smoke rings rising
engulfed in the ceiling fan
no visible trace
the orchid lamp burns low against the screen of jade
a silver hairpin pierces the frozen musk
kingfisher quilt lies undone
eaglewood breathes unrisen dusk
dripping copper drains last watch
bronze worn where our first shadows seamed
morning mirror broken bride
embroidered sash unlaces on the hearthstone
the spring silkworm spun its chamber shut
silk wound against a bridal drum untouched
red wax sealed—spent wick weeps into the stele
beside the moonlit sill the brush-knife cleaves the charred core
the seal breaks at midnight
a single scent of eaglewood rises
Kunlun incense
rain on Kunlun has fallen for thirty years
water settles Kunlun-hore
the rain not yet wet
499.
Prayer For King Gaspar's Incense
Oh Father God, fumigate us with incense
Like that from a man with faith intense
Oh Lord Jesus, beloved by King Gaspar
Who came to Thee from a land afar
Oh Holy Spirit, cover us with the riches of Asia
Like the incense of Gaspar, King of India
This we beg to our Merciful God. Amen.
-12/30/2105
(Dumarao)
*Prayer Poems to the 3 Kings' Gifts
Vanished in death’s flames with Mani’s scriptures of life
Banished to mine for grey-white marble to fulfil Rome’s plan
Punished to mine in Phaeno, or die by Rome’s knife
Unvanquished through the endurance of the First Man
Valiantly working in marble mines, they now rest on diamond roads of light
Patently, those burned souls became our sweet remembrance and frankincense
Rampantly, inflamed Diocletian tried and failed to steal their pearls of pure white
Brilliantly, Mani’s burned medicine became our sweet myrrh incense
Poem about the Roman Emperor Diocletian's (284–305 AD) persecution of Manichaeans, which later extended to Christians. This is in honour of those persecuted.
“Brewing”
by Positive Mark
Brewing my coffee.
Brewing your tea.
You sit and chant now, while I burn the incense.
Dragon’s blood gives us a shield in this instance.
I hover close at a Goddess insistence.
She soothes the pain of an artist’s existence.
I stood on the porch.
Lifted the last of last night’s cold libations like raising a torch.
Emptied the glass with a thrust of my arm.
Mother responded to me with a charm.
She didn’t take it all straight to the ground.
Some of the particles swirled all around.
Dancing in air like a school of live fish.
I closed my eyes tight.
Made a wish.
Dark Incense
Black cypress
Wood burning incense
Aroma scented lavender
Humbled grounds
Growing into the old
Wisdom in a safety deposit box
Jet black ghost flowers
Yesterday's vaporist
Roots growth dreary
Solitude slumber day
With dark incense
Ponder twilight
Meaning of life sinking
Enter into the vortex of emptiness
Dust and bones
Can’t live forever
Dark clouds Ravens fly
Death bed dying
Cemeteries awaits
End of the old mans journey
Engraved tombstones
Through silent whispers
Remember me no more
Covered in a vail
Caged beneath in bleak loneliness
My prayers rise before God like sweet incense.
Before him all my facades fall away.
I am left standing without a pretense
And I am left with not a word to say.
His glory once again fills his temple
And all the things of this world become dim.
Before his great holiness I tremble
And all I can see are visions of him.
Smoke, sweet scent ascends,
Fragrance conquers ill.
Human heart, can it transform?
My prayers rise before God like sweet incense.
Before him all my facades fall away.
I am left standing without a pretense
And I am left with not a word to say.
His glory once again fills his temple
And all the things of this world become dim.
Before his great holiness I tremble
And all I can see are visions of him.
Burning incense this morning
with a heaven laden heart
so many hurting right now
so this is a real good start
Angels are weeping and God
well His heart is bleeding
so many prayers are being offered
so many hours filled with hope
Rosary beads and mantras said
I refuse to believe its all over
this is not the end by far
I'm going for broke, in trust
I trust, there will be more, ...
I'm burning incense this morning.
So, now, you all are positive
Ted Osprey is a fugitive,
That his last name is not Osprey:
A smart corruption of Godfrey
While his 'Ted' First should have been, Fred;
Some would rather he's called 'Red'...
And you're also quite positive
He was no clean operative,
Rather working for evil men
Soon staying in a house, next den...
Clear, Godfrey is now on the run:
For having turned on three his gun,
Because if he did not 'just gone!'
And would be mourned by nearly none.
The choice is yours to Fred murder
Or take this complex thing further:
And while I await your answer
In Fred's house incense and censer.
In the Real Estate section,
A question arose
About incense within your abode.
Certain buildings have rules
That prohibit its use
And the writer was set to explode.
If some candles are lit
For the Sabbath by some,
Why can’t she light her incense as well?
Her religion requires
That incense is burned
But the difference, to me, is the smell.
With most incense, the scent
Is intense and, to me,
Has an odor with little appeal,
Which can drift down the hallways
That many do share
Which may impact the way people feel.
Yet the candles she cited
Have no scent at all
So the answer I would have dispensed
Was comparing the two
Isn’t fair, so it’s wrong
Over incense to be so incensed.
Listen to 11:11 by Londrelle
It was constantly on my playlist
while I was making it through hell
Most couldn't tell
I look normal to them
my mind still in a cell
I made it out, oh God, I'm free!
1111 my wish come true is Me
I surrender to thee
Meaning, G.O.D, I surrender to Me
11:11 portal is open
so is my heart, crown, throat, chakras
they're open
the incense is potent
The incense is potent, my sinuses & senses are open
I finished up coping & hopin'
I know now I am here now
11/11, sometimes I think how?
Everyday, I think wow! God is good
and If You're Reading This, its BEEN understood
Happy 1111, 2222, 3333, 4444, 5555, 6666, 7777, 8888, 9999, 0
You tag not complete Nonsense'
To Burning Serving incense
That restores sought innocence
Smouldering Ones Helping Sense
While battling with shaky lens
Or needed vanishing sense...
You don't say A clear nonsense'
For A Can - Be - Used Incense
That checks a begging Violence
And as much does Decadence:
Doors opening for Silence...
Incense for The Hopeless Pence
Taking same beyond felt pains,
Most problems stating their whence
Perception hatching from thence
A Pleased God blesses incense,
Satan's focus its essence;
Most eyes on India's Increase.
Blood Satan likes but on this no blame:
Lord God and Christ do too: Preferred flame
Then, wickedly, goes for Goring Horns,
His own copy of Christ’s Crowning Thorns:
The Horns not for self-caricature,
Rather for use after your capture
To make things never look the same,
Though in your mirrors old selves remain
When its darkness smile in his lips plays,
Promptly vanishing with The Sun’s Rays
Real big irony, for Morning Light;
Had Light simply lost after The Fight
Never did say he had abhorred Incense
But cleansing hyssop’s thinks plain nonsense
Not possible smiling at A Cross
Each time he sees one, counted a loss…
For see-through garments and the tightest,
Lots baring with move, of the slightest.
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