Two accounts collide and oppose. The powers decide their next move. Possibilities begin to close. Only one has something to prove. The ghost of this world is a poseur-- professing to play a good game. In league with the swarms of Hades-- Electrified with the tone of its name. Reality cries from the soil-- The truth shouts from the trees. This narrative no one can foil; the ancient story that frees.
Monthly Archives: September 2021
Darkening days are upon us. The sky is a grimacing ghoul. These changes are based on a promise; The summer's diminishing rule. The trees are pockmarked with browning. The fruitful are falling away. An earthly transition is dawning, The curse is now on display. The Ice Queen comes with a vengeance to remove all peace from the earth her lovers are in rapt attendance believing the beast gives them worth. But the keys are still with the keepers. The salt and the light still preserve. Safeguarding truth for the peoples Parousia, all will observe.
Now is the time to discern the rhyme the primordial flow Autumn's late glow pumpkins in season fiends with a reason Halloween unhallowed the time is now borrowed a signature gravestone followed by brimstone the skull and the crossbones mocking the jawbones
Airborne invaders charge the castle. They seek to enter by the vents and ducts. Chimera-like, they're clothed with weaponized suits of spiked armor. At the first wave, the guards push the mutants back engaging the assailants only to be unequal to the task. Lured into hand-to-hand, the protectors become too busy to prevent the surging barrage. Plan B begins with the crisis units coming onto the scene. These are skillful hunters deployed when the first wave of protection is overwhelmed and the rooms captured. These soldiers possess the expertise to track down and rub out the intruders. The residues left behind by the terrorists tip-off where they are hiding. It's mortal combat but usually the royal armed forces are triumphant, but only if the grounds are properly fortified in advance.
I've given poetry a go, getting mixed evaluations. An astute literary friend told me that my poems sucked being too blunt, that good poetry should be teasingly oblique; is childish if it rhymes; unimportant to be about anything reasonable. (a la MacLeish's Ars Poetica) I remember paintings done by chimps splattering colors randomly like a Pollock. "Zim zung zang, blah blah..." I can do the same with sounds, I suppose, naming it Dadaist poetry; (nothing unique about that); let a machine randomize verbs, nouns, articles with conjunctions; & let consciousness float wherever. Etc... ew. I'll try something innovative: rhyme and reason, with a smidgen of signature flavor. If it sux, it sux. LOL -- I'll start a new genre: Suxor Poetry.
None can realize civil rights with civil injustices as King stalwartly said. One's value in society has nothing to do with melanin or global origin but the invisible person of the heart showing up by behavior. The emphasis on external physical features reveals a superficial culture devolving into barbarism. Yet, knowledge is increasing as Daniel said it would: Consider the dawning of AI and commuter space travel. Yet, a spiky micron ball can hatch the world into a frenzy with a darkened science pretending to have an answer that is, at best, half-baked. Such is the state of affairs into the 2020s.
The pusher-man pronounces sentence from the high and lofty elite gates purchased on the backs of the so-called "lower classes." After all, in their minds we are all too stupid to do the right things for ourselves, The oligarchs must save us from ourselves. Or rather, save themselves from us. They attend galas and birthday parties without protection, except from us. Do we suppose that the folks in those gated communities of wealth and power -- the glitzy diva-gods and goddesses are ascended avatars & more virtuous than the deplorable stupids that grovel on the ghetto middle-earth streets? Are they correct? When Captain Cook discovered the Big Island of Hawaii, the Polynesians assumed he was a god. They brought him treasures and worshiped him until they saw the Captain eat a banana which caused them to whisper among themselves because "the gods don't eat bananas." X marks the spot near Kona where Cook died a very human death.
What shall it avail you if you go viral all over the world but losing self-respect? What value is a popularity on social media platforms that only permit the opinion of a preconceived algorithmic gatekeeper? Does it make sense that everyone must fall in, marching in lockstep, or else be black-balled as an enemy of an Orwellian consensus? Now is the season for a new brand of lyric to flame, bite, and name regardless of fame.
Ambrosia, Pink Lady, and Honey Crisp flaunt ruby as harvest apples appear. Stacked ears of corn on the cob await shucking, boiling, salt & butter, then the chattering-smile of front teeth. Cleaning the cob a row at a time will probably need a toothpick or a fingernail. When the tooth fairy got my front teeth at the age of six, my mom would cut the corn from the cob with a sharp knife. She called them boxcars because the strips of kernels resembled a train. Mom has been gone for decades, but her loving nearness is as fresh as this late summer's end.