Friday, December 14, 2012

Year of Prophecies latter days

blogbook word opera on four major blog platforms


Tonight, the quiet sleep of Heaven
blankets tenderly, affirms bliss as promise.
Angel song, encoded blinks of highest aspiration, leaps,
wafts kissed smiles, clear skies. Peace shimmers.
Long, piteous, songs of buried shame, spite and spittle flung like pennies;
flagrant frenzied relief upon unclean graves...
Who makes this call? Who answers?
Tonight crows, patient vultures stand at crossed walls; they
have no leader.
Standing, too, are mute trumpeteers, stranded infantry.
Twilight, trace forecolours of dawn, silence deepens,
counterstroke to what is to come.
“Strike!” Bold reds, bloodied swords brand these walls
seen crumbling as light extends.

When All Fails

And it’s always on to the next adventure.
Random leaves flicker roads of desolate
trod and cried
Fallen, dark quicksand depths,
flight essential for survival.
Frozen wings, sudden sparkling cold
traps damp, unforgiven.
Bent below, tramps
expecting handouts,
bankers expecting deeds,
women expecting hollow forcomings.
There is no easy fantasy. Tales of fates and
lie on quantum desperation, haunted nights.
Winter always lurks on Spring’s horizon.
Keep moving; keep life singing, gyrating for
The road long saturated with evil, rise above.
Learn, grieve, abandon.
Envision grander hope, shining spire

Jung and Yang

Archetypes, subterranean schemes,
walk city streets, ride subways as commoners.
Shadow of Substance.
Ethereal siamese twin,
to the mundane, every day.
I long to tell you,
yearn so I loudly whisper,
but only if you really listen.
I cannot say these things twice.
Memories seep through,
acquire form.
Stand straight and true
as soldiers or Marines
swearing full allegiance
to any who will take that load.
There are Gods foaming in excrement,
begging relief in the balm of sacrament
potent and deadly.
Angels and Demons wage sacrosanct war;
dice from a grail
foresage trial or comfort.
Hungry Ghosts moan and wail.
Vampires and beasts
of desperation
seek shelter before
travails of daytime
break them.
Morning Star
winks salaciously.
In wild’s kingdom
all manner of creatures
thrive, entwine as before
the invasion.
Eagles soar.
Lions roar.
Whales sing.
Humans open
veiled third eye.

Spell In

Focus certainty
laser pure energy
intimate presence
ultimate sacrifice
Submit to desire’s
vast encompassment.
Draw the circle.
Say the words that bind
to time and place expected.
Accept responsibility for
all creation inspires.
Ground with grand incantation.
Power is belief.

Drumming in a Different Circle

Limbs, core, Limbic awareness
Drums of my circle hold tight; shared stories magnify the night,
chant rhythm through my day, embrace of safe vibration.
Aid to meditation, listen in.
Beneath my skin, blood flows to jungle’s beat.
Quantum entanglement dance,
essence of tumbling trance taught by memory.
Soft sets the Sun as I stumble the shady side of street.
Terrified I might meet circles a’sway to violent drums.
Chaos of charismatic voices churning
carriers of variant choices. Not kind. Not my kind.
Traveling alone, rhythm revives my inner song,
touching ground alive with
cadence of home.

If the sky could, it would dream of stars nova bright raining through galactic clouds.
Move inward
as Sunlight descends.
Cob-webbed lantern, too weak to flame,
forgotten among rusted childhood trains, stranded tinsel,
abandoned hero’s fantasies.
Sharp cries, wilderness passing.
What is not foreseen, not written
for screen or stage,
can reveal
unclaimed aspiration,
changing horizons.
Chatty stream of energy
breaking news, ideations, elegant cloud formations
tip of the lip to the ear. Endear or outrage.
So many unpleasant faces
ruin a beautiful view.
Angry reds, too many bruises,
instead of cool blues,
pleasing balm easing with calm.
Deep inebriation of oxygen, enlivening
wind delivered to
on wings of whistling
intentions set wild.
Love is not about
seamless melding
perfection to perfection,
but all those cracks, crags, crevices
hoping (aching) to be filled.


Hunger too redundant for horror.
Each night to feed wrapped in repugnancy.
Hidden, alone, hunting streets of death.
No hope, nothing legitimate.
Days escaped in self-made darkness
without relief of dreams, blocking memories,
Creature of these streets, cold, abandoned,
preternaturally cruel, air of sulphur, tar,
pain of rot sans remorse or resolution,
unnatural world without end or warmth.
Even when blood runs hot into aching jaws,
pallid, empty,
no warmth penetrates.
Nights go nowhere.
More filth, horror
too familiar to offend
solitary hunters crowding all the secret places.
There is no exit here
No sweet release of sleep, no prayer to soft salvation.
There is only dead degradation of soul.
Not possibility, no properties of love or fond relation.
Trial of existence with no useful expression, no expiration.
Yet in this ceaseless horror, in this carnal Hell,
in this my filthy home, cold, without mercy,
in this cage of unrelenting dark,
a spark, a circle of red and black calls to enter.
Here, where awareness centers, threads of rotten vein
play at art, at shocking beauty.


We willingly expose,
offer blood and agony.
Sacrificial phoenix, a’blaze
upon charred altar’s throne.
Seared eyes, scalded tongues;
bitter acid drips to anoint,
to hallow, to invoke,
again and again to approximate
Each coronation marked,
perfume of condensing steam,
carnate fluids.
We surrender hope,
our innocence, familiarity,
for the freedom wisdom implies.
Loosened grasp on mortality,
slipping digits still desperate to hold
the next piece of the code.
Power – so slender, so sleek and bare,
air that moves worlds.
Burn raw, pure, to feel beyond
what thought could imagine, to know.


Golden night rises above
high fields of fallen seed.
Aglow, spirit of Pan serenades
romance, lust, lingering hope of thrill and release.
Amorous nymphs a’hum in ripe foliage
answer in bleating rapture --
chirrups, nightwings;
mingled weeping and merry cries
slowly reveal
stragglers on night shores.
Legends these hoary voices echo
kiss and tell, and merry on.

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