If we are to discover what is out there
we must board the Holy Ghost,
cleave the winds of time
into gods and tridents,
count the star clusters within us.
Under seeking skulls: those white domes,
antique tripods brace themselves,
their quaint brass fittings
helping us to adjust
to the future.
Some seekers turn a grooved infinity sprocket,
some paint cave paintings on the arching
bones of craniums.
Spirit (that invisible violin),
is the prime element
in these spiritual machines,
some of which gaze into darkness,
some that can push behind the past
into a freely radical moment
unmolested by thought.
The secondary element
is the whistling tinker man
or any god we choose to name.
The tertiary element
is the rattle of his pots and kettles
upon his moving caravan.
We hear those tympanic chords,
then like hermit crabs
we leave our shells
and burst out into travelling music.
Brutus said to Cicero, “Hang on, let me get this straight-
A Hypernym's a collective noun?” “No, no”, said Cicero, “wait-
I'll give you an example if you let me have a minute,
'Weapon' is a Hypernym and all the hardware in it,
the swords, tridents, ballistas that are used by Roman forces
are Hyponyms, component parts, but not including horses”.
“By Jupiter! I've got it now!'” young Marcus Brutus yelled.
“Like Galantine” Cicero averred, “it finally has gelled.
I told you I could make it clear, Nullifidian no longer,
so Quid pro Quo- get out your purse and pay my invoiced Wonga”.
“ But what's an Antonym” said Brutus, “thought I'd throw that at ya”
“It's your best mate” sighed Cicero, “who married Cleopatra”.
Suffocating
Paranoia of
Incinerated
Tranquility
Insanity
Is the new infection
An epidemic
Of self annihilation
To cleanse
Our souls in our own bloodshed
A syndrome
Of the weakening human head
Out with the civilized silence
In with the barbaric violence
We’ve lost all guidance
So let's carry our torches and tridents
And kill…
…The Earth is lathered in a murderous flame
Scorch black
The crimson rivers drain; we’ve anesthetized the mind-melting pain
Let the bodies stack.
That’s it
We die in a sea of S.P.I.T.
Suffocating
Paranoia of
Incinerated
Tranquility
When Devils Dream “Daymares” of LOVE, and LIFE
Dance around the Corpse of a once Forgotten ; LOVE
Licking, Tears of Death , Dancing to Music of the Fife
Their tridents burn the Pathway to Glory of Heaven Above
When Demons Dream “Daymares” of Sorrow and “ Death “
Their Joy Lives : FOREVER, when YOU Breathe YOUR last “Breath”
I LOVE YOU, ALL : My Family; POETRYSOUP, a Family Longed for
Since My YOUTH : Your Loyal Liege, ALWAYS and FOREVER…HG
Tiny Devils leaking out of my pen, running over the page
Hell bent on desolation, DEATH and destruction
All Love, Friendship, Kindness, slaughtered in Rage
A temple to our lord ; with tridents start construction
The tainted walls built with innocent blood, lies, deceit
Four corner towers: Murder, Hate, Infidelity, and Lust
One Demon looked up at me “Do YOU declare defeat?”
Come Comrade join US
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tiny Devils leaking out of my pen, running over the page
Hell bent on desolation, DEATH and destruction
All Love, Friendship, Kindness, slaughtered in Rage
A temple to our lord ; with tridents start construction
The tainted walls built with innocent blood, lies, deceit
Four corner towers: Murder, Hate, Infidelity, and Lust
One Demon looked up at me “Do YOU declare defeat?”
Come Comrade join US
Tall, twin,
they touched the sky,
and rose above their surroundings.
A panoramic view of the Hudson,
the Jersey shoreline
within view.
110 layers of cold steel and rivets,
that bounced and reflected light
from the gray tinted glass.
Dual explosions,
full of flying debris,
shards of glass, desks, and papers.
Flaking paint
among the compressed rubble,
cold, gray, thick slabs of concrete.
Hard, rust-colored, twisted tridents,
shimmery, silver façades
of crumpled metal.
Acrid smoke,
black clouds of dust,
soot and ash that filled the air.
Now a vague and empty,
hole in the ground,
that serves as a cemetery.
Quiet and dark as the night,
for the piles of bodies,
buried.
Tridents at the battlement confer
The majesty of uprights feeling proud
Will show the kind of Lilie's I'd prefer;
A showy, shiny, graceful, velvet shroud.
In all their glory, spanning out a clasp
Of well endowed positions each deserves:
And Lilie's found inspired, will make us grasp
At these achievement's made, it richly serves.
This fragile thing we call the peace of day;
Immaculate as heavens scent has brought
Transparent wings of angels seem to pray
In deeper, steeper depths of constant thought.
Producing with them this, the kind lament
Whose stories full of swans are swimming by;
A fairytale of love in each event:
And Cinderella's prince, a super guy.
From this, the plan of eiderdowns converge
With flutes of much ado's and come what may;
When spring is in the air we're on the verge
Of something really special, "Lily Day".
Dying rays of silent stream into a silent room
It’s golden beams dancing
Light in animate motion
Its master is soon to sink below horizon’s velvet hills
Cornflower, tangerine and crimson stain the sky
Clouds drift…their feathered underbellies glowing bright
Anticipating Dusk’s end, the first pair of paragon eyes appear
Twinkling…
Light in animate motion
A matchstick strikes!
Its orange tongue licks the gathering darkness
A candle’s lit!
The wax melts off the darkened wick
It hisses from the water of last night’s rain
Light floods the room halfway through
Its finger reaching out to the shadows
Light… in animate motion
It soaks the curtains and chairs
Light in Animate motion
The silver disk begins to wax
Soon the dark is filled with silver tridents
Ceres!
She dances through the fields
Light in animate motion
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