Best Apocryphal Poems
"The Clementine"
for the plucking,
the Clementine
leaves were fresher back then
the light glistened stronger
each segment a morsel
a revision slow and deliberate
transcribed by Jerome
gates to be opened
and consumed
in latin passages
verdi vulgate ancient fruit
before the modern world
the meaning lost
for those lost
between orchards
of words, opened
before
the greater great war,
a harvest, the Q source
strange language
strange stories
some found
apocryphal,
the hidden
didymos Thomas,
buried by strict canons
revealed untrue
in that strange winter
the orchards
were all burned
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
apocryphal. Adjective
apocrypha. Noun
didymos/Greek, meaning.
Q Source
Thomas
Jerome
I had the worst terrors last night
My mind was in a gruesome sight
The ‘ol apocryphal scene
Insighted by the new regime
Migration bill stirs fear among
Farmworkers chant that It’s Wrong!
Phone app saves Honduran journalist
Can’t go back she’s on their death list
Can’t walk ‘n get food without stress
ICE is cold, enforcing arrests
Or anywhere, nonetheless
For a green card is meaningless
Now a tourist destination
Gaza's newest sensation
Take over plans for a Riviera
Palestine people’s tierra*
Taken; territory sovereign
New rich owner YOU ONLY gain
Who be the beneficiaries
Billionaire contemporaries
For undoence he’s called a hero
Those sacrificed their life for, zero
Those fought for everyone’s freedom
In vain forgotten in this new kingdom
Unbeknownst me how it plays out
Living in the USA, peace-out
Genial to avoid confrontation
Baseborn kind, complaisant character
A spurious recital, a cheap imitation
Apocryphal mind, and comical creations
Counterfeited Christ
An unholy effusion
Sons of Belial
Clutch arcane knowledge
Esoteric information
Delve into oracular verse.
Deadened faith
Recondite belief denuded denials
Portentous and abstruse
Divested of the truth
Desolate road
Traveled day after day
Seriatim in miles
Strangled in hyperbole
Hypothetical noose
Cheaply loose
Tightening
methodically
Suicidal salvation
Covertly clandestine
Do what art wilt
Deliver the chosen
indoctrinate guilt
Derision to the destined
To learn love over hate
Adoration to inculcate
Imbue their sick lessons.
I have seen the pretentious woman residing within my minds hologram….
She believes herself to be a wise messiah…
She teaches her apocryphal beliefs to other seekers…
She has deep roots of stubborn illusions planted within her intentions…
She teaches to be revered actually living with great fear…
She wants to be loved, her demise being forcing her will of fear…
She consumes shots of green gel calling it her breath of life…
The divine grandmother challenged the false inner profits message…
Enraging her with threats of revealing to me real truth…
She chanted, pounded her mislead fists together, manifesting a sword of crystal and light…
Piercing through her own throat refusing to evolve her beliefs…
Creating again all of her low vibration grief…
Why is she here covering her veil of confusion over my eyes?
Preventing me from believing the light of oneness god exists…
Why does she desire to create suffering within the temple?
What is her mission’s purpose?
Working for the Cabal; a mental program construct of peace destruction…
Consumed with greed and power wishing to feel divine…
Poisoning everyone from birth with this tainted sour wine…
I banish you…
You scared old stubborn crow…
I swim within my god’s love light of truth…
So take your pathetic self and go…
Go to the white light, transforming your tyranny within my being into delight…
Apocryphal embellishments of
a non-canonical secret society,
teeming amidst a dubious
enterprising authenticity,
exposure's excessed stormy decay of
tormented poet's crushing blows,
ego's wild oats fruitlessly sown
rampaged rush to save their own flesh,
poesy's wildflower blooms wilted
under acid rein's torridity of seduction,
hence poetry's infertile demise unto
dusty shelves' apathetic surrender
Maybe you shouldn't send the letter
Argued counsel in my head
But the moral compass pointed
Toward transparency instead
I have always walked the straight path
From the time I was a boy
To the noble and the righteous
Revelation brings but joy
There's no gangster or homemaker
President or CEO
That is going to subvert justice
Not while I am on patrol
Now the careless and the reckless
Not necessarily a crime
To you I'll give a warning
Do not cross me one more time
Like apocryphal Washington
If it's a lie I cannot tell
Inclusive of the truth withholding
It is I who sounds the bell
There is too much information
Some is fresh and some is not
I'll call an investigation
And we'll find out what is what
Maybe I overreacted
Turns out there's nothing to see
Let us have it all redacted
This revolution's not on me
January 13, 2017
Surfing You Tube, I come upon
“Til The World Ends” by
Three Dog Night. It was a lesser
hit of theirs from 1975, but
it always reminded me of you,
and that time we were
going to up to Lake Erie
between semesters.
I’d squandered my summer steel
mill cash on Black Russians,
and was nebulous about the trip
in a nimbus way. So, when you asked
me if it was about the money,
that night on my grandfather’s
front porch swing
---of course, it wasn’t---
So, we went to Lake Erie
for the time of our untold lives.
I can evoke “The Return of the Pink
Panther”, a yellow hair dryer,
and waking up from a particular nap.
But, given our model of
discourse, it is not
surprising that we didn’t
attain the apocryphal It
--despite our subsequent
engagement—
And that’s because life
is a business,
and we were a lemonade stand.
All of which is a cul de sac
looping back to those
three dog nights, which is an Eskimo
expression, some say, long before
Eli’s Coming, and Joy to the World,
referring to those coldest of nights
when it took three dogs on the bed to keep
us...and them... from freezing---
Symbiosis---to employ a more scientific
term where poetry doesn’t apply anymore.
“Til the World Ends” cracked the
Top 40 to number 32, the Dog’s
last hop upon the mattress. But
those soaring falsetto peals
on the fade out....Oh yes, that’s it.
How does the soul enter Heaven?
Through ways, I believe, that are dark and effervescent,
For the soul, a thing of light and solemnity,
must cross through its opposites in anonymity
Controversial though my ideas are, according to the apocryphal biblical texts which some take too far, I believe this must be true
Life is a sojourn of symmetry,
A cyclical process of repetitious histories
We rise and begin as do we fall and end.
These are my beliefs on how the soul enters heaven.
Here I am
Opening a new finesse
Creating a rapport of mercurial genre
From nadir to zenith
I never thought the labyrinthine of searching would never end
The demise of one long ago
Propinquity would never come close
Yet amidst a facade
A reprieve
In the quintessence silence I can breathe
Savior faire becomes poignant
As the genesis holds out its hand
Showing a viable paradigm of which I can now stand
A liaison from utopian will always emanate with levity
That's incongruous
It is esoteric and simultaneously profound
The eyes are opaque
Plausible to deduce by an epitome using extraneous cliches
There is a diaphanous window of not mundane deference
Containing altruism
Adopting protean as a force
Ignoring platitude on a plate of empathy
Fires of cajole
Follow the paragon
They bring inimical hubris and footsteps in nuance
Flames of apocryphal are flamboyant to a naive soul
By Christy Teas
I give my life to the wind; to
the fossils, the spirit, and the earth.
I leave my thoughts to the termites that
linger beneath the sod, to the falcon in the
firmament, and to the animals that mate on
our planet floor.
To my mother: a word and a prayer.
I sew my being to her cosmos.
I am the planet, the weed, the bird, the
antelope, and the babe begotten by
Mother Nature.
To nature: I speak from naked thoughts — with
a primal mind and a void conscience. With
bare feet I tread — without cause or reason.
For loneliness is futile when corn sprout and
birds wait for harvest.
The harvest is within: like tubers within the
earth, like the mammoth decayed within the
grave, like my heart shelved within my ribs.
I leave the rib, the garment, and my lance to
the vultures and the sparrows of the Amazon.
To the crowd: I commit a dirge.
I take the hymn, the flute, and the lyric from
dead men, from monsters, from skirmished souls and
demigods raving in isolation.
To the bird, I commit a song; the seer, a
revelation; to the eagle, the eyes of an owl, the
Iguana, talons, and to my unborn child, a crown.
To this voice, I write an echo; the heavens, I
weave wonder; the gods, I commune with
contrite words.
And to poetry, I leave my soul.
If you a seeking for trust?
Behold deep within your inner self.
Prisoner in a castle called chest.
Captive in a chamber that's blood red.
Bound by shackles of impure deeds.
Whose jagged edges have defiled.
The basic definition of humane kind.
She is the love child of hope and charity.
Apocryphal gospel preached by demigods.
Inundating the analytical mind.
Begetting a cesspool of Discrimination.
Love has lost its sanctity.
Valentine is what they say to their valentines to describe,
The enchanting heart's whisper, how much they are special to them.
Nevertheless, I fell sick, to be exact, not in the ocean of my lover's love.
Astonishingly, the lover is what I mentioned is not real just an apocryphal to be enough.
Dwelling in my mind from the dawn to the sweet kisses of night,
He is nothing just fictional, a creature of my imagination, only to ignite.
The day of fourteenth February, in which people celebrate the cherish of love,
Where I prefer to live in my room, with my lover in my head, no any reason found to shrug.
Hoping him to convert into reality, to create the world with me, I imagined,
But the reality is a curse to us, I'd rather enter the world, I create, nothing to be tangled.
I peer quite nervously about,
to wonder at the goings on,
how much of what is said,
is speculation on my part,
and how this dwelling rose,
from a clouded past milieu,
tales of the apocryphal I’d guess,
imagination stirred off course,
uncanny gothic motto purblind,
blue ink mist curtain veil stoke,
vivid mind’s black night visual,
amulet of congested fantasy,
macabre plot on the strain,
what surreal restlessness within,
dormant interregnum cast,
yet one seems drawn toward,
that dim lit swirling sight,
nest for midnight dervish,
and other brazen species,
dare I enter from afar,
perforce I court danger,
when nosey to a fault,
but therein lies the trap,
to be fascinated is one thing,
to stray beyond another,
why would one be so tempted,
by an entity with dark omens,
superstition is a term used,
to smear that which is unknown,
it is however justified,
when carefully used methinks,
a shrouded raven perched,
stoic, solemn sage as sentry,
ravens circulating chimney top,
symbolic ghost appearing numb,
somehow I cannot summon,
pluck up that innate gumption,
to confront a crippling fear,
before it duly swallows me,
now I feel driven without rein,
zany impulse at the whelm,
enigmatic pathway underfoot,
reluctant step a heavy booth lurch,
shattered eaves, torn leaves,
giant concrete slab tumble,
frail broken window smithereened,
taut ghoulish splinters glisten,
I dash against elemental angst,
when peeping warily into the void
ALL ALONE
Acerbic analysis awaits Annie.
Allies augment angrily against
Alicia’s apocryphal antithesis.
Authentication arrests all arguments.
11/26/2017
Alliteration Contest
All children of a lesser god,
Someone somewhere has spared the rod.
Disobedience led astray
Where iconoclast await to prey.
Apocryphal the unaware,
Their secrets juveniles don't share.
Subversive action that relies,
On innocence through child like eyes.
A fountain of all knowledge, yet
Corruption roams the internet.
Projecting images and sound,
Leaves immaturity spellbound.
And adolescents with stupidity,
Lured into vile iniquity.
Recriminations, who is to blame?
Those children taught to kill and maim,
Or radicals, wherever from,
Who leave misfits to plant the bomb.
4 / 9 / 2020.