What gorgeousness is Beauty most treasured,
that breathes life, air, and health into starving lungs,
so ecstasy that's beyond being measured,
make even angels rejoice and speak in tongues?
Nothing is more blissful than passion enjoyed;
and nothing's greater than love supernal,
which inspires joy when two hearts are alloyed,
in union of mind and soul eternal.
Love everlasting and preternatural,
and Beauty incomparable, divine,
transcendent, and utterly ethereal,
transform lovers that join, and intertwine.
To love is beauty, and beauty will not move:
what more could the world need now to know,
than heaven and earth were made from Beauty's love,
and grace, that sanctify with a sacred glow?
Fragility is quite a strength
just as the crucial bumblebees’ breath
Perhaps not only titularly
gentleness is stronger than severity . . .
Channeling Emily Dickinson : To be a feather in a holocaust
– hope, sewn in the soul, sings the song needed most
A minor thought on regeneration : To regrow the leg the mantis lost
– a marvel on a molecular level - most miraculous
Of majestic beauty : To behold the fragile snowflake - winter’s impetus
– intricate masterpieces exist in the microscopic and minutest
Plant power is undisputed : To reap lemongrass’ healing gifts
– behold a beloved botanical treasure of abundant benefits
Quantity trumps quality when better suited : To cut out the mountains through erosive agency
– water as a weatherer works wondrously
Sources of energy : From the brilliant and prodigious mitochondrion - a natural wonder
to the multifaceted palm frond - suitable as tinder
It can certainly be said that, in the slight
one can perceive preternatural might
So, as the Scots say, “while we breathe we hope”
and our delicate operatives firmly stay a-float
Preternatural beauty dense and thickly lush
elegantly displayed requiring very little gush
A terrarium bottle garden in a growing rush
staving deep with vibrancy and gentle hush;
A wardian case of coruscating light, forever plush
inside a menagerie of green plants falling afresh
the intransigent resilience of this herbal flesh
is both, a healing balm and a lovely garden bush.
Overcome by a wave of curiosity
I decided to try out seriosity
For which I'd no particular precocity
'Twas an ill-fated breeze of impetuosity
With visions absurd of grandiosity
I'd portray Julius Caesar with proper pomposity
Though, to be sure, my toga's fit was an atrocity
Not to mention my Latin dialogue's tortuosity
Yet utterly convinced of my latent geniosity
I spoke my lines with preternatural verbosity
Hark! Were those boos of unaccustomed ferocity?
~ To the nearest Exit, tomato-smeared, at hypervelocity...
I love you lady, singing velvet night sky,
singing azure violet wounded woolen stitch.
I love your lady quavering haunting cry,
intoning shades of purple in fevered pitch.
I love you lady, even trilling, scraping in torment,
your voice straining oppressed about strange fruit.
I love you lady dear star teaching your malcontent,
piping broken lyrics, imparting pain so acute.
I love you lady, you never knew a childhood,
you never rendered a cyan song the same way.
I love you lady, though you think my love no good,
it is you with whom I walk in the rain, preternatural every day.
Flame of Harlem, you gave so much to live. I listened, and I cried,
always my cherished one, so tragic how young you died.
powerful piece de resistance
precise, provocative, posturing
providing plebian pleasure
Statuesque as an Amazon woman,
Platinum or pewter? She perseveres
Prodigious? Preternatural and pivotal
Regal, brilliant, a spiritualistic luster
She sparkles with pure effervescence,
glistens with a gloriousness unknown by most
I follow her pooling petticoat into the
outer limits of my poetic imagination,
expecting nothing less than perfection.
So much light fills my life
On a day to day basis
Yet from the corner of my eye
At the edge of my peripheral vision
Lurking somewhere maybe in my deep subconscious
I see and feel something dark and dangerous
Always stalking skulking in shadows
Always brooding carefully moving
So as not to be identified
But yet I hear muffled anguished cries
And the low level disquiet chatter
Over what sounds like stifled Church bell sounds
I see vaguely headstones and graves all around
I feel the chill of the night and see the low lying mist
I feel the preternatural in all of this
And wonder if this dark and dangerous realm
Is something others have seen on heard
Teetering at the edges of their lives
Or is this just me close to faltering and going out of my mind
A precursor and warning of that which waits for me
If I lose the light and self belief
And stumble and fall and fail to get up
This is how in life you can come unstuck
If not wary of dangers and darkness
Of the subconscious mind and peripheral realms.
Peremptorily prone to perfunctory purposeful passionate pugnacious problematic preternatural preconceived pyrrhic perceptions predominantly pertaining to Peruvian parakeets pallid people partisan politics packed places and polished purple poodles.
Sometimes
I write poems about
Wine and other essential
Molehills of Life at
4 AM when
Bacchus is still awake
Conniving in
Sheer revelry at the
Mere notion he invented
Satyrs and other
Preternatural nymphs.
Speaking of nymphs, I relish the whim that at
4:10 AM or thereabouts, if I rush outside into the
Oozing Black Syrup, I might brush against one,
Intentionally.
Love destroys what sex begins,
as playgrounds and schoolyards
hide the true nature of the King
Innocence bleeding,
within the deep warm incision
of a preternatural beginning
(West Philadelphia: October, 1972)
'From An Anthology Of Perception Vol. #1'
??
She Walked By
She walked through the crowd,
softly offered the urchin shelter and food.
He scoffed at her penury being and ran away.
She walked through the crowd,
saw the urchin and quietly walked by.....
She walked through the crowd,
a smiling figure creeped closer whose preternatural satanic light
lit in her charred soul and burnt accounts.
She walked through the crowd,
iceberg thoughts of the worthless defrosted as she walked by.....
She walked through the crowd,
pampering her cherub whose hand she held tight.
Old memories were getting dimmer when one in a crowd waved at her.
She and her love, hand in hand, happily walked by in a crowd.
April 12, 2016
For Sara Kendrick
NEW LAIR
Lestat walked down the street muttering to himself,
eying the tide mark faintly etched on the brickwork
of his once glorious house.
Damn! Katrina really did her job well swamping
my food source. No more food, no more jazz
on the airwaves, no more sultry summer evenings
on the French style streets. Is it worth re-building it again?
Do I leave my water-drenched lair for the more common
uncultured metropolis of New York?
To Hell with it! I need to feed, a victim
I must get more blood in my veins.
Here I go, up into the sky, preternatural powers taking over.
Soon, now, blood will be mine.
Waking up with dreams still in my eyes.
It's amazing there still there.
rust and whites, blacks and blues.
dispersed colors from somewhere.
sitting in a bungalow, in the middle of some woods. Chocolate mixed with cocaine, heroin, and more.
patients as wardens, marching through the door. I'm the addict .
Can't be selective, substances take hold, wandering through the woods, stumbling through decades. Zombies injecting in broad daylight, taken to the other side, a legal quagmire.
broken heart, stiffness to walk, destruction of my body.
Today in group held hostage by the word preternatural, wanting to move on but can't move on.
Lay down to sleep and go to bed.
Wake up with images sewn in my head.
WITHOUT COLOUR OR ODOUR
When sun sunk deep
Preternatural echoes
Prick mind
Legs float on still waters
Life move along
Without colour or odour.............
Mental Illness
We are the last
vestiage of the
ostracized.
We are the lepers
of the moon who
walk among the
unforgiving innocent
with luminous sores.
We are hieratic stones
that mark a trail to divinity,
unaware of mediocrity.
We are the nightmare
and cuirass of your
terminal souls.
We are the delicate,
immortelles flowers
of creation's jewellery
and dwell within
the mouldering caverns
of apocalyptic chaos.
We reject gods because
they reject our sacerdotal
dominion over gods.
We are the magical
diseased who feed upon
the blue-burn fire of stars.
We are the watchers
of the withered minds
who try and quantify
our grandiosity.
We are pre-eminent
progeny of parsimonius
preternatural wombs.
We are magmatic, quantum
lepton neutrinos of sub-atomic
galaxies where altruistic Eros
regenerates the living force of life.
We are the you in us and the us in you.
We are infinite truth.
We are!
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