Written in every vintage storybook,
fancy script says ‘Once upon a time..’
Reeled in with that iconic hook,
no wonder girls are set up at age five. ?
Faith fixes expectations like a crook,
the folklore of forever sets in.
Centuries immortalize the quest he took,
different words have a parallel rhyme.
A duo of mythos mirror each other’s look.
I try to avoid them in the crisp morning light,
but I hastily sink into their mud-caked bottoms.
I sink to my knees in their inevitable stratum.
One after another, beyond memory or thought,
swirling pools of consciousness unspoken.
Parallel immersive mythos together and unbroken.
Heavy here, my trudge from pond to pond,
egoless consciousness watches with detachment.
My fledgling demanding acts are persistent.
My emotions are unwitting and hand-crafted.
These ponds of my making create schemas
from hormones and perceptual appraisals.
I plod through stages of deepening awareness.
From weeping to laughter, I feel each nuanced valence.
Though I try to resist them again and again,
these are my schemas, my reckoned inventions.
Like a roaming wolf or a squirrel poised in a tree,
these emotional appraisals are my intentions.
These spontaneously self-organizing feelings
are my defenses, and my epiphanies of universal marvel
as egoless consciousness awaits, unspoken.
666 is the Old testament reference to the measurements of the statue called: "the Colossus at Rhodes", a simple reference to the Greco-Roman Empire. America, in political form and adoption of its "Mythos" (cause and effect subject object scientific TRUTH metaphysics) is its modern incarnation.
get ready for the global Bitcoin currency and your own personal identification number (P.I.N.)!
how is that alternate satanic political system called Communism looking to you now?
My Mary Magdalene, but me
What, Lo! Here! Of what worlds do I see!
Oh, look...here...my Mary Magdalene but me
What looks...HERE...what jaws I do reap?
Oh, look...here...my Mary Magdalene but me
What tender legs that never open, what jaw-dropped, tender ways they collide
And on this stern-glass Hobbit's Castle, I, Mog the Moogle, do my pages of Time collide?
What, Lo! Here! Of what worlds do I see!
Oh, look...here...my Mary Magdalene but me
What looks...HERE...what jaws I do reap?
Oh, look...here...my Mary Magdalene but me
And, Lo, what looks here Titaness Sister Io,
than Norse/ Greek mythos as I seep?
What looks...HERE...what jaws I do reap?
Oh, look...here...my Mary Magdalene but me
All is fair in love and war,
For love and war are lovers.
War and Love, those deities so fair,
Aphrodite and Ares belong to one another.
All is fair in love and war,
For every soldier holds someone
Closer than anyone ever before,
and every lover has to fight
for the person they feel is right.
All is fair in love and war,
For love is a battle in itself.
You fight to be enough,
and your lover does the same.
All is fair in love and war,
For without one or the other,
A soul is poor.
The summer was lush with death,
it turned the hare into a twirling dervish,
the raccoon to a pantomime villain,
forced mice
to sing in the jaws of predators.
The woods are bare now,
trees rattle,
birds clatter twiggy wings,
briar tangles
in the bare throats of scarecrows.
October gourds glow, there serrated grins
reflected within the eyes
of late stalking cats.
Nocturnal winds sweep in,
bone corseted myths
ride upon the cracked racks
of desiccated lambs.
Petticoats hang from gristly limbs
much tattered by thorns.
By December, the skeletal woods
crunch inwards like roofless catacombs.
Reckless children are lost
in a leafless maze of fairytales.
Mothers tag the young
like puppy dogs, vaccinate them
against dismay.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
reent edit
Adam's rib, but a simple wand
in the fingers of YHWH,
And fair Eve, the summoned Spell
of this earthen fashioned Dust.
As such, these were the roots
sculpted from towering Mythos;
Finding a rapturous Vienna Genesis:
sweet river of olden scripts,
And yet the Movements of Universe,
still cloaked in geometries unknown.
What would bring in my heart happy?
What would motivate my ethos?
Why my thoughts keep going crappy?
What would bring in my heart happy?
My night is full of grace mythos.
Bring it out, and make it snappy.
What would bring in my heart happy?
What would motivate my ethos?
Written: October 3rd, 2022
Should I stay
or could I go?
Would you stay
if you could?
Must ego stay as healthy planted
or is it compassion's warm safety time
to yet again
Great Transition onward?
Not necessarily upward
Would wild indigenous Wisdom stay
if s/he logos/mythos interdependently could?
Yang yintegrating
Truth beautifying
Win winning
Ego eco-therapeutic
indigenously natural spirits
spiraling
Should I healthy stay
and could we safely go?
Would you resiliently stay
if we could choose
our most resonant day?
Elephant skin is bark-like and rough,
advanced to a crisp, leathery tough.
The great Milky Way could not be so large,
nor so grey as the elephant’s muscular trunk
with aged-to-stone sinew—a supple, flannel hunk.
The overcast skies toss a dullness on the day -
somber and muted like the grey in the way
of the elephant—its color worn unconsciously,
innocuously, and steadfastly. There is a mythos
about elephants that depicts them as ponderously,
lumbering mammoths, hulking and bulky as a brand-
spanking, new heavy-weight, woolen sweater —yet
they are most agile and keen creatures whose
clumsiness is widely over-stated and over rated.
For intelligence, communication skills, and memory
they cannot be bested – fascinating creatures, the elephants.
Emotional intelligence
is best watered
with transparency
and fed through vulnerability.
Vulnerability becomes accessible
through practicing win/win courageous expectations
even in the most enduring partisan win/lose spaces,
secular and sacred
Transparency becomes articulate
through practicing multicultural curiosity
active and benign and free of prejudgment
and western white straight male
military-industrialized,
sometimes too fat and monoculturally self-satisfied
to become more than tolerant,
throwing outbound left-brain dominant
impatient-worded weapons
where right-brain interdependent active curiosity
listening tools
and win/win moderating skill-sets
for watering left-cognitive
and right-emotive
polyphonic intelligence
might foster rational reasons
to support resilient ego/eco-health care,
Receiving and giving balanced economic
ego-logos/eco-mythos
emotional intelligence,
emotive motives
best curiously watered
with courageous transparency
and fed through con-celebrated vulnerability.
Art follows ecology
of inductive diametrical synergy
As science leads logos
through deductive dialectical simplicity
As religious culture accompanies mythos
seducing ancient dialogues
in amusing sage symmetry
Love overpowers all negativity others spew
The mouth tries to describe its amazingness but is unable to follow through
Throbs from heart become unbearable
Unlike any feeling you have ever encountered
With all of its graciousness, love can burn like the fire within the lowest level of hell
Leaving you rethinking everything about its mythos
Where my love goes
your mystery cannot fade.
Yet my curiosity can wilt without your active support,
contagious nourishment,
never-ending flames of wonder
that this love
you could persist with me.
How could we possibly not share our lives,
mutually disinvest of mysteries
that could dampen
more aggressive histories?
Yet without active curiosity
mystery fails hopeless to know more,
even though love’s thirst for internal sufficiency
and self-creation stories
becomes too easily quenched
by cooperative post-climatic adjustments,
aging continental plates
earth-quaking our chronically mutual myths,
and their before logos and after mythos shocks.
Where my love goes
your history could not shade,
yet dark fading curiosity of aging eyes and ears
and minds
can blend these my well-deserved contentment
feeding flame’s remorseless desire
to continue this co-blind mystery
of love’s deep and blissful well-fed curiosity.
Spawn of the arcane, glutted, she sprawls upon the sands
of mythos. As victims, star-crossed lovers, outcasts,
we have all seen the traces of these nether lands.
Sphinx-like, besotted, she lays among the bodies dashed.
A pixie smith has cast her silver chains, retained her
inside this mystic plane, stained her hide vintage rose.
Among the cards on the table, it is plain; she purrs.
Do you know what she knows; guess, a riddle she poses.
Protection sought from life's trials is at her command.
But, few coupled or single have journey past her grasp.
Unknown, to the unschooled, their senses unused, banned,
Christendom, the sacred fecund grail has miscast.
From Hatshepsut's visage, bound to Sekhmet she's sworn
beware, beware The Chariot's card once it is drawn.
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