Long Past glory Poems
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Raise my butts voice to signal dismissal
In the congregation of adversaries to blow the night whistle
Raise my butts trumpet in its entirety
In order to grant grace unto genuine liberty
For You are my never failing stir--
The reliable and blindly open demur
Fit in my butts to sit down in peace
And relax in grace even in the face of tease
Fit in my butts to learn more of treasure
And fight beyond possiblity off pleasure
For You are my reason behind my mind's cage
Dating fun and scope's limitations to age
Set up for the next class at will my butts
To view no more from the angle of my nuts
Set up the classic raiding crusade for my buttocks
To sit not cowardly in the earth and heaven barracks
For You are the charges deposited in my ability
Before thee-- thou creepy and shady civility
In the midst of the past glory
Let my butts not sit in its story
In the light of troubling care
Let my butts learn of no fear
For You are my standing Warrior
Against life's irresistible barrier
“DIRECTIONS”
MAPS.
Folded tight
sharp corners,
unwrapped.
“I read maps” the traveller said
She wasn’t convinced, it was obvious
he’d been hauled up for years in his
“Man Shed”
“Yeah, I do, I read maps”, he said
“hmmm, you’re not a risk taker”, she said
“What?”, he said
“like, man, you’re a mouse on a wheel, forever runnin' non stop circles”, she said
“How’s that?”, he said
“You need to get out of your head” she said, blowing smoke rings in bed
"You're too busy countin' numbers", she said
“hmmm, you’re a bit Bolshie, you’re not pretty in pink you’re red”, he said
“i don’t know about red”, she said, “maybe read”
“O “F...” this”, he said, “I’m way past glory”.
“I know... it’s way out there man, let’s go to bed”.
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
“Anemone”/BJM
https://youtu.be/StV9lElcvAY
"In my sex fantasy, nobody ever loves me for my mind."
Old Brass City
with massive gothic chuches,
abandoned rail-roads
and run-down factories...
we still glimpse into that bygone glory
which made your name so famous!
O Waterbury, no Christmas
can be compared to yours,
when Main Street glitters under the fluffy snow
and everyone hummers a carol!
O Waterbury, those starry nights
are too surreal and make lovers fantasize!
Old Brass City,in ninenteen-forty-two
lads and gals were sent to war to fight the Cruel,
and mothers cried as their sons and daughters
left this once-happy-town of friendly and kind folks!
And despite all the sorrow and pain yet to be,
they proudly marched off to defeat the enemy!
O Waterbury, your monuments inspire hope,
and remind all of your past glory and leadership;
and the brave soldiers who sacrificed all...
became those heroes we've engraved into the soul!
Some returned, many died to seal their fate,
and their courage and valour put an end to all hate!
Ah, sad hearts
we shoudn't throw
the smallest joys
in the drawer of forgetfulness:
don't good souls search
for God and spend time
watching those rainbows
that change glow?
He's there adding His divine touch!
To whom do we pray
when we are left with the last dime?
The smallest joys
make us happy,
it's the laughter on our faces
that create spontaneous feelings!;
Nothing can return to its past glory:
there's no need to run
after them and scream;
they are forever ours
in that realistic dream!
We must defend
what we love for our sake,,
so harsh is reality
when we stay awake:
it stares at us as we
pretend to be in perfect harmony!
The smallest joys
make us happy,
it's so miserable to be crappy:
the silliest words
blend with our gestures:
it's the free exchange of emotions!
The Castle in My Mind
Around the same time
of each leap year,
My mind runs out of rhyme
and freezes out of fear.
Even if I
am not even here.
Even if I
am not tucked into the sheet
of 42 West
Virginia Street.
My mind, still it scatters
in my life full of tatters,
as people ask me
if it really still matters.
Course to me, it still does.
'Coz to them, it's just a story.
Cloaked full of my past glory.
dripped from my poisoned pen.
And they still don't believe
in my words now.
So why should they back then?
My mind is an apartment complex
scattered round and round
still a couple dozen staircases
until you reach the ground.
The doctors, though they try
to sink their claws in,
Well, they are not welcome
in Hell's Finest Inn.
For once they pass through
the white roses and thorns,
the Devil starts
to creep ever close and he warns
with the shadow of his
red bleeding horns.
Just another person
trying to help,
that is certain.
But Death is sneaky, conniving
and clever.
He hides me forever
behind his blue sweeping curtain.
And soon the red snowflakes
made out of their blood
drown out the wolf's howl
as he's stuck in the flood.
As I sit by Death's fire.
Playing lute, harping 'liar',
the dancing flames keep me warm.
But the overgrown leaves
melt their brains, so it seems.
And the help, well now it's lost
forever to the storm.
For when you have screamed
so vehemently at Death,
he takes your last words
and swallows your final breath.
"Blooming"
In the quietening
of my days
there is a dream
there he whispers
cutting tales
with sharp teeth
in my mind
in he swims in calm waters
at the end of a long long story
You are far gone
lost for past glory
where future curls
its fingers around
your fate
where there you once stood
so fresh and wet in Life waiting
the longest re-wind
like an old tape
ribbons of black
viciously ripped out
now slack
a child long gone
family films on
scratchy videotape
ultra
sound
evaporates
I play it
on repeat
the cycle of complexity
yet it is far too simple
with each read to understand
what was not ever flexible
and that which was great
the sleep of
Rumpelstiltskin
awakening a stranger
others warn you
stay away from
the fire
stay away from
the danger
In the quietening
of my days
there is a dream
there lost love letters
from the soul discovered
open arms, looking upwards
smiling
The shark
planting blooms
each seed found
and like a pearl sewn
into the cover of a
new book sensed
yet still unknown
I calculate
all the imaginary
wounds
Love bombed
and swooning
in a flooded heart
blood red rose rising
razor edged and
naked bit large
red light
shining
some kind love
please let it be
the kindest love
blooming
in the gloaming
where an Ocean swells
inside this whirlpool
where an army of sharks
shed salt tears amidst
their ravenous timing
Moon draws you in
wrapping her beams
around you
she is swelling around you
her Ocean tide voluptuous
high rising
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Bursting forth of will potential
When cauldron of love overflows
Makes kinetic bliss miracle
Joyous essence of presence glows
Space-time screen displays life contrast
Polarities orbit the heart
In hypnotic trance, die is cast
Delusion driving souls apart
Each entity as God-essence
Seeks to reclaim it’s past glory
Conscience as voice of innocence
Attempts to script, it’s love story
Mind-body has it’s agenda
Narrow views and self-centred stance
Thus life simple, now enigma
Looking at other forms askance
Joy transience versus permanence
Once cognised by discerning mind
Light no longer pays fear penance
Leaving fleeting desires behind
Soul enters void of cessation
The world external fades away
Each life breath, then celebration
As tranquil heart, ceases to sway
One that became two, one again
Head-heart aligned, does not resist
In-form consciousness, cleansed of stain
As ordained, becomes a bliss mist
23-November-2021
Moonlight was the only light to make streaks across
a sky full of suspense which even a thief was afraid of;
and as I dragged you along lamp-lit, narrows streets,
we seemed two ghosts wearing human masks...
but what was on our delirious minds, if not love?
Your wish was to be on the Ponte Dei Respiri to sigh and dream...
while viewing that moon with new eyes to catch that rare gleam,
but the quickest way to get there was to wave down a gondolier! But there was
no space as thousands of people, wearing masks, were riding in those gondolas...
without despairing, we stopped on the nearest bridge and passionately kissed!
I resembled the Phantom of the Opera without that disfigured face;
you seemed like the seductive Dodge's wife so glamorous and gleeful,
and your mask was of the loveliest blue as the sky over the Adriatic Sea...
when Saint Mark's bells rang and doves flew to revive their past glory.
Oh, darkness endure more to let our memory always be a night in Venice!
Entered in Nette Onclaud's contest,
" It's Mask Time "
Written by Andrew Crisci
The other day violet vapours formed
Each holding a momentary rainbow
My window the lovely apples adorned
A cheerful arrow in the aroused bow
Today the painted bubbles have all burst
A huge ice in my room shorn of glory
Some insects teem in the pulverized lust
Every day is a page to write a new story
Tomorrow I’ll go to a hospital
Smell of drug disease and a house hoary
Bouquets wet in tears in the funeral
None knows what will be tomorrow’s story
Dusk or dawn, move on, says the restless time
Do not get fixated on past glory
Each flash begins a door for a new rhyme
Every day is a page to write a new story
___________________________________________
6/12/2016
Stained glass bits of past glory, shards of rainbows bright,
Once the star of Bethlehem like diamonds in the cobalt sky.
Oh, how we have fallen, slivers of ourselves are we,
Blood red pieces from His crown of thorns.
Once the star of Bethlehem like diamonds in the cobalt sky,
Now, mere broken bits are we, a kaleidoscopic sigh.
Blood red pieces from His crown of thorns
laying shattered beside the leaf green of Mary’s lily.
Now, mere broken bits are we, a kaleidoscopic sigh,
imprisoned in a hollow form no more to see the sun,
laying shattered beside the leaf green Of Mary’s lily,
a childish offering preordained, fallen glory, pretty toy.
Imprisoned in a hollow form no more to see the sun,
oh, how we have fallen, slivers of ourselves are we.
A childish offering preordained, fallen glory, pretty toy.
Stained glass bits of past glory, shards of rainbows bright.