Poems from the Monian World
Beelzebub’s Tomb
Nov.29,2023
Steaming demons dreaming, of million line disjunct,
a fulsome jesting clown, popping out your duct,
four hundred million angels, starting for your luck,
tearing to his hand, and leaving in the chuck.
Demonic forces dove, upon the machine’s shore,
they riddled while they spoke, their seance was a bore,
this man built a tomb, to snare him all the more,
he warned the bristling crowd, do not open that door.
Son of fiery answer, blood of heartful mind,
casting his romancer, thud of duty divined,
Brazen theft of love, from stardom’s Cataline,
Bring in this heart to bear, angelic ceiling sign.
He warned them not to enter, whiteness all around,
he blew a mark before it, into the throttling sound,
The fairest maid of all, was tethered to the ground,
in this was the passage, light within must bound.
Noble chalk outline, to show the story’s seat,
Aelfwulf drew the bland edge, for Sorghum’s sorry meet,
Cast off the old defile, some sedges have to greet,
Hear the plaintive murmurings, of Lambkins as they bleat.
Do not open that door, Aelfwulf said to the crowd,
We’ve locked him there inside, covered him with the shroud,
Let no one more forget her, Matilda’s blessing proud,
What locks behind the door, no more can speak aloud.
While these were forming empty, on midnight sodden stravings,
and beams were last to enter, the early twice lit ravings,
Sorghum stood and stashed, his meal like a Braveling,
Aelfwine more than crashed, his vision a light waveling.
The Infernal Majesty
Dec.4,2023
Drip, drip, drip, drops the blood from the tomb,
Step, step, step, walks the man from the stone,
Creak, creak, creak, weaves the thread from the loom,
Tap, tap, tap, comes the setting of the bone.
Flames crack above your eyes,
Setting fires in the skies,
After passionate replies,
In the firmament for rise.
Walk, walk, walk, goes the piper to the corn,
Brek, brek, brek, croaks the bully frog,
Tam, tam, tam, sets the Irish to the Morn,
Oak, Oak, Oak, sheds the leafy bog.
Scarlet covered robe upon this man,
Infernal Scorpion of chance be known,
Oblate fission for the stand,
Unborn blossom shortly blown.
Burn, burn, burn, cracks the fire in the sky,
Bow, bow, bow, go the kneeling hangers-on,
Turn, turn, turn, goes the wheel that let fly,
Ray, Ray, Ray, shines the sparkled laughing dawn.
Whose covering is this, if not majesty unfound,
Whose service is this, if not robery unsound,
Whose fire pits are these, if not the Prince of Fate,
Whose servants sharply kissed, to send back home so late.
Clak, Clak, Clak, go the drawing of the five,
Tok, Tok, Tok, sound the drawing of the first,
Tau, Tau, Tau, starts for the first man alive,
Mau, Mau, Mau, shouts the heart that sharply burst.
Whose hand is this, if not my own,
Whose shape is this, if sharply sown,
Whose life is this, if will be asked,
Whose soul is this, if all be tasked.
Burn, burn, burn, cracks the needle in the hand,
Bram, Bram, Bram, turns the drawing of the bow,
Blok, Blok, Blok, for the poet of the land,
Sip, Sip, Sip, for the offering of snow.
Coldest is this kingdom now, Whose fires burn so hot as ice,
Boldest is the ruddy prow, that carves the way in gaddy slice,
Blessed he who turns it round, for this Prince will have his way,
Blessed you who know the sound, that turns this kingdom of the day.
The Eternal Round – A Song
Dec.6,2023
Round and round, forever to be,
Life ever biding, on the historical sea,
scenes never ending, times ever green,
Old down to young, see softly seen,
Seasons that shift, change and to rust,
Sentence that clouds, tensions to trust,
ancients to ride, on storms made of dust,
Newmen to bide, in forms as they must.
Bells ringing on, to cheery in the year,
Shouting out spirits, glassy with fear,
Old father time, left through the rear,
entry for New time, visions to sear.
Hands closed round, what always must flow,
rivers that writhe, and storms that must grow,
Hopes that live on, through Life’s silver blow,
Mares that ride on, out time’s opened window.
Raise up your arm, until you can heed,
That glass wielding voice, on sand’s sunny steed,
The legs that run on, to chanced early reed,
The Askers for mercy, all petition their plead.
Four turnings must go, four seasons must show,
All must pass by, while the time wind must blow,
All must pass through, in the fourth winter snow,
Some will be blessed, by the pride of new glow.
Round wheel this eternal, which ever must turn,
Round this high place, which ever must burn,
Fourth timing now, which rushes to spurn,
These souls shine aloud, with providence to earn.
The Skulls of Beautiful People
Dec.28 2023
He once said that we are only skeletons, but we are more than that.
I held your skull in my hand and examined it.
Every unusual feature was noted.
But I was the only one who noted you had a soul.
Many people would have preferred to ignore you.
They gathered you all up into cardboard boxes and left you in their basements.
Once you had a life and dreams,
And once I held your bones in my hands,
But now you have returned to obscurity.
They covered your bones in wax and numbered them,
but those who numbered your bones have long since departed.
I added new numbers to your bones,
But I could not add new numbers to your soul.
In the quiet, and in the dark, at night, I imagine your dreams.
You were awake in the night once, but now your night is never-ending.
If you laugh to say I don’t have skull, it’s not for lack of trying.
If I’ve carved my soul well enough, then my skull should keep a memory of it.
Your life and dreams could not be seen,
For there are those who could not see, perhaps for lack of trying.
Your bones remind me that we leave traces, even after going away.
And we who live today will wander your way, one day,
But bones are our souls’ homes, and a temporary stay.
Measure what you like, but yours was something beyond common measurement.
In cavernous eyes, when light is spent,
In the darkness of caves, where life has bent,
You draw something on the wall, how your signs are sent.
If I am happy, so were you, on living’s fragrant scent.
The Death of Honest John
Dec.28,2023
I am a fox, and my name is honest john,
you know I’m going to help you, to get it all on,
you are a wooden boy, and I’m your friend as well,
please don’t let me die, or I might go to hell
I’m lame and he’s blind, so please do as we say,
hop into this rope, for that is what we pray,
and if you’re made of wood, I can see that you won’t die,
I’ll shout for my master, to see how you will cry
up on pleasure island, you’ll turn into a beast,
the master has his ways, to serve you at the feast,
I’m an honest fox, and he’s an honest cat,
we’ll never lead you wrong, or out you like a rat
Mr. Justice jumped up, and he grabbed honest john,
he sentenced him to death, for lighting up the dawn,
for robbing down the road, the kindest folks of all,
and giving wood-boy strife, in the detention hall
Gepetto was at the shooting, the soldiers all took aim,
Honest John was stood up, the rifles had their claim,
He prayed to be delivered, way up to on high,
The rifle shots rang out, for Honest John to die.
Let this be a lesson, for all you folks out there,
never be a rascal, or a fox without a care,
don’t try to be slick, or lead the right astray,
or you’ll be like Honest John, and shot among the hay
A Brake for My Hart! - A Lyric
Feb.5,2024
Smiling in happiness, John pursed the bowstrings,
"Hark, the Herald Angel Sings!"
And all the town was ready to relay, What fortunes danced on his day.
A Hart is a fulsome animal, Very strong and brilliant,
It dances through the brake, and changes itself to season'd chant.
And the brake is very seasonal, for its leaves are very piquant.
The Hart must laugh to see, how men many may leave it distant.
Smiling in happiness, the Hart takes trial at the stake,
"Alas you men, the Herald Hart Speaks!"
And all the town was ready to relay, What Hart danced on his Bray.
A Brake is a handsome grove, Filled with Branches and Leaves,
It stands ready to receive, What Harts must arrive to Believe.
And the Aim of this Season is Merry, and its Living is Trust.
Aim to Believe What Thou Wilt, And your Hart To Gather Dust.
Rounding the Corner, John circled the Hart in its Brake,
"Alas, you men, for this Hart is ready to Slake our wonders!"
And all the town was ready to reform, Of Brakes and Harts in Storm.
The Dead Images - A Missive
Feb.5,2024
Images dancing on the wall, Flickering dancing on the screen.
Dead men animated dreamless husks, Bones laid away by Bone white tusks.
Directed to enbalm their souls, While Men worship Dead Lion Roles.
Images which pretend to live, Images which take more than they Give.
Holly Wand and Very Fierce, For Worshipped Image Soul to Pierce,
Camera grasping Souls with Eye, Men who Vainly Refuse to Dye.
And if they think they live, They only deny their chance to Forgive.
Men Worship Dead images, And give their Souls for the Great Beast.
Cameras made to enbalm life, to tear life from its roots,
And Women who worship their images, Who need no other Proof.
They play the image game, and Love to be seen,
But they are eaten in time, By the Image Man's Machine.
The flies chase after the light, which Burns beckoning bright,
And at the center of the weave, the Spider waits to cleave.
"All images are only a face," which moved upon the waters.
No Human effort can Prove these Images, But Man makes himself and Imaged Curse.
Procrustes At Work – A Verse
Feb.13,2024
Of singular character, he fits men to measure,
He straitens their lines, and thickens them ever,
Too tall is not found, Nor is Too Small Seen,
No comfort is derived, From his ruling Scene.
The world being too thick, He carves it much to suit,
The Man being too Slick, He shaves his horns to Toot,
Headed and moved Light, Removed from Brainy delight,
To keep within his line, He vowedly hoves their sight.
Procrustes turns Man who said, No Comfort derived from your Bed,
Whose eyes are blurred by Red, And Sparing none from being Bled.
His Trains Whistle Horns by Glow, His Trusty Arms Clack and Blow,
Mourners turn Which Way to Go, Sharpened Voices Shout Abide the Crow.
From Men Too Fit to Big, He Begs Them Step into His Rig,
Made to Set Upon to Sleep, A Drafty Tomb for Souls to Deep.
Measure To All His Mansion High, From Which Many Refuse to Die,
If Some Are Perfect in His Eye, He Leaves them whole of Satisfied Sigh.
Of One Mind Turnt, He Breaks Those Served,
He Steadies their Bones, And Readies Their Homes,
Outsize sizes Weary him Not, He Fixes them by His Shot,
Bed of Coals be Less Hot, For Iron Crust in Getting Got.
Shrike Songs
Gadfly Gammer
Nov.4,2023
Be still, night is heavening,
Be great, sight is defeaning,
Be choiced, time is concerning,
Be voiced, Rhyme is upturning.
Giddy apes in brown dust, holding there what you trust,
Grandly shake out pine tar, for loving life made you bizarre,
Rolling smoke above lines, inside hoops and dotted tines,
Brass bravely chattered on, Blowing signs believing dawn.
Open in, time is calling,
Open out, Lime is shorting,
Open with, help is asking,
Open to, life for tasking.
Gaddy Japes in grown face, rolling to told mace,
Griddy pipes followed husk, Bid ye might to old tusk,
Grandly jest other wives, Brand him for press’d tithes,
Gravely hour tonal set, Proudly offer still tonne’d yet.
Roll for, in life of offered sign,
Roll in, for sleep is one set line,
Roll to, while all may be Fine.
Roll down, and see your sun divine.
Gammer green gall in all, them that walk into the fall,
Grapers open chorce for end, Bravers open brass for friends,
Askers Chesky on the mend, Taskers make a sorry send,
Baskers walk on gilded hend, Maskers brake a willow wend.
Grinning Gadfly, Life aligned,
Spotty surtout, Sportive signed,
Gammer grolefair, Greentive Tined,
Plaintive Airey, Alltive Tithed.
Bue Baker
Oct.30,2023
Alone, sand swimming alone.
Present, white and clean.
First savage sun beating down.
Love, Inshallah.
Alone, and presently speaking.
Vision of fire,
Angels relaying,
Robes Wreath'ed in Change,
There, One final submission.
Here, cook us your message.
Bring out your tents.
Gabriel wandered under stars.
Prophetic of ultimate peace.
Here, bring us your sons.
Say over your lambs.
Write over fire.
Angel foretold.
Exalted, Caliph,
Empire of Sand,
Beautiful dreamers,
Ever covered Oneness.
Sword, and stone,
Peace of everlasting justice.
Prophet foretold,
Jesu, of peace everlasting.
Born Again Bob - A Poem
Oct.30,2023
Branches heaving around, through the soggy ground,
He wheels on his hound, and offers him a pound,
Watch him on the job, born into the fob,
drawing on the sob, beautiful dreaming bob.
Rivers, waters, flies, open sensible eyes,
over emerald skies, Robert rules and plies.
Fortune for the care, walk onto the spare,
See your kestral hare, More than that to pare.
Living all itself, Born again in health,
Rolling through the tame, Alive into the game.
Mossy footed brake, Bob can sing the drake,
Gambol walk'ed stork, Reel the untamm'd Tork.
Bless'd for untold time, ring for one sad Syme,
Press the Poetic Prime, a bastion bawling Brine.
One under his harm, have heavily formed his Starm,
All for his is peaked, Seven stadus is unspeaked.
Wound abandoned chain, arisen is this pain,
from out the untoned work, into the unlaid Perk.
Will wonders never cease, or storms grant their release,
Bob born twice aloud, ascending up on a cloud.
Spoonfed John
Oct.26,2023
I see his arms are locked in place. Oh savageness, his is a disgrace!
Oh Lord, let me move mine face! And let him run this early race!
Spoonfed, and heart bled, all upon an feather bed,
and what i have soon said? All the more for Natty Dred
John, what is your set? Are you done yet?
Where is your bet? There's someone you haven't met.
But no reply could be made,
For his lips would not bade,
and his bill was unpaid.
John, what is your life,
Where is your knife?
Your soul with wonderous Strife.
Hand him the bill, let him refill,
On the window sill, i saw him sitting still,
Spoonfed John, feeding ancient hardened Krill.
I saw him leave, or i thought i did,
he put his tire out a skid,
but his soul was not easily hid.
Alone With the Alone
Oct.26,2023
See through my soul, alone with my bowl,
In the central heart, before my board of art,
Who can be alone, and be alone with the alone?
At last your tone, has brought me far from home.
Everything was great, and you were my friend,
Everything was strange, and you made your end.
I stand alone, and you are on your phone,
Call out to them, and you have your stone.
Take your pet rock home, and give him a bone,
Let him sleep easily, he needs a peaceful loan.
In this tall crowd, among many people,
I stand alone, like a tall church steeple.
Race your horses round me, and bet on who will win,
Alone with the alone, i will wear my grin.
These men work fabric, they dye cloth to work the trick,
In my heart i am with them, something blood-like thick.
But they are gone today, and bright grave their stone,
Each safe in the earth, alone with the Alone!
Soul Carved Like a Thanksgiving Turkey
Oct.26,2023
Happiness here, to see these Soul Carvers,
Let them down, and feel their heart burst.
Happier yet to know, they can carve you a wonderful soul.
Soul like a Thanksgiving Turkey, carve it, and you will know.
Blood flowing out, oceans to the soul,
True love asks, only for the coal.
Sing low, beautiful unending graces.
You were slow, with wonderful unending faces.
You Soul Carvers, you are my unending happiness.
You move light and slow, the dressing to impress.
Seize this soul, in its happy hour,
Let it go down, in its Un-Blimed Bower.
Peace, and the world covered in carvers,
Soul like a block of wood, Tree men growing Arbors,
And you, my soul, are you still thankful?
Be thankful you have changes, for your changes are not full.
Smile, let the lights burn, turn your soul while they work,
This is holiness' delight, never mind those who shirk.
At last everything is here, the wonderful love of my heart,
You who carve this soul, and I know where you should start.
Calpurnia Like an Arc of Flame
Oct.26,2023
Burn these flames, let them burn.
And you? What do you have to turn?
Wife of Caesar, greatest story,
Calpurnia in Caledon, the morning glory.
Who wrote you down, or turned you out?
Your story was bigger, but who will remember?
Break an arc over Egypt's scythe, break over its Aegis,
Move your stone to the judgement, let the judges do the rest.
Bring it to the hearth, fair among the stones,
Our fathers like Stones, turning into stones,
Monuments to Caesar, the God eternal,
Calpurnia black, judged by history's blindess.
She is like the Greek Athena, then at Dawn,
a pearly loveliness, but you know her one better.
All the world's empires, and you were the only one,
She promised you only, and now you are the Sun.
Calpurnia replaced thee, displaced thy countenance in the sky,
She is burning, like an arc of Flame.
Now trust me, for Caledon is Fine,
yet Calpurnia is on the way, ever after an eternal Light.
Substance is straight, her narrow properness begins less,
Life becomes her, in the shadow at guard.
I have been like her, you have been like Caesar.
This world is fleeting, but she lives on Forever.
Only two again known, and who writes for our eyes?
Caesar eternal, Calpurnia to our graces?
That must be it, for she was then unknown,
today she lies away in every door way, in every city she sits alone.
Her eyes know she is fair, and fair to from home,
all the world belive her, this life is hers alone.
Fatal earthly empire, betrayal and death by friends,
but you live on forever, Calpurnia, without Death.
Keep Your Magic
Oct.26,2023
Keep your magic, don't give it away.
No matter how hard they tell you it isn't real, don't listen.
It is better to shout in the wilderness than to be in the crowd.
But you won't hear that on TV.
Don't throw away your spark, you still need it.
Many men will want to take it from you.
Many women will want to turn you into something else,
But don't let them.
You will need it for something bigger.
You wanted something more, and you'll get it,
As long as you keep your magic.
Don't sell it for the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes.
Don't give it away for the asking.
But keep it carefully, and don't forget about it.
Maintain the fire in your soul,
Maintain it a little each day,
But don't burn out all at once,
Because that's what they want.
If you can keep your magic, you can do anything.
Then you've still got a heart.
Then you still have your soul.
Then you are alive.
But if you give it away,
Then you become like a Machine,
and you feed into the Machine,
and the Machine eats you up gladly,
and asks for another soul to dine on.
But don't feed the Machine, and keep your magic.
That is what will keep you going.
Do not let them tell you otherwise.
Keep your magic, and see the promises in the unknown.
It is worth more than any money in the world.
Palm Tree Blues
Oct.26, 2023
Reaching high into the sun, not for any special one,
your idea's almost done, let it in or out a tonne,
Swaying in and on the breeze, living careless life of ease,
look up on those big palm trees, blue as swirling scarlet seas
let me hear something that's true, lift the leaf before you do,
tell the story two by two, leave the rest to kalamazoo,
walk in painted green and true, arms that soar the wings that flew,
palm trees big and swining new, jungle town for turning shrew.
the story's up and almost store, never mind the total bore,
digging down the oath you swore, bearing fruit and something more,
arrows flown into your arc, glancing on the ship of spark,
herald angel cries that hark, dancing on the needle's park.
at last the tree is careful balm, waving to the sortie palm,
let him out to hear the psalm, water's here to shore is calm.
The Shrike
Oct.24 2023
Cast your eyes to the sky, and see the Shrike,
It pours out its venom, it carries a spike!
No man can stand on, but he will live sightly,
Running down this hill, the Shrike calls him nightly.
Green men wanted it, but the Shrike flew away,
These alien accomplices, on life's unearly day,
Why it soared high, and shrieked like a gale,
It tore through these houses, and opened their mail.
Who will save the nations, or deliver us alike?
Not from armored helms, to the Saint's battered spite,
Who will return this bird, which shouts on every word?
Oh it is the Shrike, a fighting man has heard.
Winged perilous with all taste, and dieted slim for the waist,
Who runs from it in haste? Glue its wings with paste.
The Fates turn from its roar, and bar the time'd door,
The Knight runs his lance, through the Shrike's half glance.
Who can turn away, when the Shrike can seize the day?
No more can last, while the Shrike is holding fast.
In the final knell, the Shrike was banished to Hell.
But ring thy bell, The Shrike has more to Tell.
Poems for Soul Carvers
Stultifera Navis (Ship of Fools)
Oct.11 2023
Brush blood from bone, turn sun from stone,
Break beak from back, take sleek sodden sack,
Make mile for main, Slake the sly old captain.
But navigate this once, Never Sail Seas for a Dunce.
Halting steps he took, moving right around,
Quickened by the force, stepped onto the ground,
Break into the sheet, Sight unto the sound,
Take unto the sleek, Stony forward bound.
Blown on by the gale, called for by the can,
Spolled for the vale, palld line the van,
Turn the car around, Stultified release,
Newly brought abrupt, Navitus will cease.
Sweep sand from stern, take tide from toil,
Brush boiled from burn, bake bide for foil.
Who will stult totaled eye, or gate chortled tie?
The ship runs up again, Blow winds to live or die.
The Chalcedon Chasuble
Oct.9 2023
Ordained by thunder, run right in rain,
Tossed upon plaquards, seizing in pain,
Twelve undelivered, nine all believed,
To consider thy savior, manifestly conceived.
Bright ocean splash, vestments now worn,
internal cohesion, consubstantial morn,
Marcian’s moorings, in Dioscorus’ sand,
Flavius’ protest, on Nestorian strand.
Black burned down, brave shallowed through,
Pressed to demands, Chalcedon rang true.
Up came the message, monophysite alone,
One body, two natures, Trinitarian intone.
Anvil and Hammer
Sept. 29 2023
Crash down with force, into this field,
Where horses ride out, through harvests to yield,
Bring now the hammer, onto the steel,
To reshape the soul, on lifes early weal.
Eyes in clear focus, drawn on your spot,
Burning sun bright, but light not too hot,
Closing on metals, Shorn from all time,
Spiritus Sancti, up garden walls climb.
Care for the Anvil, Stone horns set full fast,
Spare to the hammer, that strikes down not last,
Hear for the Crier, Whose essence is bent,
Iron turned on trial, burnt shavings high sent.
Forge now the age, While the fires still burn,
Cast now the mold, While the pliers deft turn,
Sing now the swing, of tool in hand,
Hear burst the risen, over Blue lighted land.
Black Fulc dashed hard, against Saladins mast,
Chewsgate swung open, on Northmans early past,
Where horses rode out, to reap on the dawn,
Anvil stayed put, while the Hammer was drawn.
Joris jumped to point, Dirk rose in his seat,
Black Smithy anoint, Bogmans living peat.
Bring down the Anvil, on the force of the stone.
Hold fast the Hammer, for to relight the bone.
Ambuscade et Dominae
Sept. 28 2023
True and beautied stories, Dashing across the brim,
Close and haltered memories, proving the lighted dim,
Crush the banted windows, Toss the pounced pine,
Leave the altered memoria, Cleave the faltered sign.
Bounded by Buscades, Trustery in tuned,
Founded cannonades, blustery and fugued,
Nothing heaving out, Rocker arms laid up,
Dominae vobiscum, et tu Spiritu Yusuf.
Clover clinging cloisters, blessed by bounder rings,
Dover ringing roysters, round for carrier kings.
Strike the clarion cleaning, gleaming roads fair lined,
Shrike the barium beaming, seaming lodes pair tined.
Lave out your sportive cut, ring out your shortive spurt,
Bear in the tortive strut, beyond the willful spairt,
Nothing heaving in, Rocker arms bestowed,
Dominae Ambuscade, Prophetic dream relode.
Tearing out the pages, From even heeled life books,
Searing in the sunlines, For singeing boleful brooks,
Strike the beacond tones, Streaming rods of fire,
Shrike the Deacond stones, Teaming sods of wire.
Walk before the moment, Monumental in its Brake,
Stalk tofore the Toment, Brindisicle in its Sake.
Close the handed Memoires, prove the lighted Bright,
Rose the Sainted Stories, Carve the Painted Sight.
Ambuscade and Cannonade, Colorade and Colors,
Dominae and Parsifal, Vobiscum et Dolors.
Bring down the lighted beam, Bear in the Tortive Strut,
Lave out Bound Buscades, Porphitic Prose Glut.
Primus Pares Inter, Dashing to the Rim,
Prophetic Dream Relode, Sykless Sounds Redrim,
Painted Morrow Windrows, Paston Pye the Blow.
Faint in Forrow Sindrows, Pattons Final Cloe.
Monumental towers, rising up beside,
Ambumental Bowers, Ringing out Born Blide.
Takers talk to four nines, Tukers tock to Twelves.
Breakers balk to bore bines, Rakers sock to selves.
Ambuscade et Dominane, Monument to Element,
Rush Brocade to Serenade, Sounding Grown to Judging Sent.
All of Them bear it away, on Dominineal Ferries,
Vibrance cares its stay, for their Ambuscadal Serries.
The Atlanteans
Sept. 27 2023
Changes age ago,
When spires lifted high,
The peak'd cities glow,
From out the flinty sky.
Burn braized the city down,
From water's fiery cleft.
A beaten unturn'd brown,
To cleave the furtive depth.
A living world empire,
turnt upon a stone,
A dreamer turned to liar,
From signs unleft alone.
Look! A legendary sea,
A scene once more to be,
A hopefulness to plea,
So sunlight sets serene.
Heaving sparks and breakers,
Tolling on the Nile,
Shaving past the Sakers,
Whose helping more will style.
All, will live and rise,
most, can reach unto their prise,
If Atlanteans surmise,
In that shanty's watery sighs.
The Revenant
Sept. 27 2023
Close and swirling lines,
Treading the grapes down,
Beginning the end of time,
Cast off the unborn sound.
Barking to the crowd,
Shouting in the mist,
Forging bright aloud,
Crimson soaking fist.
Return not to dismay,
Retail not to this door,
Avail from found decay,
Assail from sound before.
Bring him out and to us,
Display the mystery meet,
String the slain to dust,
Unformed the chance to seat.
Bones which lied in graves,
Arise with revenance seen,
Ashen spirited braves,
Turn more the lights to green.
Sprang up from the Tomb,
Walk out earthly womb,
Unbride thy doom,
Dark sighted loom.
Bring him out to us,
Shorten black the dust,
Love's alight with trust,
Souls still strike his bust.
Return here again,
To bring back your seat,
Sit in our midst,
And Make more our meet.
Raise high the cloud,
Sheltering the song,
Thundering the proud,
Shaking bright the throng.
Who was revenant in your eyes?
Press your arms for shaking hod,
What was sacred in your ties?
Press your face suborn'd in God.
Saul Farmer
Sept.17 2023
Quickly retiring ageless, He was piquant in his field,
Writing down the leaves, upon others which would yield,
Breaking seed pods open, turning upon the cloves,
Samuel Barker stolen, from Wildmans plascent groves.
Saul Farmer broke the shield, and tore away the veil,
He shouted through the firmament, from ringing out the bell.
He wanted something permanent, to realize relief.
Faith was mortal order, life was more time brief.
Tame bird cleft the pallet, tone bird shaped the song,
Horse shoe cleaned the road, hay seed moved along.
I dont need a passage, to turn your farm from grapes,
He cant ask Saul Farmer, to wile away our japes.
Personal was peakid, pastoral was pine,
Lonely roads were broken, with eyes of rose in line.
Hair which fell round shoulders, arms which turned the row,
Fields which wove their story, about the arms below.
She loved once true Saul Farmer, who lived in sainted dreams,
She stood upon the threshold, of sight upon unseen.
He could hold her message, written upon the wall,
A Tale for all time, from before Adams fall.
Saul Farmer was the chosen, blessed be the king,
He drove into the fields, the sheaves from windblown sling.
The fork he strove to toss, when his domain was called release,
They sent him to the barnhouse, to understand lifes cease.
Close out the tale for Farmer, alone before the salt,
Quiet he would tender, beside the lame and halt,
Horses rode him home, beyond the plaintive pines,
Eli held forever, Saul Farmer knew her tines.
Parade of Flowers
Sept.17 2023
Close and long, held near by exceptional dealers,
moved by the strong, across eighteen wheelers,
raise up your temples, cast down your petals,
brazen the flames, heat through these metals.
A vision sprang to him, gliding upon the hours,
His hero led them on parade, gilded by many flowers.
Small people made loaves, stoking high the fires,
The trumpet blew reveille, Kingson crossed the wires.
Many roads they made by, which drew him happy to,
Seven stones were set to, one willing sky of blue.
Heap them for markers, where paths are placed in steel,
Let the man receive you, before you build by meal.
Angels granted laurels, from final triumph march,
Hope would burst his chest, for collars rolled of starch.
Youve made me smile again, and wonderful rain shows,
Shimmering life parade, petals marched on bows.