What’s happening is clearly understood.
Apollo has one hand around her waist,
one predator, one quarry, interlaced.
He’s coming up behind her (which is good),
but she’s a tree (two lovers, getting wood!)
She’d rather change her state than be disgraced,
preferring to be chaste than to be chased.
She’s choosing abstinence, above life's blood.
Is love a trauma, to be undergone?
Arousal something ugly, to be faced?
Should Nature’s process be looked down upon?
The carnal act, a tactless lapse of taste?
Or might the thing be ardently embraced?
We, formless fragments, merging in The One?
Flowers and sex,
they bloom with natural instinct;
Flowers and sex,
pops of passion come off complex;
Perfume delicately distinct
with carnal scent forever inked;
Flowers and sex.
Who knows what the afterlife brings
Maybe it will unfold like sweetest dreams
Where the carnal cons of worldly existing
Brings the green gift of recovery
We loose our fleshly body as such
And gain a fuchsia freedom of so much
Perhaps we glide on colorful rainbows
Just before we meet with other souls
No body means no illness no pain
So much to grasp without limited brain
Empathy and love replace violet vanity
We become our best superpower the sanity
Open to the universe and it’s school
Teaching us to love other beings as we do
Love ourselves and our loved ones
Free spirits shooting towards the sun
The gift of recovery begins within
Our spiritual journey despite our sin
We can be at peace while growing again
Into our next calling riding blue wind
Flesh and blood cannot
Bequest the Kingdom of God,
The soul suffer that.
I'll burn like scotch at the back of your throat,
A smoldering ember, a fire that's remote.
But amidst the flames, I'll taste as sweet as honey,
An intoxicating elixir, a craving hard to deny.
An aphrodisiac, I'll be, a desire you can't suppress,
Drawing you in, a captivating caress.
You'll yearn for more, unable to get enough,
Lost in the sensations, in a whirlwind of rough.
Like the sweet nectar of passion, I'll drip and glide,
Leaving a trail of longing, impossible to hide.
And as your lips trace the path I've traced before,
You'll savor the moments, forever craving more.
With every sip, with every touch, the spell will grow,
An addiction to the ecstasy, an allure hard to outgrow.
I'll be the scotch that burns, yet the honey that soothes,
A taste you'll relish, a potion that consumes.
"Oh, Mr Flesh! Thou art a skilled warrior!
Only the truly truthful and broken soul can discern thy arts."
"Oh, thou most cunning! Cancerous entity!
To whom it is given to escape thee, is accounted most fortunate!"
"Oh pleasant plague! Sweetly, deadly poison!
Many great and mighty, fallen to thy bewitching wiles!"
"Oh malignant tumor! Subtlety at its finest!
Thy cunningly obscure traps entangles the swiftest of feet!"
"Oh beautiful prison! Keeping men in blissful death!
Happy we are for escaping, and happier are we for those who hereafter will!"
Man suffers in life
because he takes
so seriously, what
the gods created
for fun.
He's entangled in
his own carnal desires,
which keeps him in bondage,
unable to progress his soul.
Life is a merry go round
and earth is the playground.
Where man can be amused by
his carnal desires, achievements,
enjoyment, social status
and his ego.
Man became a lover
and slave to these things.
Which brought upon
himself, his own greed
and suffering.
Forgetting where he came from,
how he got here, and
where to go after his
game is over.
Man must be stripped
from his name, career,
possessions, and his personality
in order to find his individuality.
Without ever knowing this,
he will always be the cause
of his own suffering.
He must detach from
his mortal self and return
formless back to the light,
from which he came from.
her body lines,
the smooth curves,
turments my words,
hunts my dreams,
disturbs my blood,
and puts my body on fire,
makes me the slave
of my own desire.
Death is but the moment of transition from carnal to spiritual life!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 October 2022
For the life of me, and others all
How did people, heed that call?
Who cry; that faith in Christ if blind?
Would hamper freedom/choice of mind.'
Yet sonorous blasts on death and gloom
Were watched piecemeal in every room
So many put such, faith in flesh '
To me a challenge; although I'm blest '
Lord thank you for the others here
Who still, stand strong g'ainst pure fear.'
We know of honeyed lies, untruth
The graphic claims no depth, too uncouth'
And from their filth they call out still
Would you become a minion?
Can they break your will?
I oft wonder about thee
the flame that once shone bright
into mine life
Have thou been extinguished
by all the lies
spread by deviance for all to behold
Or have thy flourished
using deceit and manipulation
to fuel forward
Nary a thought
as to the carnage you leave behind
in the hearts of others
Tis I ponder
Andreas Simic©
I
I had big plans to fast and pray: Maundy Thursday
More prayer than fasting, while preparing slowly
For the evenings bible study, I a weak disciple
Neighbors played their competing loud music, as usual
Then I paused: discerning a yearning theme in the cacophony
II
One powerful female tenor seemed to address sky and space
In clarion calls, vagaries and varieties of love embodied vocally
I had dismissed music I did not find inspiring, until skilfully deployed
They made a case for a dignity, even universal honor, through loving
On Earth: we crave loyalty, human love, more than hell to avoid
In the garden was Carnal the Carrot Butler amidst corn.
There were bare remnants of fruit because of the crow.
Something red and plump was hiding under a leaf, forlorn.
He ran to retrieve it, and had a feast worthy of a show.
It was a perfect red strawberry, still full of water and taste.
Could not believe his eyes at the enormity of this beast!
He nearly dropped it off the serving tray in his haste.
Invited the neighbors and they had an incredible feast!
If love is blind, then what is carnal attraction?
Untuned fidelity can be quite the fatal distraction.
A novel connection conjoins souls between me and new.
What is a twisted nail but a substitute screw?
Taken inside the bowels
of bassoons,
tropical heat from
swelling bows.
Sweat labors the brow,
full with carnal dissonance.
The throat is lunged
by a beast
veiled in foliage.
Spewed in a mass of
broken pickaxes!
Kicked again into the
thunder of claws!
In flames of foundries
lost.
Becoming Roman Candles
opening across the night.
But drinking cool women
in the thaw of glaciers,
smoothing their oblong stones,
clear cleansed lemon lime oboes.
Naked bodies bloom.
Raced around a corner
at top speed,
the pounding of industry,
a worker in goggles
forging metal.
Without notice,
still mesmerized by fire,
in the belly of percussion,
paused
by a dawning pond of sullen fog,
a brief dream
shrouded in ungrasped riddles.
Sudden conductor realized
in the grass of tones,
using his baton as a machete.
On a distant hill
A shepherd beckons.
Animated, beclouded,
a restless crow in search,
a cinematic fade-out.
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