A thundering heartbeat
echoes from the garage to
the stadium.
An subterranean rumble ignites
the quiet arena floor,
As radioactive currents course
through the waiting veins,
Unleashing a fierce,
tempestuous wave of
symphonic thunder.
They transform the mundane
into the fiercely monumental,
Weaving unyielding, anthemic
battle cries from raw
vulnerability.
The percussion strikes like a
sudden, electric lightning bolt,
While the vocals soar into the
stratosphere, cloud- split sky,
Challenging the internal,
shadowy demons that haunt the
mind.
Believers rise from ashes of
their broken, fractured paths,
Bound together by a
triumphant, golden thread of
sonic gold.
This is the majestic,
unstoppable roar of modern
giants,
Stamping their timeless,
permanent footprint into
musical history.
It's quite obvious now:
"The they" are preparing for life deep underground.
Placing final ribbons around subterranean cities.
Stockpiling sustenance
Water being siphoned to top off cisterns and privies.
The Amazon, Tigris, and Euphrates.
Superior, Michigan, and Erie are all being drained.
The surface people will be left scrambling for crumbs
in the phlegm of nuclear holocaust.
They'll devolve into hunter-gatherer clans.
To become a twisted reality show for subterraneans.
"The They" who trafficked us and ate our babies
will make a game of it, placing bets at our expense...
on who will perish -who'll be left.
Then, when the earth is somewhat cleansed.
"The They" will emerge to barter with metal from our teeth
pin our cross/bones to their puffy pigeon chests
The rest will serve as sex slaves, servants, and jesters
in the post-apocalyptic bed, "the they" have knowingly made.
A luminescent scimitar
cleaves the obsidian
firmament,
An ethereal calligraphy
traced upon the cosmic
element.
Suspended in quiet majesty,
a vestige of celestial grace,
Shedding a shimmering,
iridescent glow across time
and space.
This iridescent sickle cradles
the penumbral sphere,
As whispering constellations
gather softly from far and
near.
A mesmerizing emblem of
the twilight's quiet, transient
art,
Stirring a melancholic
wonder deep within the
dreamer's heart.
Through the subterranean
expanse of the everlasting
night,
She glides with incandescent
elegance, a beacon of pure
light.
An ephemeral,
phosphorescent crescent,
beautifully designed,
Casting a captivating,
tranquil spell upon all
humankind.
The vast and subterranean
depths awake,
An undulating wave begins
to grow,
As tidal currents violently
awake
And stir the bioluminescent
glow.
The hyper- luminescent
sapphire wall
Ascends against the high
celestial sphere,
A fluid, panoramic, sweeping
hall
Where atmospheric shadows
disappear.
Then comes the thunderous,
explosive crash,
A multifaceted, bright
diamond spray,
As liquid glass and ancient
granite crash,
To wash the solitary coast
away.
The subterranean gargantuan dies,
Reflecting iridescent
midnight stars.
An ancient, desiccated
pharaoh awakened within
the subterranean labyrinth
of his limestone sepulcher,
Tattered, resin- soaked
bandages unfurled like
skeletal fingers from his
withered, emaciated frame.
A hollow, sarcophagus- born
shriek echoed through the
claustrophobic, dust- choked
corridors of the tomb.
Intruders trembled as the
reanimated monarch
exhaled a foul, millennial
breath of decay.
The curse of the scarab-
engraved scarification
manifested, binding the
tomb- raiders in paralyzed
terror.
His empty, shadowed
sockets burned with a
malevolent, incandescent
hunger for vengeance.
Grizzled, mummified hands
reached out to drag the
trespassers into the stygian
darkness.
The heavy stone sarcophagus
lid slammed shut, sealing their
horrific, suffocating fate.
Now, fresh blood seeped
through the ancient linen,
feeding the eternal, undead
king.
The labyrinth reclaimed its
silence, guarding the pharaoh's
newly fortified, immortal slumber.
A dandelion flower crowns
the earth,
As taproots plunge through
subterranean night.
Imbibing deep to birth this
brilliant light,
An incandescent, fierce,
vernacular birth.
The emerald leaves unfold in
emerald grace.
To shield the blooming
blossoms as they rise,
Reflecting summer's bright,
celestial skies,
A brief illumination in this
space.
Then transformation claims
the glowing head,
A silver galaxy of gossamer
strands.
With pappus wings above
the fertile lands,
Where microscopic destinies
are spread.
The fleeting seeds, in
aerodynamic flight,
Disperse to claim the
darkness for the light.
The wheels of time rolled on our lavish landscape,
many springs swarmed in, but soon disappeared.
Ardent zeal lined silver streaks on the satin clouds,
not for long, for the rainstorm surged them away.
My yearning glided beyond the eroded banks
of the subterranean stream within your eyes.
A lucky strike of lightning illuminated its course
I could never have been able to decipher.
As I wandered on the wings of coincidental reverie,
in a trance I saw you adorned by filigree of patina.
The flower of my yearning I felt embellished
with the glow of rekindled luminous passion.
I drifted in the domain of the fortuitous fantasy,
sparkled in the sapphire sky like a shooting star,
the sequins soaking the petals of your pristine rose
as dewdrops radiating my heart’s fervent hue.
In the ethereal grandeur of resurgence I sensed
the revived essence exuding the feeling of bliss,
while the lattice of ornate ecstasy embellished
my resurrected being with flamboyant fervor.
The grub is a fraud, let’s be honest and clear,
A beetle in diapers that gardeners fear.
He’s C-shaped and creamy, a squishy delight,
With a big orange head and a monster-sized bite.
He lives in the dirt, just a subterranean guest,
Turning your lawn into one giant mess.
He wakes in the summer, a tiny white speck,
By autumn he’s thick with a bull-sized neck.
When winter arrives with its icy-cold breath,
He tunnels down deep to avoid certain death,
Then returns in the spring for a root-heavy lunch,
Giving your fescue a satisfying crunch.
He treats your backyard like a five-star buffet,
Till the grass turns to brown and the green fades away.
But his life isn't always a feast in the shade,
The skunk digs a hole for a protein-packed snack,
And the robin descends for a mid-morning thwack.
If he avoids the beaks and the sharp, furry claw,
The Milky Spore bacteria might lock up his jaw.
Or nematodes find him—a microscopic crew—
To turn his insides into biological stew.
But if he survives every chemical spray,
He grows a hard shell and just flies far away.
Snuggle down and cuddle up
For the nights are drawing in.
Listen! Worms are burrowing
Deep down to below the frost line
To the black damp
Sweet damp Kingdom of the earthworm.
Six feet under
In subterranean chambers,
These humble sinkers,
Tunnel to the hum and pulse
Of the seasons.
Dragging and pulling,
Loaming and ploughing
A mosh of decaying debris down
Beneath the overburden,
Into the clag and quiet crush
Of the dark soil.
Worms, the intestines of the earth
In endless toil turn the world
Over, and over, and over.
In the cosy of my blanket
I hug my cup of tea,
And I look out above and beyond me
Up to the autumnal skies.
A twilight of stars
Flung far across the deepening violet,
Twinkle old light.
I ponder the nebula -
Neighbouring planets with their own histories,
And stories of water.
What became of their worms?
Venus worms, Mars worms,
Jupiter and Saturn worms -
What fate awaits the Earth worms?
Our dormant earthworms
Sleeping cold tight,
Deep down, away from the light.
Earthworms coiled spherical
In their protective sheen of dew,
Patiently waiting springs anew.
I have a carnival in my head.
And a type of song that botched me.
Opened up my mailbox like a torn up scar.
Teeth and other types of feelings.
I hate when I have Christmas Day.
Old wrapping paper, they don’t care about me.
Underneath that subterranean palace.
The New Year lapses.
I have a carnival in my head!
A dandelion died instead.
I have enough fancy tastes.
The bones won’t go to waste.
I have a ferris wheel breathing and breaking things inside me.
Circles like holidays in my head.
The pretty ones are sky dwellers.
Often arrogant- highly inaccessible unless you have deep pockets.
The plain ones are earthbound and stable -somewhat compliant.
The homely are of the subterranean world.
them is aloof and complicated, largely ignored.
God says angels come in many forms.
Square a hectare, hierophant.
Religious mysteries!
In the attic looking gaunt!
Winter, thy deep freeze!
What to fill, my sacred space?
Buy a boulder big!
Smash in every foe-man's face!
Then begin to dig!
Tunnel subterranean?
What could have dug you?
Immemorial brain, thy span!
Many, become few...
Mounds space? O giant grave.
Etheric thy form!
Dial it in with color! Cave;
Corpses to keep warm!
Swarm, my wasps! O hornets, sting!
That will make them sing!
From the druid's tree to swing!
Flicker as you fling!
Serpent, in the autumn.
Is this the time to mate?
Reality, how you hum!
Thrum a-dumb, O fate!
Rasp in vicious voices?
They're circling in a cone.
Blight and bane, thy choices!
Break them at the bone!
Hope, flown? Grin? Groan? So!
Even flow, need a tow?
Caw above me, carrion crow!
Dapple, O my roe...
I am verb! Created by the divine breath,
coming from primitive events...
Essence of ethereal circumstances,
Plasma of thickening, voids
Of invisible cosmic mysteries,
juice of amalgamated conceptions!
Succinct metamorphosis of balance.
In my primitive molecule, the genesis
the core of physical-chemical reactions...
It is from the axis of me that magically spring,
The health of subterranean energies
And the phantasmagoria of utopian beings!
Death is to be my great enemy
For in living I am to be
The friend of life, and put to death
That force that longs to steal my breath—
Away! — away that hallowed hollow grave
My ally, the stone that bears my name
The one, oh would that I could fill
That hole, that bowl of earth
To swallow me down into his bowels.
Let me dive down deep
Into subterranean ground to hide
And put me down to eternal sleep
Away— from earth I’ll say my sweet goodbyes
Goodnight black world, I say, I sink
Into death’s bed with me to keep
Covered in dirt to die.
But there is one Greater
Who holds my precious name
Cradled in His holy core
On mercy’s heart engraved
My soul that pines for quiet death
By Him is called to life again
Came He to me, not I to Him
And covered up my guilty shame
Then said He, so tenderly to me
“With nail-pierced hands I took the blame
And cast unholy death down to your grave.”
There in my place, his feeble frame
That friend I thought I had.
Now I know that I shall live
In my Lord’s house eternally
Bathed in no reflected glory
But washed in light directly
I see life in death no more
But only my God’s love for me.
Friend,
Silence listens,—every thought we think,
each new feeling which soundless trickles by,
the twinge of untold pain, the snuck-in sigh,
are registered within the margin’s ink
Friend,
Silence listens (better than your shrink),—
in worries sunken deep below the “I”,
the subterranean soul, the scrying spy,
dutifully encodes each missing link.—
Observe the many mangled manners your mood
wrings its revenge out from your wet-cloth mind.—
To wrest the terror from your burning breast,
it twists your vision—perception, once skewed
unkowingly invites the shades inclined
to test your tensed chest’s breath of stressed rest.
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