Twixt life and hereafter
Break out in laughter
The better side of sixty
Louder, if you're thrifty
Ponder the tired frame
On inflammation, blame
Cells and tissues run amok
Immune cells, called, flock
Surgeons beckon
A windfall they reckon
Invading, nipping. gently
They probe, intelligently
Negative biopsy report!
You can still hold court
The end's hardly nigh
In consolation, sigh
Ceuta is a Spanish city in North Africa (population: 80K people). On July 30-31, 2026 it was invaded by over 60,000 mostly young men (no women or children) who breached the border from Morocco. Some went back, but many thousands stayed or went to Spain and no one tried stop or expel them
To those who let the hordes come in:
You are the enemy within
And care not for folks of yours
The fiends walked through the open doors
They didn’t care for the law
The riots worst we ever saw
Payback when Spain Okay’s their stay
But own people they betray
Somewhere hides the “greater good”
Netflix or even Hollywood
Should pick the story of conquest
About how we lost the West
The Muslim savages are best
Failed breaks, all riled, brutal fest
They didn’t stop, run amok-crazed
Yet Spain’s “left” remain unfazed
They don’t belong, the devil’s seed
In our world, with our creed
Projection of the things to come
Continue play blind, deaf and dumb
August 5, 2026
They are rufescent with fury.
Hissing stridently with horror,
They post words of wailing vigilance through
Parched gullets.
Glows run amok amid drunken spells of
Hysterical lustre
Fleeting shards of wobbling light
Pierce the earnestness of a grieving dawn,
Blinding the essence of insistent courage.
Early warm ruddy presence is
Dissolved by the warring flames of
Hostile tree-threads singed with hate from
Jungles that hoot, flee and crackle, fanning the
Embers of a fuming climate.
Where the Lesser Nature Reigns there Hell knows No Crowns
where Unguided Men follow crowds,
where the Spirit is Dormant and Obsolete
where Frenzies Run amok like Pacified Sheep,
where the Fruits of the Spirit are nowhere found
held captive by external bounds,
tethered to the Berm of the Unholy paths
where all Wither, where the soul Dithers, and Truth never lasts
Yet, by the High Road we find pastures So Sublime
through the Lands Of Penial where the Great Torch Shines
Upwards by the Fire unto the Higher Mind
there, we Travail Electric Paradigms
by Knowledge comes Ascension, by Ascencion we are Freed
by Freedom we March through the Passage of Sovereignty,
Ever Upwards from Gate unto Gate
Into Valleys and Highlands that Liberate,
7 Doors Yonder to find Thy Light
Ever So High, we Blitz into Paradise
Dread, dream of tomorrow.
O Death, shadow the move.
Sin, thy light! Blanch to borrow!
Sorrow, what to prove?
Weathervane, by lightning struck.
Are you out of luck?
Antlers, justify the buck!
Night, wind, run amok...
Anger, boil within my veins!
Justice, I invoke!
O ye prisoners, break thy chains!
Egg, devour thy yolk!
Torn open, O resting place?
Sounds like a disgrace!
Poison, best to speed thy pace!
Cone, caldera, case...
Autumnal the colored leaves.
Red run roll reprieves.
Corn stalk, indigo, thy sheaves.
He who fights believes.
Gifts of gold and silver?
O riches, where to find?
Ask the huntress! Fill? Fur.
Somewhere the sun shined...
Dark fire, bloom and blossom!
O belladonna, brain!
Pain within us, play possum!
Downward, my disdain...
They pose with the austere stares of
Loving, friendly ghosts —tall, gaunt and lissome,
With big, rounded head.
Draped in weathered robes of care,
They are the only guardian spirits we see.
They have the calming power,
Where drunken machines run amok
Through broiling engine oils
And reckless crankshafts,
Spitting gas, and brittle axles.
Roads are unpredictable.
In winter they storm with the quiet rage of
Sods, dragging queens and whims . . .
Guide me, O limits of spirits!
Check my fattened excesses for fibrosis.
Darkness thickens —even by feast-time of the sun.
What's the big deal
Why do we always have to be serious
Or well adjusted and stuff like that
That's no freaking fun
Why can't we run amok through the streets naked
Tossing flowers to bystanders
Bizarre as that may seem
Life is to be lived to the fullest and enjoyed
The kookier the outlook, the better
If you delve deep enough
You can find humour in almost every situation
However, you must be predisposed to it
To recognize it
In other words, you must be a bit twisted
My motto... “Why be serious!”
Ain't nothing wrong with being twisted
#Precious
Day in and day out,
In my window,
my eyes lay low,
like a lion on its prey,
awaiting only to quench my soul
with your luminous glow.
Your drizzling laughs,
consistently sending shivers down my spine.
Wish you'd peep into my stomach
whenever you toss your eyes to my direction, constantly provoking the butterflies in my stomach, to run amok.
Shut my eyes,
clot my earsdrums,
in your distance my heart reverberates,
tie my tongue,
for my soul screams to your aura,
less these streets hear whats not meant for their ears to consume.
From a distance fell so hard,
bruises on my heart awakes
whenever I lay my eyes on you,
like demons in my spirits
evoked by your purity,
Owe it to bow to your parents
for slipping a goddess out of heaven,
without God's knowledge,
right into my vicinity
#Poetic_ink
Rotted wood splinters
Shiny beetles run amok
Mushrooms guard the door
The world today is scary
There's lunatics in charge
The views of people vary
And egos are enlarged
Why can't we share a vision
A world where we all live
And make it our own mission
To understand and to forgive
We all are our own enemies
We're quick to judge and mock
If we quickly forget memories
We all will run amok
We need to build a future
Together as one kind
To stitch and mend our suture
And start to use our mind
To build a safer place
We need to make a plan
We need to show good grace
And live as one big clan
If we do not unite
Our time will surely come
We'll end in one big fight
And our world will come undone
There will be no redemption
The war will end us all
The will be no exemption
And the human race will fall
The corner video store
With the neon lights,
Was the place to be
On Friday nights ...
Only black VHS tapes
In clear, plastic cases,
Lined the 'HORROR' sections
Of my favorite places
From left to right ...
Up and down the walls,
There were bloody fangs
... And killer dolls
Aliens and dinosaurs
Monsters on the prowl,
Giant sharks terrorize
Wild, werewolves howl
Next to white masked men
Hungry zombies run amok,
If my favorite's already gone
... Then, I'm out of luck
Demons and busted ghosts
Wicked witches casting spells,
Vampires and psychos
Dark houses and hotels
Wire rack rentals of ...
Haunted cars and T.V.'s,
Eventually, I'd take my pick
And then, go pay the fees
With a sack of popcorn
For three days I'd slouch,
Against the biggest pillow
On the end of our couch
The whole house was dark
But, the T.V. screen shined,
Back in the days ...
Of "Be Kind. Rewind."
A giant lived among the trees
a woodland home of oak and elm
of birch, of sycamore, a roof of leaves
but treelings bothered, pestered him
did run amok, did taunt and tease
play and run around his feet
did kick a shin, too tall his knees
go treelings in their raucous fun
but temper fraying, he, of them
and anger growing, angry on
picked and grabbed all one by one
raised them up with giant arm
shout and cry he threw them far
so far away, so far to land
but land they did where little lived
and there be strewn amid the fern
and that is why, dear all, you see
a clump of trees seem randomly
growing where no others come
a curious copse of trees alone
because a giant threw them
far from home
LIFE’S A GAMBOL – THEN YOU DIE
I am a woolly little lamb.
That ewe’s my mum, my dad’s the ram.
Mum told me how that came to be
But it seemed a little rude to me.
Dad’s favourite song is by U2,
The one called “All I Want Is Ewe”
I’m always full of mischief, I like to run amok.
The shepherd always calls me the black sheep of the flock.
He even called the vet in to treat my strange affliction.
He quickly diagnosed it; I’ve a gambolling addiction.
I have to live life while I can; so please excuse my bleating.
For as you know, life for a lamb is always somewhat fleeting.
Whether I am good or bad, one thing is sure of course.
I know I’ll end up on your plate, smothered in mint sauce.
There is a disparancy in humanity..Or in its consiouness
As it presents to me.'
There is a plan to lower, the ammount of humans i see.'
Its like over and out.'
There are the usual 'news reports?' On murder most foul
Journalists rage about.'
Forget about the genocide..Enforced lockdowns
Rampant pride.'
Its vaccinattion as a birthday treat.? Like evils good
From the media suite.'
Thats my take..Indeed its my portion.' Getting accolades
For destruction and dissolution.'
The folk it seems must suck it up.? And watch such killers
And leaders?? Run amok.!
Kato was a mutt-product:- breeding run amok
No purity meant the pound of death-induction
Only his adoption saved him from that inferno
turning life into moments full of simply-perfect:
Each summer, the sun stroke a furry black hue
Elevating it with a sheer of burgundy elegance
Pauses were paws-aplenty with a trot and stop
Leaves all fallen he sniffed, callings of ethereal
Even winter was a nose-frozen-water pleasure
And spring lasted, always in his outdoor mania
So the decade ran prancing into walking years…
Under rains, by the river running, a dog by you
Racing by faster with memories, toward too far
Ending in the hardest letting go - a broken bye.
12/31/23
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