Glory be unto God for dismal things
And woe betide men for all that glitters
For crisp love which one must first true cash find
For Adam who our world to Eve gifted
For humanoids that could birth and make wives
For Bob, Brown, and their LGBQT's
For lost Gen X and the newfound Gen Z
For Trump, Putin, their godfather Ares
For AI that numbed my hands and my brain
For nuclear or viral doomsday, I say
Glory be unto God for dismal things
And woe betide men for all that glitters.
When distant Sun rages, when Moon weeps,
they've seen beautiful Gaia sputter,
Mother Nature abhorring changes
inflicted by careless humanoids.
The surrounding celestial orbs
gape with wild wonder, with confusion,
uncomprehending the dying sight
when helpless Sun rages, when Moon weeps.
Moving like moonlight
I am the OG silver surfer
Fleshwalkers, Dry Guys, Land Livers,
Have been around for,
What, 300,000 years?
Try 20 million years.
We eat stingrays.
Literally. For breakfast.
I have a 360 degree field of vision.
What's directly in front of me?
Don't ask.
Listen, Humanoids,
I'm delivering this plea
To your nearest post office.
Luckily I found a stamp
With my photo on it.
The plea is:
We are different from the other sharks
(Uhh: other sharks don't use post offices)
And are undeserved of their
Ruthless, roguish, reputation.
Yes, we are younger
Than our arrow-headed brethren
(Just 400 million years younger.)
But our brains are bigger.
Evidenced by our lack of interest
In Walky-Talky interaction.
Check your stats.
Us Real Heads are considered
"Shy" among you. Right.
You wouldn't believe
The number of karaoke
Joints down here.
The moon now
Has dipped down
From the world of air
While the sun has made it's rise.
I'm starting to tan in the shallows
A tad too much for my taste.
Stay safe, sentient skin slickers!
I must be one my way now
At 20-25 miles per hour.
Angels are humanoids with bird- like wings.
Travel fast changing locations with swings.
They’re perceived as other worldly soul forms.
They guide and tell humans about His norms
They're messengers between God and mankind.
They discharge His orders that are defined.
They pull out negative power and heal.
We read about them with a lot of zeal
Angels reincarnate into cute girls.
Immaculate with pure hearts as white pearls
They carry legacy to grooms' houses
Connect the families as best spouses
They're the best managers and serve both ends.
Shower love and bliss with more dividends
They build lineage and family trees
Daughters! A family's real trustees
Christmas
What does it mean? The Birth of Jesus Christ for Christians
For the Christians, but not for all – drink, party, and more
Holiday, gift-giving, glittering illusions – where is the love?
Far, so far. Maybe He ran away and is afraid of people
Yes. No, oh no. We are the highest creatures! Humanoids!
Free will be given to the selfish ego, hmm; just our love
‘This is not true.’ Said Master. ‘Look around, don’t be rude.
So many people are helpful, their heart is open and pure,
Just be loveful, silent, friendly, honest, peaceful; comes love.’
Said Master. Yeah. Master is right—objective perfect mind.
‘Judge not, lest you be judged! Love your neighbor as yourself.’
Said Master. ‘And do not think always about yourself.’ Said Master
‘Blessed are the poor in spirit.’
Said Master
Yes, love is poor
Said Master
In my recommendation of my syncopation
Gathering of humanoids rhythmic sensations
copulation dramatization rescape Rufus reggae beats
Ginuwine Drumline rat a tat tat
attack on this yet you're all that
Blilighten crest muscles flex
myself being sweet to myself
I can release by myself
when I'm by myself
I am the glory of the rhythm person above and below dancing in the streets walking
Attuned yet sleeping awaken in summers dream
I witness
as I write this
Boom a bout' a bing drum beat
Tis beat mi rhythm my
Mine boom ta bangity crept
As I, write a beat to myself
Booya
You fascinate clearly
Once you're out of your hive
Flitting here, landing there
Keeping gardens alive
There's a sweetness, and yet
Nasty sting so beware
Your work all consumes
As you zoom through the air
On return to the den
Over-share with a flurry
Of your flower-full journey
Full of buzzing and scurry
You waggle your tail
With your moves; figure eight
So your bee-chums to flowers
Can with ease navigate
You are sharing the load
And you hum as you go
Your communal spirit
More successful than solo
I envy you somewhat
Though your lifespan is shorter
That you dance while you work
I think more humanoids oughta
For we stress and we toil
Little sweetness to show
For our labouring lives
Whether sunshine or snow
Yet the Spring flowers beckon
In the garden of life
Perhaps to shimmy's the answer
To this trouble and strife
Imperiling through the sky with blood settled on the tip of their tounges. They call out a cult of white hoods with the Illuminati eye on the shroud humanoids with red scaly skin 8 feet tall and burrow in the mesopelagic zone stationed into a temple full of books such as the Grapes of Wrath. One bat hovers over them in the dune hills of sand stepping upon the surface revealed to be a man in black who has a very spunky charismatic mustache. His however were full of curiosity but sinister intent. The creatures who took the very enfeebled shrouds covering their faces. Revealed was stone cold face of death glowing turning the bats into them as if they were a lighthouse herding them to the ingress of a new identiy.
Im officially the official of officialness in the matter of all matter that matters to anyone who is anyone who belongs to someone who is officially known as to be something of a descendant of man or men but probably preferably man not apes or monkeys but humanoids of this tiny tiny blue marble of a planet.
So cheers!
So since I'm officially the official of officialness you all can go about your official business.
And if you ever need any official advice or guidance or assistance or support or help or direction or instruction or supervision or regulation or authorization or approval or endorsement or confirmation or verification or validation or certification or accreditation or recognition or acknowledgment or appreciation or praise or commendation or compliment or admiration or respect or esteem or honor or tribute or homage or salute or toast or cheers, you know where to find me.
I’m always here for you, my fellow officials. ??
[ Poet’s Note : This is the second of two poems personifying Truth ]
NATURE OF TRUTH : Part Two
Truth shot point blank through
the centre of her forehead
blood spurting, soiling fine furs of
humanoids at play with slick lies
and shallow Hansard words
trying to acupuncture Truth
Blood that stains and weeps and
weeps
blood that runs and will not hide
Truth collapsing in a heap in a corner
rise up again !
pulled firmly by the hair with wide
open fingers
Truth rise and rise and rise
dance with Courage
find amethysts in hard hearts of fear
cradle them to Moon for blessing
connect with fluffy clouds where little
girls see God
Truth ! be washed by midnight rain
plait yourself softly with invisible links
where choralists sing falsettos in
unbroken voices
Truth then waltzes with Love
women with baby curls taste
hot bread
Truth springs up again and again
She rises from oceans and
mountains forever and ever
Right here !
©GhairoDanielsPoetryandSong1990
At minimum- we spend one-third of life
within a void, referred to as sound sleep;
a void that grants serenity or strife-
and waking up can make us smile or weep.
Where do we go when we shut tight our eyes
and fall into a deep, unconscious state;
set free into some mystic space- likewise,
a realm, where past and present, future wait?
Is there a timeline where our minds can see
the past- where memories again play on a stage;
or look ahead to all that's meant to be
encoded in a dream we cannot gauge?
We spend one-third of life in these vast voids-
set free into some mystic space- likewise,
as strange, unconscious, traveling, humanoids!
Where do we go when we shut tight our eyes?
August 6, 2021
Contest: your Favorite Rhyme Poem In August 2021
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
The life of a cat is pretty boring but sweet
Wake up, pee, meow, eat, sleep, then repeat
Much like us humanoids
Of direction they're void
Very dependent on us but we're first to eat
The life of a cat is pretty boring but sweet
Wake up, pee, meow, eat, sleep, then repeat
Much like us humanoids
Of direction they're void
Very dependent on us but we're first to eat
Death
final Bliss
spiritual reciprocal physical
separation dominations
all decay rotten flesh
separation spiritually from God
living carnal being
spiritual souls
humanoids
ManKind
life
4/12/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
Fouey Fricklebundt fries formed generously under the daily duress of Voganistic scoundrel dogs and gloryfined frickleless masters showed up as Jayburgers seriously rounded up in a distressed way by interplanetarium worm hog feedsayergoers. Muddling in madness, the querulous queen of the planetarian everylords slapped an intergalactic space voyager cat into Fricklebundt’s space pod, knowing his allergies would do him in. Swarmpopped at last, we quickly showed the curious mongovvers that the welcome mat was closed to the queen after this meanness. Sixty-four species of humanoids dunderslapped their pawburgers upon the paperwork that caused her demise in record ways. It was a glorbobbering way to get our own candidate to the top of the Vogan council, so in a dubbbliciously deploriattting crazzllating way, it was what we wanted in the end.
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