FEATHERS of hearts!
Rushing rivers through!
Three voices singing
history and truth.
Mystery outside self
expectations inside!
Surpassing beauty
is pure talent —
to describe Love.
I decide: one pure
simple kiss!
:: 03.09.2022 ::
FEATHERS of hearts!
Rushing rivers through!
Three voices singing
history and truth.
Mystery outside self
expectations inside!
Surpassing beauty
is pure talent —
to describe Love.
I decide: one pure
simple kiss!
:: 03.09.2022 ::
That there were no Souls in the World – and no one there to blame – but Me.
That terrible sobs that took the time to lick a Heart that had forgotten how to sob, or even how to whisper, were redoubled into shrieks, and they kept me from laughing.
O heart of Mine, why do you howl?
If Thou wouldst die, then in vengeance thy Redeemer of Whom, Whose Heart was my own, and whose Whistle blew wild through the Rails, and who, at one moment when the Gate was open, as he reached the top of the Jail, and searched the Valley of Doom.
To find my Prisoner there, and to know that his Out-cries had been so wretchedly contrived, and, because they cried out so piteously, were not stopped at once!
How dare thou, thou Death, laugh? If Thou didst laugh at this, and the world now knows the Death that has come to me, in consequence of the Puny Strength with which Thine own weakness left Me.
Let the judgment of all come in, and they make the old curse true and then i should not be sad.
For those mourners, the unquiet were they – how the Sleepers in the Grave would cry:
“Those poor Souls!
Is there one Death, for another?”
But though all sleep sound those that dream are always sad. i had a Brother, i knew, who went for a Passenger, and his Friend had brought him, and held his hand when we left.
The Station – and in the Coach the Friend held up his Heart.
“Poor Brother, my Friend, have you never had Love?”
And his Friend said, “I don’t know that I ever had.”
Then they were gone.
And in my Brain, with a Funeral, i cried, “My Brother has gone!”
When my Brother and his Friend were lost i knew, in my Brain, that i should not die – yet they had gone from me for ever and for ever.
All the Earth is a city of Death – the Sun that has shone bright and cast up its golden rays must fade into Night, and the air shall turn cold, and the day will vanish like the evening:
when the Sun goes down, and it is Dark upon the Mountain.
Even the Stars, when the Sun is hot fade, and there are not as many as there once were.
The very Earth which gave brightness to the Branches of the Tree shall wither and die and fade, and the Blue of the sky will dissolve, and the Earth Will shake and fall into the Sea.
The City of Death in which we live is like a great Prison under the Earth.
The Clouds that surround us and Sooth our Sorrows are but Cloths that cover the Dome of the Pitiless Heaven – the Void where such Rulers as are but Planets, like our own shall reign.
We have no Ruler who rules by Love, no View from Heaven, no Vision from the Stars, no One to give us a Joy that would pass all our cares when we are set upon a Mountain, sighing over the Valley of Sorrow, whether our Heartbeats cease.
Luna can but smile when She sees we have passed the Point.
Where the Blue West gives the Shade of Night, and the Tree is pierced with Cold – and the Night of Light does not come but the Winter wanes.
And all mankind is contained in the Castle of Death.
There is no Labor which an Angel can give, there is no Beauty, there is no Joy,
There is no Heaven.
So for us there is the Earth, and the Flock that bares all whose Flying
is but Death and Murder, and Death’s distant Call, and it is Death, of all things, that gives us all:
That Taste of Beauty.
While we fly on the Wings of Love, and with our Tears water the Earth
with our Love, our Wings go, and with our Corpse Land to fall upon the Earth.
With the Time comes the Age
When Love is heard
And no ear has ever heard it,
with the Age comes the Age
when Men look up, and no eye has ever gazed upon
no Green Earth – when the Tree is cut down the Earth is bare.
From Blame to Blame
From Sorrow to Sorrow
From Darkness to Darkness
And Death lies on Earth –
The Land, the Water, the Earth,
The Birds and Animals,
And Man – The Land, the Water, the Earth,
The Birds and Animals,
And Man – like the Wings of Love
The Kingdom of the Earth Is a Prison
Under the Earth.
When will We see our Land?
When will We fly away?
When will we light the Nights?
When will we light the Nights?
So my Song is very solemn,
But I hope in it one Hour
When we shall find our Land.
When the Day of Retribution
Is ended, and the sky is blue
and the Sun shines, and all that was buried
in the Dark of Night, shall come to Life.
The Earth shall be green,
The Trees shall yield fruit,
The Green of their Leaves shall radiate
all over the Earth.
We shall catch our Breath,
wnd thank God,
whose Love brought us together,
and made us Wings
for his Flock,
To fly away – the Wings of love.
My Story:
‘His Love is the Light that
shone in the World, 0when the Sun of Love
and the Golden Child was born in the Cave of Life.
And then the Angels said,
“Fetch the Child, bring him forth,
that he may be king of his Kingdom
but let it be done, in the Cave of Life –
therein he may reign
as Father and Son, for the King of Men
must not reign alone.”
They called the Child and said to him,
“Arise, Unto the King of all
the Happy Isle of Love
where You reign as
Emperor of Love.
The Angels called again the King of Love
and said to him, “Arise, unto the King of all
the Happy Isle of Love where You reign as
Emperor of Love.
And the King of Love Speak!”
“If you will not come with me
then fly away!
Fly away!
Fly away!
Let me be alone!”
And the King of Love left the cave of Life
And went up to the Heavens, and came down
and placed upon the Earth
all the Things that Matter.
:: 01.25.2021 ::
Light cursed falling lies in a singular box
as evil has many names (but the devil always
has many more). Pink-black lips inside my
mind: little crying lilac laughter splashing
the next steps (oh yea hey ‘who can save the
world?’ someone gonna save the world?)
Hey God, stop fixing that beehive
and drop that devil to the floor — strange
how evolution is less than nature’s greatest
achievement — clocks a tac-tic tac-toc
like ringing time and lilac. . .
the flower dies.
the hope follows.
emptiness ensues.
:: 10262021 ::
That blade which takes i took that made what cuts did so did I bleed and took my road: that dust and blood the path my blade had cut for me. My blood your blood my bad my flesh machinery.
i cried aloud to see if the gods were indeed touched by my rage; they did not answer and all my rage is now dust and blood without a single whisper on the sand below.
i did not fall in this glade but it made me fall.
Back to the Restaurant Hip hip ho!
There’s a man in the town who has a silver tongue and so hard to hear, but loud and clear,
he could read the babbles of the natives, they say he can see into people’s hearts
just by looking at them.
That he is wise beyond his years when it comes to the things of the heart, or at least the heart of men.
For this reason we cannot quite explain he is the host of the good banquet and so the heart in the heart of man is a place that deserves his much deserved
tender touch.
What are you looking for? You have asked me many times before. And each time cannot seem to find you. Is it my age? i am an old man. Maybe it is my hair maybe i am ungainly. Perhaps i don’t look the part. The thing is i don’t like them as they’re everything a man should be.
But then there’s a thought maybe they’re trying to eat you. In the middle of winter the sun won’t shine and a man will see only darkness, but the sun isn’t what i mean but you’re a man so you know what i’m getting at.
Of course you do — you’re a man and you have your masculine way of thinking.
Maybe they look different, a lady with makeup she wears it as camouflage as her intentions are to seduce you and are veiled in its many colours.
i am the first to say a woman can’t make a man do anything they don’t want to do. But a man can, a man with a small piece of metal can do what he wants.
If they say no you can leave, leave them be.
But most aren’t like that; they seem to be of that sort, you know why, because most men have never known what real courage is.
i do.
i have it in me.
It’s inside me.
That desire that secret desire that we think will never exist
when we’re a boy.
It’s a lust, a dark lust and i have it. i am a man and you are not.
You look for it though just within you — that thing which you don’t know you had but now you do, and this thing you now desire/ you can’t help but see
it’s in you all along.
It’s you.
it’s me.
it’s her.
We’re all of this and it will only be her.
It’s you.
It’s me.
It’s her.
In the middle of winter the sun won’t shine and a man will see only darkness,
but the sun isn’t what i mean but you’re a man so you know what i’m getting at.
Yes you are a man and you know something else: a man with a small piece of metal
can do what he wants.
There is no need to look far and see what that thing is, or what she has to offer and you’ll know it when you see it.
04.03.2021 ::
Is it a society of wicked liars?
Is it a race of contemptible malefactors?
Or is it, instead, just a group of people coming to terms with their lives in a different way?
A growing number of people are choosing to live—and die—without judgment, without the reward of popularity, without the flattery of public adulation.
Most people—without much fuss—are choosing to die quietly, often in comfort, not coughing up blood, losing organs, gasping for air. Rather, they do the things they like, they have their lovers, fall in love again. They experience as many experiences as possible. They have children, watch them grow up, let them out. They do the things they love. In fact, they do as much as possible.
Maybe they are only one of millions who will die this way, quietly, without much attention at all. But for those who read about the Swedish model, maybe they’ll read about this man who, when he was ten years old, decided to end his life when his family wouldn’t let him live the life he wanted to. Maybe they will read about one of the last people on the planet who were given the opportunity to kill themselves.
Maybe they will read about the first person.
Whether he knew it or not, it was Doran, the poet, who led us here. In 2020, when he was 36, he pulled his wife and a friend onto a commuter train in Paris. They sat at a table, drank wine, and ate wild boar with the train’s conductor.
After that, he had a drink with friends. By 2:
Then they all took colors all within their head. And they tried to say the unspeakable.
:: 10.21.2020 ::
DEATH sheltered upon the spit of dying souls;
sun and heat a giant cat with one flat foot
upon a devil’s wing — the homosexual and
amorous spirits that cross a garden in dead
of night make scary sounds.
my throat an elevator from heaven descending
toward hell with every swallow; my non-
existent ring upon a broken finger as throbbing
sexual oysters.
to smell the clean spirit of angels are as hanging
clothes upon a clothesline within a Spring’s breeze.
:: 09.21.2020 ::
“i will not be that way, ” i said.
as she took hostage my heart.
“I will not be that way, ” i begged.
as she kissed my soul.
but for you i shall turn the stars
around and move the oceans i declared.
i do not love your beautiful face.
i do not love your curvaceous body.
i love your feet as they brought you
here toward me. And now i enjoy
your mind and through it all things
you are.
:: 09.17.2020 ::
i would sink if the moon left these shores! picture of myself,
bright floods! seeking shadowed roads. Of yellow and green
cellophane hearts –into the willows of an old courtyard.
O my dying quiet hearts of arts and words of black dog,
brown shepherd hungry formasters — bitter peaches upon the ground :
while sulfur and evil drown in shallow swims.
Oh but Lord! through amaranths and Sahara blues as fire and creepers
seep through the widow’s cage! i walked Guianan without shoes
and flew through the ducal window on such a moonlight as the blessed bindweed.
Across ages of time and hordes cross our aged Europe.
Every soul crosses the moors — all warriors!
:: 08.31.2020 ::
SENTIMENTAL AND WIDE
WHISPERINGT GHOSTS
w a n d e r ing souls
eating muffins crazy cats
yarn at your feet — destruction
inside your heart/makes me lay down
throughout the night\ nEVER a
frown — a deadly smile of conviction
within my Cedar Box
it walks crushed & tulips i breathed
in the entire blue skies / –> so
together where you are : and all of
the things i ever said to you girl
makes me feel sentimental and wide.
:: 08.11.2020 ::
THIS POET WROTE:
while leaves march down an empty alleysuddenly she is barely holding upon the blue skies /of punch red-blue\of a galant southern magnolia sweetand fresh of a sudden burning smellfruit for the fallen souls are we forever together.
far so for father trick of mind/here is a Strange Tale\upon his tomb stone. this POET WROTE
:: 07.13.2020 ::
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