They split the land, but not the pulse.
Roots remember what maps forget.
Every severed line still hums
with breath, with blood, with return.
They drew the map with ash and absence—
not to guide, but to erase.
Districts split like broken ribs,
each line a scalpel,
each vote a ghost.
We watched the ink dry on democracy’s skin,
while they called it strategy.
But we know the truth:
this is not representation.
It is redaction.
They called it strategy,
but we saw the autopsy.
Each district dissected,
each breath rerouted.
We do not consent to silence.
We are the roots beneath the fracture,
the pulse that refuses to be redacted.
We rise, not from permission—
but from memory.
A Mystery of Love
Who can understand. Why would a person
sacrifice himself in such a way. Spat on,
slapped, falsely accused, deprived of sleep,
given no food, unquenched thirst. Hauled
before Pilate the Roman governor. No guilt found
but crowd cried for Barabbas, a murderer and rebel, to
be freed. No guilt could Pilate find, but the throng
called for His crucifixion. Scourged by Roman whips,
hunks of flesh torn and blood flowing in rivulets.
Crown of thorn smashed down on His head, blood
streaming into His eyes. Purple robes of a false king
draped around His shoulders. Forced to carry the cross
beam of His cross until He collapsed. Hand forged spikes
driven into His wrists and ankles. Stripped naked and His
clothes gambled away. Hanging in the hot dry sun his parched
lips cooled by vinegar wine. He cried it is finished and gave up
the ghost. His side pierced by a Roman spear to make sure.
A mystery to me why anyone would allow this to happen.
The only answer has to be love. God loved us so much He gave His
only son to die for us. Only He would consent to this and His ways
are beyond our understanding. His life for ours.
A soul reaper dressed as a woman,
Invites my approach like a lady,
Lays her charming gaze on me,
Compelled by my lust for eternal rest,
I cannot resist to my temptation,
I consent, to my love, my death
Surprisingly the sides we choose
And pretend are for protection
Are designed to be dividing groups
Accepting large deceptions
So remind me please what I should do
Consent to all corrections
Far as I can see no lives improve
Except when on consensus
They try to keep each side aloof
Preventing our Ascension
Them trifling thieves inside their rooms
Assessing our contention
To oblige their need to hide the truth
Or address their dark intentions
Until we line the streets and decide to move
For a quest beyond convention
Spend a billion dollars to get the boss elected
Won't fix one of my problems unless it's cost effective
Like a termite eating willow oak, Herod felt empty.
Fear of the threat of dethroning Brim-filed abundantly
Could a little lamb invade the den of a lewd lion?
Could a rod of reed face the force of a pole of iron?
Like a mad monkey, Herod scattered fragile eggs and nests.
Troopers cut kids to pieces, pulling them from mothers' breasts.
Weeping and wailing tore the veils of the night of Ramah.
Who could consent to be consoled by Covert’s crude drama?
Wanting to know you, the unknown hero, they were born
Before seeing their hero face-to-face soon they were gone.
Had they seen you, their friend, wouldn't they have reviled Herod?
Was this why the coward, like a wounded jackal, worried?
Little humans, destined for eternity, were slaughtered
Wasn't this why roots and routes of law to love got altered?
I should've predicted the dilemma right from the start.
When you parked your car, sideways, across my heart.
Too far gone to see, too emotionally invested to care.
A gradoise illusion to your thousand yard stare.
Feelings of belonging whilst rejoicing in laughter.
My mind simply concocting a happily ever after.
The kick from your beauty internally ingrained.
Any fears and dubiety subsequently waned.
The flame burns alight but old scars remember.
What once shone so bright is now ash and ember.
Dreams of connection shot the nest and flew.
The circle has no end, producing suffering anew.
Validation and consent to toy with my emotions.
Like a child blowing bubbles or a witch making potions.
Conceding I play no part in the life that you chose.
I stare to the sea, that's why they call it the blues.
A wave washes over me, in a figurative way.
As I replay the conversation had on that last day.
Like a beautiful serpent, you hissed 'you should've been flattered'.
As you turned. Walked away. My love story shattered.
If there is one thing that everyone can probably consent to, it is that miracles are a rare occasion
There is certainly some truth when I encounter you
The person who brought magnificent changes into my existence
You who somehow managed to bestow life in my dead world
You who aided in mending the broken remains of my heart
You who when I yearn for death gave me the hope to fight
The world can direct all the insult and misery they wish but with you by my side I’m invincible
If miracles are a rare occasion then I must be the luckiest person
Because I have you in my existence
And I couldn’t be anymore happier
Oh ye the Man
Listen!!!! For the King’s palace has got burnt
The chiefs are being hypocrites
For the Queen is the source of the living,making the King looks mighty
Oh ye the Universe
Look!!! For you shall start a journey where you have no consent to start
And a journey where you have no Vision to stop
But a journey that consists of dried and fruitful Missions
Oh ye the seventh floor
Where thou shalt looked unto?
Should I Sblood to figure my comparative analysis and evolution of the Homos?
Oh ye the tiny waves
Listen!!!! For we shall create disperse and nightmares in the form of lucid dreams and hallucinations where the fears,tears and scars will be wild with a little road
Oh ye the Serpent
Do you really believe you’re the most beauty in the face of humans but ugly in the face of Holiness
Now here we laid our Truest
This world has gone bonkers! It’s struck down by woke
You look at a girl and she says she’s a bloke
And you dare not argue, you can’t disagree
For you just found out that ‘she’ stands up to pee
And if in a smooch you should dare risk a grope
Chances are good you will swing from a rope
For she might consent to that little bit more
But then you grab much more than you bargained for
Which prompts me to mention a Woke-type miscarriage
Which has intervened in the state of my marriage
My wife has left me for a lady called Millie
A beautiful girl with a much bigger willy
From side to side;
the smile of the morning sun,
and the cool of the midnight moon,
amidst the sparky stars.
I grin like a Cheshire cat.
as I seat underneath Divinity’s love for the globe;
the Soft breezes blow from odorous meadows
I get filled up with
nostalgic memories,
Oh! the good old days.
my dark brown eyes,
the dark youthful skin,
my frizzy youthful hair.
Everything retreated from me.
Oh! the good sweet old days,
Am now ancient,
My never ending epistemophilia and
wish to give the young people optimism.
my adaptability be exhume,
and live among the folk.
Change cannot be paused,
it’s an automatic,
it needs not your consent to transpire.
Wreathed in smiles,
about my then and now;
I go to slumber like
a bird singing on the tree.
I’ve tasted of life’s sweet wine.
I’m closer to fine than you’ll ever see,
and closer to fine than I’ll ever be.
The sky, earth, and sea – but surely not me,
this then is dimensional harmony.
The birds and creatures in the forest wild
are voices of nature, gentle and mild.
Not I, however, I am a mere child
and in unnatural state, I’m exiled.
In the waters where currents run deep,
there are fish that never consent to sleep.
They swim, dive, or across the reef they creep,
but at the last, they’re in the ocean’s keep.
Could all the planets burst out of align
and the moon and stars forget how to shine?
Would you then believe that truths to assign
are yours, but may lead to doubtful design?
Will you admit that in the world’s decline,
you cannot determine your fate or mine?
A clear hint that you’re now closer to fine,
and clearer still that you’re closer than I’m.
Enjoy the Hail Mary as an offering
Go ahead and just have a fling! :)
In His Image, you're not a "thing"
But a son or daughter of the King
Much sweeter than any flower in Spring
Consolation-- the Holy Spirit will bring!
In truer devotion to Jesus, your heart-- sing
& closer your heart --to Mary's-- cling
If you consent to one Hail Mary's Fling :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"The soul that loves Mary --
the Holy Spirit flings Himself
into that soul!" ~St. Montfort
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hail Mary, Full of Grace
the Lord is with you
Blessed are you among women
and blessed is the fruit of your womb
Jesus
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners now
and at the hour of our death
amen
Glowing heart grants consent to soul ascent
Living internally in tranquil calm
The first step is to be here now present
Glowing heart grants consent to soul ascent
Emptiness drawing in the bliss current
All our fears erased, by love’s healing balm
Glowing heart grants consent to soul ascent
Living internally in tranquil calm
02-April-2022
Knight to Queen’s Bishop three.
Knight to King’s Bishop six.
A long, thoughtful pause
Then a bloody melee
With all the usual pawns
Being slaughtered en passant.
The players consent to chop wood
Till Black strikes with his Rook
And thrusts an Arabian Mate
Past the Pale Queen’s tenderloin
Once her King had abandoned his castle
And found he’d gained no compensation.
Sleepers awake from baroque contemplations
Plucking G strings to a whiter shade
Of whatever fair Caïssa
Chooses to wear the day she weds.
It’s the way the game is played.
Love grants consent to warm embrace
Feel it’s tender appeal
Touch of innocence, divine grace
Love alone is real
Our innate aliveness
Entwines us with oneness
Pulse of God consciousness
Heart’s pure intent
Love grants consent
06-February-2022
Quietus
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