Best Soothsaying Poems
Her heartbeat echoes like a love moan in my mind,
summoning centuries of refined romanticism soulfully enshrined,
the contralto of her voice a fillatio upon the cock of my consciousness,
through her eyes I see that mystery is the Mistress of meaning beyond regress,
my manly mouth serenades & suckles the rosy pussy of her prophecy, homage cunnilingus,
revelations irresistible in their heretical invigorations excite our imaginations
as we fornicate a ferocious forsooth soothsaying love's reincarnations,
a vignette of virility forthcoming from fate's far side fortifications
presents a primal promise in paranormal inceptions,
Premonitions primitive in heart heat paint
streak the skin of our desire to design an indigenous heaven,
flesh tones warm fast and feral revealing a vitality of spirituality that tongues detonate,
the Universe blooms into a Multiverse as she spreads her spell of star spice scintillation
onto my ripened body rendering her rites fertile in rich freight,
within the brain's wildfire I feel her unction,
Becoming the shaman of our secret skin ceremony
I invoke the spirit of solar youth into veinage voracious for passion's patronage,
sanctifying the unifying lust between the bodily and ghostly unlicensed liberty,
shadow temple of temptation gives offering of blood and song from astral page,
death dream extremes fire hot ejaculation of divine vindication into cosmogony
as she and I have won our now with a win over age,
My Love Muse is more than a woman
she is a savage seduction and a sacred sweetness,
a Goddess of her own Cause...a lover known as Poetess,
her name changes from lifetime to lifetime, yet she is always beauty shown -
J.A.B.
oracles as purveyors of all destiny
what was holding hints of that which shall be
the reading of cards with colorful themes
journey of select stars not what it seems
direct result of some predestined scheme
all caught up in some dice thrower's dream
digging through entrails of what's always been
for many the way the future is seen
predictions soon become self-defining
soothsaying just a short step from lying
all an indication your life's preordained
whispered with straight face, little doubt, no shame
a human future cannot be amassed
while one is fully immersed in the past
It was wonderment.
The mesmerizing expression rolled off her tongue in waves.
To my puzzlement I was in a state of allurement.
Her vibes were sent to me in soothsaying proportions.
It was almost trickery, but I knew where I was going.
To the festivity that arose through great apprehension.
Thoughts intertwined with her perplexity.
Her magnetism pulled me into an eternal trance.
We floated into elation of bewilderment.
Bygone indifference; we are one.
You are my goddess; ravishing, statuesque radiance.
Purely beautiful with a beautiful mind, heart and soul to match.
To my amazement I found her within.
She was snuggled in my organism.
Wrapped up in all of my thoughts.
She was warm.
I was connected with my wizardry.
She brought out the magic in me.
It was a prophecy.
To be told; never old.
We are undead together and full of life.
We are everything and nothing and everything in between.
And we are an incantation of youth.
We are; limitless.
Nonesuch bewitchment nor black art or ill will.
This was love as we hither to the schism of bliss.
Away with all devilry; we roam galaxies of heavens.
I hold you in my hands like a dragonfly who lets me.
My dragon with fire that doesn't burn me.
My butterfly who can hold my weight.
My snow in the sea; my light in the haze.
My flowers in the dirt; my green in the concrete.
Sail through my eyes, past the smoke.
Bring me closer to another zenith.
Give me your endless sensual voodooism.
My muse I adore; forever more.
She has taken me to that statuesque radiance.
"The Hope Thieves"
Colours change chameleon fast
The Hope Thieves
steal dreams to make up
for their own lost lives and fast-draining
upside-down hour glass pasts
In their hearts a million silent cries
In their minds a million worlds collide
Lost, cunning and sly, they drink up pure essence of Hope and Trust
like blood sucking vampires patrolling the crowded underpasses and
the jungled overgrown potent gardens of trysting rose-glassed lovers and soothsaying sage-green poets
They exist as shadow people dark and full of shallow notes
In their lives a million reasons why
In their world all doors shut inside
They exist on the outside
Looking for the key to open their own home doors wide
Lost husbands and brides, petulant, deriding The Others,
Ghosts of romantic scribes finding freedom in wide open Blue Skies
The Hope Thieves
steal dreams to make up
for their own lost lives
Colours change chameleon fast
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/rQiyyoLF05A
Emika/Take Me for a Ride
“Becoming a vampire means completely changing your identity.”
https://youtu.be/jG6s7W9yG_c
Emika/Mouth to Mouth
“The strength of the vampire is that people will not believe in him.”
Ordinary man in Africa
deals in magic, herbs, soothsaying
Very important person
deals in guns, bombs, wars
who is greater in destruction?
Ordinary man in Africa talks
proverbs, riddles, poetry, sagas
Very important person talks
English, French, Arabic, Chinese
Who’s more African?
Ordinary man in Africa eats
from nature- water, jungles, gardens
Very important person eats
from the state- taxes, sectors, trade, public service
Who is more patriotic?
Ordinary man in Africa
lives within nature- relatives, strangers, In-laws
Very important person lives in concrete walls
and with dogs, cats, toys, selected persons
Who is more communitarian?
We love to hear an echo, resounding and abounding,
reverberating our words off walls and harbingers,
replaying and soothsaying our views and opinions.
We seek the places and spaces, and company within earshot
of what we want to hear, filtered in subtle ways
to sound like something new and fresh
repeated over and over again, rejigged and re-rigged.
'Coo-ee', 'coo-ee' we cry!
Is there anyone out there,
who cares to hear us, beyond our
obsession with seeing ourselves
echo-reversed in the mirror?
But, even this mirror-echo is an illusion because
the mirror swaps front and back, not left and right.
We filter the image to perceive the reflection as a person
standing facing us, looking back.
So even the mirror's echo is bent
into the way we want reality to be filtered.
We've overheard some learn-ed men
dismiss as myth evil and sin.
Of Hell and grave they have no fear,
explaining all there is is here.
Yet those from ages long ago
believed that things weren’t just quite so.
Priests and seers, shamans and all
calmed many souls cursed in the Fall
with spells, charms, and often praying,
through prophecies or soothsaying.
Still every tongue that man can speak
has words that make his heart grow weak.
For modern prophet know-it-alls,
PhD’s behind ivy walls,
when they scream out, “Who’s there?” in fear,
We whisper, “Ideomotor” in their ear.
Ghosthunters and Spriritualists Premier Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kevin Shaw
Date: 10/6/2018
2nd place
Sambractia, a tidy blue soothsaying witch with a “hey hey hey”
startled October’s aged north wind as she went about her great day
A whole lot of debris and garbage blew against her in a weird way
which made her familiar cat laugh as he hid down deep in the hay
“Come out of that hole!” Yelled the witch, the cat turned dour and gray.
He knew he might be losing one of his nine lives that fateful Tuesday.
The holidays are history and winter settles in with
its pain-in-the-rear wind chill; a light covering
of snow finally brightens the mood for a day or two
until it’s washed away by rain. The sump is broken and the
north end of the basement floods.
The overdue heating bill on the desk screams at me,
telepathically, for attention; a red circle on the
calendar says a check is coming and my crusty eyes
begin to widen. But since it’s already been spent,
they quickly narrow and re-crust.
The soothsaying marmot sees no shadow, and my mood
stays low as the thermostat stays high; hey folks:
it’s February and things are supposed to get warmer,
right? Pitchers and catchers report, but I’m not there,
so I might as well be in Helsinki.
Things should get better in March, but we’re greeted
by a mother of blizzards; however, the next day it warms
and snow drifts disappear like vanilla ice cream on hot
pie. By six-thirty, the sun still hasn’t set. Sump’s still broken,
but I have wide eyes and a smile.
Why do you keep up this ambiance? I asked Sadie.
Her house was a Bohemian’s catchall place.
A cobweb full of delightful piles and paints.
Half finished canvases, beautiful embroidered scarves.
See? She is not a witch, I told my persnickety girlfriend.
Ooh! She said. “Is that a cobweb?” It was; inside the house.
Sadie brought in the tea kettle and mentioned Earl Gray.
My girlfriend ran off screaming, due to the kettle’s teeth.
I love things that are whimsical and fun; so, I stayed.
Sharing a delightful afternoon with a recluse who is hilarious.
I went back many more times; but did not convey it to others.
Sadie liked her reputation as the neighborhood witch.
It goes along with my rune readings and my soothsaying.
She taught me this, palmistry and how to read auras.
You have the gift of second sight, she told me.
You knew your friend would run out screaming.
I could not deny it. I knew that she knew that I knew.
I was now smiling as widely as her crazy teapot.
Sadie was my best teacher; I was proud to know her.
We still commune, even though she is beyond the veil.
Solemnness craves a giddy smile to pass through the day.
Soothsaying speaks in colors of grey.
Dreams become words through sunsets & moons.
While solitude brings thunderstorms of lightening & gloom.
Orangutan mama had more babies than most.
She had twins, a premonition given to her in the form of a ghost.
Why two? She asked, concerned it would not be fair.
But the soothsaying spirit disappeared into air.
Orangutan mama loved her twins now of course.
She was fortunate to have two, but one ate like a horse.
She knew he was going to be much larger than his sis.
She loved them to pieces, her Little Mister and Miss.