An antique shovel pushes into sacred dirt,
sprinkled with cinnamon and crushed obsidian rose petals,
while a blazing bonfire roars,
lighting up the night sky.
Ravens watch with intense scrutiny,
the voices in my head quieting,
as snakes slither around my neck.
Opening a weathered pouch,
I remove ceremonial offerings:
bottles of blood-red wine and pristine garnets.
I place them among shedded snake skin,
gingerly replacing the earthen soil.
The intoxicating scent of dragon's blood surrounds me.
Orange flames crackle, mutating into the deepest blues.
Claret clouds partially cover the full moon.
Shadows of ebony horns dance within the in-between.
Melodious gothic hymns fill an anticipating soul.
Warm breath flirts with the back of my neck.
Razor-sharp nails gently glide against pale flesh.
A beautifully savage silhouette forms in the corner of my eye.
Tonight, I dance with Lilith
among the ashes of glorious destruction.
Contest : Write a Beautiful Verse
Sponsor : Constance La France
Third Placing : Standard Contest : Jan 26
_________________________________
“Without the Female Human Form, life as we know it, would fold & our entire Cosmos would be the lesser. Whatever it looks like to egoic vision, it encodes powerful human birthing energies, therefore is the most Beautiful Creation.” : Poet
__________________________________
Sacrosanct female form, undulating curves receptive
from soles, toes to nine openings imbibe Gaia's yields
crown maned entice Sky gifts, gaining sons, daughters, fields
arms, buxom or slender circle efforts, keeps us from harm
plump-honeyed baps drip milk feeding mouths sucking charmed
bellies endearingly blood-nurture life's births
caboose ebony or ivory mirrors omni Earth
phalanges stroke or wrinkled contained, nuances claim
spine serpentine homes mutating blue violet flame
coral lips mirthfully melt flesh intoxicate fruity
its purpose inspiring cameo nurturing, a duty
Female Form, embodies Now Power Beauty !
My mind is tribal, I hunt in the mud and slurry,
I track the stars in a wooden chariot
made from the ribs of a blood-clan crib.
My thoughts are armored, yet as articulated
as any youthful flesh, they cannot be washed,
or manipulated, I have an ax for every hand
against them, a caress for those
who choose to fight on the battlefield
of inspiring ideas,
a painted arrow and shield to defend
the commandments of ever-mutating gods.
A green tree within a high mountain
is my mind, a solar flare of endless creation
are my barbaric prayers,
the same orisons that now civilize the corrupt
and morally spent.
I am the heart of existence, my tribal markings
cannot be scrubbed away, by smooth-skulled
manikins or the slick prattle
of any grandiose legion.
Those of our christian rights
drew us a beautiful picture
perfectly placed within family values Father and Mother related
To worship the Child an Infant conceived Sacred
teaching every single one parables of this life
with deeply etched principles attached
To overshadow a mass deception mutating the truth
backwards never moves forward according to the Word
that which carries total authority made from the Flesh
We are all sinners
wounds to be judged for the shortfalls
how little we have become as tainted children
Do we stand and be counted sheep
crying to protect the Lamb
or remain quite with the wolves
Who are a blood thirty lot breaking Divine laws
always claiming justice stands in their court of knowledge
whom tear down the true meaning of a family
never in a life time will they ever be right
I pray God be merciful to those blind afflicted
to grant them the precious miracle
which baptises the very eyes
that enables them to see and love again
I can feel it I can hear it
I can dream it I can see it
day and night, week and week
I drown in this bloody sea
I die in this ocean of tears
I swim in the dead of sorrow
the synchronising melody of death
is like an anthem to my brain,
the loud shatter of a heart
is as a rhythm to my soul,
the screeching scream
is like to me the gush of the wind.
what monster have I become?
I can feel it I can see it,
even in broad daylight.
I can dream it I can hear it,
even in the dead of night.
racing and chasing,
killing and mutating
the train of thoughts
is that one that created the living monster.
I am as a lost soul, wandering
as a traveller, seeking
as a predator,thirsty
all because of a phenomena...
love.
Earth Eulogy
By Mark D. Stucky
She was a good planet,
put to death in her prime
by a pandemic of people.
Homo-sapiens was a disease
with mutating and metastasizing
technological and industrial pus,
emitting environmental toxins,
exterminating flora and fauna,
until the infection’s surge
triggered its own extinction.
Vaccines of ecological education
and environmental regulations
could not overpower
the pathogen’s resistance.
When the global viral load
caused ever-rising fever,
Earth suffered convulsions
and, finally, Gaian coma.
Other sentient souls
amidst the starry galactic mist
will surely miss you very much.
Rest in peace, dear Earth.
(Image by Gerd Altmann on Pixabay.com.)
A make belief world was conjured by my mind,
propelled by heart’s desire for variety
but then these illusions gripped me in its bind,
mutating fear forms dancing in gaiety
and thus floundering about as do the blind,
unable to manage my mind’s anxiety,
I turned attention inward, in cessation,
thus becoming the flame of bliss sensation.
11-March-2023
No Exit
musicians hide behind scarring sounds
beyond madness
beyond folly
beyond Somewhere Everywhere
dance with delirious determination
through fragments of melodious folly
dissonant dulcimers declare
repetitive chords
within punctuated digital drones
repetitive beyond vibration
vibrating beyond repetition
percussive rituals vibrate
beyond inflated vaudevillians
mutating into
mad cacophonous comedic collisions
rituals beyond vibrating cacophony
rituals behind chaotic vibrations
deranged vibraphones
denounce
fragments of repetitive visions
mindful of mindless
Exits
INNOVATIVE COMMENTARY
where purpose
alludes
self-glowing iterations
are accentuated
yet
restrained
by complicity
an uneasy assessment
on reflection
of facial
gymnastics
where expression
incarnates
in enviable
propensity
&mundane fantasy
is collapsed
by
tradition
appropriated
& subverted
in the
collective psyche
tangible
evidence
mutating
emotive
squashed
&
substituted
then
released
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Said the Guru - Saying: 181
Don’t drizzle on me because
you definitely don’t want me to drizzle on you.
I have syphilis, aids and mutating mad cow disease.
Are you sure you want some?
Then wear a darn mask.
©Al Juman- The said Poet
Scripture(do onto others what you would want done to you}
Explained -do not do unto others what you would not want done to you
So it turns out we were cooked on slow burner until now and
the new mutant catches us by fire -- doctors must be going
through catechism drill, we 're bred to their natural trust.
Ah venomous serpent, wretch you, we shall one day build a
monument for the millions you swallowed up with words, lost to a
lunatic virus, the demon of our day that swung us to disaster, gone
is the splendor of healthy living, farewell, farewell. We must throw ourselves
a thousand shades of light, a mantle stiff with eagle talons that sink in the skin
of the innocent. The bloodstain laurels of a stalemate until the vaccine works it magic and the hour comes rasping to our hopes, not the temper tantrums of a mutating virus locked in its horizon. I greatly fear, regardless of the vaccine, the rising heat in its kitchen!
Corona has made a hot soup
caught us unawares, in a coup
a hothead.
We love to touch, hug eachother
enjoy our drink, chat together
with hotdog.
This weakness Corona exploited
mutating, making us doited
a hotrod.
Wanting to do damage contain
caregivers hurried, to maintain
a hotline.
Humans' old habbits die very hard
older and sick, it did bombard
as hotbed
13.5.2020
Warning bells had rung before
Nature may not like it anymore
the over exploitation of its store
but human greed did underscore
rules of coexistence as in folklore.
Our experiment with wild meat
transmitted a Corona virus fleet
silently mutating, us it browbeat
spreading one to other in a meet.
Choking lungs, it took away life
with no antidote, world is in strife
locked in homes with family and wife.
Life overscores over economic loss
points at nature to be ultimate boss.
Salute the frontline selfless saviours.
we must mend our value core
Lest nature is forced to repeat
and bleed us with another knife
and give us a more severe toss
striking at roots of our grandeurs.
14.4.2020
Have we ceded our stewardship
allowed a systemic sepsis to spread
acquiesced to the benign malaise
of Death’s directing finger?
Spending billions to cure diseases
caused by poverty’s pestilence
arming ourselves against an assault
of mutating microbial minds
Offering triage to the fatality
of futility’s folly
bandaging life’s severed limbs
sound biting our souls.
Who took the village?
©8/1/2019
Sound of Silence Poetry Contest
John Hamilton sponsor
Concerning our hobbled earth~
God must yearn to start from scratch
We've been given multiple chances
but have turned Eden into ash.
Our minds are filled with plastic thoughts
and the burrs of nuclear rust.
A hellish-metal-hearted, selfish species
that no other species should ever trust.
War species-filthy DNA staircase...
bleach it clean with a mutating gene
splashed with peaceful sequences.
Until our gilded God intercedes
he should float a no vacancy sign
upon the shallows of our minds.
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