Long Propagates Poems
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In an Asia city, a new and infamous name began.
“They were called Christians first at Antioch”.*
This species was built upon relationship with its maker; and not disconnection from him.
She fulfilled and bridged the past with the present and all eternity.
Same creator, same designer, and same planer of all species.
For six days He created everything that was made; and then He rested.
Later, there was a world wide deluge; and things were altered; most destroyed.
Generations would transpire before God created a totally new breed of creatures*.
This new species called Christian, was not made from nothing. But being made a new type of human, she would become the new model for all. What a remarkable and revolutionary concept! How different from every human before!!
This species is essentially about loving, not 50/50, but 100% unconditionally.
She’s about giving and not taking; about giving out of love; and not for personal gain.
She finds life through death; she has no room for hate.
No, this new species cannot procreate; but there’s reproduction by proclamation.
She propagates loving God with all the heart; and loving the neighbor as one’s self.
Yes, she’s a new kind of species!
03312016 Acts, Cor. 5:17 (PS Contest,
A New Species, by Anthony Slausen)
Lakes and beaches are wiped clean like a whiteboard,
each day by waves, tide, wind.
Then marks of ripples and tracks provide transient tell-tales
of what has gone on since, of what is yet to come.
What caused those ripples? Where did they come from?
What caused those tracks marking crisscross paths on the sand?
From whence did they come? To where are these interlopers going?
The agents and causes know nothing of these things.
They do not care.
They can't know they are being tracked.
They do not wipe their foot or finger prints clean.
They wander furtively wary,
scarily and carefully looking about, but unaware.
They dare not look back,
lest they be cast into salt or stone,
or sent back to hell,
for defacing such clean pristine spaces with
their street-art hieroglyph graffiti.
A hushed stillness lies over the lake at dawn
A single plop or tremble stirs a ripple the mirrored plane.
Soft as a whispered caress on a sleeping cheek,
Perhaps the kiss of wind, barely daring to touch.
Perhaps it's the kiss of fish rising to take a fly.
Perhaps an insect flitting, skittling onto the surface
Or a bird dipping to drink from beak.
The ripple propagates outwards in concentric rings,
echoing and resonating on its journey,
long after the cause has passed and gone.
Where are these ripples of unknown causes going and why,
The sources are untraceable via back-tracking,
remaining hidden and mysterious,
long since gone.
Do these ripples want to cuddle a distant shore,
to caress a foot paddling in the shallows,
to rock a boat with sleepers to sleep,
or to kiss the pebbles puckered up to kiss in rows?
Or to simply go and then fade gently and dissolve from view,
happy in their journey getting there.
In time the wind and water gathers breath,
to blur the lines, to wipe the scroll and slate clean,
To blow the sand grains around to cover the tracks.
The tide comes in, obliterating the imprints.
The wind builds waves to crush the ripples in chaos.
The defaced becomes a pure clean mirror surface unmarked again,
With no trace of regret, or memory to replay.
The defacers, shakers and movers,
long forgotten, forlorn and forgiven,
have faded away, to dreams and memories,
forgotten, hidden, wiped away, until awaken.
Joke was on him
A lie can perpetuate with a blinding speed
Growing on the heels of shameful greed
If enough people believe a con-man's spiel
And blindly proceed to invest in a dubious deal.
He began quite small with his Ponzi scheme
Stomping ruthlessly on gullible citizen's dream
Pretending that he was investing in stock market
Delivering promised returns regularly on target.
Becoming famous as word of high returns spread
Billions he attracted as testimonials mislead,
Paying current clients from new-client receipts
Manipulating his records to hide his deceits.
Although his company was frequently audited
No one could detect the fraud being committed.
Suspicions ran high for returns were unbelievable,
Authorities were fooled by a fraud inconceivable.
Ponzi scheme thrives on constant new cash flow
As new funds meet outflows that continue to grow,
But it collapses in a hurry if new money stops
For clients demand refunds as the company flops.
A market-crash caused new money to dry out
Bringing to a quick end his fraudulent clout
As he confessed to a multibillion fraud scheme
When finally he realized that the joke was on him.
Investors big and small were caught by surprise
Lives that were ruined continue to agonize.
Soon he was arrested for his long tenure of crime
And sentenced to prison for his remaining lifetime.
His son committed suicide overcome by veracity
As his wife deflects shame in solitude of tenacity.
While he sits in jail for a crime of this century
Grievous losses torment lives due to his treachery.
A fraud only propagates till its ultimate demise
For truth always conquers defeating all lies.
November 26, 2017
I started a joke
Sponsor: Maria Williams
First Place
Note: This Ponzi scheme was uncovered after the 2008 market crash. Though the fraudster never invested in the market, new money flow stopped because investors were spooked by the market decline and ensuing recession. He confessed when he couldn't make a multi-billion payment due in 2008. He was sentenced to 150 years in jail. One of his sons committed suicide, the other son died. His brother was also sentenced to jail--all worked for the firm.
Shadow Play
While Freud sits at the mind end of the couch phallus in hand
shapes others’ dreams in unspoken imposition ‘must-abation’
analyses abuses his daughter in metaphorical incest projects
his own aggressive sexual drives and neurotic megalomania
Jung after killing the father figure sits with and under shadows
gathers the zenith of clouds rays collects collective conscience
unconsciousness retrieves ancient symbols propagates mythical
archetypes to archetypical conclusions reflects tainted sunshine
He forges gently I surmise poles and vaults of contradictions
opposites polar juxtapositions seemingly un-mutual mysteries
and ponders light and darkness tearing torn apart thus healing
in the complementing contrast of void change completeness
Where Freud posits polymorph perversity bit by sexual bitter
sweet bit in a bid for so called science of mind over matter Jung
morphs perpetual change crafted and cast through a different
lens admits to poetic licence narration oral traditions and growth
******** in mind not of the ***** castrated in fear not envious of
phallic dominance over clitoral defence wombs groomed entombed
by guilt transgression sexual submission shallow **** oral penile
ossification of flaccid resurrection Jung begs and offers to differ
In complex incomplete never-ending search a path from change to
change and beyond dialectical synthesis played enacted in parallel
processes and progressive psychological drama of a different kind
he much kinder more reflective less regressive and adventurous
Lets shadows erect and paint play dance reflect and move on
16th August
I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry
& thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily,
Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance,
Even a plethora, of p’s:
Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky,
Pertinent and impertinent, too
It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud
Poetry pretends, preaches, points out,
Points to, and down, and under
Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace
Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale
Poetry is practical, prudent, is pregnant,
Gives pause
Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful
Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful
Poetry’s a mosaic portrayal, a
Painted portraiture, perfect, profane
Prosaic, it is not,
Preposterous, it is
It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical
Peripatetic and perennial,
Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile
Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible
Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres
Sometimes perplexing, never perishable,
It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries
Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster
It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage
In place of deep purple prose
A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock,
Poetry promulgates poems!
Poetry, dear poet, exists
Poetry, dear poet, persists
Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies
Poetry can never desist
Poetry perpetually propagates poems
And that
is the problem
with poetry…
Phew!!!
In paradox with the living world,
Day breaks at dusk,
Reminiscences of the preceding night,
Lost to substance abuse induced amnesia,
Breakfast is served,
Flunitrazepam, ethanol and cannabis,
A balanced diet of solid, liquid and gas,
Like a decaying carcass,
The remnant of the prior nights hunt,
Lays naked and lifeless,
Inebriated by debauchery,
Only awakened to gain her recompense,
Her departure leaves both souls in depletion,
Like an eloquent and articulate preacher,
The tube propagates hells propaganda,
Corrupting the subconscious,
By its message of profligacy,
As darkness encompasses the metropolis,
Its offspring emerge from the shadows,
Adorned in gold and glitter,
Bathed in fragrant perfume,
Concealing rot and decay,
Congregating in tabernacles of immorality,
Flickering and flashing lights,
Tobacco burnt as offering,
Its smoke rising as repugnant incense,
Alcohol and drugs served as unholy communion,
Bodies swaying to hypnotic melodies,
All in total adulation,
To the lord of the night,
In this realm of perversion,
Where virtue is sacrilege,
Abomination is sacrosanct,
In pairs they fellowship,
Sons with sons,
Sons with daughters,
Daughters with daughters,
To consummate their worship,
By sacrifice on the altar of iniquity,
In total defilement of their temples,
As dawn approaches,
The darkness recedes,
Only to resurface,
At the break of dusk.
In the darkest hour of a day,
My lids seal tight my vision.
At once my myelin propagates
a subconscious decision.
I saw him there with her again,
this time I smiled and spoke.
He never uttered a response,
my greeting was revoked.
I sauntered over where they stood,
his teeth clenched and her eyes glared.
He hoped I would not speak a word,
and wished that I had cared.
I asked them if they knew where I
could find my love I'd gifted.
His head once bowed in breathless shame,
somehow became lifted.
He released her hand and handed me his,
I clutched it to my chest,
so he could feel the rhythm
in the hollow emptiness.
He said, "You granted me a chance
for your love to dwell in me.
I only hope that it remains
where you thought it safe to be."
In an instance, my unfilled void
overflowed with gratitude.
My broken heart and carnal thoughts
expeditiously subdued.
I realized, love is not mine,
to hold hostage in closed fists.
It was given to me to give freely,
just like HIS other gifts.
I thanked him well and placed his hand
back into her small palm.
I wished them well and walked away,
my eyes filled, but my soul calm.
In the brightest hour of the day,
my heart unleashed my vision.
My eyes saw in front of me,
my mind embraced my mission.
This dream which nestled deep,
in my slumber's resting bed,
is now a message I carry to you
"Love in ink and not in lead!"
Dust storms in my mouth
My words are withered
In the searing gaze
Of her dirty eyes.
I am brittle clay
Parched for renewal
Awaiting the rain.
My walls form a tomb
When she is closed outside
And I am that ghost
That walks out in the darkness.
to Penetrate her seal.
I will Use whatever tool
I can carry for her
Til she is my discovery.
Yet I remember
my carressing her warmth places
That it makes me Unwhole.
What is a desert
Without the sunlight?
Its More like selfless death
So thats how we are preserved.
After such a knowledge, what is forgiveness?
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
It Guides us by our vanity.
She gives when our attention is distracted
And what she gives, gives with such supple confusion
That the giving famishes the craving and Gives it to late
What’s not believed in, or if i just believed...
In my memory only, reconsiders her passion and she Gives it to soon
Into my weak hands, what thoughts can be dispensed?
Till the refusal propagates me to fear.
Neither fear nor courage saves me. Only her natural vices
that Are married by her heroism.
and my Virtues
Are forced upon us by our impudent crime.
for All of These tears that
are shaken from this dry season
He who seeks pain for pleasure is a real aboriginal,
Runs slowly yet leads subservient to international.
He who has a mental condition stable aberrational
And is clearly confused for his rule over junior biennial.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader fictional?
Believes has virtual reality and qualities supernal;
Worries by relaxing, is a truly called stupid sentinel
Off laissez faire causing democracy death prenatal.
He is the original copy; autocracy does he disannul.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader nominal?
Babbles less on many topics but talks lot notional;
Real oxymoron, a worthless gold is a role fictional.
Such a stupid, such dark snow acts like nocturnal
And wishes us follow him like a true myth tensional.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader attritional?
As little pain hurts none, such nonentity optional
Is singly double natured like oxymoron is binational.
Such a tiny elephant of no use is a leader sectional,
Unlike Modi or Mahatma who is pretty fierce finagle.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader supernal?
A rightly deceitful leader propagates worries parental
Agony, by loving humanity loathing persons is menial.
Is such afunctional leader be only choice? Oh! Marginal!
An open secret for such leaders, this Monorhyme is a signal.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader eternal?
The War Fought in The Shadows
It’s one that little spoken of
Many are the lives we’ve lost
Many are the Valliant soldiers
Who soldier on in the Gods abode
They have made Genna their home
It was and still is a strive against evil
Institutionalized evil whatever its form
Is Our sworn enemy with “The Liberation”
Of the Umma and ignorant Masses..
Our ultimate calling and agenda
Enlightenment of our people is what will
Finally kick out this so repugnant an evil
That has a distaste and disguise of many faces
That which has managed to ensnare many
With propagated misinformation it's tool
Through popular and main stream media
The evil hides it's face "n" it's agenda it propagates
Knowledge of and awareness en ultimate liberation
Will kick out them evil followers of Belzebub.. and..
That dark prince he whom hides behind.. NWO..
Out of our Sacrosanct land
Out of our Sacred Sanctuary..
We Soldier on in Truth and Light
Our’s is a Sworn Duty to God and our people
We are The Defenders Of Oath..
The Last Defenders Of Oath..
Our path is one that embraces the light
We are The early call of a coming dawn..
"A people who lived in darkness unto
Them a great light has dawned"..
We are Gichunge Warriors Of The Light
#A_Footnote_EmmissaryOfKiama
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