Tag Archives: #prose

My Song of Love

This, my song of love, is my song of hate for the silent clock.

Are you wasting your time? Are you taking advantage of those around you?
Are you missing out?

Every moment is significant, every act a choice. Every instant infinitesimally different from every other moment. Every moment, one year, three decades, a lifetime, is a lifetime, where past and future coexist equally — irreconcilable as the present and the past.

You may not be able to change anything or anyone. However, with powerful and frightening power of your own self-awareness, you can change your attitude to life and make positive, productive changes to your life. The choice is yours to make.

They were dreaming of a blue sky, they were dreaming of a blue sky.

The air where I stood Is Harsh. It is nothing. The past that was in the air, the dead flowers, the bird’s innocent mind, the strange insects, has nothing to do with Me, I am not the soul in the air, I am something else, something else.

The swallow does not see me, I am simply a phenomenon.

Nothing. Brown skin, empty, cracked.

Love is the tragedy of this world, it is a curiouser power, a certain power, and from it comes, quite rare in the world. Though we have seen it enough to know, it comes as a seed of great suffering, it comes, sometimes, as a pheromone, an Eros, as an alchemy, a beautiful fragrance, as a Scarlet streak of the mind, from it comes, when I gaze at the leaves, seeds of despair and ecstasy.

The bones of the world are as the bones of Madonna. A nun is taller than a zebra. On a parochial level, we see, for a moment, the bones of the woman ~ our housekeeper who died of an illness. A wise mother sees the woman to whom her daughter speaks in sleep.

The answer is God and the monster who is and who has been but never will be is the master of our Soul.

A key within the locked palace of our Souls.

:: 09.29.2022 ::


THE WORLD IN YOUR OWN BLOOD

See the world in your own blood, O Lamb of God, and tell what it is to be Christian!

He muttered something and lit a match, took it out and turned the bowl on its side with
the flame he blew on his fingers and began to scrub the side of his neck.

The heat of the sun threw up the dust of a landscape spread out below him, the sunlight
dappling all the long lines of the ramparts, the clustered cottages and the dying orchards.
The rich gold of the mountains and rivers changed the morning into a golden sunset,
the muddy fields turned deep red and purple and the village put a million shafts of yellow
and pink and purple and rose into the space of the brook beneath.

In that space, bidden by the holy spirit, he saw four figures draw up in a little boat.
The loch was deep and dark as pitch, there was nothing but a long narrow clear channel
and the dark outline of the bank. The edges of the boat gleamed darkly against the blackness.
One by one the figures rose out of the boat and set foot on the water. They stood upright now,
the outline of their bodies lifting and falling as they stepped out. In the sunlight they stood
almost as if they were made of gold. They turned round towards him.

—We are the brethren of Christ!

They spoke together, in counterpoint, in beautiful voices. They had broad shoulders and long legs
like Roman centurions and soft arms and breasts. Each of them was golden-haired, the long wings
of their breasts almost showing between the golden folds of their veils. They wore jewels of gold,
and heavy gold chains hung down around their necks. The shadow of their figures moved gently in
the sunlight, and the river spread out before them, full of light.

—Beautiful! cried the Shard of Light.

It looked away down the slope, at the village, where the only white faces were the white toes of
the youngest children.

—My dear sir, said a voice from the boat.

-What is was always.

:: 03.05.2022 ::


THE BASTARD CHILD

THE WORLD was meant devouring mouths
dead burnt fields of March
Or if it were, as bearing beauty’s name;
now awaken is leviathan of deep ocean
many dead sailor’s hearts torn wide open
Being born in His Image we are WAR
and frightful power/Jesus was an only
Son with a distant Mother: her eyes
as jewels from some rat in a cage
and her Husband not of Earth
: beauty lacking a tower
Oh Son full of desire to understand
even those tears fall burning dirt
Each yearning suited for slandering
creation with a false esteem
so the world forgot.

:: 02.20.2022 ::


The WAR Machine

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That is what i feel when i am
half empty.

That is what i feel when i am
half full.

that is what i feel
when i am
more than what is around me.

And when i die

it will all fade away

and as it fades away

i will feel again.

~ // // // // //

That is what i feel when i am
half full.

That is what i feel when i am
half empty.

That is what i feel when i am
more than what is around me.

And when i die
it will all fade away.

And as it fades away

i will feel again.

^^

*

*


NOW (ΤΩΡΑ)

Picking myself upward once again; this time within smaller pieces, feelings are dying within
the madness of what rules the air AND BELOW dwell sparks of lit Souls unaware whilst the hoard
approaches and feeds upon their dreams but never their Souls.
free of lust and love which at times will collide, your hearts won’t be blessed by action or by words
where happiness and wisdom reign the round of the table, around the loft, under the wine,
twixt the body and the mind, of me.
As the grey crust begins to show the deep brown of fresh clay. Every spoken word will bring down the mood
so I’ll focus on the one thing to keep my focus, I am alone.

Yet, by virtue of my physicality one hopes for a kind word. So, I’ll keep moving slowly, glancing back
to see if anyone has called my name or if a lonely soul who has wandered in from the road, after a long
bitter winter and often for centuries like day or night until I am emptied of the boredom into which
I’ve fallen finding no clue, in fact the world has grown even more bleak and seems to exist merely
for the sake of entropy and/or people who remain blind to their own shadow: I am yet a wonder.

Yet, there’s still something to be said of the smile of a baby whose touch wakes love in my heart.
A story to be told as a longing sigh even as it reminds me of another long ago as a grandchild can.
I am yet a wonder.

I’ve seen them come and go. I stand here in the darkness each time seeing one that knows I know,
he knows I know, he knows I know he knows, he knows I know, he knows and no one comes.

No one comes.

I have seen them quietly move in and out while other’s slept: I have seen the lights dim
and give up all light like a little league game where the score is tied — no one wants to win,
no one wants to lose, we all just want to play.

“Give me your hand and I’ll tell you something” I said. “I’ll tell you something. You’ll find out
where you’re going to be. You’ll know what this one is, and you’ll never forget, this was a friend of mine,
and you’ll never see him again. no matter what I promise. you’ll be in good hands.”

hold on.
hold on.
hold on.
no matter what, no matter what.
I promise.
I promise.


BABY FLESH INSIDE EMBROY

I smell your baby flesh inside
my embryo heart and took hookah
cord to strangled this dark romance.
My face fell downward to dirt
and kingdom ants ate my eyes:
built a tower of new tears;
a thin bridge toward your mind
She moves slowly towards me
like a doctor seeking new cancer
like candy pharmaceutical
feeding life / i’ve got a brain
oh yeah \ to surprise life
i crawled out of the vat of
dead babies to survive_____
She was sad, said, “take me to
my favorite place to eat to forget
this” her best friend cried.
I’d eat you if you were unborn.
Surprise! Hey, best yet: let
me kill your parents first.

Zero sum.

:: 02.18.2022 ::


GIVE ME BURBON

GIVE ME BOURBON

GIVE ME  BOURBON
 O seasons, Chateaux
a taste of pure snow
inside the rotten Soul

Upon  eyes a moon
upon finger tips
a learned sassy spell
that no one withstands

i want to take you home
give you all crypto-coin
tell mama she’s gone
ah shit:  body and soul
inside Sway ] kissing you
even if bad luck comes
(my way)  steel coming
to slice up that brain |
   & sever a nose,
lusty prowling Cat:
hint — his ribs are stone,
the flame a death that pleases
God if ventured i prayer.

:: 0.15.2022 ::

GIVE ME BURBON
O seasons, Chateaux
a taste of pure snow
inside the rotten Soul

Upon eyes a moon
upon finger tips
a learned sassy spell
that no one withstands

i want to take you home
give you all crypto-coin
tell mama she’s gone
ah shit: body and soul
inside Sway ] kissing you
even if bad luck comes
(my way) steel coming
to slice up that brain |
& sever a nose,
lusty prowling Cat:
hint — his ribs are stone,
the flame a death that pleases
God if ventured i prayer.

:: 0.15.2022 ::


FETUS

WALK unguarded into a dirty birth
catch a bus or disregard footstep
we all live within a city called laughter
selling out at Perth
The little bugs colored amethyst
are already at their work.

Charming faces of popular people
thousands of years ago
i laid a wreath upon those
ancient artificial skies
it’s hard so hard
to find the love lost
pacify weakness
Fetch a friend who is a friend
as long as they are not late
and until they bathe at midday
within the sea.

:: 02.15.2022 ::


GOBEKLI AND HISTORY

SKIES OPENED after the flood    complaining (the future of you)
they stopped.  i stepped off the planks of steps into a new world
with everywhere mud.
  Then came the animals; a hare stopped to smell too.
No clouds but deepest blue skies
precious stones across the ground
 At 700 years old i thought i was a habitual creature
  so organized the streets and politics of a few
  and watched the seasons and years burst — we took the
technology and knowledge of our ancients;
  Gobekli and Egypt and too many civilizations to
tell — so many howled at the moon
although we’d already been there.
Time is a  wave like water cascading
mind is a device of denial
summer like winter for you
a world who has lost its memory
but not the sun nor the moon.

:: 02.15.2022 ::


IN A WORD ARE THE LITTLE THINGS

IN a WORD are the little things
the meaning bigger than me.

Within a Soul is great soup
the tongue and her taste great.

Inside the nest unborn eggs
unpublic – slanted sight!

My unborn babies are largely great
inside only a single name:

a lifelong dying Soul as me –

Admirning time and her quaint space.

A poet? For me yes but you for
saving grace a possibility.

:: 02.14.2022 ::