Which is pure Evil
Darrel's Devil is a Term Used to describe
a guy who fell in love with Darlrel's Cow
her milked it and kept the cow
clean and healthy.
when it became time to sell the cow
Darrel's took the cow
to another place
where he kept the cow for weeks.
When they found the Cow Someone gave the guy the
nickname Darrel's Devil
because the Guy thought he was doing Darrel's a favor.
He eats devil eggs with hot peppers and he fa loud
thats why they call him Darrel's Devil. Darrel likes
the fellas egg's.
"A personal shout-out to our sponsors and their vapid articulations who made this message possible," ... by The Poet.
Poets and poetesses ascribe to a greater call,
in their endeavors to make their chosen path a cure-all
from those who trivialize and minimize their virtuous
field of poetry's righteous domain and their arduous
measures to maintain a certain quality in their works
of art, to the world of writers past and present, networks
that tethers a fragile grasp on absolutes discipline,
and severance from the mundane, effortless, and simpleton,
out from the left field, melodramatic, sugarcoating,
southpaws are unreasonable and consequently, nothing
our opponents that come out from the left field properly
have no concept of true value to offer poetry.
The cymbals create,
A mesmerizing sound
Reaching their brass highs
I sit listening to the blues come alive.
The music is guiding me,
Reminding me of sounds and sights
We've infused our vibes, our lives
In our tune's beat, making it sound all right!
I stroll down the streets,
I can hear the Musicians Nine
They're blowing into their tin horns
Enticing everyone around them to listen.
Tiny Foster is there:
Effortlessly strumming on his cords
Making enchanting melodies on his
Beat-nick guitar; he records.
People are passionately sitting,
They started reciting in their poetries
Speaking their lines in rhythmic rhymes
Talking in verse, laying out some lines.
Representing themselves profoundly with articulations,
In the beauty of prose, it was best that I mention
An atmosphere that leads on for hours, contemplations
You can get lost in it if you give in to an elongation.
anecdote
anciente
nobless
noted
in
a backward
glance
interpretive
high-minded
imaginings
portraying
the past
with
contemporary
airbrused
articulations
She had a brain injury of sorts,
not physical or mental. just elemental.
Now she speaks
in a language that has no beginning nor end.
She speaks from a Fountain, a Wellspring.
Out pours the bewildering and the inexplicable,
words never found or lost
an idiom that passes all logical understanding
but can be grasped only on the wing.
An ephemeral argot,
flickering like a single Mayfly
in a tempest of vying articulations.
Her speech is beautiful even when ugly,
it is poetry.
They keep asking her to slow down
but she is way ahead of them -
she always will be.
No matter where you are
you are with Him for ever;
no matter how far you travel
it is His distance – all matter
and spirit, the substance of
His being.
No matter how fast you run,
it is His pace and tracks;
no matter how quiet your mind,
he hears the stirrings within
our silence, those soundless
articulations, before the words,
our preludes to delineation –
No matter how deeply or shallowly
we breathe...He knows our limitless
capacity~nurturing, healing,
awakening us to live fully and outright
the sum of all His passions realized,
purified and exalted to their highest
forms of manifest-expression –
After all will be said and done, Love is everything....
It was the work of her hands
that gave flesh to her speech;
her persona made vocal.
Gestures were needle-point,
stitching words into sound.
She talked with the eloquence
of quick speaking fingers,
with hands that emphasized,
underlined, swept away, challenged,
motioned, mentioned,
mollified, mimed, beckoned,
warned and added warmth to her words.
Her hands sewing and patching together
articulations for
the far-sighted and for muted ears.
It was the work of her hands
that gave flesh to her speech;
her persona made vocal.
Gestures were needle-point,
stitching words into sound.
She talked with the eloquence
of quick speaking fingers,
with hands that emphasized,
underlined, swept away, challenged,
motioned, mentioned,
mollified, mimed, beckoned,
warned and added warmth to her words.
Her hands sewing and patching together
articulations for
the far-sighted and for muted ears.
It was the work of her hands
that gave flesh to her speech;
her persona made vocal.
Gestures were needle-point,
stitching words into sound.
She talked with the eloquence
of quick speaking fingers,
with hands that emphasized,
underlined, swept away, challenged,
motioned, mentioned,
mollified, mimed, beckoned,
warned and added warmth to her words.
Her hands sewing and patching together
articulations for
the far-sighted and for muted ears.
It was the work of her hands
that gave flesh to her speech;
her persona made vocal.
Gestures were needle-point,
stitching words into sound.
She talked with the eloquence
of quick speaking fingers,
with hands that emphasized,
underlined, swept away, challenged,
motioned, mentioned,
mollified, mimed, beckoned,
warned and added warmth to her words.
Her hands sewing and patching together
articulations for
the far-sighted and for muted ears.
It was the work of her hands
that gave flesh to her speech;
her persona made vocal.
Gestures were needle-point,
stitching words into sound.
She talked with the eloquence
of quick speaking fingers,
with hands that emphasized,
underlined, swept away, challenged,
motioned, mentioned,
mollified, mimed, beckoned,
warned and added warmth to her words.
Her hands sewing and patching together
articulations for
the far-sighted and for muted ears.
Poetry is not the
manipulation of lyrics,
as the mechanic tunes
to sound using ears – but,
deeper yet, vital articulations,
the spirit manifesting its
vibrations (essence-forms)
onto paper, for the eyes
to read and the mind to
soulfully respond. Poetry
must electrify, surge across
interior meridians, leaping
established barriers prior
to explosively exiting!
Poetry must carry the
nature of all that is
unseen, pleading to
surface, to know the love
and warmth of others,
as a child needing
weaning and burping –
poetry is not an art...
It is our God of Living
Words.
The body-personal will be achieving little today.
Today is a too tight T-shirt.
Bloat and insomnia
have measured and found soft round toads
croaking in the swamp of being.
There are squawky
oral articulations in dry joints.
A fate has made its presence known
revealing pre-set mousetraps
strewn upon the path of well laid plans;
it warns obliquely of dentures mechanically
nibbling on stale cheese.
Knowing the hours will belch
and empty-out air that could have
breathed new life into words,
Perceiving that chattering mind-children
will cross the distracted mind
without a crossing guard,
be bowled over, squashed, spread
over neural highways,
their scant electric membranes
dissolving and denuded
leaving a sticky residue
over the body personal...
then that body
must retire and regroup
into a proto-cognizance,
a glow of phosphorescence
too primal to be snared,
yet able to predict
when it can get out of itself -
hopefully.
Sub Categories
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