565.
Prayer for the 5th Commandment
Oh Father God, You have commanded us not to kill
This I must, this I do according to Your will
For You have created human beings according to Your image
Our life is sacred as well as our assemblage
Oh Jesus Christ, help me not to become a murderer
Help me consider my fellow a brother or a sister
To our Creator our likeness is likened
From our Creator our life is brightened
Oh Holy Spirit, let me not kill a human being
This is God's command, this is one good thing.
Amen.
-10/29/2017
(Dumarao)
*Prayer for the 10 Commandments
Souvenirs
nostalgic
heirloom
memorabilia
archived
muniments
prospectus
paraphernalia
posters
sequestered
Benefaction blight
twinkling trinket
tinged trophy
hoisted
himalayan style
melancholy monument
meteoric miniscule
flyby
verdant vestiges
viral vanish
Mayfly
transient
miscellany
evanescent
detritus
fugacious
snippets
antiquarian
bricolage
hodgepodge
Testament atrophied
gossamer gaudy
gazumping
languid lodger’s
meretricious milestone
culminated
artefact assemblage
bowdlerised bijou
moribund reticule
abecedarian
Marcescent abstract
mileage mocker
synthetic switch
unplugging
nomadic nonpareil
reminiscence’s
ineffable
ephemeron
aphoristic
aleatory
An assemblage of stones and grass
poses to reveal a canopy of clouds
trailing like petioles of luster beneath
my head, air-stroked by eve's approach.
I feel the hours passing wretchedly unhurried
as nimbus fog breathes of radiance,
not partly dim but like a tiara
warmly shimmering, glossing over its cape
in daring pink...transforming in a blink;
flare of haze bursting in the air.
Wondering if I should turn away from this dazzling
spectacle of colored skyfoam ,
I watch my body writhe in disgust, this soul raked
with discontent where the burden of beauty grates this skin :
Till cloudscape evanesces, reminding me of past anger
unfinished --which mirrors my autumnal haze,
lingering ... still.
An assemblage was held among fruit
to decide the best color of suit.
Apples and strawberries said,
"The best color must be red".
A banana said, "yellow is cute".
I am a loquacious, a storyteller of whimsy and woe
this poem is a jargogle of jumbling words
as I enter the forest to a cacophony of harsh sounds
oh, I often tend to be a gloomy crapehanger
and sometimes a fantasizer unable to distinguish
between fantasy and reality
escaping into the intricate world of poetry
it is a metamorphosis of a logophile word lover
oh, I am distracted by the wind in trees
and the rustling of leaves petrichor
and fall into an elysian state
it is an ephoria so intense with mellifluous feelings
sometimes I find myself in an assemblage of headstones
as I meander to the symphony of bird songs
as the darkness of death wraps around me
and the withered flowers are beautiful to behold
lost, lost in a reverie rhapsodic, unraveling words
and living in the moment, detached
The islands seem afloat in the sea
So have they been through the ages
Yet they have not gone on a journey
Even as they are bombarded with waves
When a tempestuous storm rage
They are anchored at the deepest level
At the bed of the ocean floor
Where mainland and island are stayed
And connected as one massive body
That is the generous, loving Mother Earth
Individual human beings are islands
In the vast sea of Infinite Expression
Discrete as we perceive them in vision
Yet firmly held as one great mass
At the deepest level of our origin
In the indescribable Cosmic Assemblage
Where there exist no iota of disparity
As it does happen with shallow humanity
Arise all ye chelas of the Truth
And embrace the verdure of your nature
Swirling my eyes around and ‘round
Into a pile of leaves,
I see my assemblage point swirl, too.
I'm looking back at me in a tornado of thoughts
Assembling the ground around below me,
My support system slips
And my conscience falters.
It looks as if the worlds on fire
In this pile of autism Nal autumnal artistry.
The mystical mandala of my mind,
Snatches up my spirit then takes me for a ride
Into the higher levels of consciousness
And some lowers too. I’m dizzy from the delusion.
Illusions on the exclusion of always being present.
And wander aimlessly into some dreamy delirium of nothingness.
I slip into something more comfortable.
Something more manageable.
Something, more me.
--------
Another streak of blazed discovery
tumbles upon this month's vanishing ember,
that I gaze at an abandoned coastline
washing off this season's tanned mist
with August dimming its flame:
An assemblage of blossoms poses to reveal its paling watercolor tips
bending like petioles of goodbye,
air- smoked by evening 's approach:
I feel the minutes pass in quick response...
where a different flavor breathes to
change the raw tempo pervading through
this season's reign, lusty and free--
Another cycle heralds a call, and yet
it cannot be the end of summer...
my heated fields are still aflame,
this mouth hungering for passion kisses on nights of fire--
The thrill of a sizzling landscape remains unfinished
when rosy summer lingers on my mind...still.
figures
of speech
cliched
retrospective
maxims
a repertoire
of snippets
a collage
of the impermanent
a
play filled
assemblage...
....inscribed
interaction
of parody and
sentiment..
all
in wordplay:
interspersed
&
crafted
with sensibilities
My feelings are mosaic,
scattered and multi-colored.
There is no set pattern in the artwork
and no meaning in each separate pane.
Only the whole surface memorable.
Each shard of broken mirror
reflects a parse of the whole.
When pieced together the total vision,
though tattered, comes into clearer focus.
Reflection, a study of the conscious.
Moments of time tell no tale.
Vignettes of a larger tome
monopolize space that holds no fullness,
no revelations of intensity,
dramatism, lyricism, poeticism.
I demand everywhereness,
unbound illimitedness.
Totality of my essentialism
wherein I exist in absoluteness.
my assemblage as a full complement.
Quanta on quanta. Wholeness.
Unequivocally me.
winter fog at dawn-
cobwebs shivver
necklaced to the hedge
against the sky
stark tree silhouettes -
arbor assemblage unveiled
The Pro Wrestling Tagboard
"The Opulent Show"
"he Show Assemblage"
The Pro Wrestling's Tagboard
featuring championship
and challenge series bouts
Contention, both score
and challenge.
Stats rewards for non titlist
seeking contention
Opulent and Assemblage
The Pro Wrestling Tagboard
Forte Adagio Tempere'
The Pro Wrestling Tagboard!
The American TopTen Song of Weeks 33--40
Challenged new Top Ten Song From Weeks
$1 to 47 for both
contention trophy and crown.
Said he was best and desevered
A championship. Cited his ablities as
means of accomplising the chore
ahead of him.
Oh ye who whisper's
might the words speak
it right
It sings in day
and comforts at night
It's real and realist
by morning it assures
it's labored to
refresh
and it is never ignored
We as one speak
sing
and talk
we reel to harvest
and
Wish to one anothers
thoughts
it's rightest
from devotion
a steady need for
one another
Love
my love
make all
things right
Baldaccrini aka Cesar
loved to crush the motor car
He made them into an assemblage
when giving them a title was all the rage
He records the works of his life, the ephemera
he once scrawled onto the tissue thin,
thinking them indelible blueprints.
Most were fables told to a dying legend,
Pastimes, that were chariot wheels
for his little red wagon.
He is an inventor of sorts, an engineer
of impossibilities.
He accumulates metallurgical oddments
for mechanical artifacts
that have no purpose or point;
contrivances with strange gears.
attachments that bolt on to
only missing parts.
They are pieces of an assemblage
made to represent an unknowable idea.
He structures these devises
on the leeched rims of endless visions.
His minds darkened workshops
flicker with the light of kerosene lamps.
He needs shadows and the gleam of
yet undreamed dreams,
he needs gaslight eyes
while shaping the formless.
Nuts, bolts, levers, and steam driven
small brass sprockets
for the calibration of improbable elements
are his articles of faith.
A life he once constructed
falls apart little by little.
He now searches for stronger,
less breakable mechanisms
to put together, no matter that they
serve no purpose, other than
to girder and frame
featherweight straws in the wind.
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