Lucifer: "If I am unable, to have a ritual with you before I shuffle off this mortal coil, I will make your communion with the oblivion as unseemly as possible, when I arrive."
Aurora: "should we deign, at least the moon sooths brightly, rapidly fading the horizon meanwhile grows voracious, veraciously blotting out these of kindred spirits shouldn't relent."
DR dragon: " the plaintive field is course and bracken ties me to the pumpkin sun and every fourth night each meld and create the harvest moon in which I blithely contrive."
PW 1: *silently crosses the foundry and springs into the well of sorrows*
---End of act IV---
.
'twere whut she
call'd it
az mine
'tward
center
'bove feet's
mine
kneez
'top thuh white sandz
hern point'd
blithely
apprize'n hernself
subject'n sequester'n
subjugate'n
mine stick's
walk'n
crutch
In the majestic mist—of a mountain’s dawn;
In the gray haze of fog, soon to move along.
Below smoky drifts, canopies, and the wind.
Below, the raven’s wings, and the perch he sits.
Bird’s eye view, gazing, gawking; blithely spying.
Yearnfully, yet, no eagerness for showing.
Mellowing caws; buoyant—wake the harvest moon,
Of streams and time, do not both cascade on by?
Frolicsome and flashing; a true sight to see,
To harken the lone wolf’s motley midday howl;
With these Great Smoky Mountains now cleared away—
The raven soars above; stately valleys low.
A river lays still on a hush
Of edges mild in deepened blue;
Until her trail unfurls a change
As if to wake from rare debut.
Beneath the stars first dazzling rays
Old marbles glaze on hillsides green--
To roll like jewels down the coast
Embellishing her womb, serene.
Dazed by the fluidity of
This radiant bob...this duskfall thrill
Mutes my whispers as seashells play,
Requesting for a tide's refill.
River of dreams , linger a while
Where my bare heels might softly tread,
On waterdance and air-tossed quays
To where this heart is blithely led.
River Of Dreams by Matt Bianco 1999
Singer Billy Joel used the same title, a different song altogether
The lustrous perfume bottle
avec neck spritzer and bottom caudal
With hexing brio it holds her captive
Pure rapture is sexually attractive
A woman’s torso a glass statuette
dressed in a golden chic corset
An old hippy scarf suspends on the wall
Her ‘Eau De Joy’ is kitschy after all
Shimmies into mid-calf western boots
She rifles through sequined body suits
Last touches of an aromatic scent
she deems the fragrance extravagant
Lurid lemon zest smacks of old school
Blithely vivacious leads them a drool
Juicy sweet notes from cleavage to chin
A whirlwind of hazy mist he’s in
Wild at heart with beats that throttle
A burning desire from a perfume bottle
The young are prone to blithely say, “Time’s on my side,”
but youth’s no promise one will long on Earth abide.
“He died too soon,” we say beside a young one’s grave
and ponder why God opted not his life to save.
Those who have not achieved all they desire in life
sometimes blame others~~even God~~for pain and strife.
Let’s flip the coin. Are we convinced that we deserve
all blessings we receive? Do we have that much nerve?
God’s ways are not our ways; we cannot think like Him,*
but we must trust he doesn’t merely act on whim.
(*Isaiah 55:8)
His Word assures He loves us; this, we must believe
and have deep faith He’ll comfort us each time we grieve.
When we depart this shell of clay, we’ll clearly see
what we now view as through a glass dark as can be.”
(I Corin. 13:2, the Apostle Paul)
O’ Hell!…to step aside, to slink along
the new-found, unstrolled alley road
and leave behind a heavy, long borne load—
Who would not, grinning, breathe a sigh of song?
InDeed, to risk the chances, Right or Wrong,
to journey off the main paths, tippy-toed,
and dare the dirty sidetracks, blithely rowed
by dank needles, gross junk,—who, but one strong?
Our dear protagonist has found himself—
entangled—in most embarrassing affairs.—
The Many chuck stones to shatter his glass
words—(Truths he’s thrown into the gaping gulf
of public opinion—)adorning now his airs
with the plumes of the aristocratic ass!
Can anyone accuse you of pretence?
Are you inflicting pain for pain’s own sake?
So little can be said in your defence –
Unless you have some argument to make,
Apart from spitting venom like a snake.
Less culpable than you are snakes, I swear:
They do their damage, blithely unaware.
You knew precisely when, and where, and whence –
Or if you’d rather, planned the steps to take,
Fomenting consciously this pestilence –
You find my words too grand? You’ve got brain-ache?
Okay, let’s say you knew which bough to shake.
Unmitigated mayhem, deep despair
Results in calm. Today, there’s nothing there.
Considered as a love, it was immense.
Regarded as a person, you’re a fake.
Unusually, passionate, intense?
Exactly. So much bitterer the break.
Love blinded me. The thing was my mistake.
The fault was yours, of course. But, to be fair,
You’re not a psychopath. You just don’t care.
"Out to Sea"
In the immediate times
we rush to consume it all
before it is all swallowed, and out it all comes salty,
like an Ocean pummelling our crumbling sures
eating away our solidarity
insouciantly the sandy impermanent escarpment caves in
on our gossamer dissolving world
and in the eye of the storm
in the middle of it all
for a small moment all is calm
while the catastrophes move blithely around us,
hitting us brashly like we’ve been hit on a caffeine high
we are simultaneously aware of time standing still and then,
the swift pull of a rug unceremoniously out beneath our feet
some strange gravity slides
towards that ridiculous prophecised inevitability
of kingdoms come and gone
we thought we knew everything
the truth is we were the dumb awake
knowing little of everything
and much of what mattered little
and all as one
we are drowned soundly, gladly,
like into an open-eyed baptismal grave
we are forever and ever
naked as a child
washed clean
out to sea
Candide Diderot. ‘25
On mild days in sun’s rays,
I relish observing Nature’s ways.
I watch squirrels playing tag
and puppies with tails that blithely wag.
Songbirds serenade from early to late.
My indoor chores will just have to wait!
Fine sketch
of that palace
simmering with passion,
blushed tale in chiaroscuro;
Demure,
soft lines that only two can see;
Blithely ever after,
that’s natural
shading.
Some say your words act as a balm
A fleet of sweet tidings
Sailing into a gray dawn.
With white sails riding
On the heels of a grand mast
That sways without invoking
A need for true ballast.
It seems as though your rage
That spars with mine among the waves
Has now chosen to disengage
From me among the graves...
Of sailors lost at sea
Displaced by blithely prying winds
And now what will become of me?
Whose multitude of sins
Imply that my veracity
Contends with your tenacity.
Some say your words act as a balm
A fleet of sweet tidings
Sailing into a gray dawn.
With white sails riding
On the heels of a grand mast
That sways without invoking
A need for true ballast.
It seems as though your rage
That spars with mine among the waves
Has now chosen to disengage
From me among the graves...
Of sailors lost at sea
Displaced by blithely prying winds
And now what will become of me?
Whose multitude of sins
Imply that my veracity
Contends with your tenacity.
Pretty doctors
Two young female doctors dressed in white
wearing stereoscopes around their slim
necks as decorations, an accessory that
gave them charming dignity
Between them, looking at a computer
my name was there, they were talking
about my medical history
I tried to get a word in but was blithely
ignored, after all, I was the
patient, but my input went unheeded
They were happy with my recovery
As I packed my things and left, they were
still talking about my case
So many speak of ‘our democracy’
though it seems representatives resent us
They blithely vote for their party’s agenda
then when questioned, they act nonplussed
We keep electing the same ones over and over
the familiar’s more comfortable than the unknown
So much ‘for the people’ in ‘our democracy’
~ who don’t really deserve it, you see
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