Long Two thirds Poems
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It took us too long,
but eventually
we noticed Republican women
and Democrats both women and men
often preferred to spend about twice as much on domestic education
and defensively proactive mutual health care assurance
as compared to international defensive co-investment,
too often reduced to the militaristic over-industrialized budget.
And, of that international relations budget,
about two-thirds for growing cultures of healthy peace warriors
and maybe up to one-third on policing criminal offense
with cooperative co-investment intent.
So,
the domestic and educational security matriarchs
formed cooperative ecopolitical networks
for governing inside these fifty States,
while the more WinWin patriarchs
tried to mutually dominate
a more Left-Right Brain and Mind and Incarnate Body
of harmonic global co-investment networks.
Both internal and external cooperatives
rooted in Lovelock and Margulis double-binding
chemistry as also synergetic microbiology
producing Gaia Hypotheses of CoRevolution,
flowering in Golden Rules Revised:
Do not not ecopolitically flex and do
as you would have your great grandchildren remember like you,
with kindness,
contentment,
grace of awesome love,
continued abundant co-investment
in regenerational strings of polypathic mutual promise,
positively imagined in our retrospective matriarchal-patriarchal future,
multicultures of health-balancing wealth.
My new forest and park neighbors,
mostly birds
squirrels
and strangely curious
and ravenous rabbits,
Have become accustomed to,
spoiled by,
fragrant green sanctuary
ancient fertile memories.
But, today
our neighborly horse farm
must be cleaning house.
This smells of too rich compost
upstaging even more gracious green.
This downgrade
calls to me
recalling former toxic smells,
fossil fuel exhausting,
were sooo... much more degenerative.
Horsey compost
lies between love's light life fragrance
and dark skinned death
of odorous Earth.
Yet, comparing distances
between green forest
and horse fragrance
and transported stinky fractures
through sacred climates ecological
resonant and resilient airs
and gusts
and breezes,
Comparative distances
continuously,
yet consecutively, change
what one might argue
is a contrasting wealth of difference,
+1, to -1, with midway
horse-powered zero neutral
Feels more like two-thirds healthy fragrance
and only one third toxic
Feels closer to three-fourths salient
to one-fourth punitive memory
from here
and now perspective,
Feels closer to seven-eighths
to one-eighth formerly deranged
of a revolutionary
resonantly regenerative
fractalling
resiliently redundant
multicultural sensory/spiritual
nurturing
re-communicating natural octave
of Golden Ratio/Rule comparison,
At last
resiliently resonant.
Existence is the cauldron where elements brew
Earth, water, fire and air, are in space entwined
Each has unique attributes, maintaining life
Cognised by presence when they are aligned
Holy Spirit grazes form, beginning at root of spine
Earth comes alive, as blood begins to flow
Two thirds of the planet is water; we are likewise
We feel in stillness, our sacral water centre glow
Energy ascent continues, igniting fire in the navel
So enlivening and comforting is magnetic heat
But what avail the spark, if there be no movement
Breeze of air obliges, making our heart upbeat
Thus from root to sacral, navel and then our heart
Grace activates all elements and body glands
Passing through throat corresponding to aether
Into the head ovoid to cognise God’s heavenly lands
Ancient Hermitic wisdom affirms: as above, so below
Made in God’s image, we represent the whole
Five senses, elements and electricities as yet unknown
Oh hermit, we ourselves are the light, scriptures extol
My distracting theatrics verses are preempted versions of impending calamity, one by air, and, one by sea.
The point of levity is to advance the common element of surprise--the unexpected of the "clueless," whereto, I'll appropriately relabel as "passengers," save or bar the crew members, whom I'll also relabel them as, "sacrificial lambs," "... jolly good to go down with the ship, eh, First Mate?" "Every man for themselves, Captain!" "Are you from the States?" "Birmingham, sir." "England or Alabama?"
Levity is on because hope exists as time permits the gullible. A poem I wrote, exacts that point, entitled, "Mirror, In The Line Of Fire: POTW," where impending doom may claim your liberties, both physical [inability to move--fear], and mental [clear process to act--hysteria] is in the strike of you--death seizes your face/fate/faith.
My quantum phrase addressing those factors is, " ... gullible may hold the keys, but 'tis knowledge that opens the door."
Time idles whilst the plane sits on the tarmac--read the manual where on board is the safest place to position yourself or loved ones--a measure of hope--tho' odds are great, lean your faith on righteousness hold--greater than other--hymnally speaking.
With so much floatable furnishing, Titanic could have created a raft for a few souls more--again, a measure of hope.
A clear mind and ability to move give hope to those lacking, as fear and panic claim ownership of precious souls.
The odds may be great when facing such a calamity, and having such a mindset, therein lies the greater calamity.
A third survived, 700 souls, and two-thirds lost 1400 souls the Atlantic Ocean claims. A sad yet true revelation grew in Titanic's aftermath. The phraseology: "The Affluent Survived, The Destitute Died," adds another chapter of humanity's truths of life's measure of worth well-hid in the core of Eve's fruit, hence, illumination, "Since the beginning of time/knowledge of good and evil.
Murphy's Law acts as a jumping point for quantum knowledge in their efforts to simplify life struggles with a convenient doorway for its exit for your journey to a better you--give time for hope.
Dated:2/2/2013
Black velvet sky festoons solemnly my brooding words,
Exudes gloom from my mindly nib, drowned in woes two thirds.
Sharp shrillness of many of my lingering thought,
Shatter silence of stillness that dusk had on to me brought.
Grief laden clouds quiver with culpable guilt,
Blue starry skies shiver around the moon’s curves laden with forlorn silt.
Tonight I write about my past in melancholy laced lines,
About my ceaseless love for her and her conditional love for me at times….
Solitary nights like the one tonight,
Has stored within itself, deep memories like flashing lights.
Nostalgia sewn within its brimming self,
Of holding her in my arms, my warm embrace her body engulfs.
Her conditional love for me and my ceaseless love for her at all times,
Lure the emotions out tonight, to write the melancholy stewed lines.
As I sit here all senses alive to listen to the great black night,
Sans her beside me, tears trickle down filling the beady grass beds and dull my sight.
The shattered silence of the night all dark,
Resonates in my head no more, but my heart leaves a deep bruised scar and a mark.
A quaint sound of lament I faintly hear,
From a distance it seems like an echo of my bleeding heart all unclear.
My soul curses me as never before,
As its mate it has lost and has only me to deplore….
Places I go glare at my searching eyes with fervor,
Look out for her as though I wish to go to her.
And my heart too joins the fray,
And both of them conspire for me to seek her any which way.
But now as I no longer love her,
That’s a truth that my mind and my heart must concur.
As I sit and speak to myself, the dew drips on to the leaves,
Tell tales in the silence as the wind touching my voice as it grieves.
like my kisses of before, she is now another’s,
Her dreamy eyes, her warm weatish body, her heart, her joyous smile,
Her sweet body scent, her warm breath that spreads a mile
Are now not for me but for another…………….
I love her no more but maybe I yearn for her love,
But unknown to myself I seek her love somehow!!!
Filled with nostalgic emotions of our sweet oneness
I can barely raise my eyebrows to see us together in my mind’s eye.
I hope this is the last dart cupid has shot at me,
And this is the last verse I pen for her to see
THE RED DRAGON
clad in black, she shakes with fear
the still of multitudinous lights
very far - up close and personal
she could sense its intense heat
shaking like a Chinese dragon
this enormous red snake
with seven crowns
on seven heads
and ten horns
lights flicker in s.o.s.
hoping to be saved
the special, the unique, each one
the atmosphere becomes engulfed in smoke
acrid, sulfurous, indulgent
beginning of a long end
the sky turns blood-red, flammable
eyes more terrible than a gator’s at night
scales that slash the blackened sky
you can hear the creak of a hellish tail
the swish and swash, the cracking of whip
(i hear the scream of each extinguished star)
two-thirds of the stars weep that fated night
weep for the earth and all of mankind
they weep for sin and shame and suffering
5/18/2017
I saw a man the other day
while I was watching my TV,
he angrily proclaimed we should,
“Apologize for slavery!”
Now this struck me as quite bizarre,
for we did this long, long ago,
we fought a war to kill that sin,
the evil of it all do know.
But somehow his words made me think,
though not along with his intentions,
other peoples’ have not said,”Sorry,”
they should not go without mention.
The Muslim world, the most of all
has much to apologize for,
a million Europeans they
seized as slaves from ships and the shore.
Bad as that is, what is worse yet
was the Trans-Saharan slave trade,
one hundred twenty million souls
were scooped up by Arab slave raids.
To put this into perspective,
in the deep southern USA,
four hundred thousand slaves came in
during the colonial days.
Now there’s black skin in America,
but not much in the Middle East,
since they castrated all the males,
and took off more than just testes…
nine out of ten would bleed to death,
but the slavers didn’t much care,
Africa was full of infidels,
there would always be more flesh there.
Eighty percent of slaves taken
didn’t last through the desert sands,
and two-thirds of them were women,
sold as concubines to any man.
And the Muslims kept doing this
for about fourteen hundred years,
it was only for two centuries
that Europe’s interest did appear.
Now the west admits to all of this,
expresses regret all the time,
but rarely do you see such thoughts
arise from devout Muslim minds.
The Saudis only banned the trade
in the god-damned nineteen sixties!
In Sudan, Libya, Isis lands,
the practice exists presently!
It’s not something the lefty types
want most people to realize,
yet why has nobody ever asked
the Muslim world to apologize?
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
I crossed the yard
two-thirds awake,
intent upon
that coffee break:
young teacher hunk,
one tall, cool stud
(before the Night,
before the Flood,
before the Flight
of all that’s good,
before the Blight
brought down the Wood,
and damned spare tyres
dammed up the Gush),
I waded through
the schoolgirl crush.
Two slinky babes,
real dinky girls,
all legs and lips
and kinky curls
said “Come upstairs,
hang out with us:
we’ve got some ****
we could discuss.”
You think me stupid?
Yes, indeed-o.
They led me upstairs
by the libido.
With limbs so nimble,
movements fleet,
they steered me to
the science suite.
We pushed ajar
the green lab door,
and they weren’t smiling
any more.
They wanted me
to case the joint.
They’d brought me here
to make a point,
for Tippy Hedren
and Lee Remick
had drawn me in
for pure polemic.
That sterile world
of steel and glass:
that ingrained smell
of Bunsen gas!
You’d keep away
from high school labs
if you’d seen what
was on those slabs.
"50 Words for Poe: The Wicker Man"
Lost in the fire of his own mind
Lost in the fire of his own heart betrayed
Lost in the fire of his own life arraigned
Lost in the absence of Love, always
No Home
Man on Fire
Afraid
Freedom to be found in the fire of his own sorrow
Freedom to be found in the fire of his own soul
Freedom to be found in the fire of his own today n’ere tomorrow
Freedom to be found in the fire of his own higher-self to remember
Time now to let go
Time is not borrowed
Burn the past to find Home
The Ocean calls him Home calls him Home calls him Home
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
for Cerberus
off-page guarding his heart
https://youtu.be/NZ1o3mBbhws
"Man on Fire"/Gerrard
“It is said by the Eldar that in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur more than in any substance that is in this Earth; and many of the Children of Ilúvatar hearken still unsated to the voices of the Sea, and yet know not for what they listen.” Tolkien, The Silmarillion
“Ocean, n. A body of water occupying about two-thirds of a world made for man — who has no gills.” Ambrose Bierce, The Unabridged Devil's Dictionary
Swirling, pulsing, and throbbing through air
came a cloud, not quite black, above my bed,
not closing my eyes and watching in fear,
Death would be easy but the cloud was my dread.
Looking closer, I viewed a darkening black spot
two thirds of the way down the visage's form.
It grew, spun, shrunk as though it were hot.
My head seemed electric as though in a storm.
I jumped from the bed wanting a fight.
The cloud backed away, I thought setting me free.
I grabbed at its shoulders holding on tight,
Saying Death take no one, but take only me.
I kicked the spot with best martial art,
thus causing the form to fold with a cry.
We tumbled to hell, there never to part.
I sacrificed life, and in hell I would die.