Long Light beam Poems
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"The Anatomy of God"
Who shall say there is one God?
if there are many, as it seems
in all the world’s sects and religions -
Who is their God? Is the source
some universal, bright, big, ultra simple,
ultra clean - Halogen Light Beam?
Or just an empty space beyond Beyond,
drawing us all slowly into it’s Black Hole vacuum
and this has been the true story all along?
The question poses images of
many different things
a snake eating it’s own tail,
a never-ending eternity ring;
Who shall say there is no God
there are many, it seems;
there are those who are certain
dead is dead, there are no dreams
no curtain, nor a veil that’s thin,
there is no such thing as Heaven -
but could it be, God is hidden,
in Rene Magritte’s Son of Man’s vision
and what rapture direction Magritte's Golconda -
will men rain up or down? I wonder.
Go peel back the pages of your books
and the layers of your glass onions
maybe there, maybe not
the answers to be found -
A.I. weaves it's membrane tentacles
seeing, hearing every thought, face and sound.
To each his own and to own their sins
The Anatomy of God
like peeling layers, of an onion,
the questions burn, then they sting
honey dripping, bitter almonds
holy waters rising
what happens if it’s sink or swim?
Revelations of all Armies
fighting wars without, not within -
Are aliens demons? Or distant family, some say friends?
Dream on dear open minded legions
with or without dominion;
Questions forever oceans rising,
like Meteors, Cock Robin
Sky is Falling
Who is God?
What is God?
Something’s coming,
Something’s calling.
(Lovejoy-Burton/Jan 2018)
very simple musings, of a very simple mind
1. Debate: Sam Harris & Jordan Peterson
https://www.patreon.com/posts/sam-harris-1-20821646
2. The Story of God - Morgan Freeman - S1 Ep 2 - Apocalypse
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GFP1UQnixlU
3. The Story of God - Morgan Freeman - S2 Ep 2 - Heaven & Hell
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HeZqCHUCsMg
4. Common Themes in Rapture Dreams
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HV7QgU2htJc
5. Electromagnetic Plasma Event 2019 / The Watchman Review
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gro5Bknjdkw
6. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7xWffB2nH0
A big white did pace the ute,
no noise it made, what sort of a brute?
it must still be there it never left,
next thing i knew we had a coppers arrest,
We seem to have lost memory of the
lights leaving?
...1974 Mystery Light....
So we drove on the Moonie Highway,
Between Dalby and St George,
It was fairly late at night,
dark timber all we saw,
(its all gone now the timber, and the big dry came )
A great white light appeared beside us,
In the treetops, beside the road,
It was completely soundless,
Stayed beside us, brightly showed,
So we tried speeding up,
And we tried slowing down,
But it followed as we led,
One hundred mile from town,
So I said to Wayne give me the rifle,
I'll put a bullet in it soon,
But they wouldn't let me shoot it,
It was bigger than the moon,
I asked Mark and Wayne, but they didn't see it go,
But we never saw it wander, the bloody so and so?
Next thing we were arrested,
Like stunned mullets? in the dark,
By a copper in a singlet wearing thongs, (out hunting in his own car?)
a bright spark?
He'd look at you while talking,
With his head half turned away..................(WAS HE AN ALIEN?.)...
Booked our Mark for speeding,
Drunken copper all I'd say?
Don Johnson
Chris D. Aechtner
Contest Name Another Chance To Swing
Mackey (nee Dean) Brummell
My cousin Don's wife had an experience about that same time, with the
big white light following her and the kids home, not far away north on
the St George Mitchell road....
She had to get the kids to open gates and was nervous of this thing
that followed them.....
Her son Keith 10 years later was out Roo shooting in the night
with a local St George man
and they saw the light too,(much the same area)
the passenger refused to leave the car to
open gates on the Station property they were shooting on,
the light changed direction and
eventually left them at high velocity...
I did me an hypno regression on the missing time, got the picture.
I saw a flying saucer cross the road at a few hundred feet, could see panels
on the underside of it, saw a light beam transfix my cousin, saw his red hair with a gold curl in the light and the bright blue shorts i had forgotten he wore that day.
Interesting to me!
Don Johnson
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
A streaming particle of matter flowing in the
Mystical elemental current of my own existence,
Untethered I’ve cut the silvery threads of the
Timeless, a creature of thoughts abandonment.
A unique butterfly of distinction, flying amongst
The light waves of illusion spreading my wings
Of clarity, touching the stars in gentle graces
Movement.
In flights liberation climbing levels of enchantment,
A swaying anomaly tossed, passed between earth
And sky, a castaways silhouette lingering afloat the
Breeze of sensuality, with the heightened senses
Of pleasure ultimate recklessness, I’m at liberties
Jurisdiction beyond the touch of man.
I’ve joined the flocks of the enlightened ones,
Moths drawn to the dreaming flame, that burns
With fuel of inspirational grace.
Rippling wings transcending, behold the marvel
Of lunar beings, evolving, rising beyond the
Embankment of physical resistance,
Translucent fluttering monarchs brushing
Against the gates of God’s kingdom on high.
Flying insects of humanity, buzzing in a whispering
Chorus ushering in lyrical verses praise,
Announcing the arrival of these ascended.
Reaching through the vaulted grates of heaven,
The lord’s angel reaches out to touch these mortal
Wings of inspiration, and harken to listen, as
The Soft music loaf’s upwards, flooding the floors
Of this golden divide.
At twilights intrinsic hour of contemplation these
Dreaming beings of enlightenment drift as floating
Confetti ever lightly descending, cascading into
Their mortal fleshes vessels beneath, leaving the
Realm behind, but oh what visions of inspiration
Have these butterflies of remembrance relate,
In poetic excellence, cannot be captured
Within the nets of mankind.
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
A streaming particle of matter flowing in the
Mystical elemental current of my own existence,
Untethered I’ve cut the silvery threads of the
Timeless, a creature of thoughts abandonment.
A unique butterfly of distinction, flying amongst
The light waves of illusion spreading my wings
Of clarity, touching the stars in gentle graces
Movement.
In flights liberation climbing levels of enchantment,
A swaying anomaly tossed, passed between earth
And sky, a castaways silhouette lingering afloat the
Breeze of sensuality, with the heightened senses
Of pleasure ultimate recklessness, I’m at liberties
Jurisdiction beyond the touch of man.
I’ve joined the flocks of the enlightened ones,
Moths drawn to the dreaming flame, that burns
With fuel of inspirational grace.
Rippling wings transcending, behold the marvel
Of lunar beings, evolving, rising beyond the
Embankment of physical resistance,
Translucent fluttering monarchs brushing
Against the gates of God’s kingdom on high.
Flying insects of humanity, buzzing in a whispering
Chorus ushering in lyrical verses praise,
Announcing the arrival of these ascended.
Reaching through the vaulted grates of heaven,
The lord’s angel reaches out to touch these mortal
Wings of inspiration, and harken to listen, as
The Soft music loaf’s upwards, flooding the floors
Of this golden divide.
At twilights intrinsic hour of contemplation these
Dreaming beings of enlightenment drift as floating
Confetti ever lightly descending, cascading into
Their mortal fleshes vessels beneath, leaving the
Realm behind, but oh what visions of inspiration
Have these butterflies of remembrance relate,
In poetic excellence, cannot be captured
Within the nets of mankind.
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The fragrance of possums is a kit of great virtue bathed and lit by an orange green hue. Display not weapons in weather fuelled skies. Thin thunder is unwelcome in a booming bass rhythm and rhyming slang is only to be used by mice and squirrels on rainy days. So, raise ones tail then and fly to many moons. Always use an angle of sixty-two degrees as cloud beams cause much turbulence to the greatest of wing span. So cease to arrive in long lost kitchens and bathrooms of yesteryear. Instead write in the airwaves a plan to bring justice. Place brassieres' on elephants and negligées in tigers and never fail to sustain the breath of farmlands fir they are breeding grounds for mud. Always be wise to the facts of bridges. Bridges are very intelligent and intelligences can often be said to be artificial sliding doors in a wilderness. Remaining open to eyes in a room and round and round is nice and pleasant. Placing ones aromatic and often erotically placed inner beast if peace to extract a great truth in a light beam. Gradually add ingredients over many many years then serve as soup. Tastefully done. Domestically derived during dripping. Finished with a bowl. Never cried an angelic antelope. Prefer to swirl in ancient field. In honour remain. In desperation a box could jump. Releasing many objects to appease and assist Gaia at this time of great peril. Dig not a pit. Spit not on a tree. Speak not of notes to a very small rodent. As teeth are two faced belts with large bellies. Place a great offering to the silver wishing tree. Yahweh laughs hahahaha. Misted emotions now clear. Windscreen wipers of the mind. Cataclysm of faiths. Duty bound solicitation of souls. In a drip drop haven. Heaping tablespoons of jam at the cardinal buffet is just not acceptable. Many a casserole formed from pumpkins. Many a bean in a pipe. And legs of bacon spread with buttery secretions is very very imaginative and animations of swans dancing in cinemas is often misplaced adjustment setting in remote controlled handsets. Journeys. Jiving. Jalapenos. Jalapa's. Jizzum. Jazz. Justic. Jurisdiction. Jollup. *** cantering. Charismatic. Churches. Chopping choosing chips. *** potency. Fishforks. Placed *** denominations ***
Form:
Four, six, or seventeen tulip buds grinning. Of course not on a salt marsh. Leave that alone. Misted aromas of ancestral graves should be cared for not dug but if a slug us in power then a lemon woman could do much damage to lochs, lands, fields and mountain so do not discuss paperwork with a tiny dog whose obligations are merely to dress in a fur coat. Is the sheer fornication of the environment that is of great concern at this time. Gaping holes can never be earth wombs so digging will produce an end to life. When chatting in a queue always question the mind set of the jaded eyes. Grasping concepts is often a difficulty when all intelligence is received from square entertainment sets. A lone lizard sits on an empty beach waiting for the strobes. The lights to take up and away. Patterns of time. Printed not. Yet in sound waves enjoyed freedom and thus gave birth to new inspiration through interdimensional beams. Often it is said that dancing a waltz with a frog is the best idea as sudden movements of tango could cause unintentional hopping movements. Such a slur. Sour are the sauces whose injection to meats cause secretions. And many a leopard printed ham fails to deliver wine to the exact specifications and timing. Yet a portly shrew arriving in a southern breeze can stop by multitudes of shopping centres in an urgent attempt to purchase grand golden negligées' for their mice partners who are asleep in fairytale yachts complete with pinnacles. Akin to a childhood book. Likened to a cartoon castle of great magic. But when a corvette changes it's clothes it is time fir the sputter sputter sounding cards of the fat dark purple bus. Who would want to eat toast in an elevated slime kitchen with Mr and Mrs cockroach and a laughing 900 foot long light beam of a snake. Portray not a plant as a plate. An apple as a card. And remain aloof to chard writing as this will amuse cats who thrive on milky truths. It is not a justified weapon if planted in a school. Scenes are unjustified and should be abolished. For fried is the skin like an egg in a pan. Turning tuning taking teachings. Yelping yachtsman. Gardeners. Xx booming balance braked xx snail diving henchmen xx saturation xx
Form:
What if stars are actually planets blown up, millions of years ago.
What if they are merely remains of other galaxies,-other living beings.
Or perhaps they are debris left over travelling at the speed of light toward us.
What if stars are a warning, the future we cannot see. A mirror of our future, a reflection.
Or maybe stars are beings or alien life that monitor our planet and lives.
Why do some stars move and others appear stagnant. Are stars the reason or meaning that we aren’t alone. Aren’t planets technically stars which could potentially open up the possibility that every star we see in the sky is actually a planet, somewhere life existed.
What happens if we wake up from our lives able to breathe among the stars?
Is that where we go when we die?
Could that be why we see a bright light, we actually physically get so close to it that it’s like a flash of lighting, a light beam piercing through your soul.
Or maybe stars are windows to another world, a peak into a nonsensical dimension.
Maybe the rocks the float around in the sky and inhabit billions and billions of life, orbiting around the sun are clues that our lives here on Earth are so very small.
Maybe those planets, though we think are scarce and empty, are actually so advanced and developed, we just aren’t able to see that close or find the life.
Maybe in our current life form we solely depend on oxygen because our bodies and minds are weak and in a constant cycle called aging.
Maybe just maybe, aging doesn’t happen in space. Maybe that’s why we can see backwards in time.
Or perhaps, the stars are a place, of utter chaos.
Maybe you drift in the abyss of black nothingness until you are consumed and swallowed by a bright flashing light that bursts into flames, erupting from a dying star. Though it’s light years away, each final gasp of air pierces your eyes, blinding you and now among the debris that has floated around for over centuries, you feel the pain, chaos and cycle of aging.
Perhaps stars and humans do have some things in common, or perhaps we’ll never know.
no one saw it coming they never do
the phone poles were giving off sparks
dogs began to howl birds flocked to the sky
A Plymouth hubcap of immense proportions
quivered and droned in the air over the capitol
television screens from one coast to the other
blinked and flashed and sputtered in unison
two fetus-headed visitors from the vast starry ocean
floated to the ground in a lime green light beam
introduced themselves as Hoo and Watt
then performed an Abbot and Costello baseball skit
we bring humanity a gift in a box with a message
if you open the box and read the words writ within
you must under threat of annihilation do what it says
you can confer and decide we'll know if you peek
a murmur of animated if disorderly consternation
rippled menacingly through the assembled delegates
if we read the message it could mean slavery
went one side and began arming themselves
it is but a message how malevolent can that be
went the other side who were of a trusting nature
and began calling their investment bankers
as the great spinning hubcap lit like a jukebox
hummed up and away through the clouds
but back on the surface ripples of disquiet deluged
conditions grew tense fires were set mail was stolen
the metal box hovered mutely in the rotunda
giving off the smell of jungle gardenias
women fainted children giggled and pointed
dogs barked and humped one another
ears back tongues akimbo butt to butt
we must read the message it is salvation
we must not read the message it is tyranny
it was a quandary that spanned the plantations
and spread a paroxysmal miasma across the land
the musts and cants mud wrestled through the night
the great rotunda heaved and rattled
eyeballs were gouged tufts of hair unmoored
the bedlam reached a crescendo of exhaustion
fatigue at last brought silence and reflection
the jaw grinding impasse had lasted weeks
vultures circled plaster fell from ceilings
then a small voice from the back of the throng
a cheeky tousle haired lad blurted bravely
flip a coin
(to be continued)
I come to your bedside once more,
you've poured our photos and poetry on the floor
an act of apostasy, a grim admission, the room in dim depression,
laying on your side , cheeks heated and soaked in sorrow, your joy in remission,
Refusing to look at me, as if seeing this face would invite a fatal grief,
hating me yet loving me because I am the wound waking belief,
a living scar fueling faith in the survival of our love,
needing me to be your spiritual shove,
I lay along you, gripping your tender arm, still, you do not disarm,
the tip of my nose surfs the skin of your shoulder, I smell the tears of my harm,
trying to explain that love is never wrong, that in your heart is where I belong
you roll into my chest, a gorgeous heat of anger escapes your glare,the sting strong,
in a fevered whimper, throat bubbled, you ask, how can I dare love you in absentia,
how can you love a kiss that cuts, a breath that bruises, nails of nostalgia,
oh how love makes us suffer for the truth of our hearts,
I say, there is no absence within the Absolute, a fusion of soul parts,
The onomatopoeia of my heart is ready to be splayed into you,
I kiss bite the supple muscle of your neck, you release a searing sigh
the air spiced with the oil of a woman's want,
I need the salvation of your hot opening, I yearn to super charge your core,
my balls, plump and heavy fall over your thigh, breast spread softly,
your hands enveloping my back, heels hooking around calves
the root of my Being swells to true and thick form
red oak stretching into your moistened magenta earth,
tenderloins contracting, pushing, smacking,
a metamorphosis matures to cure our crisis,
I can see in your eyes a soul that flies
on a light beam without ending,
one touch more and death will be a thing of lies,
rebuild love with me and find warmth never wanning,
we become Angels with no age
lovers without rage or confusion,
a new universe of raw pleasure and instincts sage,
dreams witnessed in the sweat and steam of sacred revolution -
J.A.B.
Rosemary's Bed
Maylands Salvation Army, Girls' Home
I am in the entrance foyer of a large house.
The wood floor is highly polished.
There is a large stairway with a turned, wood bannister.
Dad is telling my three year old sister and me
that we must stay here because
he has to work and can't take care of us.
Mum has gone away somewhere.
THE MATRON takes our suitcases and *smiles* at us
instructs us to, "come with her".
Dad says, "he will come and visit us every Sunday".
I am taken to a dormitory and told which bed will be mine.
The bed on the other side of the fire place
belongs to Rosemary.
Our beds skirt, either side of a fireplace
that is midway along the wall, with rows
of beds on each side of it,
as well as opposite,
twenty beds in all.
At the end of the room is an alcove with a curved bay window.
There is a bed there, all by itself.
I can remember being so scared in this room.
The older girls told me, "there is a man with an elastic arm"
who lives on the roof
and, "he can reach down the chimney and grab you".
Although I didn't really believe it, a few nights later,
we were all woken by a piercing scream.
THE MATRON came down to investigate.
The girl who slept in the bay window bed, said,
" a man with a monkey's face" jumped on my bed.
THE MATRON searched everywhere inside and out -
we saw her flash light beam- out there in the darkness-
her report was, " it was nothing." -
probably one of the cats that lived in the wood pile.
I always had trouble sleeping after that
and after lights out -
although it was strictly forbidden -
I would creep across and climb
into Rosemary's bed.
Although her bed was an equal distance
from the fireplace as mine
the human warmth and contact made me feel safe
against unknown forces of the night.
I slept on the edge of nightmares until, finally
I left that place.
Suzanne Delaney
From- Rememberances of an 8 year Old.
For Frank H..... I recall.....Contest