It’s blasphemy for the half ashy to try and blast on me-n-my family/
Fits about brass class for free from that lasting Gee/
A ghastly last plea is all I’d need for a decree to decrease or desecrate/
I’ll diss a crate of hate with what I integrate and create/
Fate did initiate a wait to anticipate the plate with a faint taint and I’d dissociate
The phase we’d taste may have been a graze and raid/
It’ll stay and abase their grave base they blazed/
Fiddle away a trace to appear like zany raves/
Little to say the way his faith’s light is a conclave/
He prays every day for grace to pave a bomb wave/
Delay no more and move forward with your higher courage/
Away I’ll store her more oranges to ravish/
Fly high for yours and theirs as you’re a rad fish/
Plan and pour an attack dish like a bad wish/
A span sore and sad but a serene swish/
Send a band to bore and stand up to ceilings amiss
I am much aware of the previous records you read
Both bearing my mark and my seal
Carried no good, stocked with vile and deceit
But I urge you brothers and sisters
To think harder, coz I’ve been penning for your good
Whatever that spooned you, whichever way you were spooked,
Am back in a new hood
With goodies deep in my cortex, ready to vortex
Complex truth into digestible pieces
Thousand papers and folders, all addressed in
Love, sincerity and in peace
I am conversant with my said forced sense
Out of baseless and disarrayed script
I bear this title out of personal merit
Coz I waited for their approval and credit
And dismayed I was by their verdict
Thousand mistakes recalled in my name
The scandalous seat that I chose to tame
Some said by default, some by floating innuendo
But self-conclave justified my crescendo
Your commitment to my letters
Will my critics’ faction clear
As dignity I behest, all the hiatus I’ll bridge
To just overt my intentions and loud scream my point
That my penning is not by simony
But morphing from Real to Pope Benedict
Perfidious infamy
Designs derogatory
Promotion of anti-culture
Nomenclatural delinquency
Advance ultimate heresy
Sub-humanic conclave
Intentions for a world grave
Noisesome clutch of vultures.
©Joe Maverick 7-6-2022
I was interested in what will happen.
In the endmost fate of this debilitating dimness.
An insightful major established man advised me:
It will be a time when one's destiny will be entwined.
Traditions and elderly people are no longer honored.
Poorer families will be vying to pay for food and need.
Individuals who are dumb yet rich will become educated.
All earth lose the propensity to characterize what has occurred.
Individuals talents come from a lack of accessible record.
Everyday food and service prices drastically skyrocketed.
There is no fuel or cars, and all freshwater has receded.
Audacious ascension to the foolhardy conclave held
What would we expect from this cutting-edge time period?
I skipped a rock across the river
it came back in a wave.
It pounded into gravel upon now
the roads are paved.
Used to build and stake a claim
of my home enclaved.
As upon it My name to write
everlasting to engrave.
To comfort and protect many lives
to live and save.
To join the host of all the lands in
peaceful conclave.
Used to fight for our freedoms,
not to rule or enslave
In Respect of all the perils not
forgotten nor forgave.
To honor our forefathers who all
stand now ungraved.
Deciding are we to be industrial
or are we to be brave.
Whom can say with rocks in hand,
how are we to behave?
w042020
{This writing is inspired by the quote "if life gives you lemons make lemonade". So, if life gives you rocks... I see a picture of one skipping rocks, I see a picture of one throwing rocks}.
Rongali bihu
Rong cascading down
the days around April fifteenth
jotted over the almanac
(Rong bihu or Rongali bihu, the Assamese gala)
luring New Year for the Assamese peeps and their culture
Rong gleaned from Vishuvam - the Sanskrit word
Rong elucidates vernal equinox
Rong typifies joy
like lovers discreetly conclave in the cavern
when two bodies melded with one soul
Rong caught a whiff of fresh kopou phool perfume - Foxtail Orchid or Dove Flower
Rong is humble abode of the shameless parasites Cuckoo
enduring the rythym of Assamese peeps and their culture
Rong is the dance of life
Rong is the food celebration
Rong is the offspring of love and happiness
#and in background, I can hear my beloved 80's hit song - 'O Xun Toradoi Nasaba Morom Lagakoi' (O My Dear Beloved Don't Stare Adorably) ...
From the carnival circle race goes off the course
the vintage carousel of bobbing corralled horse,
galloping skyward from the field of fiesta fair
through the music of wind jingling everywhere.
With teen fantasy on ornate steed out of chain,
he holds the rein in the strands of ebon mane,
canters up above the spire of the castle in the air,
far from the meandering rivers on the land bare.
In sprightly strides his reverie climbs the space high
to the conclave of clouds caressing the satin sky.
Returning after merrily going round the land of fairy,
on the carousel of life all his dreams he’ll carry.
April 5, 2020
Contest : Carousel Picture Prompt
Sponsor : Eve Roper
WE ARE IN NIAGARA FALLS WHERE WATER IS ABUNDANT AND COOL
AS THE SUN GLINTS ATOP ITS SMOOTH CASCADE WE IMAGINE US AS
BIRDS , WATCHING FROM ABOVE. AS THE MIST SPLASHES OUR WINGS,
WE FLY AND CIRCLE AROUND THE BEAUTIFUL WATER FALL. (BREATHE)
SWIFT AS THE WIND WE GLIDE DOWN AND JOIN WATER AS IT DRAPES
OVER THE LAND AND POURS OUT INTO THE GENTLE POOL OF WELLNESS.
GIVING BIRTH TO OUR EYES , OUR SENSES FEEL REFRESHED AND COOL TO
THE TOUCH. (BREATHE)
AS EVENING FALLS LIKE A VELVET CURTAIN, WE PERCH ON AN IRON RAILING
TO LISTEN TO THE FOAMY WHITE NOISE THAT GURGLES AND POURS FROM
THE TOP OF A MISTY GRANDEUR. ITS GOD'S GREAT WATERFALL AND WE
CAN HEAR HIS CALL , HERE IN THE GREAT NIAGARA.
WE TRADE IN OUR WINGS FOR YELLOW RAINCOATS AND WE WALK THE
PATH BENEATH THE FALLS, LETTING THE SOUND OF THE WATER FILL OUR
EARS AND DEEPEN OUR SENSES. (BREATHE)
WE STAND BY NIAGARA AND TAKE IN THE WATER RAPIDS AS THEY
REACH US. WE FEED OUR SOULS THE REFRESH AND PEACE IT NEEDS.
THROUGH THE HOLY WELLS WE ENTER THE CONCLAVE OF THE GREAT
SAINTS AND WATER GODDESS OF THEIR TIME. QUENCHING EVERY
LONGING AND FINDING INNER PEACE ATLAST.
(blessings = ho'omaika'i)
.
At the table of wisdom
Knowledge will seek audience
Vassals rolls out of creek
Paying homage to understanding
Alas, unforeseen doom lurking
Doom, even for the enlightened
Patience the cure
Patience lead the realm
The conclave of the wise
The Sphere
a caged barbaric beast sat alone
the conclave of its hold to the darkest order
suffice to say it broke from its chains & walked at night
roaming the streets of Liverpool in vengeance for blood
long hanging viscous fangs that fright
dripping blood off side we hide
the torrents of water flowing from a nearby spring
a fare maiden waits on the edge of the lamp poll
out of curiosity she wanders away aimlessly into the street
in full view of the beast she stand motionless
words can't express her terrified thoughts sifting inside her
she bravely hold forth her sphere
violently glancing off the head of the beast
blackened death of screams come forth then disappears
a parting quest to put the beast to rest
was this all an illusion or a figment of imagination
She stands victorious with words expressed of joy
to carry on her wayward search into the night once again
a pillage of taunt residue sifting through the rubbish
only to use the sphere out of real need or necessity
A blaze of glory to a magical sphere
Such a heroic impulse saved the vast domain
I found the feelings freezer burned;
I never thought I would’ve turned,
But it’s a crazy world we’ve learned
And I just want to trust you.
Control my thoughts and curse the days
I contemplate my busy ways,
But you despise the holidays
And I just want to love you.
Suspicion with no heartbreak;
Submission just for my sake;
Salutations, desperation;
I have not the will to fly.
Lost in my own scenarios,
I’m going crazy, no one knows.
We’re bound by our heavy souls,
And I’ll drown so you’ll love me.
This saying might just keep me sane:
“In the eye of the hurricane
There’s quiet,” I’ll feel no more pain?
And you’ve died just to stop me.
It’s time for our conclave.
Undress me and I’ll be brave.
So tell me just one little thing:
Do I die for love today?
Why Dogs Sniff Behinds
By Elton Camp
All dogs very long ago, a meeting did call
Each hung his behind on a peg on the wall
The conclave was going along pretty well
When a passing cat the canines did smell
Desire to chase him created quite an uproar
And the pack of dogs rushed out of the door
First, each a behind proceeded to snatch
However, dogs and behinds didn’t match
But in their frenzy to chase the cat,
The pack of dogs forgot about that
But, from that confused day until this
Dogs, their own behinds do miss
They would know their own by a whiff
So that why they always continue to sniff
You say that this tale you don’t believe?
Surely you can’t think that I’d deceive!
The lady before me
Waltzes through my lane...
The air I breathe....
Mixes with her scent...
My exist-tense
Is fashioned around her
Day and night
I pawn around her lane
To smell her scent
She oozes an appeal..
That douses my medulla oblongata
What will I not give
To be with her if just for a day
I want more...
But I fear she wants less
The vultures envelope her
Like a conclave....
She wants to break free
I memorized my scripts
Dug out from the crypt
...Alas..the rule book fails
I stepped up my gear
To be in the clear
But am still in the dark
What to say is beyond me
What to do is unknown to me
She has the key
She pulls the strings
A tale of two cities
Just my luck...
2.
The Light Returns
I feel myself oh so slowly rise
Through the Abysmal black of surgical sleep
Wakening, drawn to the distant sound
Of my own moans.
When my lids flutter back
Sight is rewarded with the prescence of all my Beloveds
Gathered in conclave 'round my I.C.U. bed;
My travel-companion souls
Who bear the love and light that leads my own.
The doctor enters bearing good tidings;
The beast within was found and slain,
Its loss complete
At the sacrifice of nearly the whole of my stomach.
So I lay grateful and gutted,
Though within it felt like the aftermath
Of worlds in collision.
A wreckage within;
When they make me rise for the first time the very next day,
I feel a slow tide of broken glass and metal
Fall in chaos through my new internal spaces.
Still, it's a lovely thing to be rising,
At all.
The lucid stereo vomits archetypes
For all ages. Primitive vengeance escapes into light,
Blanketing the fables spread upon pages,
Hushed voices commingle into a murmur of fright.
Unto goblets raised, we praise scoundrels
Whom were dined with gods who've since fell.
Deceiving seas of dumb, lame sheep,
Goats grow like flies on a dung heap.
Let pompous pricks switch and move grooves
To lose mishapen dreams and cumbersome sleuths.
Butterfly wings gummed underfoot
Expound plumes of debris and ashen soot.
May we not be trampled under the foot
Of beasts so truly gruesome and be put
Into castes and cubicles and tombs
Fated to a life of doom straight from the womb.
A sterile conclave situates itself within
Bogs and ghastly hogs with rotten vision.
Stomachs bloat with bread and wine,
Groveling shamelessly until the end of time.
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